by Josh Raymer
“That’s…an appropriate reaction—it would seem—for you to have. I understand why that would make you feel so…um, that way. The way that you felt, just now.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Bron,” Augustus deadpans.
Now that we’ve thoroughly humiliated our large, bronze companion, we have to decide how we want to proceed. I have serious reservations about slogging through a foreign battlefield comprised of a million butcher knives disguised as rocks. With both sides in possession of armory weapons, who knows what kind of horrible death awaits us if we get caught in the crossfire?
I also have no desire to sit here and do nothing. Sherwood and my friends need me, and although we’ve lost our guide, we’re in the same neighborhood as the archangels. It won’t be easy to find them, but we can do it. I overcame bigger obstacles to defeat Malphas.
There’s a solution here—we just have to find it.
What would Colin do? He wouldn’t charge into the battle half-cocked and reckless like Peter after a few too many at Tully’s Tavern. He would utilize the skillsets of his companions and come up with a plan that maximized their talents and minimized the risk to all involved. His plans appealed to my logical mind because they were well-reasoned and deliberate. Sometimes things went sideways, and people got killed, but I never once doubted that he’d given us the best chance to win.
I know what Bron and Augustus can contribute to our victory. Bron has an encyclopedic knowledge of Heaven’s layout. If anyone can help us navigate this new area, he can. Augustus is one of the most feared nephilim warriors ever. He shrinks from no challenge or adversary.
Combined with my youthful exuberance, we form quite the fearsome trio.
“We can still do this,” I tell the others. “The only question is how we go about it.”
Augustus gives me a knowing smile, and I’m buoyed by his unspoken accord. Bron is stoic but resolved, and I see a quiet determination burning behind those bright eyes. No doubt he’s trying to recall every detail of this place that’s stored in his expansive memory.
“The challenge is going to be getting around the battle and not going through it,” Augustus asserts. “My best guess is that the archangels will be at the highest point in this area. Wars in Heaven are no different than those on Earth. They’ll want to control the high ground. Bron, what’s the best vantage point for this battlefield, and is there a path of least resistance that could get us there?”
“There is an outcropping of rock that rises above the rest of its surroundings,” Bron answers. “It’s west of here, approximately twenty flights away. Sorry, Silas—a flight is equivalent to three hundred feet in human measurements. It’s the distance an angel can fly in one second.”
“So it’s a little over a mile away,” I conclude.
“Precisely,” Bron confirms. “Given that none of us can fly, there are twenty-eight possible paths that we could pursue from our location to that outcropping. Three of those paths would get us killed within five flights; eight would likely be conflict areas given their unique topography and judging by the direction of that calamitous noise, which means we’re left with seventeen other options. Of those, two are known to only myself, God, and the archangels.”
“Of course, it’s two,” Augustus moans. “Where would the danger be if we didn’t have to choose which path we think is least likely to kill us? Damn it, Bron.”
“I apologize, Augustus,” Bron says quietly.
“No, I’m not mad at you. It’s frustrating for reasons I have neither the time nor the stamina to explain. Reasons that stretch back many, many years. It’s not your fault, though.”
“Two is better than twenty-eight,” I tell Augustus, who acknowledges that silver lining with a nod. “In your opinion, Bron, which path gets us there faster and with less risk?”
“I’m sorry to once again offer a dichotomous answer,” he says tentatively, “but one path I calculate as being five times faster, while the other is twice as safe. It is, therefore, a question of which condition we most value in this instance—safety or swift travel?”
The answer is obvious. We should take the safer path and give ourselves the best chance of reaching the archangels in one piece. Expediency shouldn’t come at the cost of safety. You’d only pick the quicker option if your pants were on fire and the archangels were standing in water. No sane person would risk more danger just to arrive in another dangerous situation quicker.
Then why is it I want to take the faster route? Perhaps chasing after Peter imbued me with some of his reckless spirit, or it could be I’m feeling the pressure of completing this mission quickly and returning home. Whenever I convince myself that safety is the only way forward, my brain responds with, “Being safe is nice and all, but getting there five times faster is pretty nice, too!” Surely Augustus isn’t having this same internal struggle. His advanced age has bestowed wisdom upon him, right? He’ll say we should play it safe, and off we’ll go down that path.
“We should opt for the faster route,” he blurts out.
“I know, right?!” I respond, shocked and giddy that he inexplicably feels the same way I do. “I can’t explain why, but my mind keeps favoring speed as I’m weighing these two options.”
“God gave nephilim good instincts, and mine’s saying the same thing,” Augustus says. “We should trust our gut and have faith that God will see us through to the other side.”
“A little faith and two good companions by my side,” I say. “That’s good enough for me. Bron, which way to this faster but more dangerous path? We might as well get started.”
Bron points a massive finger about 30 degrees north of the path that Puriel took when he fled. Winding through the craggy rocks is a narrow path that curves away from us and to the left. I point to it, and Bron confirms our path with a nod. I breathe deep, steady my nerves, and start walking.
Time to find us some archangels.
Chapter 6
6. Take One for the Team
It doesn’t take long for me to realize why Bron said this path was quick but treacherous. We’re surrounded on both sides by jagged fingers of rock that reach skyward, but the path is remarkably straight. We haven’t deviated to the left or right for more than a few feet. The path becomes a foot wide in a few places as it wraps around the face of a cliff, while other times it’s interrupted by a chasm that can be easily jumped but plunges downward into sickening blackness.
Although we’re in Heaven, it feels like these pits stretch down to Hell.
The air becomes hotter and stickier the further we go down this path. My breathing becomes ragged, and my legs begin to burn as we jump, shimmy, twist, and turn our way toward the archangels. For a man who’s more than a century old, Augustus doesn’t seem to be laboring as much as I am. I’ve stood ready to catch him when we’ve jumped the chasms, but he’s made all the jumps no problem. I’m frankly amazed at his dexterity and startling quickness.
I look back now and see him breathing normally, his gait like that of a spry twenty-year-old. He flashes me a thumbs up, and I shoot him one back. In that moment, I resolve to work on my cardio once I get back to Sherwood, stop the demon apocalypse, and renew my gym membership.
My grandfather’s grandfather is making me look like an old man.
Next to Augustus, Bron simply floats along like the mast of a massive ship bobbing slightly on a calm ocean. I hadn’t noticed until now, but Bron doesn’t breathe. His chest, as big around as my bedroom dresser, is completely still. In spite of how utterly insane his whole existence is, I find this small fact about Bron quite bizarre. It makes me wonder if other heavenly beings breathe.
Does God breathe? For that matter, does God have a body like mine?
It feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience when I ponder questions like these. The concept of God, for most people, is so abstract, but now I’m here in the place where
he dwells, trying to stop a war between his angels with his architect and his greatest nephilim warrior at my side. To stop and examine my situation, or seriously ponder questions like these, is totally surreal.
As we wind around another precarious cliff face, my mind stumbles over a question I hadn’t stopped to ask myself yet: If given the chance, would I want to meet God?
Granted, I’m not assuming I’ll ever be given that chance. I’m not a Bible scholar, but I do remember Augustus positing that God can’t be in the presence of sin, and although I’m, well…dead, I suspect my sin nature is still intact and thus renders me ineligible to meet the big man.
Judging by his comments, Augustus seems to have a favorable impression of God, which makes me wonder if he’s ever seen him face-to-face. Bron’s title as God’s chosen architect leads me to believe he’s met with God and spoken to him before. But given his innate oddness and the fact that he’s done this job for eons, Bron might not be able to convey the significance of that relationship. Even if they both described it to me, would words do justice to the experience of meeting God?
I met Tom Brady once in an airport, and the way I described that experience to friends—cool, out-of-body, starstruck—failed to capture the feeling it gave me.
Describing a meeting with God? Forget about it.
Such an encounter falls under the category of “you just had to be there.”
I know the first question I’ll ask God if we do meet: “Why me?”
I’ll ask this question, not in the way humanity tends to after natural disasters or personal hardships, but rather as a matter of abject curiosity: of all the billions of people on Earth, why did God choose someone in Augustus’s lineage to be the next nephilim?
Greater than any feeling I have toward God for sticking me with this destiny—anger, confusion, resentment—is the sense that Augustus ties into the reason I was chosen as God’s nephilim. It’s possible God knew a strong connection would be needed between his nephilim to handle the fallout of Gregori’s betrayal. Thinking that many moves ahead makes my brain hurt, but for God, I figure such elaborate planning is likely effortless.
As we hop another chasm and turn sideways to pass a nasty piece of jagged black rock, I consider another question I can’t shake, one tied into the first: Why is Augustus here?
I’m grateful he is, of course, but as we journey closer to the sounds of battle, I want to know why he’s leading this charge to save Heaven. He should have a front-row seat in God’s throne room, enjoying his reward for decades spent fighting demons. Instead, he’s working behind the scenes to stop this war from decimating his home, seemingly on his own authority.
Or is he working as a secret agent on assignment from God?
My foot catches on a rock, and I stumble, breaking my train of thought. Augustus grabs my shirt from behind, sparing me a headfirst plunge into the void below our feet. I look back at him and offer my thanks, to which he nods and smiles. In that moment, I’m again reminded of Peter. Not only the physical resemblance but the devil-may-care attitude hidden behind his eyes.
There’s more to the story with Augustus that I’m eager to learn, but that conversation will have to wait until after we save Heaven. Until then, I’m trusting the man who’s twice saved my life.
If we’re lucky, I won’t have need for a third time.
***
The clamor of battle is ear-splitting at this point.
We’ve hopped a few more gaps, shimmied around a couple of cliff walls, and passed hundreds of razor-sharp rocks pointing down at us like a host of angry witnesses. Bron tells us we’re within two flights, or six hundred yards, and Augustus halts our progress to decide our approach with the archangels. A knot is again forming in my stomach—or perhaps it never left—at the thought of trying to convince Heaven’s laser-focused killing machines to abort a mission they seem hell-bent on completing. If we can’t convince them to see reason, either Heaven or Earth is in deep trouble.
Rather than saying anything, Augustus stares at the ground and sighs. He’s lost in thought, trying to conjure up the magical words he needs to pull off this miracle. Having represented some of Sherwood’s sleaziest millionaires in court, I understand trying to turn back what feels like an insurmountable tide. Of course, if I failed to convince the judge, my client might do some jail time. If we fail to convince the archangels, everyone on Earth might die. We have zero room for error.
Finally, Augustus speaks.
“These bastards do not care what we have to say. In their eyes, we’re inferior beings bringing a message that contradicts their orders. Our only shot is to open with logic—if they don’t stop fighting, their conflict could destroy Heaven, and they’ll have failed their mission.”
“Protecting Heaven from all threats is an angel’s singular purpose,” Bron adds. “I concur that offering such an argument at the outset would be most likely to grab their attention.”
“What happens if they won’t talk to us?” I ask.
“We regroup,” Augustus replies. “Try a different approach. The one thing we can’t do is lose our cool or challenge these guys. They’re very powerful, so physical force is not a great option.”
Having felt like a child in Gregori’s steely grip, I’m not eager to fight an archangel. I’ll let my words be my superpower in this instance and try to keep a cool head.
“If you’re ready, I can guide us the rest of the way,” Bron says. “I know where they’ll be.”
“You ready, kid?” Augustus asks me.
“No,” I tell him. “But what choice do we have? Let’s do this.”
Bron heads out in front of us, twisting his way through the towering rock formations that have started to bend inward over our heads, enclosing us in what’s essentially a tunnel of spiky death. It’s better than the last tunnel I entered with Augustus, but as I look up at the ragged rock ceiling looming over us, I’m reminded of Puriel’s black wings pinned behind his back.
We managed to sway him for a moment, but his soldier mentality never left him. When we needed him the most, he abandoned us to rejoin his brothers in arms. I can’t say I blame him—if I had the chance to return to Sherwood right now and help my friends, I’d be gone.
I can only hope the archangels, if we get through to them, won’t change course so easily.
“We’re going to come over this ridge, and then the bluff where the archangels are gathered will be approximately one flight away,” Bron tells us. “As one of God’s ambassadors, I will present myself on behalf of our group and request an audience with the archangels.”
My heart is hammering now, and it has nothing to do with the steady incline we’re climbing. A light emerges from the darkness up ahead, only it’s not a bright light. It’s darkness illuminated by occasional flashes of white light. It’s like we’re seeing a thunderstorm from a cave. The sounds of battle that were raging earlier quieted as the rocks encased us, but as we approach the exit now, they’re ramping back up like someone cranking the volume on a stereo.
We’re engulfed in a mind-numbing hum the second we emerge from the tunnel. I cover my ears with my hands, unable to see straight or concentrate with the sound boring into my brain. Even Augustus is struggling with the sensory overload. Through half-closed eyes, I spot him a few steps ahead with his head leaned against his right shoulder, sheltering that ear from the noise. His left hand is gripping the wall in what I guess is an effort to steady himself. He looks back at me, and though my eyes are half-closed, I can see concern fill his face. I want to go to him and explain what’s happening, but the sound is simply too overwhelming. I don’t think I can go any further.
Blackness overtakes my peripheral vision as I sink to one knee.
Fight it, Silas. You’ve dealt with worse. Don’t let this take you down.
A large bronze finger swings briefly into my field of vision before tapping the top of my h
ead. Just as if someone pulled the plug on that stereo, the noise ceases immediately. I pull my hands away from my ears and dab at my watery eyes with my shirt. I rise and see Bron and Augustus standing in front of me. Augustus points to his ear and shakes his head. He taps his finger to his forehead, taps mine, and nods his head. Finally, he flashes me a thumbs up to make sure I understand.
Thank you. That noise…it was overwhelming.
Bron nods at my gratitude.
I’ve turned off your ears and switched our internal frequency to a channel the angels aren’t using. When we approach the archangels, I’ll have to switch us over to communicate with them.
Are you good to keep going?
I nod to answer Augustus’s question and give him a thumbs up.
They turn, and Bron leads us up a path that curves out of sight to the left. Now that the vibrations aren’t melting my brain, I’m free to soak in my front-row seat to angelic warfare. The sky is deep purple with fiery streaks shooting in every direction. Pulses of light illuminate our surroundings like fireworks on July 4th. Without the sound, I now feel detached from what’s happening around us, when a moment ago, I couldn’t escape it. It’s an eerie sensation.
The ground begins to level out, and up ahead, we finally see the bluff where the archangels are gathered. Their imposing figures cut impressive silhouettes against the exploding sky behind them. Their backs are to us as they survey the battlefield stretching out in seemingly every direction. Unlike Puriel, these angels wear full suits of armor that are silver with gold accents at the wrists, ankles, and waist. Each one carries a massive sword in a sheath at their right side. From this distance, they appear powerfully built, if not smaller than what I’d imagined. Each angel is wrapped in a soft, almost imperceptible white glow. When combined with their posture and muscular build, there’s no denying the presence these archangels have about them. They just look like God’s angelic leaders.
