Children of the Sanctuary

by David Pollitt

  Chapter 1

  Aaron

  Aaron freefell, sliding through the air with his massive wings pointing together skyward from over 10,000 feet. As he spotted the ground swelling towards him, he moved his wings out to his side and floated gently to the ground. He pulled his wings into himself, and they disappeared as if they’d never been there.

  He was a beautiful man, most angels (powers) were. He was steeped in heaven’s history, battle-worn, and filled with angel war savvy. His head and wide face were nicely set on his muscular, Herculean neck. Looking at his seven-foot height, you’d guess that he played professional football or was a professional wrestler. His skin was smooth, without a wrinkle, a blemish, with a slight sand-tan tone, and his eyes were a clear blue except in the very center where his pupils were white stars, which burned with a dazzling intensity. They reminded, even Aaron, of sparklers on the Fourth of July. The more on edge or embattled in war or action, the brighter they became. When he lived among men, he felt handicapped by them, but he adapted by using contacts or sunglasses. His own sandy-colored hair was thickly bound together behind his head. He bound it this way for traveling long distances or battle. He’d pull thousands of years in length into a nicely woven braid, sometimes in a roll that fell past his waist.

  Aaron's eyes scanned the alley as he melted back into the small closure of a basement door, waiting. He smelled the stench of Nashville's downtown, but he smelled much more; he smelled humans. He could tell they must have slept under the trash and garbage. The alley

  smelled of death and decay, and it crept up from the ground making him almost sick.

  He thought to himself, "How far a distance I’ve come. How far humans have fallen."

  The distance from which man had fallen was not isolated to this place but was common worldwide. There were too many hungry, dying, missing, not caring whether they lived or died; it was hell on earth. The end of times was at hand thought Aaron. He felt it in his bones, deep in his spirit. He didn't know exactly when, but he knew all this was about over except for the children. Once the children are safe, nothing would hold back the glory—Jesus' return.

  There was movement at the alley entrance making Aaron pull closely against the door. He was standing in the cellar stairwell with his head barely at ground level. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and the movement became a man shuffle-staggering through the alley, stumbling in hunger and fatigue. The man had something with him, something that was worth more than a truckload of food to the wrong people—a child.

  Aaron thought, "Oh, how depraved humans are."

  In many areas of the world, they sold children like cattle. Their cries filled the black markets. It was just beginning in America and would be in Nashville soon. Children were becoming the new dollar. Children were becoming the gold standard. God had already sent many legions of angels to America trying to keep the U.S. from going down that mad road to hell.

  As the man moved down the alley, Aaron couldn't tell exactly where he was headed. He might even be headed directly for him, but he didn't think so. The stranger kept kicking the paper and cardboard sheets scattered over the ground until he found what he was looking for. He stood erect for a moment, looking gray and ghostly with his facial bones pushed sharply at the skin on his face.

  The corners of his skull protruded around his caved-in eyes, eyes like an animal, a predator. He searched the alley for others like himself, then he smelled something, something with no stench; it startled him, and he couldn’t figure it out. It was as if someone brought a fresh-baked loaf of bread into an enclosed room. Its aroma was in stark contrast against the kind of night smells he knew.

  The boy noticed it too. He tried to twist away from the stranger but was tied securely to the man’s waist with a thick, knotted rope. His twisting against the man's weight broke his captor’s concentration. In response, he grabbed the boy by the neck and behind one of his knees, and slammed him to the ground. The boy screamed in pain as his knees crashed against broken bottles and concrete. The stranger fell on him and rolled him into a massive, pavement crevice. This was his special, secret place for stashing things away for safekeeping, and this boy qualified.

  The boy didn’t move but kept trying to catch his breath. No matter how shrunken and lightweight his jailor, he was still too much for the boy. The boy lay still while tears of pain streamed down his face. He was suffocating, but the stranger didn't move. His prize was exactly where he wanted him. The boy sniffed at what air he could. He smelled something new, a fresh breeze, pleasant and fragrant, just as the man passed out. The boy finally got his head free and was breathing easier now. He wanted to see what it was that didn’t stink, and then he did.

  He froze as Aaron stepped up from his hiding place. The boy was paralyzed with fear when he saw Aaron’s huge shape. Aaron filled his vision as he moved quietly towards him never taking his eyes off the boy's. When Aaron was only about six feet away, standing, looking directly at the boy, he knew the boy could see his face. He smiled and put a finger to his lips, no sound.

  Aaron knew that he had to move this man to get the boy. He also knew, as he was helping this child, other children were being rescued by other angels and were facing similar situations. He felt their rage about the inhumanity and cruelty against the children, but he felt their exhilaration from helping them.

  The young boy's heart was beating so loudly that he figured everyone heard. He couldn't tell exactly who or what Aaron was; but for some reason, he thought about heavenly beings fighting battles and protecting God's chosen people. Although the boy didn't see any wings, he expected to. He thought Aaron's eyes were reflections or hunger illusions. He remembered how other children talked about these kinds of men, but he thought they were make-believe. Many said they saw these men helping their friends, others. They told about their wings and their eyes that burned like bright spotlights, star-candles. Most of the stories were from other parts of the country, not Nashville. They were storytellers, big liars; he thought. The boy seemed to be fantasizing while hoping for any kind of help, his own miracle.

  Aaron started closing in, then he reached down to touch the stranger on the forehead to keep him asleep awhile longer, but the stranger woke. He turned, faced Aaron, and pulled out a broken, ragged can top—his weapon of choice. He thrashed the air at Aaron and scooted back against an alley wall, stunned by what he saw.

  His single thought, "This guy is huge!"

  He wasn't thinking about angels, just big, mean guys. He moved back to straddle his captive while still flailing wildly at Aaron. Aaron backed out of range, folded his arms across his chest, and started laughing.

  He thought to himself, "You have no idea what I'm made of or even who I am."

  Suddenly, Aaron's wings shot out, and he pulled them around him like a snow-white, winter coat and waited. The man was amazed, not believing his eyes. He managed to pull one sleeve, then the other across his eyes and rubbed them vigorously, but Aaron was still there. There wasn’t any doubt that this was an angel, he thought, or some Halloween freak. But to him, it didn't matter because Aaron was still a seven-foot angel or freak.

  Aaron was concerned about the boy. He spoke very calmly to him, "Son, what’s your name?"

  Aaron knew who he was but wanted to make sure he sounded okay. The boy answered while keeping his head low with his hands covering the back of his head to avoid the waving can top. An accidental encounter with that ragged can top could kill him.

  "My name is Joey," he whispered.

  "Well, Joey, this is your lucky night. You’re going to go with me. I don't believe this man is going to try to stop us. Are you, mister?" Aaron’s eyes swirled their dense-star irises directly at the stranger while he waited for an answer.

  The man became even more agitated. All he could think about was protecting his treasure. He already killed for this boy tonight, and he’d do it again. He had to get him to Printers Alley where a man named Casey was
going to give him a 100 dollars as long as the boy was not too damaged.

  "Yeah, I heard what you said, but I don't care! You're dead if you expect to get near me! I'll slash that pretty face of yours into a dozen pieces before you get a hand on him. He's mine!" he screamed with a dry, raspy voice sounding like rough sandpaper.

  Aaron realized he needed to end this and couldn't stay out in the open much longer, attracting attention. If Apollyon noticed too much activity in one particular place, he'd figure it had something to do with the children and send so many reinforcements to Nashville that no children could be rescued. Aaron had to take the boy with him, and nothing was going to stop him.

  Aaron stepped back; and as he did, the man relaxed slightly. The boy began to move while trying to get into a spring-crawl position so he could jump out of the way. The stranger's legs where planted firmly on both sides of him. He was watching Aaron so intently that the squirming boy didn't faze him. Aaron raised his hands slowly into the air above his head.

  As he lifted his hands, the stranger seemed to be calculating something—Aaron’s forearms. Aaron’s full, white sleeves fell around his elbows and exposed the veins in his arms that punched up from his skin like high-rise road maps, then encircled muscles so ripped that every sinew, every angle of flesh bulged. His calf-sized forearms were accented by thick, leather wristbands. As a reflex, the man looked at his own arms, a pitiful comparison, and that math gave him a bad sum total.

  He said to himself, "Oh no!"

  Aaron grasped something at the nap of his neck. He winked at the boy, and the boy knew something drastic was going to happen. As Aaron took steps towards them, the boy rolled out from between the man’s legs to the end of his tether. The ringing noise was the unmistakable sound of metal on metal as Aaron's sword came straight out of its sheath. The five-foot blade was a foot wide, and Aaron brought it down so fiercely that it filled the alley with a splintering crescendo.

  Aaron had seen eyes like this man’s before. They were the eyes of the grave, hollow and empty. This man was a disease-ridden carcass of nothing—no soul—no conscience. He was, as the scriptures said, "seared with a hot iron." Aaron remembered His Lord's words in Romans, "having given them over to reprobate mind," and this man was one of those.

  Apollyon's dark angels had the same eyes. He had seen them many times before: defiant, unrelenting, unmerciful, lost, hellish, black-star eyes. This man, stupidly ignorant of what Aaron was made of, had the same surprised look as the dark angels who had fought Aaron. They too were in shock at how much stronger and more powerful he was than they. These angels were so arrogant, poised in their own pitiful self-esteem from the time his massive sword made the Aaron-cut (from top to bottom) until it finished its journey. Their looks, like this man's, were comical had they not been so pitiful.

  Aaron's mind’s eye saw thousands of God’s angels bringing their blades down in other executing fashions. They were all equally as fierce as he, but none as powerful. He felt those images as they pushed the children out of the way to safety. With expert precision, they always saved the children, then took off with their Godly prizes. Aaron stood still until the images left him. He waited until he knew from the joyous shouts of children that this night was successful. He raised his face skyward with closed eyes. One hand held his sword blade downward, and he raised the other hand in the air, palm upward, just like believers who centuries before praised God with the Holy Spirit moving; His presence flowing over their hearts. An uncommon breeze swept through the alley; and as Aaron felt it touch his face, he smiled. This was what he was created for—for kids like Joey—for times like this—he was happy.

  "Mr. Angel, are you going to take me with you?" Joey asked as he tried to pick himself up from the ground. He was only a couple feet behind Aaron while trying to drag himself to him.

  Aaron turned and caught Joey as he fell, then picked him up and held him to his chest while kissing his face and whispered, "Yes, tonight you are safe."

  Joey looked into Aaron's eyes asking, "Do you know my sister, Katy?"

  Aaron seemed puzzled, and he closed his eyes as if he was asking the same question to someone else. He answered, "Yes, Katy is safe. She has been for months. She is on one of God's mountains in Virginia."

  Joey went limp in Aaron’s arms as he collapsed in fatigue, but he knew he was safe. Aaron threw his sword high into the air and moved slightly as he adjusted his stance until he heard the sheath ring true, sword in place. He remembered teaching other angels how to do that. There was an advantage in being created so soon after creation. It gave him extra time to practice the finer arts and incidental tricks, which seemed to at least impress the newly created.

  Aaron was one of the oldest and strongest of all the angel powers. He was fond of sharing his stories, his history, and his battle techniques. He had protected King David as his personal guardian angel, although he was a power, not a guardian.

  He still often talked about Goliath. He’d say, "I remember that Nephilim dog. If it hadn't been for the dark angel Scallion taking a human wife, he’d never been born. I wanted to tear him to pieces myself and his twin brother, but our Father saw fit to show His glory with a young boy and small pebbles. What a glorious day!"

  "You see," he’d say to them, "you can't discount your ability because of your size."

  He always talked about God's surprising methods of deliverance in terms of the dramatic. "Always remember, when you have a chance, go for the dramatic. This is how our Father created us. He loves the odds, the surprises, but especially winning with style. Don't ever forget it!"

  He would pat the younger ones on their heads, and his fatherly ways always attracted other angels, especially the younger ones. They knew they could always count on Aaron for help and counsel. He always volunteered to protect the children, thus, he became known as the "Protector of Children."

  His keen interest in the children was instrumental in his new assignment. When he came to Nashville, he came as the commander of the United States’ initiative to get all the children to safe places, to God's refuges. Nashville and Tennessee were the final phases of God's great and glorious project.

  Aaron spread his wings and thrust them down with incredible force. He shot skyward so fast that Joey would be dizzy for hours had he been awake. Aaron held Joey close as he pushed him against the warmth of his own body and cradled him like a mother does a newborn.

  He said to himself, "Now, to safety."

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