The Crossing Point

by August Arrea

  The church grew uncomfortably still and silent, and Jacob noticed even the images on the walls no longer moved as though they, too, were engrossed in the story Johiel was in the midst of telling.

  “God called upon his most trusted and loved of all angels and whispered to him his judgment,” continued Johiel. “And when those who were so flagrant in their sinning ways looked to the skies and saw an angel of vengeance coming with the fury of God gripped in his hand, the fear in their eyes was immediate. They recoiled in terror, desperate to escape the angel’s drawn sword whose blade burned as if forged by a mighty and searing flame. Their pleas and screams fell deaf to the one whose ears they beckoned, and all they could do was shield their own ears from the young Nephilim whose cries succumbed to abrupt silence in the grips of their eradication.”

  As Jacob sat listening, the story met his ears with a growing familiarity. Soon he remembered it was first told to him in the middle of the night aboard the train on the way to Tatvan by Gotham. Only Gotham had failed to make mention of one very important detail: that the horrible task he had been instructed to carry out which led to his eventual Fall was the slaughtering of Nephilim. When he finally realized the story Gotham and the angel Johiel told were one and the same, Jacob looked over to where Gotham sat, and when their eyes met the angel slowly leaned his body toward a pocket of shadow out of reach of the torch light to cloak the profound shame that had settled upon his face.

  “They were just children,” whispered Jacob.

  “Children yes, but in Heaven’s eyes they were an abhorrence of a sin that had so flagrantly been committed,” answered Johiel in way that was both direct and choked with genuine sympathy. “Once the judgment had been carried out, the heavens unleashed the Great Flood to wash away the blood and remnants of the great sin and drown into silence the cries of sorrow that rose in a deafening chorus of anguish. And the Dark Dragon watched it all with a smug contentment. Not only had he hoped the act of carnage would bring forth a divide between God and his remaining legions of angels that could never be mended, but as he looked to the heavens he was gifted with an unexpected sight which filled him with victorious glee, and that was witnessing the angel who had helped bring about his own Fall become at that moment himself marked in a familiar branding of lightning and sent tumbling down to earth.”

  Jacob was quiet for some time as he imagined what was undoubtedly, in every way, an unimaginable horror.

  “Why are they called the Furies?” he asked when he finally managed to find his tongue.

  “Though still angry, God eventually took mercy on the souls of the slain Nephilim and opened the gates of Heaven to them. But it was too late. The Darkness had already moved in and poisoned and perverted the young minds against God and the race of man, and it shepherded them into the deep pit of damnation that had been opened for the Dark Dragon and the Fallen who followed him. And they helped nurture and strengthen the hatred raging inside these youthful souls before unleashing them upon the world above to seek their vengeance against God.”

  “Just like the Furies in Greek mythology,” muttered Jacob before turning back to Johiel. “You said they hunt other Nephilim. Why would they seek out and harm their own kind?”

  “The reason lies in your question,” answered Johiel. “You are not their kind. You were given a choice they never were: life. And they hate you for it. They want you to succumb to the Darkness as they have, and if you choose not to, then death is the only alternative.”

  “And to ensure the one long promised to come and pave the way to the Darkness’ ultimate defeat never comes to be.” Johiel and Jacob turned their heads in unison at the sound of Gotham’s voice, and they saw the angel had emerged from the darkened corner of the church where he had sought his temporary refuge. And as he came toward them, they could see his face was once again filled with the beaming strength and untethered resolve momentarily lost to him.

  “If you’re going to tell him, you may as well tell everything,” he grumbled as he brushed past Johiel.

  ~~~

  They watched him cross to the far side of the church and stand before a large swath of wall deeply scarred by what appeared to have been a long-ago fire that left it encrusted in a shroud of pitch and blackness.

  “You heard Johiel speak of three great Falls. Well, this wall once told of yet another—the beginnings of a final battle to be waged between the Light and the Darkness which would lead to the eventual banishment of the Dark Dragon from this world, just as he had fallen from Heaven,” explained Gotham as Jacob and Johiel flanked him on each side. His eyes were transfixed on the wall in front of him as if remembering the images desecrated by the blackness but still remained seared in his memory.

  “What happened to it?” asked Jacob. “It looks like someone took a blowtorch to it.”

  “The Furies,” answered Johiel. “The one and only time they dared to set foot on Akdamar, when the Infectors used their dark influences over man to incite the Medzegherm against the Armenian people here.”

  “Medzegherm—” repeated Jacob, before his tongue found the English translation of the word. “The Great Slaughter.”

  “Genocide,” Gotham voiced more bluntly.

  “While the Ottoman military unleashed its horror, the Infectors brought their own here to Akdamar, with a band of Furies in tow, and with great relish they took to slaughtering the monks,” Johiel began, before a wave of emotion seemed to overcome him. First sorrow, and then an even greater anger. “I wish I could say I protected them. The first screams of the Medzegherm drew me to the mainland to witness the nightmare that had suddenly reared up, just as it was intended, and it was then I heard the cries being carried across the water from Akdamar in a terrifying breath of wind. When I returned, not one had been spared. Their blood fed the earth in pools of it, and the church was left scorched and smoldering.”

  “What is lost in the telling of this savage event, at least to the civilian world,” Gotham broke in when Johiel refused to continue on, “was there were also fourteen Nephilim here at this church waiting to make the journey through the Gate when the Furies attacked. They, too, were cut down.”

  Jacob stared blankly at the wall in front of him, imagining the unimaginable while trying to block it from his consciousness at the same time. How he came to notice it was quite by accident, but his eyes came to spy hidden in a nook and veiled almost completely by the shadows of the night a fragment of an image left unmarred by the vandals’ hands. He moved in for a closer look and saw what appeared to be a rendering of an angel and a man facing one another. The blackness scarring the wall had consumed the bottom portion of their bodies, but stopped mysteriously at their waists. In between the two images stood another figure holding in one hand a sword and in the other an olive branch. The surface of wall where his face once graced had been chipped away, and from behind the left side of his shoulder was seen a large wing, like that of a bird.

  “Was this supposed to be part of the painting?” asked Jacob.

  “Somehow, it was the only piece to survive, and ironically the most important,” answered Gotham before adding with a rather bitter spit of breath, “At least, at one time.”

  “What’s so important about it?”

  “It speaks to an Apocrypha.”

  “Apocrypha,” mumbled Jacob with intrigue and yet the strange, unknown word he had never before heard failed to translate its meaning like other foreign languages or animal calls that met his ear.

  “Apocrypha are writings absent from the known canon of Scripture. They contain secret teachings, and in some cases, hidden prophesies,” explained Johiel. “One such prophesy foretells the last final Fall. It speaks of a Nephilim who will come from the shadow of a mighty angel’s wing and rise up like a newborn lamb attempting its first steps. Yet beneath his foot will come the first step in a march of war against the Dragon. He would be known as the Light Bearer, and in the world’s darkest moment he will bring angel and man together to forge an impregnable army t
hat eventually will vanquish the Darkness.”

  Jacob listened as Johiel spoke while trying to picture the images showing man and angel fighting side by side on some unimaginable battlefield once contained in the great mural now obliterated within the blackened wall.

  “Do you believe it…the prophesy?” Jacob asked both angels.

  “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” grumbled Gotham under his breath with an unmistakable dismissiveness. Jacob couldn’t help but notice a cloak of gloom which seemed to have wrapped itself around the angel. Yet it was hard to tell from his fire-lit profile if it was anger or sadness that weighed so visibly upon him as he continued to stare at the chipped-away face of the one- winged figure. And before Jacob could ask what he meant, Gotham turned his back to the wall and removed himself once more to a far corner of the church.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Jacob asked Johiel.

  “Oh…nothing that need concern you,” answered the angel. “These hollowed grounds have a way of stirring memories long past, both good and bad.”

  Jacob noticed Johiel’s expression, as well, held a weight of despair similar to Gotham’s, and he found himself wondering if the words of the so-called Apocrypha were not the good news it sounded to be—at least to the two angels. And maybe to all angels in general. Perhaps, Jacob thought, they didn’t care for the idea of a Nephilim—or anyone for that matter—bringing angels and mortals together, even to bind their strengths against the Darkness.

  “Light Bearer,” echoed Jacob as he returned his gaze once again to the small revelation he somehow found so intriguing the more he pondered it. “I don’t mean to sound flippant, but what you told me sounds pretty fantastic.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Johiel softly. “But the Darkness believes it to be true, which is why the Furies and Infectors hunt Nephilim such as yourself with such a fiery and savage hunger. And to ensure you do not make it past the Gate into Eden. Only then can they be certain the future is never illuminated by the promise of a Light Bearer.”

  Jacob glanced back over his shoulder and his attention gravitated to the section of wall where the weeping women convened and he was suddenly met with an uncomfortable feeling.

  “Like Herod having all the newborn males slaughtered,” he said quietly.

  “Precisely, child,” noted Johiel with a solemn smile. “Just like Herod.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  God's Thumb Print

  J

  acob found his mother in her bedroom, sitting by the window, clothed in her favorite robe, feeding her dove from the palm of her hand like some fairytale princess. She looked to be healthy and joyous. The stench of disease no longer surrounded her. Instead, a pleasant bouquet of lavender and gardenia filled the air.

  “My angel,” she said softly, looking to her son with a smile shaped by genuine happiness, and not forced to disguise the pain and sadness Jacob had come to recognize. She stretched her hand out toward Jacob and he moved to take hold of it when a darkness suddenly descended upon the room, churning wildly like a tornado of smoky ash. It swirled about Jacob, keeping him from moving, and more importantly reaching out for his mother. A deep, demonic roar came from deep within it encircling Jacob, and it ignited a chill deep inside of him.

  “The water!” his mother cried out suddenly to him over the thunderous roar that seemed to grow angrier. “You must get to the water!”

  Jacob wailed for his mother as he became overcome by a deep-seated anguish of losing her again. And then she was gone, suddenly and immediate, wholly consumed and snuffed out of existence by the overpowering swirling blackness. He opened his mouth to set loose a scream when he suddenly was yanked free of the chaos with a jolt.

  ~~~

  He found himself sitting on the hard, stone floor, slumped against a wall in a corner of the church. His hand still clutched a pen which remained pressed against a page of his journal where he had desperately worked to scribble down everything he had seen and heard while on Akdamar as it remained fresh in his mind before the sound of the waters of the Van Gölü lapping against the island’s shores lulled him to sleep. Not that he could possibly forget anything he had so far witnessed.

  As he tucked the journal away in his bag, Jacob looked about the church for Johiel and Gotham, but there was no sign of either, and he wondered, as he often found himself, what these winged beings did during these long stretches when the world fell dark and they found themselves with nothing but the silence to keep them company.

  Climbing to his feet, Jacob crossed the dimly lit cathedral, glancing briefly at the towering walls while trying to step gently to keep his footsteps against the stone floor from puncturing the blanket of quiet that cloaked the polygon- shaped room in an eerily soothing fashion. Or to wake the frescoes on the walls that seemed to be asleep, no longer moving or showing signs that they were aware of his presence as they had before. He made his way through the darkened hall of the zhamatun guided by the whistling of wind moving along the corridor and the scampering feet of an unseen rodent, or some other island creature, scurrying quickly upon the stone slabs as he approached.

  Stepping outside into the crisp chill of the night, Jacob was met by a cool, brisk breeze, and a full moon hanging low in the black sky like a giant precious pearl. All around him was bathed in its ethereal glow making the surroundings of the islands appear almost dreamlike. Otherworldly. And for a moment he wondered if in fact he was dreaming. It was only by the absence of the smoky blackness that had been stalking him each time he closed his eyes and drawing a cold sweat from his body that he knew he was, in fact, wide awake.

  Something brushed up against his lower leg that made him jump slightly. He looked down and smiled with surprise—and relief—to find a harmless white cat slinking leisurely in a figure eight fashion between his feet.

  “And who might you be?” asked Jacob.

  He knelt down and stroked his fingers through the feline’s thick coat of hair. It was soft, unusually soft, reminding him of a rabbit’s foot key chain he once carried around in his pocket as a child. The cat meowed with appreciation and arched its back sharply to welcome the friendly caress. Jacob found it to be the most unusual looking cat he’d ever seen. For starters, its eyes were large and of different colors—one an icy turquoise blue, the other a deep golden amber, much like his own opposing-colored eyes. Its feet were quite large and wide, as though it had not quite yet grown completely into them. Yet it stood a bit bigger than most cats he’d seen. Equally as odd was its puffy red ring-patterned bottlebrush tail which looked to be more suited for a fox than a cat.

  “Looks like you got yourself into a bit of a scrap,” Jacob commented while noticing the purring cat was missing its left ear as he scratched it along the top of its head.

  Straightening back up, Jacob strolled into the night toward the water. The cat followed close at his heels. When he reached the neck of the island where the stone walkway led down to the dock, he took a seat on one of the steps, and the cat was quickly back between his feet pacing back and forth while brushing his body up against Jacob’s legs until the scratching fingers once again dug themselves into the snow-white fur. The purring resumed.

  “You’ve met Van Gogh, I see.”

  The unexpected voice startled Jacob, who swung his head around to find Johiel standing behind him, youthful and ageless in the moonlight.

  “Van Gogh…I get it…because of the ear,” noted Jacob amusingly. “So I take it he belongs to you?”

  “Belong? One can never truly hold ownership over any earthly creature,” the angel replied. “No, he appeared on the island a few years ago and has been a faithful companion to me ever since.”

  Johiel took a seat on the narrow slab next to the boy. The cat meowed in recognition of the angel’s presence and moved from pacing back and forth between Jacob’s feet to take its loyal position at Johiel’s. The angel smiled and reached down to scoop the feline up in his hands.

  “The Turkish Van, or Van Kedisi as they ar
e called in these parts, is a very rare, very ancient breed. They are also considered to be very lucky,” said Johiel.

  “I dunno about that. I’m not sure I would consider missing an ear all that lucky,” said Jacob jokingly.

  “There’s an old Persian proverb: ‘The lion sneezed, and the cat appeared,’ ” said Johiel. “According to legend, during the time of the Great Flood when Noah was set adrift, he became aware of several rats on board that were trying to gnaw a hole through the bottom of the ark. Unable to stop them and fearing the demise of his family not to mention all the animals on board should these devilish rodents succeed in their undertaking and send the ark into the waters that had swallowed the earth, Noah pleaded for God’s help. God in turn sent him to the lion, and from the lion’s nose came a pair of cats who went and dealt with the destructive rats and, thus, keeping the ark afloat until it came to rest on Mount Arafat.”

  Jacob followed the direction of Johiel’s gaze northward across the water to the far end of the lake where, unbeknownst him, the biblical snow-capped mountain of which the angel spoke resided unseen in the dark beyond the shore at the opposite end of the lake.