The Crossing Point

by August Arrea

  Gotham gave a quiet nod of understanding to the words of caution offered him. Their final parting was quick and without words. Just a brief glance into one another’s eyes and a friendly clasp of one another’s shoulder. The boat rocked uneasily back and forth from the sudden weight when Gotham stepped down into it causing the water to splash loudly against its sides.

  “Wish me luck,” said Jacob when Johiel turned to him to bid his farewell.

  “You have more than luck watching over you,” said Johiel with a smile.

  “I’m glad to have met you.”

  “And I you, young Jacob. But lament not, this is not goodbye.” The angel held out his hand for the boy to take, not only as a handshake, but a guiding support to step down into the boat.

  “Remember what I told you,” said Johiel before releasing his hold. His gaze then shifted to Gotham. “Both of you.”

  “We’ll be okay,” said Jacob with a smile and carefully maneuvered his way to his seat on the plank opposite Gotham.

  Once Johiel untied the thick woven rope tethering the boat to the dock, Gotham dipped the oars into the water and began guiding the boat away from the shore. Shivering, Jacob took hold of the hood of the sweatshirt he wore beneath the coat gifted to him by Gotham and brought it up over his head to help ward off the brisk chill blowing across the water. He then turned and gazed over his shoulder for one last look of the island they were leaving behind. Remaining at the edge of the landing was Johiel, though no longer the strong, youthful presence who saw them off, but instead the wilted and weathered figure who first greeted them upon their arrival.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Powers

  N

  ot a word was spoken between Gotham and Jacob as the small rowboat winded its way around Akdamar Island in a northerly direction. The screeching from a pair of water birds frolicking in the far-off distance was the only noise to penetrate the almost unnatural stillness surrounding them. That and the oars stirring the silvery waters stroke after stroke.

  Jacob hugged his arms tighter against his body in an effort to stave off the growing chill. His thoughts remained not on the cold but on the island they had left behind, and he found himself replaying Johiel’s words over and over again in his head as he was told of the Furies and how they came to be. And he found himself imagining Gotham with his sword drawn and bloodied standing over the small Nephilim boys, and he was moved with a strong desire to say something to the angel. What, he did not know. Something, though, anything to break the weighted silence they now found accompanying them.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally muttered softly.

  “For what have you to be sorry?” asked Gotham.

  “You know, about the story Johiel told of the Furies,” answered Jacob. “I’m sorry you had to do such a horrible thing.”

  “That’s just it, isn’t it? I had a choice not to do it.”

  “How can you say that?” asked Jacob. “You were ordered to do it. If you hadn’t, you would have become Fallen.”

  “And yet I became Fallen anyway,” said Gotham in an answer weighted with the finality of coming to terms with what Jacob struggled to find escape out of a no-win situation.

  They drifted on in silence for a dozen or so more strokes of the oars before Gotham took a turn at stirring conversation.

  “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “For the pain of losing your friend.”

  So the angel had overheard the conversation he had with Johiel, Jacob realized.

  “I wish you would have felt comfortable enough to share your story with me when I asked,” said Gotham. And in that moment Jacob wished he had done so as well.

  “Tell me, though, what made you think you could save him?” Gotham then asked out of the blue.

  Jacob gave a glance over his shoulder to where the angel was sitting with a confused look as though he didn’t understand the question.

  “You told Johiel you kept repeating ‘I can save him, I can save him,’ even screaming it at one point,” Gotham pointed out. “What did you mean by that?”

  Jacob turned away from the angel, a blank look on his face, and simply shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  A strange and uneasy feeling befell Gotham with those three words he knew weren’t spoken with one hundred percent truth, but he did not press any further.

  ~~~

  The cadence of Gotham’s rowing was easy, almost leisurely. Yet the boat traveled swiftly across the water as though it were being guided by a crew of a dozen oarsmen. After a while, a seagull swooped across the water and hovered low over the boat eyeing its occupants. It was soon joined a short while later by another gull. Then another. And soon, what sounded like the squawking of hundreds of gulls could be heard echoing in the distance. Jacob leaned forward on the hard wooden plank upon which he sat and squinted his eyes against the darkness which occupied the waning hours of night. He focused hard in the direction of the noise and caught sight of what appeared to be a dark hump breaching the surface of the water far ahead.

  “I think I see something,” he announced to Gotham.

  “Carpanak Island. We’re almost there,” noted Gotham without even a hint of breathlessness stemming from the great distance he had rowed.

  The silvery darkness of night was beginning to recede and gave way to a soft lavender of the slow-approaching morning emerging from behind the eastern range of mountains when they finally reached the shallow waters surrounding the island and dragged the boat up on the flat rocky shore. It was a small island, much smaller than Akdamar. From what Jacob could see as he scouted the terrain before him in a few quick glances, it was a dry and desolate place. Dead, actually, it seemed at first look. Existing like the remnant of an old fingernail clipping snipped from the mainland and left to float forgotten upon the lake.

  Jacob grabbed his pack from the boat and as he flung it across his shoulder he looked to the sky where the squawking from a large flock of gulls just awakening offered the only sign of life coming from the island and yet offering no clue as to what attracted them to congregate at such an uninviting place. And then he saw it. Just below the circling birds, there stood a large structure of some kind several yards from the water’s edge.

  “What is it?” Jacob asked Gotham.

  “At one time, it was a monastery,” came the reply.

  “They sure love their churches around here, don’t they?” Jacob mumbled to himself before quickly taking after Gotham along a narrow path of beach pocked with clumps of sage which quickly gave way to rocky ground.

  Their steps treaded over the dry, brittle remains of overgrown vegetation covering the interior of the island in a patchwork of colors patterned in hues of gold, copper and gray. As they walked, Jacob’s attention stayed fixed on the mediaeval monastery which, in many ways, reminded him of the one they had left on Akdamar Island. And yet it was completely different. The large rectangular-shaped structure with its yellow cut stone facade and earthen roof covered with more of the same withered, dead plants that sprouted from the ground appeared almost invisible, blending into the surrounding landscape like some giant chameleon.

  Jacob hurried to keep up with Gotham’s ever-quickening pace. He wondered to himself what the sudden rush was, but he did not ask, keeping his focus instead on the obstacle of rock lay strewn across his path. And as he did he soon came to realize the square-shaped rocky berms were not the island itself, but man-made footprints; ruins that served as foundations to numerous other buildings that had long ago vanished. What had they once been? Jacob wondered silently. And who once chose to live in this dead secluded spot surrounded by a dead lake? Had Gotham been in closer reach, Jacob would have posed the questions to him, but the angel had moved far ahead of him forcing Jacob to walk even faster in an attempt to catch up.

  “Can we look inside?” asked Jacob when he managed to find himself once again at the angel’s side and nearing the monastery.

  “Trust me, there’s nothing of interest in there,” Gotham replie
d curtly.

  And at first glance Jacob was inclined to agree. For where time had been unkind to the church on Akdamar, it seemed to have taken a pointed vengeance against this particular monastery. Sections of the walls, plain and void of any biblical carvings or storytelling that had so intrigued the boy at Akdamar, were in various stages of crumbling, as though gnawed upon by some stone-loving rats. The roof of the monastery dome—or what was left of it—was not only much smaller and less grand in scale than that of the church on Akdamar, but it was riddled with gaping holes from where more dead plants sprouted, providing nesting for many of the gulls that appeared to have settled in. Yet there was something about it. Somewhere within such a dead place there was an unmistakable beat of life which somehow seemed to tug at Jacob as they passed in the shadow of the decrepit shell of stone. It pulled at him. Fought to draw him closer.

  Then suddenly, from out of the corner of his eye, Jacob caught a glimpse of movement coming from one of the open windows cut into the wall of the monastery. He stopped walking and stared into the hollow blackness framed within the arched opening and was stricken to spy a figure on the other side staring down at him. The dark deep blue from the blanketing shroud of the early morning revealed only the sinewy build of a shirtless torso. The face, however, was hidden except for the stark gleaming of two golden orbs peering out from the darkness, like light shining through the openings of two keyholes, and Jacob’s heart instantly quickened. Then, from an adjacent window, Jacob caught the silhouette of a second naked torso. And still a third from another.

  “There’s someone here,” whispered Jacob in a voice much too hushed to have reached Gotham’s ears. He then suddenly remembered the alley in Tatvan and a pronounced coldness descended upon him. The feel of a phantom claw pressed threateningly against his back made his skin crawl and his muscles tightened, and he was left with only one thought.

  Infectors!

  Or perhaps Furies. Then again, maybe some other type of demon he had yet to learn about. One thing was certain, Jacob had no interest in another introduction. Before panic could set in, something very odd happened. From out of nowhere a white cat suddenly leapt into view from inside the monastery onto the ledge of the window framing the first ominous figure and Jacob recognized instantly from its solitary ear and fox-like tail that it was Van Gogh. The cat, who Jacob had last seen swimming out across the lake, paced back and forth along the ledge before finally taking a seat, and the hand of the figure standing in the window behind reached out and began stroking the feline.

  Slowly, Jacob backed away from the monastery. His eyes darted back and forth among the numerous windows looking for other shadowy figure, but all he could see were the three, all marked by a set of glowing eyes piercing through the darkness like those of jungle cats laying in wait in tall grass. They followed Jacob in unison as he finally took off in a sprint in Gotham’s direction.

  “There’s someone inside. Watching from the windows,” he gasped breathlessly, nipping once more at the angel’s heels.

  “Pay them no mind and just keep walking,” answered Gotham calmly without so much as a glance toward the monastery.

  “I thought at first they might be Infectors?”

  “They’re not Infectors.”

  “Then maybe they’re the Furies Johiel warned us about.”

  “They’re not Furies.”

  “Then who?” pressed Jacob while stepping clumsily along the rocky, uneven ground.

  “They’re Powers.”

  Powers?

  “What’s that…another sort of demon?” asked Jacob.

  “Powers are a hierarchy of angels,” explained Gotham with a growing irritability in his voice. “They’re protectors. And right now we’re treading upon what they protect.”

  “Now it makes sense,” said Jacob with a huff of relief. “That explains Van Gogh. He swam here to deliver Johiel’s message to these…Powers.”

  “Had he not, we would not be strolling across this island now. In one piece, at least.”

  “Aren’t you exaggerating just a tad?” asked Jacob with a light chuckle.

  “You find it hard to believe, I take,” said Gotham without the faintest hint of amusement.

  “Just a little. I mean, we’re talking about angels after all. Who better to know than you?”

  Jacob barely finished speaking when his foot hit a ragged rock protruding from the ground sending him stumbling forward. Gotham quickly grabbed hold of his arm and steadied him from seeing through what would have been painful face plant.

  “You’re right, I am an angel. Which means I know of what I speak,” Gotham growled sternly while keeping his grip tightly on Jacob. There was an icy steeliness in the intense burning of his eyes which brought an immediate seriousness to Jacob’s face. “You still quite don’t understand, do you? ‘Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,” saith the Lord.’ Are you familiar with the scripture?”

  It took every ounce of strength Jacob had just to nod his head.

  “Who do you think is tasked with carrying out the repayment of such vengeance? It is us, the angels, who serve as the messengers, and you’d be wise to take to heart there exists amongst us many who relish in cleaving both the sin and the sinner,” spoke Gotham through gritted teeth. “The images dressed in halos and harps you choose to entertain in your mind do not exist. Angels, yes, but the Powers are unmerciful slayers when called upon and they are as cold as the vengeance they serve. And heed my words, they are as dangerous as that which hunts you, if not more so.”

  When he had finished, the brightness in Gotham’s eyes slowly receded and a somewhat sympathetic look softened his brow as he searched for understanding in the boy’s unblinking eyes. He then looked to the sky, not directly upward, but to the east.

  “We must hurry,” he said. “It will be light soon, and the Van Gölü will soon awake with ferries carrying travelers.”

  He released his hold on Jacob with a reassuring, almost apologetic pat and continued on leaving the boy to quietly contemplate following him further. Jacob glanced back toward the monastery, and had it not been in the path of any possible exit he may have turned and retraced his steps in a quick retreat. Instead he chose to follow Gotham. After all, at this point, where else was there to go?

  They circled around the monastery and were met by a mass of rock which rose steeply in two terraced shapes from the rest of the island’s flat surface. Gotham swiftly scaled the gray, jagged monolith with the graceful ease of a mountain goat, leaving Jacob struggling to keep up. When he finally reached the top, the teen collapsed in a breathless, sweaty heap, his hands bleeding here and there with the nicks and scrapes he suffered from the rock’s sharp edges. Once he caught his breath he rose to his feet and circled around surveying the expanse of blue water surrounding them.

  “So now what?” he asked the angel, sounding at a loss.

  “We go through the Gate,” answered Gotham, shrugging off his heavy overcoat and proceeding to unbutton his shirt.

  Again Jacob scoured the surroundings, focusing first on the dragon-shaped claw of the mainland stretching out toward the island. Nowhere, for as far as the eye could see, was there any sign of a gate, much less a garden of paradise, fabled or otherwise. The confused look on Jacob’s sweat-shined face grew even more pronounced when a sudden faint whispering of voices came up from behind him like gasps from within the gentle breeze. He slowly swung his head around and looked over his shoulder with disbelief across the main body of the lake that seemed to stretch without end from which the familiar chatter rose and sailed its way across the dark waters. And suddenly he knew.

  “Right over there, in the center of the lake,” came Gotham’s voice from behind. “Sealed off from the world long ago by the remnants of the mighty flood that swallowed this earth.”

  Jacob turned his baffled gaze from the sea of water to the angel. “You mean…?”

  Gotham s
tripped off his shirt, picked up his coat that lay at his feet upon the rock and tossed his belongings to the boy.

  “And now you must listen very carefully to what I am about to say,” he said stepping toward Jacob once the boy had packed the clothing away in his pack. “We now come to the most dangerous part of our journey. I will need you to hold tight to me. And when I tell you to do so, you will need to fill your lungs with the deepest breath you’ve ever been forced to hold.”

  Jacob listened carefully to the instructions given him, all the while feeling his heart pounding harder inside his chest. Whether from fear or anticipation of the unknown he had no real inkling.

  “And whatever you do,” Gotham enunciated with a dire urgency. “Do not! Let! Go!”

  The words came in three, separate, direct commands that reverberated in a continuous echo in Jacob’s head. He turned and looked back over his shoulder again at the water, vast and seemingly endless. It may have been a lake, but the reality was it appeared more like an ocean to the eyes. And then he heard a loud fluttering behind him, and Jacob’s eyes caught sight of a majestic image captured in the faint shadow cast by the fast-approaching dawn down upon the rocky ground at his feet. When he swung back around his mouth fell slack at the awesome sight of Gotham standing before him, his mighty gray wings unfurled in all their paramount grandeur and power. It was a vision Jacob had only been privy to witnessing one other time in his life and yet it met him as though it was the first, and in that instant any fear or trepidation he felt instantly vanished and instead became replaced with an incited eagerness to spring off the rocky landing they were standing upon.

  “So then, are you ready?” asked Gotham, the corners of his mouth rising before the answer met his ears.