by August Arrea
“Gothamel…” The shock in Anahel’s voice mirrored the same reflected in his eyes as they watched the familiar figure approach.
“Why am I not surprised,” Eksel’s voice once more sounded. “And how was it you managed to sneak your way past Johiel and the Powers to get through the Gate?”
The snide accusation hurled forth made Jacob’s back suddenly raise up defensively. Before he knew he had even spoken, Jacob quickly blurted out, “We didn’t sneak through!”
The Watcher Eksel turned his menacing glare onto Jacob. “If that is the truth, then we are in need of a new Gatekeeper,” he replied in a voice simmering with disdain.
“I will not ask again for you, Eksel, to hold your tongue,” barked Anahel rebukingly before turning to Gotham who had taken a protective stance next to Jacob. “It is a rare moment that leaves me speechless. But here it is.”
“My apologies for this unannounced intrusion,” said Gotham in a manner somewhat coolly guarded. “I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome otherwise.
“And, yes, Johiel granted us passage through the Gate, but not without considerable cajoling from myself,” he added, shooting a steely look in Eksel’s direction and that of the other Guides.
“As he should,” said Anahel, placing a clasping hand on both Gotham’s shoulders. “I’m not sure I ever expected that you would again step foot inside Eden’s borders. But I am happy to see your footprints have once again marked its soil.”
Anahel then wrapped his arms around Gotham in a tight embrace. Yet warm and inviting a gesture as it was, Gotham met it with a noticeable stiffness.
“It is only because of the boy that I am here,” Gotham was quick to make clear and the hug embracing him suddenly grew slack.
Anahel took a step back and his gaze shifted once more to Jacob, who had enjoyed being forgotten in that brief moment, and then once more to Gotham. A silence fell over the Hall as Anahel and Gotham stared intently into one another’s faces and engaged in a brief whispered exchange though the lips of neither angel moved, nor did their voices meet the ears of anyone gathered around them.
“I see,” Anahel said finally. “Then we should move elsewhere to discuss the matter as expeditiously as possible.”
Zuriel rose to his feet. “I shall call for the White Circle to convene at once,” he announced.
“No, no, that won’t be necessary. For now, at least,” said Anahel with a wave of his hand. “I prefer first to discuss the matter in private—in my quarters. If that meets with your approval.”
“Perfectly,” answered Gotham, and as they prepared to leave with Damiel and Jacob in tow, the other Guides hurried to their feet and quickly followed. They were halfway to the Hall doors when Anahel suddenly paused abruptly and turned to the Nephilim he had momentarily forgotten still dutifully in their seats.
“Forgive me for this unseen interruption,” he said to them. “Please, take advantage of the rest of this wonderful evening to eat and get to know one another better. But be mindful your training begins first thing in the morrow and plenty of rest is advantageous to your success. After all, before you realize it, Illumination will be upon us and you will each want to make your fathers proud.
“As always,” he then remarked, “Eden is your home and you are free to treat it as such. But, as with any home, there are rules to be followed which were explained to you upon your arrival, the most important of which I would hasten to argue bears a need to be repeated; so listen carefully to my voice. You are free to roam and explore Eden’s lands wherever you wish. There are, however, three exceptions most vital in being met with your obedience. The first being, no mortal is allowed to tread past the crimson blossoms of the Immortalis flower growing near the Tree at Life, and while you might be Nephilim, never forget civilian blood continues to pass through your veins. To commit such a trespass would call upon the Cherub and his sword of fire. I assure you it is a sight to which you will regret bearing witness. There are, also, two places which you are strictly forbidden to trespass: the Barrens, which lie in the Northern Lands opposite Broken Earth just beyond the falls which feeds the River; and the Silent Forest, whose unmistakable presence resides in the eastern-most pocket of the Garden. To break any of these rules would be met with the harshest of repercussions.”
Anahel’s eyes slowly made their way to each of the Nephilim sitting at the table. “It would be for the well-being of your life, not to mention your soul, that you be mindful of my words. Darkness has a tendency of lurking where you least expect to find it, and even Eden itself is not immune to its slithering presence, as history can attest.”
With that he turned on his heel and led the way through the doorway of the great Hall.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Imprisonment of Samael
A
nahel’s small, but spacious-enough room opened itself to a large terrace overseeing most of the Garden. There Gotham stood staring out at the breath- stealing view of the falls in the distance that had become ribbons of liquid silver shimmering brightly in the moonlit night. Above him, a galaxy of stars sparkled against a sky of velvety blackness where the moon loomed big and full. A soothing night breeze blew across the terrace rustling to life the leaves of the trees with its passing, and Gotham closed his eyes as its gentle fingers grazed his skin.
“I’d almost forgotten how beautiful it is here,” he said.
“I can hear by the night sounds echoing around us it, too, is pleased with your return,” Anahel’s voice came from behind.
Gotham turned to find the leader of Eden seated in a nearby chair. Elsewhere, receded in the faint warm glow of light, were Damiel and the other Guides standing, sitting and leaning in various spots around the room, anxiously awaiting to move past pleasantries and tackle the task at hand.
“Might I ask what you’ve been doing in these years since we’ve last seen you?” inquired Anahel.
Gotham drew pensive for a moment, visibly laboring to find the right word to the question before stating simply, “Drifting.”
“Drifting?” repeated Anahel, raising his brow with intrigue. “Sounds more like something civilians do, not angels.”
“You’d be right. Let’s not forget you’re speaking with a Fallen, after all,” the corrective murmur of Eksel’s voice made itself heard.
“When one is sent to exist amongst civilians, it’s hard not to become one,” said Gotham, ignoring the Watcher’s slight.
“You did not need to go live beyond the Gate,” said Anahel. “You know you’ve always had a home here in Eden.”
“Home,” muttered Gotham with a sigh as though such a suggestion was ridiculous, if not outright offensive. “Kind as it is, you know what you offer is an impossibility for me. Though I thank you for the gesture.”
A shadow of sorrow darkened Anahel’s face and sent his gaze to rest heavily upon the floor.
“There is something else I wish to thank you for that I regrettably failed to take the time to do,” said Gotham. “And that is I am deeply grateful to you for allowing me to bring my son David here. Understandably, you were met with heated resistance, yet you defied a sacred rule forbidding the offspring of Fallen into Eden at the risk of your own detriment on behalf of his honor and his soul. And because of that, I will always be in your debt.”
Anahel rose from his seat and approached Gotham. “Yours is a debt that has been paid many times over as far as I’m concerned,” he said, placing his hand firmly on the angel’s shoulder.
Gotham, feeling the excruciating welling of emotion rarely felt amongst angels, quickly turned away while spurning it with all his might.
“Have you been yet to the Tree?” asked Anahel.
Gotham nodded, knowing full well to which tree the angel was referring.
“Then you’ve witnessed its remarkable, and quite unexpected, transformation,” said Anahel. “It’s quite inspiriting to see it returned to its former glory. Since the fall of man the Tree of Life came to exist as the Tree of Death, standing
withered and decimated after being struck dead by the hand of God. Then, miraculously, it was roused by the first buds of life to grace its branches soon after the body of your son was laid to rest at its rooted feet.”
“I still say it was wrong,” Eksel interrupted, breaking the silence from where he stood listening with a deepening aggrieved scowl.
“Please, Eksel, now’s not the time,” said Damiel, shooting the brooding angel a glare to hold his tongue.
“You’re right, Damiel, the time’s long past,” sniped Eksel as his eyes attempted to burn their way through Anahel. “You had no right to defile what has always been sacred ground.”
“Yes, Eksel, you have more than made clear your position on the matter,” snapped Anahel.
“If you please—and I say this with no due disrespect to Gothamel or the decision you, Anahel, made in regards to the matter—but in an effort to blunt Eksel as the lone bad guy amongst us, I must ultimately agree with him,” the young-faced Thaniel chimed in. “Much as I liked David personally—and you know, Gothamel, how true a statement that is coming from me—the fact remains the Tree of Life was desecrated by mortals. And as such mortals were forever forbidden from treading upon the earth where its roots dwell. To then defy this edict by allowing the final resting place of a mortal—Nephilim or not—to reside at the foot of the Tree is, for lack of better word, impious.”
“I am surprised to find that out of all of us, Thaniel, your memory seems most fleeting,” said Damiel. “Or have you forgotten completely the calling which earned the boy his resting place?”
“Calling? Ha! I believe it is your memory, Damiel, which has failed you,” spat Eksel vehemently. “The only calling which visited itself upon that boy was that of traitor seduced by the whims of Darkness.”
The Watcher’s words drew Gotham’s seething stare from beneath his narrowing brow, and his temples could be seen pulsating with the clenching of his jaw which he tightened to retain his calm.
“When have you ever known life where there was none to suddenly come blooming and lend the comfort of shade to the bones of one so traitorous?” retorted Damiel.
Before further argument could be voiced, Anahel signaled quiet with a raising of his hand. “Enough of this! We are not here to autopsy a decision that was mine, and mine alone, to make.”
“No, we are not,” Zuriel’s voice rose from where he had quietly sat listening. His eyes gleamed from behind a shadow cast upon his face which remained out of reach of the fire light. “There is, however, something I would like to know; what I think we’d all like to know, before we turn our discussion to the real reason we are gathered here.” Zuriel then cast a pointed look in Gotham’s direction. “And that is, what occurred once you left Eden after laying to rest your son?”
“Why do you ask me?” answered Gotham warily. “Surely, Damiel provided you with an accounting, as he was at hand to witness what had taken place.”
“That I did,” answered Damiel with a nod.
“There you have it then. Or do you somehow question his word?”
“It is not his word we question, but after what we’ve all witnessed this evening in the Hall of Light I do believe the incident in question, of which the details were vague and sparse at best, deserves a retelling to all of us present in this room, and that it should come from your lips,” Zuriel said with persistence. “The last any of us saw, you left here with a length of Herrinsu vine and a murderous fire emblazoned in your eyes. All we wish is to know without doubt is what happened.”
“What do you think happened?” hissed Gotham, flashing at the black-haired Guide a fierce gaze now filled with a deep-set anger slowly being stoked to life by the long-ago events he had fought long to forget. Yet it was clear from the faces staring back a more substantive answer was required.
“Please, Gothamel,” Anahel coaxed gently. “I know this causes you much displeasure, but it would help us to hear an actual account in your own words now that we have the chance.”
And with a heavy, burdensome sigh, Gotham turned away and gazed once more out into the nighttime splendor of the Garden.
~~~
“I did not know an angel could feel the pain that weighted itself upon me when I laid David in the shadow of the Tree and cast my eyes upon him for the final time,” said Gotham, when his lips finally moved to speak after a long silence. “Such anguish I thought had been a burden placed specifically on the shoulders of civilians, and civilians alone. But there it was, constantly gnawing away at my insides. And yet it was quickly overwhelmed by a rage never before made known to me. So great was it, I could not even see fully the glory of the Tree begin to awaken from its deathly slumber before my very eyes, nor did I care. I had become engulfed by the riptides of a boiling sea of red.”
“I witnessed the look taken prisoner in your eyes, and it is one I hope never to see again,” remarked Anahel, sullenly. “I knew God himself would not have the power to stop you in your quest for vengeance, when it finally came.”
The corner of Gotham’s mouth turned upward in a grin as he chuckled. His smile, however, was not one of joviality, nor was his chuckle sparked by levity. “No, God, himself, would not stop me, nor do I think he cared to,” he muttered under his breath leaving the other angels in the room to trade curious looks with one another.
“I kept seeing his face,” continued Gotham. “He had laughed at me. Smugly looking down at me from behind a mask of contemptuousness, he actually laughed at me as I knelt on the ground cradling the limp body of my dead boy. I saw him eyeing the sword laying on the ground between him and me, and I could see him quietly debating to himself whether he was the owner of the courage needed to risk making a grab for it. ‘Go for it,’ I coaxed him with a hiss of hatred. ‘I beg of you.’ But even with greed for what he had long coveted blazing in his eyes like a beacon burning through a dense fog, he dared not to. ‘Keep the sword,’ he said to me, hesitant though he was to utter the words. ‘As fate would have it, it has served its purpose.’ And he was gone like the reaper of a bad dream.”
“You’re speaking of Samael?” said Zuriel.
“Samael.” Anahel breathed forth the name with a heavy and troubled-filled sigh. “I have always questioned who was truly the more dangerous, the Dark Dragon or Samael. The Dragon has gone down in legend as the great adversary of God and corrupter of man. And mind my words, that he is, and much more, as each of us have intimately come to witness. But his great sin has always been one of vanity and a refusal to see anything as being greater than himself. Samael on the other hand—I’m certain each of you share agreement with me—has always been a true serpent of darkness. More vile and repugnant than anything in creation. It is inside him true evil lies like a stagnant swamp. But I have interrupted you, Gothamel. Please, go on.”
And Gotham did, though with great reluctance. “I couldn’t escape the sound of his laughter ringing in my ears, or the twisted look of pleasure draped across his face, even when I shut my eyes. It fed inside me a rage I feared would lead me to an inescapable brink from which I would find myself unable to return. It was hard enough trying to come to terms with my own responsibility for David’s death, but I could not let walk the one who gleefully led him like a sacrificial lamb to an altar to be slaughtered. And so I went on the hunt for him, and my hunt took me to the cruelest place on earth: the Infernum Desert.”
It grew hushed for a moment except for the sounds coming from within the moon-lit night and the nearby falls.
“And what was the sword to which Samael referred?” asked Zuriel.
“There is only one sword to which a dweller of the Underneath would be drawn,” answered Damiel.
“Destiny,” said Thaniel, uttering under his breath the name by which the sword in question was known.
“Within its blade is forged a rare and great power, greater than anything known to mortal man and angel alike,” said Anahel. “So much blood has been shed over the centuries in a rabid hunger to possess it. But nothing has craved
ownership of the sword more than the Darkness. It’s an endless path of countless souls laid to waste who have stood between it and its tireless search to lay claim to the most coveted of all weapons forged in the name of death.”
“Which begs the question, if the sword is so coveted by the Darkness, why then would Samael, given the chance to seize it, choose to surrender the opportunity?” asked Zuriel.
“He did not surrender it willingly, I assure you,” answered Gotham. “For I saw him eyeing the weapon laying upon the ground, where it had fallen the moment David was struck down, between himself and where I knelt cradling my boy. Unclaimed and so close within his reach, it was. But he wisely chose instead to take advantage of the anguish that had brought me to my knees and make a quick retreat while he was able rather than risk a futile attempt to lay claim to something so deadly within my reach.”
The weight of the story showed itself when Gotham bowed low his head. “Besides,” he continued, “at that moment he had secured something far more precious than any sword, even one of Destiny’s calibre.”
And though no one uttered it, everyone in the room who heard Gotham’s words knew of what he spoke.
“If I might then ask you, Gothamel, what kept you from smiting Samael?” asked Zuriel. “He had, after all, led your son to slaughter, as you put it, and you had in your possession the one sword with the power to see through the task. No one would have found fault in your actions had you done so.”
“Believe me, Zuriel, there was nothing left residing in my consciousness except that aim,” said Gotham. “But as I was about to leave here to exact my vengeance I happened upon the Herrinsu vine and I realized a far greater punishment resided within its coils than the sting of my blade. So I cut myself a long stretch of it.”
“But the vine, despite how deceptively thin and delicate it appears to the eye, is known to be impervious to being cut or pruned, including by our own swords. Am I not right, Thaniel?” inquired Zuriel.
