by August Arrea
“It’s almost like those news scroll thingys you see crawling along the bottom of the TV screen on cable news channels. What are they called?” asked Ethan as he strenuously pondered his own question.
“I think they’re called those news scroll thingys you see crawling along the bottom of the TV screen on cable news channels,” answered Leos dryly before giving Ethan’s ear a teasing, yet stinging flick with his finger.
All four books, in fact, were furiously recording in the same fashion what appeared to be random incidents from all across the world—not Eden’s world, but their own mortal world. And yet there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason as to why the various events were being noted. Some detailed horrible, heart-wrenching crimes like one such entry revealing a school shooting where nearly two dozen high school students were mowed down in a hail of bullets by one of their classmates. Several entries noted the inhumane retaliation by hostile governments against its own people in countries caught up in the uncompromising grips of insurgency and war. Other writings revealed accidents and disasters, both natural and man-made, as well as unspeakable brutality against creatures of the earth such as elephants slaughtered by the herds just to relieve them of their ivory tusks, and frightened dogs being abused in the most cruelest of ways by those who betrayed the strongest bond of loyalty to exist between man and animal.
Not everything being scribed onto the pages of the books, however, was dark and despairing to read. There were also numerous, uplifting inscriptions about selfless acts of generosity and bravery. Such as the fifteen-year-old who braved a sheet of thin ice to save a boy who had fallen through from drowning. Or the man who gave up his entire savings to an elderly woman who had lost everything she owned in a fire. Yet for every uplifting entry there seemed to be three or more that were anything but. Jacob realized this as his eyes followed the latest words suddenly becoming visible on the page which told of Muslim residents in a town called Al Nazla marking Christian homes and shops with red graffiti in a concerted effort to help aid an Islamic terrorist group in their jihadi mission in slaughtering all non-Muslims.
“Al Nazla. That’s near where my family lives.”
Jacob glanced over his left shoulder in the direction of the soft-spoken utterance and saw it came from a boy named Karim standing beside him. The worry in his voice matched that reflected in his almond eyes which scanned the words several more times before looking urgently to Thaniel for answers.
“They are known as Witnesses,” explained Thaniel from where he remained standing outside the perimeter of the platform. “Each book as you can see by the writings is focused on one of the four corners of the world. Their task, from which there is no rest, is simply to make a record of those incidents as they occur, both the good and the bad, that end up shaping the history of man.”
“Mostly bad from what I’ve read so far,” whispered Kairo into Ethan’s ear which did not escape Thaniel’s own keen hearing.
“Man, sadly, has often made it quite difficult in determining whether he is hero or villain in his own story,” he said. “I can attest to many a time I’ve stood here gripped by the unpleasantries of anguish with tears spilling down my face—both from anger as well as sorrow—for the things I’ve read.”
The angel grew quiet for a moment while staring reflectively at one of the books in a way that reminded Jacob of how his grandmother sometimes became in the rare times she spoke about the war.
“That as it may be,” said Thaniel, suddenly snapping out of his pensive pause, “it is as complete a testimonial of mankind’s existence as there ever will be.”
“Then what we read on these pages is true?” asked Karim with a noted anxiousness.
“You need not worry, Karim,” answered Thaniel in a tone most soothing. “Your father is a fierce protector. He will not let any harm come to your mother.”
Jacob heard Karim exhale a sigh of relief and felt his body relax from the tense grip that had momentarily taken hold of him.
“What happens when the books run out of pages to write on?” came another question.
“So far the Witnesses have recorded thousands of years of history,” answered Thaniel. “But as you all know, every book has an ending. The last page—when it comes—will mark the final day of mankind, or as it is better known: Judgment Day. The books will close and man’s testimony will have been told in full.”
It wasn’t exactly an uplifting explanation, and almost immediately upon hearing it there was a collective shift in the huddled boys’ gazes to spy how many pages still remained empty. Much to their relief, each of the four books looked to be only at the halfway mark, yet at the same time it proved somewhat bothersome—unsettling, even—to know that the inevitable final pages lurked between the bound covers.
“Come now, you will have plenty of time to revisit these books and peruse their pages if you so wish at a later time,” said Thaniel after he had allowed the boys some time to mingle amongst the books and learn the happenings beyond Eden’s reach. “Your seats and the day’s lesson, for which we are already late, await you.”
~~~
Curious to see what other secrets might reside inside the Library, the boys filed their way off the platform with a touch more eagerness in their step and followed Thaniel to a nearby swath of six long tables arranged in two rows of three. After the Nephilim had found their seats, the Library once again fell silent from the scuffling of feet and sliding of chairs.
“Now then,” began Thaniel with a clearing of his throat while leisurely pacing his way around the tables. “Damiel would tell you the most crucial thing you will learn here in Eden is the art of combat and the skill with which you wield a sword. Zuriel would argue it is the proficiency in which you come to hone the Grace with which you have been gifted. With all respect to my brothers, they are wrong.
“Knowledge—” his voice sent the word upward to echo in the vast recesses of the Library before falling back to a softer register, “knowledge is where victory against all things dark and unseemly is bred. Undoubtedly, there will come a time when each of you will find yourselves forced to face down unimaginable dark forces. Trust when I tell you, all your fighting strengths and swords and Graces alone will be as powerful against these forces as grains of sand caught up in the torrents of a churning ocean tide. That is unless you come armed with the one weapon only the educated mind has the ability to brandish. No matter the passion with which you might be driven, you cannot expect to go up against an enemy this teethed with venom and wrath and expect to win without knowing not only everything about that which you are fighting against, but also what it is you are fighting for. It is the shrewd who exercise a good measure of prudence in ensuring one’s head is as equally filled as one’s heart, if not more. For it is its mastery of cunningness which makes the Darkness so deadly, and why man has for so long found himself on the losing end of the war being waged for his soul.”
Thaniel didn’t need to glance down at the Nephilim he strolled amongst to know their eyes were following him with rapt attentiveness as they listened.
“So I ask you,” he continued, “if indeed the first residents of Eden were denied access into the vault of knowledge in order to protect them from sin, why then do you suppose I, an angel, stand here touting knowledge in a room filled with knowledge as far as the eye can see, as Mr. Parrish so shrewdly pointed out earlier?”
The sound of his name made Jacob sit up straighter in his seat and for some reason he felt a sudden rush of heat flood his face.
“For simply the same reason: protection,” said Thaniel, supplying the answer to his own question. “Just as knowledge leads to the swamp lands where sin resides, so too can it offer protection in the same way a sturdy shield or breastplate deflects the sharpened point of a spear or trident aimed at the flesh. Here, you will hammer out your own armor with these books to guide you by learning everything there is to know, within permitted limits, about the history of the world, not as you and the rest of mankind have come to
know it, but as it really is.”
All eyes suddenly turned to the immense book-filled walls surrounding the boys, and immediately Ethan raised his hand.
“There’s no numbers on any of these books,” he noted when Thaniel glanced over and nodded to the boy to speak.
“Should there be?” Thaniel, looking somewhat confused, replied.
“Well, so, how does anyone know what books are where without a card catalog?” the puzzled boy inquired.
“What do you think this is, brainiac, the local public library?” Leos jumped in before Thaniel could answer. “Next thing you’ll be asking is where the librarian is.”
He then glanced around along with the others in the advent he might have overlooked some winged, pinched-looking figure sitting nearby with a finger poised to the lips ready to hush them; but as expected there was none to be seen.
“Alright then, brainiac,” Ethan shot back sarcastically, “maybe you can explain how anyone’s supposed to find whatever book they’re looking for in here without it taking at least fifty years to do so.”
Leos opened his mouth to shoot back a response but it was Thaniel’s voice which came forth.
“Perhaps, I could answer that question, if I may.” Gazes shifted in unison to the angel. “Would you believe me if I told you I knew by heart every book that resides inside this Library as well as its exact location on the shelf upon which it resides?”
It was a fantastic boast, one which would be met with skepticism had it been voiced by someone else. Coming from Thaniel, it was somehow believable.
“You’ll find this Library as you wander through it in the coming weeks to be not as big as it first appears,” said Thaniel. “True there are far more books housed here than all the libraries built by man should you put them together. But books are nothing more than an extension of thoughts. Physical thoughts, but thoughts none the less.”
He paused for a moment as he looked out at the faces staring back at him, each one carrying a nearly identical crinkle in the space between the eyebrows right above the nose created by the struggle to make sense of his words.
“How might I explain this so it makes sense to you?” Thaniel pondered out loud. “Each of you carry inside your brains vast memories, all of which are stored away separately in certain places just like these books. When a time comes where you choose to revisit one of those memories, somehow you manage to know exactly where in your brain it is and instantly it is there for you. That is all this Library is—a giant brain—and all the books you see are individual memories.”
“So you’re saying it’s possible for each of us to somehow memorize where every book is in this Library just like you?” asked Jacob incredulously.
“I’m saying,” answered Thaniel with a smile, “the idea you see now as an insurmountable task is really not so complicated. But I’ll leave it to each of you to discover on your own in the coming months whether or not I am full of hot air or not.”
“Can I ask a dumb question?” asked Leos.
“Better than anyone here,” Ethan jabbed jokingly under his breath.
“Touché, mate, touché” said Max with an approving wink which made Ethan’s proud grin beam even wider.
“Go ahead with your question,” urged Thaniel, nudging Leos’ fixed glare away from Ethan.
“Just, uh, how many books are there in here anyway?” asked Leos. The sheer volume had left an impression on all the boys, but none more than Leos.
“You know, I can’t say I’ve ever really counted them before,” answered Thaniel. And while no one outwardly contested his claim, none of the boys really believed the angel’s answer.
“Besides,” Thaniel quickly added as if recognizing the stares looking back at him shared the same suspicions, “I doubt any of you would believe me if I were tell you. Now, if there are no further questions, I suggest we get busy.”
And with that, large, identical hefty books—one for each boy—dropped out of nowhere from the upper reaches of the Library. They landed in synchronized form on the tables with a thunderous clamor that made each boy jump with unexpected shock.
“We’ll start with chapter one,” said Thaniel, making no attempt to hide the thin smirk formed by his mouth as the Nephilim worked their bugged eyes back into their sockets.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Tree of Life
N
ov. 20 (I think)
Today at breakfast, Anahel came into the Hall and instructed all of us—Shrikes, Harriers and Ospreys—to head over to Lions Bite as one group after we had finished eating. He didn’t say anything further as to why which left us whispering amongst ourselves as we finished eating what might be awaiting us there.
In our eagerness to find out, we made it to Lions Bite a bit earlier than usual which didn’t seem to catch Damiel off guard. He was standing in the center of the arena, and behind him came blinding bursts of a painfully bright light as though something was reflecting the morning sunlight back at us. As we crossed the arena and made our way toward Damiel we finally were able to see they were swords. Dozens of them impaled in the ground and lined up in perfectly formed rows like cemetery markers of fallen warriors.
All of us exploded with excitement at the exact same time and took off in a mad dash to claim our weapon. None of the swords were the same and, surprisingly, there was no scrimmage between anyone over any particular one. We each seemed to go straight toward the one we ended up claiming, with no fight or quarrel. The one I grabbed seemed to be made specifically for my grip and surprisingly light for what I first anticipated.
Damiel stood by quietly sharing in our enthusiasm as he allowed us to goof off like a crew of pirates run amok. When he finally managed to quiet us all down, he spoke to us about how proud he was of our progress. But, he was quick to emphasize, we still had a lot more to learn, which all us were more than eager to begin right then and there. Damiel had other ideas and asked which of us wanted to give our new-found swords a try.
You mean on each other? Ethan asked. But we already knew that’s what Damiel meant. Only problem was this was the first time most of us had ever seen a sword up close much less held one. Aside from the few minutes of foolishly mimicking what we had each seen in movies, none of us had a clue about fighting with a sword. But Damiel was insistent telling us sword-fighting was instinctual. Then, for some reason, he looked to me and asked, “How about you, Jacob?” Not wanting to be the first to openly make a fool of myself in front of the other guys, I felt my chest tighten instantly. What did I know about fighting with a sword? Damiel, however, seemed to ignore my hesitation and coaxed me forward. Then, if that weren’t enough, he told me to choose my opponent from amongst the other guys.
I stood there studying the dozens of faces staring back at me. Max would have been the perfect pick. Being as we are friends, it would have been a much more relaxed and even fun challenge. It even looked to me as though he was readying himself to be chosen. Yet for some reason beyond my comprehension my eyes kept shifting to where Creed Maggert was standing glaring back at me as he’s had a habit of doing since the day we first laid eyes on one another. It was like déjà vu to when Coach Mercer gave me the same instruction of choosing my opponent during wrestling tryouts and I chose Yul Dane. In many ways, Creed reminds me of Yul. They both seem to be cut from the same cloth—arrogant, conceited blowhards in desperate need of being cut down to size. Maybe that’s why to the surprise of everyone else—myself included—my finger aimed itself in Creed’s direction. Not that I was confident I was the one capable of cutting Creed down to size, but at least I was armed with a weapon to attempt a try.
“Now this is gonna be a good show!” I heard Max mutter to the other guys standing around him. Even Damiel looked to be somewhat impressed by my obviously bold choice. And while I tried to give forth an air of confidence, I couldn’t help but second-guess what I was sure to be pure stupidity on my part when I watched Creed step forward with his chest puffed out and sword gripped tight i
n his hand. Damiel proceeded to tell us the ground rules, but I was too busy concentrating on keeping up a brave face to the hate-filled stare leering down at me to listen. Then before I knew it, or was even ready for it, the fight was on. I braced myself for the first swing of Creed’s sword, but instead he caught me off guard with a hard and fast kick to my torso. It sent me flying back several feet through the air and onto the ground. I heard a roar of cheers rise up and knew instantly I was not the fan favorite being rooted for by most of the other guys. I also knew, glancing back at Creed and the smug look pasted on his face, I was going against someone who had no intention of fighting fairly. Still, I managed to get back on my feet while doing the best I could to hide from everyone else the fact I felt like I had just been struck by a speeding train.
When our swords finally met for the first time, the ricochet of the blow was like a direct hit of high voltage electricity to my hands. Still, I kept swinging away and, with each swing and blow, I slowly came to know how best to hold and wield this weapon I was blindly attempting to use. Every chance he had, however—and there were plenty—Creed made it a point of reminding me this was not some friendly lesson but an unfriendly fight by delivering numerous unsuspecting kicks and punches my way and hitting his mark nearly every time. I found myself growing more and more frustrated. Between trying to focus on what I’d already learned in the past weeks and hearing Damiel call out where I was making my mistakes, I could feel the anger inside me beginning to boil. The only thing that seemed to help me through the obvious thrashing I was suffering was hearing the small band of cheers being shouted out in my favor with Max leading the chorus with his humorous Aussie euphemisms which, for the first time thanks to the painful blows raining down on me, didn’t have me on the ground laughing uncontrollably.
It was only when I was pretty sure I would be the one who would be nursing the stinging wound of defeat that night and not Creed, as I had fantasized, that something switched. I went for one last swing at Creed with my sword, and while our blades were locked together he swung his arm at me and nailed me square in the face with his elbow. I actually saw the pain in a firework-like burst in front of my eyes. Then my tongue caught the familiar taste of pennies in my mouth, and when I caught a smirking look of contempt staring back at me, as if to thank me for foolishly allowing him the pure enjoyment of pounding on me, and in such a public way to add to my discomfort, something inside me snapped. My arms, which by now were burning like fire and felt like cooked noodles, exploded with movement sending blow after blow in Creed’s direction. I found myself wondering if I was actually wielding the sword, or had the sword somehow come to life and was wielding itself as I desperately tried to hold on to it for dear life.
