by August Arrea
I suddenly felt a certain sense of invincibility as I found myself matching Creed blow for blow, kick for kick, fist for fist. Whatever awkward and downright pitiful start I had in this match had somehow passed, and the smug enjoyment that had been plastered on Creed’s face quickly changed to surprise as I came at him with all the speed and gravity-defying movements I had sweated away learning along with the others in the Forest while Damiel barked in our ears. This was fighting of a whole new order. The kind I witnessed when Gotham and the Powers tangled with the savage band of Infectors just outside Eden’s gate over the waters of the Van Gölü. I felt like I was in the middle of some Jet Li, “Matrix” or some other insane 3D action flick come to life. The awesome spectacle of impossible movements, speed, and brute force Creed and I unleashed on one another defied anything and everything reality had before this moment made me think was not possible.
More importantly, the cheers coming from my fellow Nephilim—except for a noted few loyal to Creed—took a noticeable shift in my favor. Especially when Creed, who was becoming visibly more frustrated by my sudden ability to deflect his hate-focused blows while suffering a few of my own to his face, took a final dirty swing at me with his sword. I saw the burst of sunlight caught in the mirror-like sheen of his sword as it came my way and I jumped clearing both the sweeping blade and Creed’s head in two somersaults worthy of an Olympic gold medal. I landed behind Creed before he could even turn himself around to face me, and when he did I delivered a breath-stealing kick to his chest—the same he dealt me at the beginning of our duel. It sent him flying backward a good, satisfying distance and, when it was clear he wasn’t getting back up as he writhed about trying to catch the breath that had been knocked from him, a great cheer of victory erupted for me.
It was a good feeling. The best I’ve had here so far. And while the pats on the back I received from my fellow Edenites was enjoyable, the real prize—for me at least—was when I glanced over at Damiel and saw by the look on his face that he was pleasantly impressed. It was faint, but trust me it was there. Creed, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. I don’t think I’ve seen quite as murderous a look on anyone’s face before than the one I saw on his when I looked over and caught him glaring in my direction from where he remained on the ground.
I guess it’s fair to assume that if he didn’t despise me before, he most certainly does now.
~~~
The snake eagle soared weightlessly across the cloudless sky when suddenly it swooped sharply downward toward the Forest below before regaining its graceful glide. With the wind ruffling the feathers of its outstretched wings, the eagle sailed low over the dense canopy of forest trees. Just ahead came a break in the endless blanket of boughs and leaves where suddenly there could be heard growing louder the clanging of metal against metal along with the raucous clamor of boys engaged in competition.
Flying over the clearing, the eagle turned a rapt eye to the towering slabs of stone that was Lions Bite and saw several pairs of Nephilim with their swords in hand vigorously sparring with one another. Even from high up in the air it was quite apparent Damiel’s training in such a short amount of time was showing impressive results. Nowhere was it more markedly so than with Jacob, who was seen in the middle of Lions Bite sparring with none other than Damiel himself.
Their blades rang with a high-pitched peal each time they crossed, and every now and then the force of the blows gave way to a burst of sparks. If Jacob felt the strain of going up against Damiel’s intimidating prowess and muscle, he didn’t show it. Despite the sweat trickling down his sun-beaten face, a fierce determination stayed locked in his eyes and clenched tight in his jaw. It was the kind of spirited display that proved impressive to Damiel, but not as much as the competitive push back the boy showed. It was more than clear the training at Lions Bite agreed with Jacob. He took to the sword with a striking ease and skill Damiel had rarely before witnessed.
Before long, the other Nephilim had abandoned their own matches and formed a cheering line around Damiel and Jacob. Then, like the other duels previously shared between the two, Damiel revealed a victorious move that in lightning speed separated Jacob from his sword and sent him crashing down on the ground flat on his back. Looking up, Jacob found Damiel standing over him with the point of his sword pressed uncomfortably against his neck as a reminder to him there was much he was still in need of learning.
The other boys were dismissed for a short break and, as they ran off, Damiel planted the blade of his sword into the earth and took a seat on the ground beside Jacob with a heavy sigh. “You surprise me, Fledgling. There have not been many Nephilim who have shown either the will or fortitude to take me on with such vigor. You are a natural with the sword.”
“I’ve also become a natural at ending up on my back,” noted Jacob bitterly. While trying to steady his exhaustive breaths, his gaze turned skyward where it caught sight of the lone snake eagle slowly circling about the wide stretch of blue overhead.
“Don’t let it get you down,” said Damiel. “ If it makes you feel any better, far greater than you have found themselves in the same position.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Remember, you’re a newbie to the sword,” said Damiel. “That you are able to fend off an angel as well as you have shown, not to mention one proven to be as great a warrior as I, is commendable and a promising testament.
Jacob gave Damiel a mocking glance. “Your humility is truly up-lifting.”
“Humility, you will find, has no place on a battlefield,” replied Damiel with a wink. “Look at it this way, one day you may tire of having your back kiss repeatedly the ground and in your resolve find a way of leaving the stain of dirt on mine.”
The idea proved an appealing one to Jacob. Rolling back onto his shoulders, he returned himself to his feet with the graceful ease of a gymnast. Then grabbing up his sword from off the ground he flashed a mischievous glint at the angel. “One day might be today,” he said, beckoning Damiel to pick up his sword for another rematch.
“You are a competitive one, I’ll give you that.” said Damiel with a hearty chuckle as he, too, rose up on his feet. “Well, that’s good. It’ll make you a strong and worthy candidate for Illumination.”
A quizzical look slowly came to Jacob.
“What is that—Illumination?” he asked, lowering his sword. “I heard Anahel mention it in the Hall during the welcoming dinner.”
“Illumination marks the next and much more intense stage of your training you and the rest of your band of Fledglings will eventually be graduating to after your first year at Havenhid. It is marked by a day-long competition held here at Lions Bite,” explained Damiel while swinging fancily his sword as he dueled the open air about him. “Fathers come to observe what their sons have so far learned and watch them compete against one another. More importantly they stand with their sons as they make their allegiance to the Light official. I guess you can call it a sort of baptismal celebration. It’s probably the one time I’ve seen angels willfully reduce themselves into carrying on like civilians in their boasting and cheering on of their sons from the seats of this arena. Quite the spectacle, really.”
Damiel then glanced over at Jacob who had become suddenly quiet and stopped swinging his sword.
“What is it?” he asked, noticing a sullen look in Jacob’s downcast eyes. “Illumination is something most Fledglings look forward to with great excitement next to getting their wings. You look as if I’ve ripped yours right off your back.”
“No…it sounds like fun,” said Jacob through a forced smile. “Now that I know what it is, I’m looking forward to it.”
Jacob’s put-on enthusiasm didn’t fool Damiel.
“Yes, I can see that clearly,” remarked the angel.
“I just hope I’ll be able to participate,” said Jacob.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Damiel, cocking his head ever so slightly, asked with curious puzzlement. “From what I’ve been observing so far, I’d
argue you might end up being the one to beat.”
“You know, it being a whole father-son thing and all and me not having one—a father that is. One that I know of, at least.”
Now it was Damiel’s turn to grow sullen, and he cursed himself silently for speaking of the father-son event in such a casually off-handed manner.
“I’m sorry Jacob, I didn’t mean—” began Damiel, whose ease with apologies was awkward at best. “I suspect it’s a difficult thing, not knowing one’s own father.”
Jacob didn’t agree nor disagree. “It’s just weird. I was okay growing up thinking he was dead—at least, that’s what my mom told me,” he explained. “But now…suddenly knowing out of the blue he’s actually alive somewhere—it’s a strange feeling. Not to mention the fact he’s an angel to boot.”
Jacob looked off to the sound of laughing coming from the far end of the arena where the other Shrikes were joking around and engaging in adolescent horseplay.
“Am I the only one?” asked Jacob.
“The only one what?” replied Damiel.
“The only Nephilim who doesn’t know who his father is?”
The angel’s silence came as no surprise to Jacob, and yet it somehow was more comforting than hearing what he already knew to be the answer.
“I wish I could I tell you who your father is,” offered Damiel while hating himself for knowing the boy would hear the meaning of his deceptive words differently than he meant them.
Stalwart as he was, Damiel, for the first time, felt a pang of empathy for Jacob. Much as he would have liked to deny it, he had found himself with each passing day taking a rather surprise liking to the boy in a way the angel least expected. And in that liking the bonds of a genuine fondness had taken root and strengthened in the weeks since Jacob’s arrival to Eden. The last thing Damiel wanted was to see Jacob pained over something he had no control over or say. Yet he knew the secret of Jacob’s coming to be would eventually bring just that—pain. And in vast, copious amounts.
“Do you have any…you know…Nephilim of your own?” Jacob’s question seemed to catch Damiel off-guard.
“I did…once,” said Damiel, though he seemed hesitant to answer.
The solemn tone heard in the angel’s voice was instantly recognizable to Jacob who immediately wished he had refrained from asking the question.
“It’s okay, really,” said Damiel, feigning a weak smile that was in no way comforting. “You will find any angel who has known the joy of fatherhood has more often than not come to know one of the rare things we have found we share with mortal men—the unexpected and deep-running pain that comes when one loses a child, whether it be by the inevitable reach of time or tragedy. In my case, it was the latter.”
“What happened to him?” asked Jacob, unable to tamp down his brimming curiosity.
“Furies…Furies ended him,” answered Damiel, practically spitting the hatred suddenly pooling on his tongue. “He was a fighter, that one; as skillful as I’ve ever seen a Nephilim with a sword in hand. And why shouldn’t he have been, with me as both his father and teacher? But as it were, it just wasn’t enough.”
Jacob saw the grip Damiel had on his sword had tightened, and his arm had flexed itself noticeably, as though the angel was itching to make use of his weapon against this enemy he spoke of with such venom in his voice.
“Now maybe you understand a little better, in those exhausted moments you curse me under your breath for being the taskmaster I am, why it is I drive each of you Fledglings into the ground as hard as I do. It’s to ensure each of you are one lesson better suited to defend yourselves than my son was,” Damiel spoke with a hiss through clenched teeth. “If there’s one thing I learned that terrible day, it’s that one can never underestimate the ruthless savagery that bends our enemy, nor can we assume we are sufficient enough in our skills for the moment we eventually face down one another. I may have lost my son to this dark enemy, but I long ago vowed it would be over my own dead body that they reap even one of my brothers’ after I’ve schooled them. And mark my words, boy, a day of reckoning is coming when the debt of my loss, as well as my brothers’, is settled once and for all, and on that day I promise you there will be blood!”
Jacob didn’t need to look any further than the fiery glint in Damiel’s eyes to know without doubt the angel meant what he said. They carried the same cutting gleam found in the blade of his sword. And never before in his life did Jacob feel in better hands than at that moment.
~~~
The ruckus of spirited competition could be heard coming from Lions Bite until mid-afternoon when the sound of a trumpet made itself heard in the distance, bringing to an end the day’s training. Tired, but looking less and less haggard than they did in the days when they first started going to Lions Bite, the boys started their way back to Havenhid. As it usually happened when they neared the River, Jacob suddenly stopped and looked to the section of the Forest residing east of where the water flowed. Only this day, it was the sound of Damiel’s voice lingering inside his head lamenting over his son earlier in the afternoon that made Jacob pause.
“What is it?” asked Max.
“You ever gone to see the Tree?” inquired Jacob, referring to the most marked and sacred thing in Eden.
“Nah,” answered Max with a simple shake of his head while staring off at the curtain of dense woods which held firmly Jacob’s gaze with the knowing the thing of which they spoke resided somewhere within its boundaries.
“How come?” asked Jacob.
“Don’t know,” answered Max with a shrug. “Probably the same reason you don’t see many Japanese tourists visiting Pearl Harbor. It’s just a reminder of a big mistake that was made, you know?”
It was a simple explanation that somehow made perfect sense to Jacob.
“You coming?” asked Max, motioning with a nod of his head toward the path awaiting them leading the way in the opposite direction. There was something wanting to lead Jacob towards the woods instead; he could almost feel it tugging at him.
“Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” said Jacob.
“Alright,” Max hummed suspiciously, and had he not been in hurry to get back to Havenhid to wash up and feed his grumbling stomach, he most certainly would have pressed Jacob about what was rattling inside his brain. “Don’t be too late. You know the food goes fast with these vultures.”
Jacob watched as Max ran off to catch up with the others who had made it quite a distance ahead of him. Once Max had fallen from sight behind a grassy slope, Jacob turned back to the Forest and made his way in its direction, slowly at first and then in an easy run which became more and more swift. His feet, as if moving of their own accord, led him through the woods, thin at first with trees but becoming more dense the deeper into it he went. Above him could be heard a great many voices coming from vireos and thrushes as well as wagtails and pipits. Their distinctive calls and warbles filled the air of their wooded haunt in a sweeping unified chorus punctuating their curiosity as they followed Jacob’s movements from their perches high in the trees.
Jacob soon came upon a pathway, one that cut a curving swath straight ahead through the trees. He was about to take to it when he was startled by the sudden appearance of a figure dropping down from somewhere above to block his way. His instinct, sharpened through weeks of training with Damiel, had him reaching for his sword. Much to his surprise, however, the figure he saw at the end of his brandished blade was an angel. Or so Jacob suspected by the massive pair of gray plumed wings seen sprouted from the figure’s back that had guided him to a soft, yet firm landing on the forest floor.
“Here, here, you won’t be needing that!” said the angel, pushing aside the sword pointed in his direction. “What has sent you racing through these woods like a hare through the reeds of a warm meadow in pursuit of a prospective mate?” His voice, deep and honeyed, was pleasant. And his face, while kind and inviting in its youthfulness, held the promise of unmasking an intimidating fi
erceness when warranted.
“You’re an angel,” noted Jacob as though it was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on a winged being.
“You were expecting a wood nymph?” replied the stranger.
“No…I wasn’t really expecting anybody…that is, I’m looking for the spot where the Tree of Life grows,” Jacob, still a bit startled, replied. “I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere in this direction. Although—” he glanced around confusingly at the large number of trees surrounding him, “now that I think about it, I’m not so certain I’d know the Tree of Life from any other tree.”
There must have been thousands upon thousands of trees in the woods. For all Jacob knew, he already passed it without even knowing it.
“It’s quite doubtful,” said the angel. “You will soon discover that when you look upon the Tree of Life, there is no confusing it with any other.”
“Then you know where I could find it.” It wasn’t until Jacob finished uttering the sentence that he realized the foolishness of his inquiry..
“I should very well hope so. There doesn’t exist an inch of these woods—or all of Eden for that matter—that I do not know intimately. But before I point the way to you, tell me. Fledgling, what is it that has sent you in such a fevered pace in search of the Tree?”
