by August Arrea
It was true.
The rumors bandied about Havenhid were true, and even though Jacob had heard it spoken from Gotham’s own lips as if reciting a confession inside a church confessional, he had great difficulty believing his own ears. When Gotham had finished, a breeze stirred and blew its way across the grass toward where Jacob sat and swept from sight the mirage of the sword upon the ground in the same way an ocean wave washes away any trace of a sand castle left in its path on a beach. It then rose up and rustled through the trees, as well as the Garden surrounding them, awakening once more the sounds of life.
~~~
“The only thing my grandmother ever said was that the Darkness had killed her son,” whispered Jacob after a while.
Gotham seemed to respond squeamishly to the boy’s words. “And why wouldn’t she believe such a thing?” he said. “Do you really think a cowardly, vile act as killing one’s own son wouldn’t be followed by an even more cowardly act of lying about it?”
The contempt Gotham felt for himself was as obvious as the sun’s blinding presence in the sky lighting the day; he was mired in it. The sight of it left Jacob feeling weighted with a great and painful sadness, and a part of him wanted to lunge forward and embrace Gotham with a tight, comforting hug; be damned the Immortalis blossoms and the Cherub it threatened to bring out from whatever place it lay hidden; but he knew the angel wouldn’t tolerate for even a brief second any such sympathy to be had for him.
Instead, Jacob sat for what seemed like a long time just looking at the sarcophagus where Gotham’s immense heartache had been entombed for all eternity and he couldn’t help but wonder; wonder how it was a boy came to be buried like a king when his last act of life not only was a betrayal to his father, but Eden itself. How did such a betrayal manage to bring in return a final resting place in the Garden’s most revered spot and not even bring cause for the Immortalis to uproot themselves from the ground in rage? Yet curious as Jacob was, he couldn’t summon himself enough courage to ask.
“Why the lion and the lamb?” he asked instead, breaking the awkward silence with a nod to the two lifelike carvings embossed in the stone of the sarcophagus. The figures of the two animals, full-sized and shown lying in repose had caught Jacob’s attention the moment he saw them peering out from behind the ivy.
“Beautiful, are they not?” asked Gotham catching a glimmer of recognition in the boy’s eyes.
“It reminds me of a story my mother used to tell me when I was younger. About how one day the lion and the lamb would lie down beside one another and what had made them enemies would be forgotten.”
“And in the space resting between them would reside the dawn of everlasting peace,” said Gotham. “They also serve as a reminder of something I tried to instill in David from the time he was a young boy.”
“Which was?”
“By claw and fang, the lion owns a dominion most prized; yet its the humble steps of the lamb which lead to a far greater treasure.”
Jacob was given only a brief moment to ponder the angel’s words when there came the familiar, far-off blare of a trumpet sounding its call. Jacob glanced upward at the sky and was surprised to see the approaching twilight beginning to show itself in the way the day’s fading reaches of sunlight bathed everything all around in brilliant gold
“Guess I’m late for dinner,” said Jacob. “Anahel talks about the other Guides, but he’s definitely the most anal about tardiness.”
Gotham’s gaze followed the boy as he rose to his feet. “So are you going to tell me what really brought you here today?” he asked.
Jacob opened his mouth to answer before hesitating. Truth was he had no idea what drew him there with such driven curiosity.
“I told you; I wanted to see the Tree,” he said giving an acknowledging nod to the Bible’s most arboreal legend whose gold-trimmed leaves glistened like sequins even in the weakening sunlight. “And now I have.”
Jacob’s half-hearted grin drew a questioning look from Gotham, but before he could be prodded any further he quickly scampered off. When he reached the curtain of trees at the edge of the clearing he glanced over his shoulder and watched as Gotham returned to the perpetual vigil he held beside his son.
~~~
Later that same night, long after the Nephilim had turned in, including Jacob, who after a fitful stretch of tossing and turning in his bed and staring blankly at the black emptiness hovering above him could no longer fight off the hand of sleep that placed itself over his eyes. Anahel retired to his own chambers and immediately sensed a presence waiting inside for him. Looking to the open terrace, he found a darkened figure standing with its back to him. He did not ask who it was. There was no need to hear a voice, nor see the face for Anahel to know it was Gotham, though he thought it curious to find the angel unannounced in his chambers at such an hour.
He took the book tucked beneath his left arm which he had fetched earlier in the evening from the Library for a little night reading and quietly set it on a nearby table. Then, instead of bringing light to his room, which was already awash in the silver blue of the moon-lit night, he made his way to the balcony where a cool, caressing breeze made his long tresses dance and the weightless fabric of his open shirt billow.
“You always did hold the best view of Eden, even when wrapped in the thin veils of night,” remarked Gotham in his soft but deep voice when he felt Anahel join him at the rail of the terrace.
Anahel stood quiet for a minute or two and looked out over the Garden and he could not deny what Gotham said was true. The night seemed to douse everything from the grassy open spaces and patches of forests nearby to the towering, serrated cliffs of the congregating mountains surrounding the Garden in a dreamlike state of periwinkle-colored surrealism. In the distance, the thundering falls, roaring yet immensely soothing, appeared as fluorescent liquified diamonds spilling down the face of the mountain to the valley floor where the River slithered peacefully, twinkling and glistening brightly with the reflection of the giant waxing orb of the moon branding its watery hide.
“Something tells me it was not the view that brought you here to my chambers at this hour,” noted Anahel.
Gotham revealed a slight smile. “You were always a perceptive one, Anahel. So I’m sure it will come as no surprise when I tell you I am leaving Eden.”
If Anahel was surprised by the pronouncement, he didn’t show it. Rather, he seemed to expect it from the deep breath he took as he continued to stare off into the distance.
“So where to this time, Gothamel?” he asked. “Does there even exist a corner of the world to which you have not already fled in your fruitless attempt to outrun your own existence?”
There was an unmistakable edge of hardened annoyance in Anahel’s cool tone which caught Gotham off guard.
“I’ve never fled from anything in my life, Anahel. You more than anyone should know better than to say such a thing to me.”
“What would you call it, then?” countered Anahel.
Gotham stood silent for a moment before answering with a quiet resignation: “You know why I can’t bring myself to stay here any longer than I already have.”
“What I know is that many months ago you surfaced here, suddenly, without word or announcement, after vanishing from all sight for near fifty years, with a Nephilim in tow. Not just any Nephilim, mind you, but Samael’s son. His son, Gothamel,” Anahel stressed with a whispery hiss as if at that exact moment he had realized the gravity of his own words. “Against my better judgment, and because of my fondness for you, I made a decision that not only puts Eden in a most perilous situation but has cast me once again in a questionable light with some of my brothers.”
It was not without some weight of guilt that Gotham took notice of the position he had forced Anahel to take.
“You must know, Anahel, how much I appreciate everything you have done in my name, both with my own son and now with Jacob,” he said. “You have shown me a loyalty where none is required to exist, an
d it will not be forgotten. But with all due respect, surely you would have assumed my time spent here would be brief. At least long enough to see that the boy has settled in and taken to his training without any problems, and already I’ve stayed longer than what should have been expected.“
Anahel glowered suddenly at Gotham. “What I assumed is that you would live up to the responsibility you chose to take up whether willingly or otherwise.”
“What do you mean by that?” questioned Gotham, his voice rising in anger. “I’ve done what I promised to do, and that was bring the boy here to Eden to learn who he is and ensure a barrier of safety between him and the Dark Shadow that will surely stalk his every waking moment like some unrelenting nightmare.”
“And you see yourself free of your duty by simply acting as chaperone through the Gate?” Anahel barked just as loudly. “Well then, if you would be so kind to allow me before you take your leave of us the chance to throw forth a feast in celebration for what you have shown to be a true, unfettered act of selflessness.”
The dripping sarcasm drew a narrowing of Gotham’s brow.
“What more would you have me do?”
“Something…anything,” cried Anahel who remained riled. “Help mentor the boy in his training. Nurture him. Surely you can spare him one ounce of the attention you have chosen instead to dedicate to your daily vigil of pity at the foot of the Tree of Life.”
Anahel’s cutting remark took Gotham aback.
“Is that how you see me?” asked the angel, sounding slightly wounded.
Anahel wavered briefly, and in that moment he questioned whether he should have kept his cruel tongue firmly behind his teeth.
“There comes a time,” he continued in more gentle voice, “when one who mourns must decide to rein in their sorrow or continue their drift on the waters of perpetual wallowing.”
A cold look came to Gotham’s eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand; you who’s never experienced the bond of having a son.”
“It’s true, I have as yet never sired a child,” said Anahel, turning away from the beauty of Eden to circle slowly around the wide-open terrace. “But lest you forget, I was also there that fateful day and saw you carrying your son lifeless in your arms toward Havenhid from the Barrens where he last took breath. I cared for your son as much as if he were my own, and I tell you I needn’t have known then the bonds of bearing such fruit to share the tears streaming from your face or feel the angst that pierced your heart that woeful day.”
“And you think it’s the same thing?” bellowed Gotham with a sneer while wrestling the memory of the moment of which Anahel spoke.
Anahel shook his head meekly. “Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not competing for what is your rightful pain.”
“Yet you want to chastise me for it.”
“The manner in which death comes is often times unpleasant. Horrific, even. Cemeteries are full of little boys and little girls who have met an untimely demise. Have you lived so long amongst civilians that you’ve come to welcome death with the same black shroud they have long chosen to bestow upon it? Death did not destroy David, only the clay vessel which housed him. What you mourn is the remnants of a cocoon, while turning a blind eye to the butterfly that has emerged from inside it.” Anahel came before Gotham but his gaze was aligned with the star-studded heavens draped in blackness above them. Yet somehow it appeared to bask his face in a soft light. “Life does not pass unto death, it is death which passes unto life.”
Gotham stood staring hard and stone-like at Anahel revealing not so much as a crack to his hardened demeanor.
“Do you hear your words, even as you speak them?” he seethed barely above a whisper.
“You above all cannot deny what I speak is true.”
“And you think it lends me comfort?” Gotham growled.
There remained a disconnected look in Anahel’s eyes which prevented him to see how deep Gotham’s pent-up angst had taken root. And so Gotham craned himself forward until his face, fixed and intense with emotion, was just inches from Anahel’s and with his right hand he swept back the wandering strands of his long locks away from his forehead to reveal the jagged-telling mark of the skeletal star scarring his temple.
“Look upon me and pontificate to me now, if you so dare, about the beauty of death,” challenged Gotham. “This mark which has shackled me to a desolate existence amongst men with its unbreakable curse has stolen any such beauty from my vision. Even when the last of mortals are gone, I will remain; tethered to a malediction that will long outlast my own immortality where the only door left open to me to walk through—the one that has left me to flee, as you so called it, to every corner of the world to escape its threshold—is that leading to the company of my Fallen brethren in the Underneath.”
Gotham looked away suddenly, casting his eyes back towards the waterfalls to keep Anahel from witnessing the gripping pain he was unable to stifle from surfacing. Well acquainted with Gotham’s great pride, Anahel left the angel’s side with some reluctance and retreated to a seat behind a large ornate desk.
“A mortal life passes so quickly,” Gotham’s voice continued softly, “and I knew I only had a brief period of time with David. He couldn’t even allow me that. Not only did he take him, he ensured I be the one to deliver him in the cruelest of manners.”
There was no confusion to Anahel as he listened who the “he” which Gotham referred was, and his heart, which swelled with sorrow at the sound of pain quivering subtly in the angel’s voice, sank. And when Gotham looked once more to him with eyes wet with an anguish he’d never know, Anahel turned his attention to a particular book residing amongst many on the desk before him; not because he couldn’t bear the obvious pain revealed by Gotham, but because his thoughts turned to the ratted edges of paper seen sticking out from where they had been tucked away inside the book for a good many years.
Might this be the moment? Anahel wondered in silent pondering.
“What you choose to see as perpetual wallowing, Anahel,” continued Gotham, “is a father keeping company the only way he knows how with a son who has passed through a door where all souls are reunited, yet a door nonetheless eternally locked to me. The cocoon of bone and dust resting inside a stone vault is all that’s been left to me.”
It was with those words Gotham spied a sympathetic look of understanding pass across Anahel’s face. And again Anahel mindfully turned his gaze downward to eye the loose pages peeking out from the innards of the book and, as inconspicuously as he could, he grabbed hold of a corner between thumb and forefinger and slowly began to slide them out into the open.
~~~
“Now I’m just tired,” said Gotham. “Tired of the sorrow which has been welded into the bars of my prison, not to mention the guilt that has become my jailer.”
The words froze Anahel. For it was the first time he had ever come to witness the once great angel seemingly surrender to the grip of defeat.
“Don’t misunderstand my words, I’m not looking for pity,” Gotham remarked quickly before Anahel could extend to him any. “Just a semblance of understanding of why I must go.”
And it was with more than a semblance of understanding that Anahel’s fingers paused for a long-drawn-out moment before reversing course and sliding the papers out of sight back inside the hidden confines of the book. He looked to Gotham and, with some reluctance, nodded his blessing. “When will you leave?”
“This minute, before the day has yet to arise.”
“And where will you go?”
“As you quipped earlier, I’m not sure there’s a corner of the earth my feet have not already left their mark. Which footsteps I choose to retrace, I do not know.”
Anahel rose from behind his desk and came around to Gotham where the two embraced each other warmly.
“What of the boy?” inquired Anahel as he walked Gotham to the door. “You will be saying goodbye to him before you leave, won’t you?”
“I think it would be
best if you said it for me,” answered Gotham.
Anahel chose not to argue the point, though the look of his disapproval could not be ignored.
“And what shall you have me tell him?” asked the angel. “He’s become quite fond of you, as I’m sure you’re well aware. I’m fairly certain he will be most heartbroken by your unexpected parting.”
Gotham stood silent in the open doorway for a moment or two. It was evident he had hoped to have escaped Eden without having to lend a thought in regards to Jacob.
“Tell him…,” began Gotham before pausing. “Tell him I wish him luck.”
And before Anahel could say anything further, Gotham quickly closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Broken Earth
T
ime has a way of not existing here in Eden. It’s the weirdest thing. When I first arrived here, it was autumn. At least it was outside of Eden. Here the trees don’t change color or lose their leaves. The only sign of winter to be seen is the snow covering the mountains of the Northern Lands. Although it did snow the one time in Eden—on Christmas. But only because Anahel made it do so as a gift to all us (along with turning a large forest tree growing nearby into a magnificent Christmas tree decorated by the presence of thousands of blinking lightning bugs) to help ease the homesickness some of us felt with not being home for the holidays.
Other than that, there are no seasons in Eden. Only the most perfect spring day, every single day. Not that I’m complaining. In fact it’s incredible. After a while, though, it does rob you of a sense of time. I honestly couldn’t tell you what day of the week it is, or day of the month for that matter, which is why I don’t even bother dating my journal entries anymore. Because in Eden there is no time. Only day and night.
That’s why it was kind of surprising to hear today marks the one hundredth day we’ve now been here in Eden. And the only reason we know that is because Anahel told us so when he announced to us at dinner that all of us—Ospreys, Harriers and Shrikes—would be going to Broken Earth in the morning. Of course he didn’t need to say any more for us to know what that meant. It has been such a long wait, many of us had begun to wonder if the day would ever come when we would finally get the chance to learn to fly. Now it seemed the wait was over. And yet despite the excitement, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease about it. The most obvious concern for me was simple: Where’s our wings? The protrusions on our backs are still there, even more noticeably so since being in Eden. And yet, as far as I know, no one had sprouted so much as a feather, much less wings, the entire time we’ve been here. I also have come to trust Anahel, and if he says we are finally ready for the challenge then I have to believe he knows what he’s saying, despite how it looks to anyone with two good eyes.
