The Crossing Point

by August Arrea

  Early this morning, we all set out northward toward the roar of the waterfalls where the mountains loom highest. At the foot of the mountains we came to a narrow passage which wound its way up the side of the steep, gray cliffs and our feet eagerly took to it. It was a steep climb; full of twists and bends. Slabs of rockformed shallow steps to what seemed an unending stairway. It snaked its way around the outer rim of the mountain, and at times the passage would turn into the mountain itself where cut arches led the way through stretches of dark tunnels before emerging into the sunlight again. With every step, the Garden below us fell further and further away, and soon we were high enough where the wider lands of Eden came into view. I wasn’t the only one instantly taken with the beautiful sight. I was, however, the first to demonstrate the danger from becoming too captivated by the sight when my feet tripped upon one of the steps and I suddenly found myself stumbling toward the edge of the narrow pathway. In that moment, the beauty of Eden was stolen from me and replaced with an ugly, deadly drop suddenly unfolding itself from the mountain’s sheer cliffs from which I could not keep myself from teetering toward. Just as my eyes widened in terror to my fate, a hand reached out and clasped me firmly by the arm keeping me from what I was certain to be my final swan dive.

  With my heart pounding like a tribal drum in my chest, I turned and found Max had been my savior. “Thanks, I owe you one,” I managed to gasp more out of embarrassment than fear.

  “Looks like this day didn’t come too soon for you, eh mate?” he replied back with a teasing smirk.

  On and on we climbed until some wondered out loud in tiresome grumbles whether the stairs would outlast the mountain. Even with all of Damiel’s training, the mountain path was a taxing workout, and just when we had ventured far higher than the waterfalls that spilled from dizzying heights and the enthusiasm with which we had greeted the passage at the foot of the mountain had begun to wane noticeably in us, the strain of the ascent burning in my legs began to ease. The steps became shallower and gradually leveled out and receded into the smoothness of the surrounding rock. With what appeared to be the top of the mountain in eyesight, we trudged over one final hump when much to our relief we found there was no more rock for us to climb.

  We stood proud with the conquering feeling of the mountain beneath their feet. Looking out in quiet awe at the immense vista encircling us, I’m sure each one of us felt we were standing on the very top of the world. To the south, Eden stretched as far as the eye could see in all her green open plains, vast forests and far-reaching River. To the north, mountains reaching higher than the one we stood upon filled the foreseeable distance. Their shoulders were white with snow and the towering peaks were veiled by misty clouds clinging tight to them. These made up the Northern Lands, or Barrens as they are better known, and it was the first time any of us had gotten an up-close glimpse of this place which was strictly forbidden to us. And yet there was nothing—at least at first sight—that would indicate why such a place was off limits. But all of us knew.

  However, it was what resided most noticeably between Eden and the snow- dressed mountains to the north that quickly grabbed hold of our attention: a massive gorge, like none I had ever seen. It looked to be a giant crack; a place where the world seemingly had inexplicably split in two. And it quickly became apparent Broken Earth was not just a name for this place. Proving more puzzling was the sight of two angels none of us had ever seen before perched on the end of separate outcrops of rock stretching several feet out over the gorge. And standing between them at the edge of the drop-off with his back to the ravine was Eksel. His face was expressionless, I would even argue unfriendly, as his keen, brooding eyes slowly took into account all of us grouped before him.

  “So you wish to learn to fly, do you?” he asked in that way of his that wasn’t so much an honest question as a contempt-filled comment. We were united in our boisterous cheer, and for the first time ever I saw a smile find Eksel’s face, though in reality I believe it was more of a sneer.

  “Many of you will rethink your eagerness when you see the path required for you to take in order to share the domain owned by the birds,” he said.

  He then turned his sneer to the gorge behind him and said, “Behold that path!”

  The ravine was so threatening that some of the guys inched their way closer to the cliff’s edge with timid, cautious steps. Even I, who never before was bothered by heights, was greeted by a queasy feeling churning inside my stomach when I stretched my neck as far forward as possible in an attempt to see what lay inside the ominous black hole and how deep it went.

  Eksel then asked which of us was brave enough to go first. By the confused looks on our faces, it was safe to bet none of us knew what exactly he meant. Go first? First where?

  “Down there, naturally,” Eksel said, motioning down into the gnawing pit which was filled by a blanket of clouds that—thankfully or not (I’m still not decided)—shrouded from sight a clear view of what made up the bottom or how far down it resided.

  What’s down there? we asked.

  If you’re lucky to find them, your wings, Eksel told us.

  To everyone’s surprise (though not mine), the wait for a volunteer was short- lived when Creed pushed his way forward in his usual brutish manner to where Eksel was standing. Naturally he made a big show of his so-called “bravery” which at first take seemed to impress Eksel, who directed the rest of us to clear some space.

  “So?” Creed asked as if waiting for further instruction. “What do I got to do?” “Jump, of course” Eksel replied simply with a touch of a dare in his voice.

  Creed looked down into the ravine one more time. If he had any trepidation of following through with such a direction, he didn’t show it outwardly.

  “And if I may,” Eksel was quick to add. “You might want to remove your shirt.”

  Creed quickly stripped off the T-shirt he wore and blindly tossed it aside into the face of one of the boys standing nearby. I immediately took note of his naked upper back where two unnatural, yet familiar protrusions beneath the skin distended from behind each shoulder. Unless he was going to glide on the air by flapping his arms, I didn’t see how this challenge was even possible. Creed then positioned himself a running start between himself and the gorge and vigorously rubbed his hands together. If anyone held doubts he would muster the courage to follow through, it evaporated when he suddenly charged forward with all his might. When his feet reached the edge of the cliff, they pushed off the rock mightily as if it were a diving board and with his arms stretched out wide he jumped head-first into the long fall awaiting him.

  I wasn’t looking at anyone else, but I guarantee all our eyes grew as big as headlights as we watched him sink like a stone down into the gullet of the ravine. Nothing seemed to happen at first in his swift and frightful descent, and when he disappeared into the dense blanket of white clouds there came from those of us peering over the side of the ledge a collective gasp. A long, bated silence followed and with each second that ticked past a growing look of horror found our faces. Even mine. True I hate Creed—with a passion—but even I wouldn’t wish him the bone-crushing, body-mangling death like the one I was certain we were witnessing. Only when it seemed Creed’s fate had been sealed by such a horrible end did Eksel look up from the gorge and nod to one of the angels standing attentively nearby. Instantly, the angel dove off his perch and sailed with great speed down into the depths of the ravine where he too slipped from sight into the clouds. His vanishing act, however, was brief and, when he reappeared, Creed, much to everyone’s surprise and relief (including my own, which I readily admit) was seen dangling from his arms like a rag doll.

  Except for the shell-shock look branded on his face and noticeable quivering of his legs when the angel returned the secure feeling of the mountain to his feet, Creed seemed unharmed by the experience. Giving a confused glance over his shoulder, he looked to Eksel. “No wings.”

  “No,” Eksel echoed, though with little surprise
in his voice, “no wings.”

  He then turned to the rest of us. “All of you over the course of the last several weeks have been hard at work honing the gifts given you as well as strengthening yourselves both body and mind. But all your training, important and vital as it is, will serve you no purpose here today. Broken Earth exists for two purposes: as the place where clouds come to rest and, more importantly, where blind faith is put to the test,” he said. “You all carry the stirrings of wings on your back, that is most obvious, but, as Anahel explained to you when you first arrived in Eden, the gift of flight is not wholly given, but earned. The only way a Nephilim can fully come into his wings is by demonstrating the trueness and depth of his faith in the face of the White Mountains where the forbidden Northern Lands lie.”

  Exactly what kind of faith was he talking about? I wondered to myself. Surely everyone who was standing there at that moment had faith. Even Creed. How could any one of us be standing in the presence of angels on a mountain overlooking Eden and not have faith? Or was there more to it that we just weren’t seeing?

  “If you have to ask in such uncertain a manner then my guess is your back will remain bare to see another day,” Eksel remarked as if he had been listening in on my thoughts, or those of any of the boys who most likely were mulling the exact same thing I was. “The faith of which I speak,” he continued, “will take you without hesitation full speed into the treacherous unknown you see before you and accept gladly whatever fate he chooses for you.”

  Of course we all knew the “he” Eksel was referring to, and I suddenly got an even more queasy feeling being on that mountain. Eksel then introduced us to the two angels who had remained inconspicuously quiet on their perches. Their names were Acruxel and Betryel, and they were there, Eksel explained, to ensure that Broken Earth does not become home to broken bodies. And if any two angels looked up to the task of diving after wingless Nephilim who didn’t meet the faith bar and hauling them out of the jaws of death one after the other all afternoon, it was these two. But Eksel was quick to scrub the look of relief he saw on our faces and warned us not to rest in the false comfort our guaranteed safety gave us. The courage gained from knowing one is safe from the clutches of death does not true faith make, he told us.

  He then asked for the next volunteer. Without missing a beat, Max quickly threw off his shirt and thrust it into my hands. “Wish me luck, mate,” he said.

  The others cleared the way for a straight run between where Max positioned himself and the cliff’s edge. Eksel barely finished telling him to proceed when he was ready when Max barreled full speed toward the gorge and hurled himself into the vast openness awaiting him without so much as a second thought. As he dropped from view in the same way Creed did, we all rushed cautiously to the ledge of the ravine and watched as he fell to the blanket of clouds below and disappeared into the white shroud. Just when it seemed his fate had mirrored Creed’s and Eksel was about to send one of the angels down to fetch him, there came a flash of bluish light deep inside the churning vapor like a belch of lightning. Eksel halted the angel named Acruxel who was about to leap from his perch and we all watched and waited with growing anxiousness. Then suddenly came the surprising sight of Max emerging from the clouds into which he had been swallowed. He was being lifted by a pair of wings suddenly rooted to his back. That is, what appeared to be wings. Only they looked nothing like wings—or at least the kind of wings normally seen on the backs of angels. They had a ghostly quality to them, as if they were only an illusion of wings.

  “That’s right, buggers, check me out,” Max called out to us with smug excitement. “I’m flying.”

  I’m not sure the ungraceful way he fluttered about would constitute flying, but it was definitely the opposite of falling. With his wings flapping furiously in a clumsy cadence, Max darted about the sky in awkward, jerking movements. The strain upon him was evident as he struggled to climb upward and make his way to the cliff where the rest of us looked on with idle curiosity. In many ways, it was like witnessing a newborn calf teetering on wobbly legs while trying to take its first steps. Yet eventually Max managed to navigate his way successfully. His sense of accomplishment, however, was quickly doused by the sounds of snickering coming from some of the other guys.

  “What in the world is this?” asked Creed’s friend Giff in his snobby, English accent that made me want to strangle him with his own tongue. His face was screwed up in a look of disgust as he strained to get a closer look at Max’s back. “You call these wings?”

  Max turned his head in an attempt to look past his shoulder. As he did he stretched wide his newfound appendages and saw instantly what had captured so intently the puzzlement of those gathered around him. They were smaller than expected. Most noticeably, there were no plumes, no feathers. Just two capes of skin that had somehow formed themselves to the once protruding nubs on his back. And while they were shaped like wings, they were translucent, like those of a dragonfly or the body of newly hatched fish whose very insides can be observed through its transparent hide. So delicate and unreal looking they were, no one dared to touch them. Even Max appeared surprised such wimpy things could have carried the weight of his body out of the ravine.

  “You look like some kind of pixie!” mocked Creed with a sneer.

  The snide remark drew a chorus of laughter from the other boys that instantly flushed Max’s face, but only for a moment. I could see he was getting mad as a cut snake (to borrow one of his often-used Aussie phrases). “How’d you like to be dropped on your backside by this pixie, no-hoper?” he replied in his no- nonsense way of his, taking a threatening step toward Creed before a sharp reprimand from Eksel kept him in his place.

  It didn’t stop me from spouting out my own two cents. “At least he made it back with wings and didn’t need to be rescued,” I said, earning a “For reals” from Ethan who at the same time focused as intimidating a look as his young, puppy dog face could muster at Creed.

  Creed and I glared at one another in a way that silently spoke of our immense dislike for one another before he turned back to Max. “If looking like Tinkerbell is the result, I’m glad I failed,” he said with a smirk that drew Max another step closer.

  “Enough!” Eksel barked. “If fighting’s your preference, I suggest the two of you take yourself from this mountain and get your fill at Lions Bite.”

  He waited, but no one moved. “Very well,” he grumbled before turning his gaze to Max and asking him how his wings felt.

  Great, Max answered while moving his wings up and down behind him. It was clear, however, something was bothering him about them.

  “You’re worried you look like a pixie as Creed so mocked you,” Eksel said.

  I have to say it was the first time knowing him that I saw Max looking anything less than fully confident.

  “What’s with these bodgie wings? They don’t look anything like yours, or my fathers,” he said. It was a question we were all asking quietly to ourselves. Eksel told Max not to worry (actually his response was to fret not) and assured Max his wings would grow into him as he would grow into them. Even in the first few hours, he said, Max would begin to see a noticeable change, and by weeks-end the wings which Creed mocked him for will be ones he himself covets. That seemed to relieve not only Max but the rest of us who weren’t all that eager in sharing such a delicate look.

  With the concerns over wings now settled, Eksel asked for another volunteer. Before anyone could step forward, I was startled to hear Eksel call out my name, and I knew emphatically I had not raised my hand. I looked to see his unfriendly eyes firmly on me and I instantly began to sweat, not out of fear of him but because I knew what was coming when he instructed me to step forward. Never before had my feet approached the edge of a cliff, no matte ho high or perilous, with any hesitation or with such wary steps as they did then. Truth be told, this should have been a piece a cake for someone like me. After all, Ty introduced me to BASE jumping just as he had Bungee jumping off the Darren’s
Creek Bridge, and I can’t count the number of times the two of us willingly leapt off the highest peak at Penuel Point when we were looking to get our adrenaline fix back home, and every time it had been nothing short of awesome. Then of course, I had a chute strapped to my back which may have had something to do with my courage. Broken Earth was different, chute or no chute, and as my toes touched the edge I looked straight down the sheer rock beneath my feet into the cloud-filled gully and I was suddenly met by that rush. Only this time it was not precipitant to the frisson of the waiting free-fall. Rather it was fueled by an inexplicable fear; a fear completely unknown to me, and yet at the same time intimately familiar.

  “Sometime today would be good, Mr. Parrish,” I heard Eksel remark impatiently from somewhere over my left shoulder. Then I felt Max’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Go on,” he said giving me an encouraging nudge. “It’s a piece of piss” (Whatever that meant).

  I looked to Acruxel, then to Betryel, and found both angels standing at their posts patiently waiting for the plunge that would determine whether eitherwould be making another journey down into the unseen depths of the ravine to retrieve yet another Nephilim who had shown himself weak of faith. Thing is I knew I believed in God. It was the fact I had a while back lost faith in him that was the problem, and somehow, I figured that earned me a sure-fire ticket straight to the bottom of the ravine before me. And while both angels looked superior in power and capable of wrangling every last boy to safety should they decide to jump in unison, for some strange, unknown reason their presence offered me no comfort.