by August Arrea
“Is there?” It was not so much a question as a hopeful utterance. “I can’t help but replay in my mind the story Gotham told me about what happened to his son.”
Thaniel pursed his lips and bowed his head slightly. “Yes, it was a very tragic thing to have happened. But forgive me, you’ve lost me with what this has to do with your question of redemption. Gothamel’s Fall did not come from the killing of his son.”
“I know that…that’s not what I mean,” said Jacob.
Thaniel studied carefully Jacob’s face and a look of clarity slowly came to him.
“You see David’s death as Gothamel’s three Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys,” said Thaniel.
“Isn’t it?” asked Jacob. “I mean, Gotham was faced with the decision to allow the Sword of Destiny to fall into the hands of the Darkness or kill his own son. His own son, Thaniel.”
Jacob spoke as if the words alone could not justly describe the gravity of the choice of which he spoke of without a hammer to drive them with a firm blow into the ears listening. Yet he mindfully kept his voice from being carried by the echoes surrounding the Library any further than the table where he sat.
“How is it Gotham can consciously make such a sacrifice in the name of Eden—and, frankly, beyond—and still be made to carry this curse that has left him an outcast?”
“Be careful, Jacob,” Thaniel was quick to caution. “Do not mistake the noble action taken by Gothamel—no matter how teethed in pain and loss it inarguably was—as a display of his willful penance.”
Jacob sat quietly for a moment while staring blankly at the angel from his seat across the table.
“You’re saying killing his only child on behalf of his own father was for nothing?” asked Jacob softly while trying to hide the tremble of frustration in his voice.
“What I’m saying is Gothamel’s decision to do what needed to be done to keep the Sword from being possessed by a force which would have undoubtedly wielded great harm and destruction upon countless souls with it does not take the place of atonement for his sins.”
“Atonement? What sins did he commit that were so damning? Expressing anger over being forced to do something so incredibly horrible? For cursing Heaven after being made to commit what was itself arguably a sin?” asked Jacob with hushed passion. “I could live my life a thousand times over and it would only be a fraction of time Gotham has been punished because of these so-called sins.”
“I would caution you to be careful in your assessment of what you don’t fully understand, Jacob,” said Thaniel in a stern yet sympathetic manner. “It is obvious you have come to care a great deal for Gothamel, and I think it would gladden his heart if he were here to see you coming to his defense as you have. However, you are looking at his plight through the eyes of someone residing in mortal skin. It is not for neither you or I to say what Gothamel’s sins may or may not be. Or that which should be his penance. But know the laws of good and evil which govern angels are not the same as those which govern man. What I can tell you is we are all held accountable—mortal and angel together— differently from one another.”
~~~
This revelation concerning the laws of good and evil, as Thaniel deemed it, seemed to especially grab hold of Jacob’s attention. “What do you mean differently?”
Thaniel leaned himself across the table as if he didn’t want what he was about to say to drift any further than the two of them, even though they were the only souls in the Library.
“Whether justly or unjustly, God holds all who teeter upon the righteous path to a different standard,” he whispered. “A moment of weakness visited upon one bathed in the grace of the Light is seen as worse than untold atrocities committed by a man infected with a dark soul. The same is true of angels. Where one can lead a rebellion against his Creator, it’s the one framed in the light of God’s smile who entertains the disloyal thought, however fleeting it may be, that draws tears from Heaven, as well as its harshest ire.”
“But…that’s not fair,” balked Jacob.
“What exactly do you find to be unfair?” asked Thaniel. “That the breadth of one’s sins is measured by a different yardstick than others? Or that the punishments Heaven chooses to dole out is based on favor, or lack of?”
“Both,” insisted Jacob. “They’re both not fair.”
“Yet there it is, unfair or not. And just as the scorn of sin is different for every man, so too is the road to redemption,” continued Thaniel. “In Heaven, Gothamel was held in favor worthy of all our envy. But enjoying the view from such a high pedestal meant the footing beneath his boots could be loosened by a sin that wouldn’t necessarily cause any other angel to lose his own balance. Yet lose his balance he did, and the star which shined brightest was unhinged instantly from the sky. I don’t have to tell you when one falls from such stately heights, the return climb upward is expected to be an insuperable toil, if not impossible.”
A glum, defeated look came over Jacob as he listened to Thaniel. “I thought God was supposed to be all about love and forgiveness.”
“Don’t believe differently, for he is, in more ways than you can imagine. To be forgiven, however, one must seek forgiveness,” replied Thaniel. “Unfortunately, the fate of my Fallen brethren forever resides in the Underneath. It is not that they refuse to do penance. It’s that repentance does not exist within them. It was overcome and drowned long ago in the murk of the Darkness they chose to dwell within. And without repentance there is no chance for salvation.”
Jacob felt a slight lump rise in his throat hearing those words and it caused a flash of anger to spike inside himself.
“Then if what you say is true,” he said, “Gotham sacrificed his son for nothing.”
Thaniel lowered his head in an effort to catch Jacob’s sinking gaze with his own. “Do you honestly think Gothamel drew his sword on his only son with the intention his action might win him renewed favor with Heaven?”
The question seemed to leave Jacob all the more befuddled.
“Why else do such a thing then?”
“If that is what you believe, then your true knowledge of him is as thin as the haze of light burning above out heads,” said Thaniel. “Gothamel’s actions that day, if anything, revealed the true convictions of his soul, and that is one untainted by reward. More importantly, he remains untwisted by the far- reaching embrace of the Darkness despite the unbridled anger sparked by the sting of Heaven’s rejection festering and curing inside him day in and day out through all these endless centuries. Whatever saving grace he might still cling to, it is that.”
Jacob wasn’t fully certain what Thaniel was attempting to convey to him, but his face softened at the sound of his words.
“And now I think we’ve done enough talking for one night, don’t you?” said Thaniel, straightening up and sitting back in his chair.
Jacob felt somewhat numb as he got to his feet while smiling his thanks to the angel for lending his ear and sorting words of wisdom. Then as he turned to make his way toward the Library entrance, Thaniel’s voice stopped him once again.
“You’re forgetting something, aren’t you?” asked the angel.
Jacob glanced back to see he had left behind the book about the Sword of Destiny he had found earlier; or rather that which had found him. Thaniel slid the book across the table toward him, but when Jacob when to pick it up, the angel’s hand remained firmly on the book.
“The Sword of Destiny,” said Thaniel, his voice laced with a notable inquisitiveness. “It holds quite a tale. Do you know much about it?”
“Only what Gotham’s told me,” answered Jacob with a shrug.
“And what, exactly, has he told you?”
“Bits and pieces…enough to intrigue me to know more about it, and tonight out of the clear blue I stumbled across this book.”
“Well, you won’t find a more complete accounting than what’s held in these pages.” Thaniel’s eyes remained fixed on the book whose cover the angel continued to slo
wly trace with his finger. “Of course seeing the sword up close and personal is an entirely different experience altogether. Pity you were denied the privilege of such a thrill.”
“But I have seen it,” answered Jacob, bringing a gleaming spark to Thaniel’s face.
“That is…well…sort of,” said Jacob. “Gotham drew it on the ground next to the Tree of Life as he told me about it. It looked real enough…for something that wasn’t, that is.”
“I see,” said the angel in a somewhat disappointed tone. “Then you have no idea if he brought it with him when the two of you came to Eden, do you?”
“Not that I know of,” said Jacob, shrugging again. “Why do you want to know?”
“No reason, really. I guess, like you, I fancy its mystery. It’s one thing to hear about something so mired in legend, it’s quite another to see it firsthand and feel the proof of its existence in one’s own hands.”
There was something Jacob found strangely odd in the way Thaniel questioned him about the sword. However, the aging hour of the night was finally beginning to wear on Jacob’s tired eyes and making them heavier with each passing minute he stood in the lulling quiet of the Library, even as his thoughts returned to the mysterious lady in the water he and Max had spied on Thaniel speaking to the previous night inside the Silent Forest. Who was she? And for what reason were they talking so secretly about the Sword of Destiny? He wanted to ask Thaniel. And perhaps he would have if the angel didn’t suddenly turn his golden-tinged attention upon him and, handing the boy his book, sent him on his way with a, “Now then, off to bed with you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Call of the Champions
W
hen the morning of Illumination finally arrived, Damiel found Jacob alone in his room staring out his window with Mist at rest on the floor by his feet.
The cool breeze wafting through the open pane carried with it the enthusiastic sounds of the celebration coming from the Garden grounds below. Whether by willful choice or because he was too lost in his own thoughts, Jacob took no notice of Damiel when he crossed the room to stand at the other side of the window to share in the view.
“They’ve just about all arrived,” said Damiel to no reply as he peered at the boy from out of the corner of his eye. There was no need for him to question the forlorn look Jacob carried on him, or the reason for it. Outside, the sky stretching to the south was dotted with the approach of angels who came swooping down by the dozens to join where the other Nephilim boys were gathered along the tranquil River bank eager to greet the one they called “father.”
Quietly, Jacob sat observing the happy embraces taking place with an especially keen eye, as though he were studying something foreign and unfamiliar to him, and for the most part it was. The loving tousling of hair. The showing off of new wings with pride. And especially the shared characteristics, both physical and not, that seemed to join the classmates he had come to know over the past many months together with an older version of themselves like two puzzle pieces. For Jacob, it was a strange and unique thing to watch. Whatever he expected, it certainly wasn’t seeing angels appear so…well, fatherly. Every once in a while as he looked on unobtrusively from his spot at the window, a reunion would crack the solemn look on his face with a smile; like when Ethan was seen showing off his Grace to his father by changing form into a chubby but cute pot-bellied pig, whose high-pitched squeal rang out loudly to mark the successful transformation. It was, however, a lonesome, empty kind of a smile; one that seemed to only accentuate a deep longing held in a most noticeable way in his eyes.
“We should probably go down. The competition will be starting soon,” said Damiel.
Jacob seemed unenthusiastic by the suggestion.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to pass.”
Damiel continued to stare on ahead and shook his head disappointingly. “Do this often, do you?”
“Do what?”
“Hole yourself up and spend the day feeling sorry for yourself,” said Damiel. “If so, then I have sorely overestimated the kind of Nephilim I believed you to be.”
“Who says I’m feeling sorry for myself?” replied Jacob, shooting the angel a defiant glare.
“What, then, would you call sitting in your room with a face so long your chin is practically resting on the floor?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“No, of course not,” said Damiel. “Why don’t you try explaining it to me, anyway.”
Jacob drew back from the window, unable to watch or hear any more or the cheerfulness taking place outside.
“Look, I’ve done this more times than I care to count,” he said. “Every year of school was filled with these same father-son events, and every year I’d watch the teachers scramble to find someone to pair me up with just so I wouldn’t be left out. A husband, a boyfriend, another teacher. One time, it was old Mr. Grimley, the school maintenance man, who looked to be more like my grandfather than father. It became a game to other kids. ‘Who’s gonna get picked to be Jacob Parrish’s dad this time around.’ It got to the point where I felt like a charity case, so much so that any time one of these events came up at school, I faked being sick. See, for me, it was better to be left out than to hear the whispering and snickering behind my back. I was okay with not belonging and being made to feel like an outcast. It was something I made peace with.”
Damiel’s face softened as he listened to the boy.
“If that’s true, then tell me,” said Damiel, “why is it I’ve come to find you alone up here with your befriended wolf?”
“To be made to feel like an outcast back home is one thing,” explained Jacob, after a long-drawn-out silence. “I’m just not sure I’m ready to feel like one here.”
Damiel gave a reluctant nod of understanding.
“It’s a difficult thing to bear, I can imagine. Like a ship set adrift without a rudder to help steer it through rough seas. I trust during your first days here you have felt the sting of my own indifference, intentional or not, and for that I’m sorry,” said Damiel. “But listen to me when I tell you the start of Illumination is too important a day to observe from a bedroom window. True, fathers have come to witness this marked moment, but today is about Nephilim, and Nephilim alone. Do not let discomfort keep you from taking your rightful part in this occasion. If the label of outcast awaits you, I say out loud: So be it! Wear it with pride and refuse to let it keep you from holding your head held high, for it will only make you that much stronger. Goodness knows you will come to face far worse things in the coming years than the absence of inclusion.”
It was hard to ignore Damiel’s words which he spoke with both an uplifting fervor and a pointed firmness. It was equally difficult to act on them as far as Jacob was concerned. Still, if there was one thing Jacob did not want to show himself to be in front of the one who for the past many months had trained him to wield a sword and become a warrior, it was the image of a boy reduced to cowering from judging eyes and gossipy tongues. And the only thing left for him to do was to buck up and accept Damiel’s offer to walk him down to where the gathering was taking place.
~~~
Once outside, Mist darted from Jacob’s side and rushed to the River’s edge. Tail wagging, she began yelping high-pitched cries of excitement while fixing her piercing white eyes onto the sky where the last of the angels could be seen soaring in their approach to the Garden. The crowd of winged men and their winged offspring felt much larger to Jacob being in the middle of it than it did looking down from his bedroom window, and he did his best to make his way through the gathering with a confident posture and self-assured steps, though it helped to have Damiel at his side and the feel of his guiding hand on his shoulder offering a reassuring squeeze now and then. Yet, try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the feel of eyes already beginning to shift his way.
“Jacob!” a voice called out.
Jacob turned to see Max making his way toward him.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” said Max visibly cheery. “Where you’ve been hiding yourself?
“I haven’t been hiding,” answered Jacob somewhat testily.
“Easy there, mate, just a figure of speech—nothing to get your knickers in a twist,” said Max before introducing his friend to the imposing figure accompanying him. “Just wanted you to meet my father. This is Gradiel.”
Jacob looked up to find a pair of brilliant gold eyes bearing down on him from behind a face he couldn’t imagine to be more intimidating had he found himself standing in the shadow of the statue of the sphinx for the first time.
“Hello,” said Jacob, while extending his hand to the towering figure who ignored the gesture. Not in a cruel or unfriendly way, but ignored it just the same.
Gradiel.
Jacob’s mind feverishly worked to recall the name from the endless ranks of angel names he and the other Nephilim had been tasked by Thaniel to both study and commit to memory. Thankfully, it came to him in short time.
“Gradiel…it means ‘might of God,’ doesn’t it?” asked Jacob.
“You’ve obviously been paying attention during Study,” answered the angel, though looking none that impressed.
Jacob immediately took note to himself of how well the name suited his friend’s father. Like the other angels gathered about, Gradiel was of great stature attesting to even greater physical strength. To stand in the shadow of such an intimidating presence was, to say the very least, unnerving.
“Maximilian here has told me a great deal about you,” said Gradiel.
Jacob looked immediately to Max and grinned coyly.
Maximilian? Well…pardon me for suddenly feeling grossly underdressed for this formal introduction. So, is there a title that goes with that name…like Count?”
Jacob’s telepathic teasing instantly wiped the cheeriness from Max’s expression.
