by August Arrea
Tell one person about this and you’ll be down for the count! replied Max silently while his unmoving lips pressed tightly together to keep from reprimanding his father for his slip of the tongue.
“I understand the two of you have come to form the bonds of a close friendship,” remarked Gradiel, in a rather cool manner.
“He’s alright,” replied Jacob, giving Max a joking nudge.
“Yes…that he is,” Gradiel grumbled without so much as cracking the slightest of smiles. “I must say I was surprised to find out you have come to share a room together. When I left him at Havenhid I remember there to be only three other roommates.”
“I was a little late in getting here. But Anahel managed to find an extra bed in Max’s—that is Maximilian’s room,” replied Jacob. His sarcastic quip, much to his delight, only seemed to make Max’s lips press themselves even tighter together.
“So I understand.” Gradiel’s eyes, swirling with the life of a boundless age that defied the youthfulness held in his face, then shifted to Damiel, who stood quietly nearby. “Perhaps I might have a word with you in private.”
There was a grated seriousness in Gradiel’s voice and Jacob and Max watched with some semblance of shared curiosity as the two angels excused themselves to huddle together a short distance away.
“I don’t think your father cares too much for me,” remarked Jacob to Max.
“The sun’s baking your head. What would make you say that? He just met you,” replied Max.
Then why, Jacob thought to himself, was Max’s father being most insistent Damiel move his son to another room? And as quickly as possible.
“I will not have my son colluding with that boy.”
One thing about Nephilim ears, there isn’t much they don’t hear. Particularly when it comes to conversations they may inconspicuously choose to focus themselves to eavesdrop upon.
“Come on, let’s go find the others,” said Max, referring to Ethan, Leos and Kairo, who were somewhere in the growing crush of mingling bodies. “And while we’re at it, we’ll find you some shade.”
Just as they turned to wade further into the crowd, who should they spy coming straight toward them but Creed in all of his ever-present, marked smugness. It wasn’t the sight of their unfriendly rival, however, that halted the boy’s mid-step, but that of the imposing figure accompanying him. Jacob knew it was Creed’s father even before Max whispered it in his ear. At first sight, the Archangel Sandel was nothing what Jacob had pictured in his mind, not that he had spent a lot of time imagining Creed’s father. For starters, he was a vision of white, Sandel was; colorless, pure, bright white, from his long, straight mane of hair to his clothes, except for the black boots he wore on his feet. It was as close to an image of an angel Jacob had carried around in his mind before Gotham set him straight on the reality of what real angels were like. However, as Creed and his father made their way closer, Jacob quickly saw there was a disquieting and forbidding air surrounding Sandel that all his whiteness couldn’t hide. Even his skin was a pale alabaster, like a corpse’s, which Jacob thought most appropriate.
As one of the twelve Angels of Plague, Sandel held a centuries-old reputation steeped in apocalyptic tales which the Nephilim boys were well versed in, thanks to Thaniel’s instruction during Study. The image of white that he was, ironically, was in many ways more fearsome than if he appeared in a dark cloak and carrying a scythe. It was a whiteness as cold as it was revealing. One could almost catch the sorted stench of despair, disease and anguish clinging to Sandel’s clothing like the stink of stale cigarette smoke. After hearing some of the reputed stories about Sandel, Jacob couldn’t help but wonder whether the archangel might better be suited for horns and a pitchfork. It was only when Sandel stood looking down at him did Jacob spot the horns. They were kept in the pupils of his eyes which held the archangel’s icy, cool gaze that slowly looked him over in a most disapproving way. The pitchfork? Well, that was quickly revealed the moment Sandel opened his mouth to speak.
~~~
“You must be the one I’ve been hearing so much about,” said Sandel, without so much as an introduction. His voice was as cold as his stare which was devoid of the golden warmth Jacob had grown familiar to seeing in other angels eyes and, instead, held the appearance of two colorless icebergs adrift on a dark, black sea.
“I can’t imagine you hearing anything about me. And the name is Jacob.” This time, Jacob didn’t bother with the courtesy of a handshake as he had with Max’s father.
“Jacob. I once knew of a Jacob long ago,” recalled Sandel. “He came to wrestle with one of my brothers and would not give up until he received Heaven’s blessing.”
“My mother used to tell me the story,” said Jacob. “It’s why I was given the name I was.”
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t crow about such a thing if I were you. The name, after all, means the supplanter, or taking what belongs to someone else. Then again it’s no secret that Jacob had his deceitful ways, which is why God ended up changing his name,” remarked Sandel.
“I don’t know about any of that,” Jacob replied. “I just know that Jacob was determined to get God’s blessing at the end of that wrestling match, and he did. Personally. That’s why my mom liked the name, and it’s why I do as well.”
“Of course it is,” the white angel grumbled in response.
Jacob found there was an unsettling, almost hypnotic way Sandel’s eyes were fixed on him.
“I couldn’t believe it when I first heard the news, but now that I lay eyes on you…yes…I see undoubtedly it’s true,” said Sandel.
“What’s true?” asked Jacob, who was fast finding himself losing patience with the judgmental gazes that seemed to accompany each new angel he came to meet.
“Why your existence, naturally,” said Sandel matter-of-factly. “I’m rather quite intrigued—flummoxed, really—as to how someone of your, well—should we say breeding, for lack of a better word—came to be in as ironic a place as Eden?”
Breeding? Jacob almost felt the urge to dig into his ear with his finger to check if his hearing was being impaired by some ear wax in need of removal. Did this angel—and an archangel, at that—actually just make a nasty dig at his expense for being without a father? Thankfully, he had Max at his side who inquisitively sensed Jacob’s blood begin to simmer and quickly stepped in before the barb quickly beginning to form on the end of his friend’s tongue could be launched in retort.
“Through the Gate, of course, like everyone else. If you’re looking to thank someone for his fine presence here, that would be Gotham. He obviously thought Jacob here was the perfect breed for Eden, and I couldn’t agree more,” said Max, whose pointedly snarky tone in the face of an intimidating figure such as Sandel brought a gleeful grin to Jacob.
“Couldn’t you, though?” said Sandel, his right eyebrow arching high upon his forehead as though an exclamation point to his dour demeanor. “And just where is Gothamel, may I ask? I’ve looked, but I don’t seem to see him anywhere.”
He’s off enjoying an afternoon of collecting puppies and placing them into sacks and then throwing them into the River to drown, is what Jacob wanted to tell the high-and-mighty angel whose voice held a dripping disdain when uttering Gotham’s name. Just as Jacob’s mouth began to part he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and when he looked to see who it belonged to, he found Damiel suddenly at his side.
“Gothamel parted Eden some time ago. Exactly why I couldn’t tell you, any more as to point you in the direction of his destination,” said Damiel.
“Left Eden?” said Sandel. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. To be in such a beautiful place and constantly reminded of the utter failure that was your own son would be a bit much to withstand for any angel, even a Fallen, I imagine. Tragic, really.”
Yet, there was no sympathy in the archangel’s voice. If anything, a morbid glee. It inflamed Jacob, and any intimidation he felt from the angel vanished, if just for that moment.
> “Probably ran off to drown his sorrows with the other Fallen scum, which is where he belongs,” Creed piped in with his eyes full of nastiness locked on Jacob and a cruel curl forming at the corners of his thin-lipped mouth.
Jacob had more than once contemplated on the almost poetic way in which nature worked where the existence of Creed was concerned. For where else could someone as malicious and thoroughly unpleasant a boy come from other than the loins of an Angel of Plague?
“Now, now son. Let us not be overtly nasty,” said Sandel. “Not to say Gothamel has ever been known to be select in his company. At least not since his banishment. Why should he start now?”
The smugness was obviously a family trait passed on from father to son, amongst other noticeable, lesser traits. It was nearly tangible in how it dripped with such viscosity from both tongues.
“Besides, it is not Gothamel alone who is befitting a showing of scorn,” continued Sandel, speaking pointedly to Damiel. “If anyone’s deserving of admonishment it’s you and your wayward band of Guides. You befouled Eden the moment you made the decision to allow undesirables to step foot in Havenhid, beginning with Gothamel and his treasonous son. Rest assure, I will make my displeasure about it known to Anahel this day.”
He looked down the end of his nose at Jacob and there was no misunderstanding to whom he was referring when he mentioned “undesirables” with such venomous contempt. Had Damiel’s hand not instinctively tightened its brace on his shoulder, Jacob likely would have befouled Eden right then and there with a choice of a Grade A rebuke directed straight at the arrogant archangel and happily take whatever wrathful punishment Heaven might send his way in the form of lightning.
“Be thankful there are children around, or I would tell you, Sandel, exactly what you could do with your displeasure,” said Damiel in a voice that dared from Sandel the slightest retort in return. “It’s the same thing I told Gradiel, and what I will tell any one of our other brothers who feel the same way. If, however, you’d like to discuss it now in private I’d be more than willing to oblige you.”
The two stared daggers at one another. Yet fierce an angel as Sandel was in his own right, he was also familiar enough with the unyielding look in Damiel’s eyes to decline the invitation extended to him.
“Now’s not the time. But mark my words, Damiel, this conversation is not ended,” hissed Sandel. He then nudged his son while turning a withering look on Jacob. “Come, Creed, you have a competition to win. And win it you shall!”
“The last time I saw a mouth like that, it had a hook in it,” remarked Max as he and Jacob watched father and son continue on deeper into the surrounding crowd.
“If that’s a sample of Heaven’s welcoming committee, I could see the Underneath becoming a destination resort…like Hawaii,” said Jacob.
“Don’t judge him too harshly,” said Damiel. “His duty far too often takes him into the underbelly of darkness, and such work has a tendency to stay on a person, like soot to a chimney sweep. His beliefs, while sometimes harsh and abrasive, come from an honest place.”
There was a sound of compassion in Damiel’s voice, as well as a tinge of sadness. It kept Jacob from saying anything further about Sandel. That and the long swell of a trumpet suddenly sounding loud its call across the Garden from Lions Bite.
~~~
Anahel was found standing in the center of Lions Bite when the gathering of boys and their fathers streamed into the arena. An electricity of excitement was alive in the air, especially for the young boys who, before this moment, had only heard stories about one of the most important days in the life of a Nephilim just coming of age. When everyone had finally found themselves a place to sit and the murmur of excitement had been quieted somewhat, Anahel’s voice took command of Lions Bite.
“I welcome you, my brothers, to your home away from home,” he began to a warm reception. “Illumination, as you all well know, is a day rooted in tradition; a tradition celebrated since the voices of the first Nephilim could be heard across Eden’s once silenced lands. It is a day where a continuing generation of our fair Fledglings puts on display the education they have so far learned during their stay here. More importantly, it is time when fathers and their sons come together and stand as one in their shared service.
“The earth upon which Lions Bite stands has been watered by the sweat and toil of many a Nephilim boy, and it will be so again today. Illumination is not just a day marked by competition, but nonetheless the awaiting contests is where we choose to begin such a day. And as I can readily recognize in the many of the anxious looks staring back at me, it no doubt is the reason they wish for me to wind down my speech so they can eagerly get to it—and so we shall,” said Anahel with a smile. “Today, all of you Fledglings will be competing in a number of contests, not in groups of Harriers or Ospreys or Shrikes, but as individuals.”
The boys smiled their unanimous approval upon hearing the first guideline of the competition.
“You will each compete against one another in a number of contests,” explained Anahel. “Each contest has been carefully conceived to allow you to demonstrate all the skills you have been taught by the Guides over the course of your stay here in Eden. Utilize them well, or you may find yourselves quickly defeated and eliminated from the competition. Those who prove victorious will continue to move forward to more difficult challenges until we have a final five. Those five Fledglings will earn their spot in the final, and I dare say the most difficult of challenges: the hunt for the elusive Illume.”
The boys exchanged amongst themselves a coo of excitement upon hearing the final contest.
“Now then, does everyone understand and, more importantly, are you ready?” asked Anahel.
Not surprisingly there came in return a roar of approval from the now fidgeting group of boys. And with that a giant cauldron in the center of the stone-pillared arena was lit with a burning white flame, and the Illumination was officially begun.
~~~
The competition proved itself to be everything a Nephilim boy had heard about growing up, and more. For Jacob, it was like the Olympic Games on steroids. Except instead of being proficient in one sport, he found himself competing in a long steady string of events. And just as Anahel had explained, each challenge required the boys to use the skills they had honed under the Guides’ guidance in order to stay in the game. To show off their strength, they competed against one another in a number of expected physical contests such as wrestling matches and sword duels, as well as those that were more out of the ordinary.
One such match, called “Sheer Will,” proved particularly combative, and equally taxing. It involved a long rope of Herrinsu vine which, while infamously imperishable, ironically. could be harvested from the Forest by the simple act of plucking it from the soil at the root and going about the task of uncoiling it from whatever tree the delicate-looking, clinging stem had snaked. Each end of the vine was secured to the back of a pair of harnesses worn by the two opponents facing against the other. At the sound of the horn, the two competitors raced full-speed toward an obstacle of half a dozen poles positioned before each. They would weave their way through as fast as they could with the slack of vine trailing behind until they reached the last pole upon where the runners would make a hard U-turn and then a dead sprint back to the starting point, each boy racing the other to hit the waiting bell and sound their victory. However, reaching the bell proved itself to be a challenge quite worthy of the calibre of skills and strength one needed if they wished to shine at Illumination. For just as the two opponents—more often than not neck and neck with one another— could see their victory within their reach the slack of the Herrinsu vine would come to an abrupt and jarring end causing them to be yanked sharply backward from off their feet and sent sprawling onto the ground. It was then that it was quickly understood why the competition was given the name it was, as it took every ounce of brawn and grit within each boy as they clawed and strained inch by inch while face down in the d
irt against each other, and the merciless, unyielding vine to which they were tethered, to graze with their fingers the bell gleaming in the sun.
Achievement throughout the day’s festivities, however, wasn’t gained solely by muscle. Equally as trying were the number of mental challenges designed to test the wealth of information and critical thinking Thaniel had drilled into the Fledglings heads, as well as those centered around the various Graces each boy had come to hone with growing adeptness thanks to Zuriel’s stringent instruction. The competitive zeal the teens brought to each of the events was fierce, if not good-natured; Jacob, himself, could not deny the spirited pull Illumination had on him, even as he remained self-conscious about his ability to perform well despite his athletic tendencies. Mostly, it had to do with the fact he still had not obtained his wings. In fact, he was the only one amongst the group of boys whose back was still bare while everyone else, over the course of the past several weeks (and for a handful of others, months), had earned theirs. Even Creed, who had failed miserably that first day at Broken Earth, was proudly sporting a pair. Of course, it didn’t help matters that Jacob had steadfastly refused any repeat attempt to coax out what remained hidden in the confines of his back. With the harrowing effects of his last leap still fresh in his mind—not to mention insides—and the fact he didn’t trust Eksel any further than he could throw him, the closest he managed to muster the courage to take the plunge was to watch the others do what kept his feet frozen to the ledge of Broken Earth.
Then there was the fact he still remained Graceless, a point made clear every time he went to the Crescent Scar where Zuriel would attempt another reading by the Blackstone, despite Jacob’s inexplicable ability at Cloaking, which by now he had mastered, and quite well at that. Yet, somehow, the mystery surrounding his Graceless self grew all the more curiouser when it came time for him to compete in “The Underground.” The challenge called on each contestant to descend a hidden passageway of stairs leading into the subterranean darkness beneath the arena floor. There, they were met by a maze involving a litany of obstacles of both inanimate as well as living (in some instances unwelcoming) things. The only way to successfully maneuver one’s way through the maze, which mysteriously transformed and conformed itself to each challenger, was through the solving of various puzzles, riddles and questions posted along the way, or the successful utilization of the Grace or Graces one had at his disposal. Only by the reappearance of a contestant emerging through a second hidden passageway at the opposite end of the arena was victory in the challenge determined.
