The Crossing Point

by August Arrea

  He then instructed the contestants to prepare themselves.

  “I don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell winning this thing, do I?” Jacob asked Gotham as he climbed onto the Snowdrift’s back.

  Gotham noticed Jacob’s gaze was on his four challengers who were seen quickly stripping off their shirts. What he eyed were the wings stretching themselves into view, the sight of which brought a noticeable longing to the boy, not to mention embarrassment as a reminder of the one thing he lacked to make him fully a Nephilim like the others.

  “Keep thinking like that and you’ll quickly learn prophesies have a way of being self-fulfilling,” said Gotham. “It won’t be wings alone that guide the victor, but rather a keenness of both mind and eye as well as a courageous and tenacious spirit, both of which you have already proven to possess in great measure.”

  The angel’s confidence in him likely would have proven more reassuring to Jacob had he not been preoccupied with other thoughts swirling around inside his head.

  “So, how long do you plan to stick around this time?” Jacob asked suddenly out of the blue with a bitterness in his voice that made clear his lingering resentment of the angel’s earlier abandonment had not completely dissipated.

  “Long enough to fully enjoy the look on Sandel’s face when you return the winner,” answered Gotham, flashing a grin both enthusiastic and mischievous before quickly adding with a seriousness devoid of any smile, “and then for some time after, if there are no objections.”

  The answer was obviously good news to the boy’s ears.

  Then while stroking the neck of the horse, Gotham leaned in closer to ensure his words would not be in earshot of Jacob’s rivals. “A couple pieces of advice,” he began. “Unlike most birds, the Illume can’t see what’s approaching it from directly behind.”

  “That’s good to know. And the second?” asked Jacob.

  “The key to ensuring a win is to not treat this is as a hunt. If you want the bee to come to you, all you need is a little pollen.”

  Before Jacob could ask the angel to expound on what he meant, Anahel called the five boys together.

  “It is quite possible none of you will succeed in this task before you,” said Anahel. “That as it may be, you each have until the sound of the trumpet rings out, at which time you must return immediately for the oath ceremony. For the one amongst you with whom fortune finds favor, your trophy will be in knowing your distinguished feat is a victory shared by a prestigious few. Now then, are you ready?”

  The answer came in the deeply focused looks that fixed themselves with an intense seriousness on each of the boys faces as their bodies tensed themselves into position in preparation of springing forth into action. Jacob glanced over one last time at the other four boys. Only Max looked back and gave him a friendly nod of luck and Jacob happily returned the gesture. When the word—sounding like a thunderous gunshot—finally echoed through the arena, there came a furious storm of beating wings and stomping hooves which whipped up the earth in a whirlwind of dust. As the cloud thinned, Jacob could be seen drilling across the Garden upon his blinding white steed with the same vengeance his winged rivals took to the sky.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The Shrike and the Harrier

  T

  he race soon reached the open lands of Eden, and as the Snowdrift took to the vast grasslands in full gallop, the speed with which it traveled caught Jacob by surprise. He could feel the intimidating power of the animal churn between his legs like an unbridled storm and it took all of his strength just to hold himself to the horse’s broad back and not be thrown to the wind like a fuzzy seed released from a dandelion. It made him recall the first time he watched a herd of the majestic beasts the day he first arrived in Eden and how they appeared as a blinding snowstorm sweeping across the land befitting the moniker bestowed upon them. Anahel had remarked it would be a challenge for a horse to keep pace with a Nephilim with wings, but that was not the case with the Snowdrift. It trailed only slightly the shadows moving across the ground from the four winged boys soaring high above, and the hot breaths coming from the steed’s flaring nostrils kept beat with its pounding hooves in a fierce determination to pull ahead.

  Then, in the closing distance, as the trees forming the part of the Forest resting at the foot of the mountain range running along the western edge of Eden grew nearer, the shadows moving along the ground suddenly parted. Jacob trained his eyes to the sky and saw his competition veer off in four different directions and disappear over the treetops. Only it wasn’t the sight of his fellow classmates his eyes found themselves focused upon, but that of a lone snake eagle, the familiar majestic bird whose presence he often caught drifting on the higher elevations of sky directly above wherever he was. It began to feel to Jacob as if the eagle was stalking him, trailing his every movement no matter where in Eden he went.

  Soon after he reached the first trees shaping the edge of the Forest, Jacob dismounted from the Snowdrift and left it to graze happily on the sweet, lush grass. Then with the black sack given to him by Anahel tucked in the waistband of his jeans, he glanced again skyward to catch the eagle as it sailed ahead over the Forest and disappeared out of sight before Jacob, himself, hurried on foot into the cluster of trees. He had only gone a short distance when he was suddenly struck by the breadth of the challenge before him. The Forest was an immense and far-reaching place, and as he looked at the towering trees green with moss and dripping with vines all about him for as far as the eye could see—even the sharp eye of a Nephilim—Jacob realized he had a better chance of finding a needle in a haystack.

  He also knew giving up was no option, especially for him. There was no challenge he had greater desire for winning than this one. Maybe it was because at no other time had he felt more of a need to prove himself. Particularly to the fathers who had come to Eden to lend support to their sons. There was no mistaking their contempt for him from the moment they laid eyes on him. He could feel it in the cold reception he received whenever he was offered an introduction to one of them. Even those who managed to extend a warm greeting could not hide the disdainful look held in their eyes. It was clear they viewed him as beneath them, and the more he thought about it the angrier he became. And it was through that anger he was determined more than ever to be the one to seal for himself the prestigious accomplishment of bringing the Illume back to Havenhid.

  Jacob made his way deeper into the thick of trees. How long he was mired in what was seeming to be more and more a fruitless search he did not know before he began to wonder if the others were having any luck on their own separate quests. As he strained his ears to pick up some telling sign from them in the distance, there came a strange noise he had never before heard from inside the Forest. It was a subtle and easily ignorable clicking sound, like that made by a tongue to the roof of one’s mouth. Could it be what he was hearing, he wondered, was the sound Anahel described back at Lions Bite—the actual sound of the Illume? It drew his gaze upward to the trees towering over him. There the clicking seemed to bounce about to different places, yet he couldn’t see anything lurking in the branches fanned out above him.

  Then suddenly Jacob’s eyes caught sight of something taking to the air. It swooped down toward him at a great speed accompanied by a high-pitched shrill. A blur of blue and white, it buzzed past and disappeared into the thicket before Jacob could get a good look at the creature. Jacob immediately took off in pursuit of it, following the unusual shrieking that echoed itself through the Forest. He hadn’t gone far when he heard the trickling sound of water. It led him to a small babbling stream which he crept up upon as quietly as his steps allowed. Crouching down, Jacob carefully peered through the patches of fern and reeds he found cover behind and was treated to the most surprising and unexpected of sights.

  Just a short distance away was a small pool formed by the stream, and standing at the water’s edge was a bird of great beauty. It was about the size of a quail and colored the most magnificent
shades of blue Jacob had ever seen. Its tail was a train of white that would make any bride-to-be in search of a wedding gown green with envy, and from its head sprouted a headdress of white lush plumes from which a solitary blue feather grew. So bright and richly colored was the bird that it carried an iridescent glow to it that at first Jacob thought he was imagining.

  “Hello,” Jacob whispered to himself when he realized the bird could be no other creature than the coveted prize he had been sent in search of. “So, you’re the Illume.”

  Afraid to make so much as the slightest movement that might spook the bird, Jacob stayed frozen in his place for some time and just watched the creature as he pondered his next move. The Illume in turn seemed too preoccupied to have any notion of Jacob’s presence. Cocking its head from side to side, it stared curiously into the water of the pool next to which it stood. As Jacob watched it, he realized the Illume was transfixed on its own image reflected on the water’s smooth, mirror-like surface and he recalled what Anahel said earlier about it being the one day the Illume ventured out in search of a mate.

  “You think you’ve found yourself a possible friend, don’t you?” whispered Jacob as he watched the Illume poke at the watery image now and then with its beak only to be met by ripples.

  Slowly, Jacob reached for the sack tucked in the waistband of his jeans only to freeze suddenly when the Illume raised its head in alarm. Instead of turning an eye his way, the bird gave a spooked glance over its shoulder and furiously began pumping its wings just as Creed came sweeping out of nowhere to pounce upon it like a springing cat. The Illume, however, proved itself far speedier and eked a razor-thin escape.

  Visibly frustrated, Creed glanced toward where Jacob remained peering out from behind the fern.

  “Stay put, Parrish, I’ll take it from here,” he said with a contemptuous sneer as the two boys glared at one another before he flexed his wings and took off after the Illume.

  “I bet you will,” muttered Jacob as he jumped to his feet and tore off in a run after him.

  While Jacob may have lacked wings, he definitely was not deficient in speed. And it was with tremendous swiftness he made off after Creed all the while looking skyward where flashes of sunlight revealed the furious chase taking place in the crotchet of branches stretching high overhead. The Illume’s shrieking cry rang out bringing Jacob to a standstill.

  “You’re not allowed to harm it!” Jacob shouted angrily as pieces of tree rained down around him from above. His eyes scoured the treetops, but while a terrible ruckus roared through the Forest, neither the Illume or Creed could be found. Growing more and more frustrated in his inability to intervene, Jacob made a dart for, and scurried up, one of the trees with the agile gait of a squirrel. He had made his way halfway up the massive trunk when suddenly the Illume came into sight in a desperate dive toward the Forest floor at breakneck speed. Creed was fast on its trailing tail and there was a mad, intense gleam in his eyes.

  Jacob readied himself, and the moment the chase rushed past him in a frenzied blur he threw himself from the tree and dove onto Creed’s back. Caught by surprise, Creed attempted to buck Jacob off by swaying his body sharply from side to side like a ship tossed about in the grip of a storm-churned sea. Jacob held tight by utilizing one of his wresting moves and putting Creed in a choke hold. Creed struggled to gain the needed movement of his wings under Jacob’s weight to keep from losing air and barely managed to muster enough glide to slow the ground that was rising fast to greet them.

  At the very last second, the Illume veered away sharply leaving the two Nephilim to the unpleasant landing awaiting them. They hit the ground with a cringe-sounding thud and, like a pair of dice rolled across a craps table, were bounced in two separate directions amid a chorus of jolting grunts and painful groans.

  Creed was quick in his return to his feet, though somewhat unsteadily, with anger fuming in his eyes and fists clenched tightly. “Tell me, Parrish, just how stupid are you?” he seethed.

  Jacob sat up and with the same dizzying look marring his focus he seemed to pose the same question to himself as he looked up with some amazement at the distance the two had fallen.

  “What can I say?” Jacob managed in reply as he, too, got to his feet, though with some amount of effort. “We’re competing in the same contest. You didn’t think I was just going to stand by and watch you walk out of here with the prize without a fight, did you?”

  “You honestly think you have a chance against me?” hissed Creed both incredulously and with an undeniable arrogance.

  “I think I got a one-in-four chance. Not too bad of odds.”

  “There’s five of us competing, moron.”

  “Yeah, well, I really don’t count you as much of an obstacle as I do the others.”

  A look of hate concentrated itself in Creed’s glaring gaze.

  “That so?” he said, flexing his chest and stepping uncomfortably into Jacob’s space.

  “That’s so,” said Jacob coolly with an unflinching confidence. The two stood nose to nose, their silent, hard gazes boring deeply into one another that spoke without words of their intense dislike for one another. Then Creed did something he never did before in his short life; he was the first to take a step back. Just as he turned his back to Jacob, his right wing flared suddenly outward. It struck Jacob on his left side with enough tremendous force to knock him off his feet and send him hurtling several yards through the air. His body slammed hard against a nearby tree igniting an explosion of intense pain inside him that sent him crumpling to the ground.

  “Let that be a lesson to you, Parrish,” said Creed. “Stay out of my way, or next time I won’t be as gentle.”

  And while the ground at that moment felt just fine to Jacob as he fought to still the pain throbbing its way through him, he wasn’t about to obey an order to heel. Especially, from Creed.

  “Anahel really had you pegged right off the bat, I see,” remarked Creed with a sneering chuckle. “You really are a shrike, aren’t you?”

  “You obviously don’t know a whole lot about birds, do you? Especially, shrikes,” said Jacob as he found his feet again.

  “Of course I do. They’re loser birds. Songbirds.”

  “It’s true, they do make a pretty sound,” said Jacob. “Were you also aware they’re referred to as ‘butcherbirds’? That’s because they’re known to impale their prey on thorns and barbed-wire fences. So I’m not so sure a shrike is the bird you want to be messing with.”

  The smile on Creed’s face dried up as quickly as a pool of water in a scorching desert.

  “Well, I’m one hundred percent sure a shrike doesn’t want to have anything to do with a harrier. I can promise you that,” said Creed referring to both the bird and the name of the group of Nephilim he himself had been placed by Anahel.

  “What exactly is your problem, Creed?” Jacob called out just as Creed was about to resume his hunt for the Illume.

  “I thought I just made it clear to you,” answered Creed. “Or did you hit that tree just a little too hard?”

  “No...I mean, what’s your problem with me...in general?” said Jacob as he struggled to both catch his breath and hide any sign of distress from his face courtesy of Creed’s painful blow. “You’ve hated me since the first day I came to Havenhid. Why? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Ah, what’s the matter? Your feelings get hurt?” said Creed feigning weeping. “Why can’t you just accept the fact I don’t like you? Not one little bit.”

  “Trust me, Creed, the feelings entirely mutual. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

  “No one embarrasses me,” answered Creed finally. “Least of all you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Back at Lions Bite...the day we were given our swords.”

  Even with the daze of being slammed into a tree lingering, Jacob knew immediately to what Creed was referring. After all, the day he chose Creed to face off with their newly gifted swords at Lions Bite and come out the victor wasn
’t something that was easily forgotten. What sweetened the memory even more was knowing now how it continued to remain an emblematic festering thorn he had unwittingly impaled Creed upon.

  “That’s it?” said Jacob. “You’ve been p.o.’d at me just because I happened to get the best of you in a sword duel?”

  Being reminded of it in such a cavalier manner wasn’t something Creed took to kindly.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Parrish. Everyone has a lucky day. But I wouldn’t count on luck smiling down on you twice should we ever throw down for reals,” Creed groused. “I mean, look at you. You’re wingless. You’re without a Grace. You’re a total embarrassment and a pathetic excuse to a real Nephilim like myself.”

  As much as he tried to hide it, the barb stung Jacob. “I’m as much a Nephilim as you, or anyone else at Havenhid.”

  “If by Nephilim you mean a Weed, then by all means, yes, you are. In spades.”

  Now it was Jacob’s turn to feel his nose suddenly out of joint. “What did you say?” he asked, as if daring Creed to repeat himself. “You deaf? I called you a Weed,” Creed spat back.

  If there was one thing a Nephilim took offense to being called, as Jacob had quickly come to learn, it was a Weed. The derogatory remark was the ultimate insult a Nephilim could hurl at one of their own. In one biting syllable, it cruelly and pointedly was used to label those looked upon as beneath the others. Outcasts. Pariahs. Their sin? Simply being the sons of angels who carried the mark of the Fallen.

  “You want to know why I dislike you so much? That’s the real reason,” said Creed. “You’re a defect. An undesirable. A spawn of a damned castaway.”

  “You know as well as everyone else Gotham’s not my father,” said Jacob. Not that he would be embarrassed or ashamed if anyone thought such a thing, least of all Creed.