Forsaken Angel

by J F Cain

  Unable to touch her, Abaddon tilted his head and rested his face against hers.

  “This time you must,” he replied, his voice reflecting all the love and despair he felt in his soul.

  Aranes took a deep breath to withstand pain the dream had caused in body and mind and woke up in a panic in the physical world. She shot up from the bed so that she wouldn’t fall back asleep and continue the nightmare. She walked to the window and wrapped her arms around her body, trying to stop her uncontrollable trembling.

  Feeling bewildered, Abaddon followed her, stood behind her and wrapped her protectively in his arms.

  “My love, your whole body’s trembling. What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” he asked, full of concern.

  “Yes,” she answered breathlessly.

  She found it hard to talk. A knot that threatened to turn into tears had lodged in her throat. The dream felt so real. She felt as if she were still in Eregkal. Darkness, fire, pain, and despair still enveloped her. It was one of those nightmares that caused a terror-filled chill to slither beneath her flesh, prolonging the anguish, as if the dream had gained a will of its own and wanted to keep her captive in its strange world to torment her more.

  Suddenly, from under her hair, on the left side of her nape, a bluish light began to shine. Abaddon stepped back and brushed her hair aside. The symbol that connected her to the Source emitted the mystical light of the otherworldly realm. Seeing it for the first time, he found it odd. Besides the unique composition of Aranes’ body, which didn’t reveal itself in any striking way, he had never seen anything surreal on her person. He had always seen her in her incarnated form; he had never come face to face with the Superior’s celestial grandeur. This light served to remind him who his partner really was, sending a shudder though him, perhaps because he preferred to forget it.

  He touched the symbol with his index finger and felt the strange energy enter his finger. For an endless moment, a moment that held eternity within it, he experienced the inexpressible, but then an instant later his worry about his partner penetrated his mind and closed the doors to the supersensory world.

  The symbol was the channel of communication between Aranes and the Source. But above all it was her soul’s oath, the oath she had taken when she was appointed the Superior of the Angels: to serve and protect humanity. Was the Supreme Authority reminding her of this oath now, or was It showing her Its will?

  “Your mark is glowing!” he said, fascinated by the experience, yet also afraid of what the Source’s sign portended.

  Aranes seemed to have regained her composure. But inside her heart was breaking at the suffering awaiting her partner. Because of that deep pain, an unfamiliar feeling resembling anger began to rise up from a forgotten corner of her being.

  “I know. It is a message,” she replied, her voice betraying no emotion.

  Abaddon moved his gaze from the bright symbol and looked at her reflection in the dark window pane.

  “And what message is that?”

  “That there are difficult times ahead,” was her vague reply.

  A small bitter smile formed on his lips.

  “Is there something we don’t know?” he asked, indirectly pressing for more information.

  “Maybe we don’t know how difficult they will be!” Aranes said to prepare him.

  The Dark Angel turned the Source’s beloved daughter in his arms and regarded her searchingly.

  “Do you know?”

  “Dreams are expressed in the same allegoric language as prophecies. I cannot be sure about anything.”

  The answer wasn’t enough for Abaddon.

  “But what you saw must have been very bad. I’ve never seen you tremble before.”

  “Yes, it shook me,” Aranes admitted. She put her arms around his waist and burrowed her face in his neck. She couldn’t bear his penetrating gaze that reached down to the depths of her soul in search of answers; and she couldn’t tell him the truth, but neither could she lie.

  Abaddon understood that she didn’t want to tell him and knew that if he pressured her, he would just upset her more.

  “Alright, my love, relax. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together.” He had said the same thing when he had gotten her back from Eregkal after Lucifer had abducted her, but he didn’t believe it anymore. He just hoped with a strength borne of despair.

  He wrapped her in his arms and held her tight, almost desperately, as if he wanted his love for her to wipe away all that they had suffered and all the suffering that still lay ahead for them. He wished he could change what they both were, renounce their nature, their responsibilities and their connection to humanity’s future, so that they could live as mortals on Earth. Love each other untroubled by the hatred and menace of darkness; have many children, without fearing that some obsessed Demon would butcher them to serve his aspirations to rule; and die together, at any time, but together—not being separated in any world, the one here or the other.

  Aranes said nothing. She just closed her eyes to hold in the tears that were ready to fall. Her use of the word hell in her dream had been a warning about the effect her human nature was having on her celestial character. Yet, despite all her sensations and needs, she had never felt human in all this time that she has been in the physical world. She never forgot who she was and why she was there. She had willingly sacrificed herself to restore balance on the planet and to save the one who would carry out the prophecy and help her in her mission. She had not been willing to sacrifice him, and so had assumed all the responsibility her position carried and had offered herself in exchange. Even so, the Source’s message was clear: Abaddon had to be sacrificed too.

  She wondered if he had agreed to risk his existence, something she didn’t think strange for his character. It had sometimes crossed her mind that the commander of the Defenders had struck a bargain with It before his inconceivable incarnation. The Source respected the free will of all beings. But Celestials served humanity, and among the various changes It had recently initiated, perhaps one involved intervening in their will. It was a preposterous assumption. And if true, very dangerous.

  CHAPTER 7

  That day Abaddon had felt stifled in his office. Sometime earlier he had made his way up to the rooftop of the Meyers skyscraper. Standing beneath the leaden New York sky, he stared fixedly at the horizon, his hands in the pockets of his dark suit pants, uncaring about the odd raindrop the icy wind carried to his face.

  Ever since the night before, his thoughts kept sticking on that indescribable sensation of eternity that had gone through him when he had touched the symbol on Aranes’ nape. At that moment, a memory had been about to awaken in his mind, but had quickly dissipated in the mists of timelessness, as if it was not yet time for him to regain his angelic consciousness.

  As much as he tried, he couldn’t grasp the Source’s intentions and, inevitably, his thoughts kept on returning to the same unanswered questions.

  Why was It not communicating with him anymore? Had It withdrawn Its favor, or was there another reason? And what had It warned Aranes about? He found it absurd that, after so many months of silence, It would make Its presence felt simply to tell them that there were trials ahead; in other words, the obvious. So something else was going on. What could be so terrible that it would shake up the ever-calm Superior? Was it what he was also afraid of, that the Highest Authority planned to change their lives or, even worse, separate them? He froze at the thought. Was It maybe warning him about what was to come and he just didn’t understand? Not likely, since he always grasped Its messages. There was only one It hadn’t explained: what Lucifer had done or was going to do to Aranes. He often thought about it, and something told him that when he learned what it was, he wouldn’t like it at all. That was to be expected. He wouldn’t like anything the Dark Bastard did to his partner; but he did like the name he had just thought up. It suited him perfectly.

  However, he hated his presence and their discussions, and it appeared—or rat
her sounded like—he wouldn’t be able to avoid another grating morning encounter. His supernatural hearing caught the pulse announcing Lucifer’s entry into space-time. The spinning black cloud appeared behind him, thinned out to reveal the Fallen, and was absorbed into his body.

  “I evidently forgot to tell you I don’t find your presence enjoyable,” Abaddon said without turning to look at him.

  The Lord of Darkness smiled, satisfied with the reaction he got.

  “Feeling rather confident, I see … or should I say conceited?”

  Abaddon ignored him pointedly.

  “It makes sense. The powers you’ve gained give you that right,” the Demon went on, his gaze on the back of the Celestial’s head. He was thinking how at some point he would cut off that head and stomp on it, until the only thing left was a formless mass.

  “I’m sure you’re not here to praise my powers. So get on with it!” the Dark Angel snapped at him.

  Lucifer also slipped his hands into the pockets of his black pants and swaggered over to stand next to him.

  “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry about how Lyla behaved. Sometimes she shows too much zeal.”

  The fake apology didn’t move Abaddon in the least. He didn’t even deign to glance at him.

  “I was under the impression that she carried out your orders,” he said expressionlessly.

  “If I still wanted Aranes, I wouldn’t send Lyla to get her,” the Dark Lord replied, his expression intimating he had other ways to do that. “Anyway. Be that as it may, I told her to stop causing you problems.”

  Abaddon’s gaze remained on the tops of the skyscrapers.

  “Why? Are you going to take over that role?”

  “As strange as it may seem to you, I would never go after a pregnant woman.” Lucifer paused to emphasize his next words. “Especially when she is carrying the most important being that will ever be born.”

  The passage in the prophecy that spoke about a dragon pursuing a pregnant woman popped up in Abaddon’s mind, but he quickly brushed the thought aside so that he wouldn’t get angry.

  “I wasn’t aware you had such fine sensibilities,” he mocked.

  His derisive tone got on Lucifer’s nerves, but he did what he had to: he swallowed it. For the same reason the Dark Angel was swallowing his own irritation.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he replied and turned to look at him. “Besides, that child is special,” he added insinuatingly. “No harm should come to it.”

  Abaddon’s murderous glance spoke volumes. Yet he was still going to give Lucifer a piece of his mind. Just to make things clear.

  “Do not even think about it,” he warned him, emphasizing each word so that there would be no room for any misunderstanding.

  Lucifer frowned.

  “About what? Harming it?” he asked, his tone strange, as if he was offended. “Of course not! Its father will always protect it.”

  Something in the way the Demon said “its father” unsettled Abaddon. A cold fist squeezed his heart, but he put it down to his fear for his child’s safety.

  “You can be sure about that,” he declared forcefully.

  A glint in the Dark Lord’s eyes showed that he found something immensely amusing.

  “Oh yes, I am,” he agreed readily.

  Abaddon wanted to cut his enjoyment short and break him from the bad habit he had of leaving after having the last word. He had spotted an imperceptible movement in his aura as he prepared to leave.

  “Why in such a rush?” he asked derisively with a fake smile. “Stay a while so we can chat.”

  Lucifer realized he was mocking him. Or maybe not? Had he picked up something in his tone and wanted to continue the discussion about the child to figure out what was going on?

  “That’s really kind of you, but I’m very busy,” he replied in the same tone. “Don’t forget who I am,” he went on more seriously, wanting to remind the insolent Angel in whose presence he was.

  Abaddon refrained from telling him where he could shove his threat.

  “I understand, there’s a lot of planning involved,” he scoffed.

  The Lord of Darkness didn’t seem to have understood. Regarding his adversary expressionlessly, he was trying to figure out what he had missed.

  The Celestial realized it and decided to help him out, only because he would be able to get his point across.

  “I mean planning your strategy,” he explained, as if talking to someone with limited mental capabilities. “It’s difficult for you to go through me, the Celestials, and the Source to capture Aranes.”

  “It’s difficult for you to understand that I’m no longer interested in her,” Lucifer retorted reprovingly.

  It’s difficult for you to get over the fact that you can’t convince anyone of that, Abaddon continued the verbal battle inwardly. “We’ll see,” he said to Lucifer, his gaze daring him to prove him wrong.

  The Lord of Darkness found it suspicious that he had given in so suddenly.

  What was the Celestial trying to achieve? Get him to protect Aranes from the other pursuers, so that he then would only have one adversary to face? Confuse him with his erratic behavior? Or something else? Whatever it was, he had big surprises in store for him. “That’s for sure,” he replied cryptically as his aura enveloped him and he faded away.

  Go to hell, Abaddon thought.

  He dematerialized to his office and sat down in his leather armchair. As if nothing had happened, he picked up a financial chart and began to study it. Lucifer was undoubtedly watching to see how he would react and he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had troubled him.

  He wasn’t actually paying any attention to the chart; he was thinking about the discussion regarding his unborn child. Why had the depraved Demon said “its father will always protect it” in that tone of voice and with such certainty? If he had been mocking him, he wouldn’t have seemed so sincere. And, truth be told, it was the first time Lucifer had convinced him—but only about that. Had he maybe got it wrong? Had the Lord of Deception become such a good actor that he could deceive even the high-ranking Celestials? And why had he called the child “the most important being that will ever be born”? Why was it important to him? Did he want it to serve his unholy purposes? It was a possibility. Maybe that was why he had left them in peace the last few months. Maybe, because he hadn’t been able to get Aranes, he would try to get the child to use as a means of coercion or get his revenge.

  I’ll cut off the scumbag’s filthy hands if he dares touch my child! Even if it’s the last thing I do in my existence, he told himself and then, like an automatic reaction that was becoming second nature, he curbed his rage so that it wouldn’t become visible in his aura. Yes, he had still become irritated with Lucifer; but he had nevertheless succeeded in controlling his anger, which was nothing to scoff at. His lips curled into a smirk as his thoughts returned to his discussion with the Demon. If he thinks he’s convinced me he’s not going after Aranes, then he should think again. He’s got something else up his sleeve and he’s pretending to be innocent. Soon, we’ll know what it is and I’ll have the opportunity to test my enhanced powers on the Dark Bastard.

  He lifted his gaze from the chart he was holding and looked straight ahead. His smile widened, as if he had found a solution to an unsolvable problem. A gesture to mislead his adversary.

  Gabriel ended his connection to Abaddon’s office and traveled to Elether’s highest plane. The great entrance to the Archives opened ahead of him and he entered the hall bathed in timeless light, with its tall columns and floor-to-ceiling shelves heaving with books and scrolls.

  Prince Radueriel was seated at his desk, bent over a thick volume. Live snapshots were captured on the pages. On the left page, like a movie showing a recent event, Lyla was reaching out to touch a sleeping Aranes, and before she could, Abaddon was grabbing her hand. On the right page, a worried Aranes was sitting in the mansion’s study and thinking about the Source’s
message from the previous night. The Archivist turned the page so that the Archangel wouldn’t see whose life the book was about—the next few pages belonged to the future and were blank. He looked up and saw the celestial general approach, dressed in dazzling white: a long tunic and over it a tight vest fastened on the right with a series of clasps. He knew why the Archangel was there; lately he had been monitoring all the high-ranking Celestials, especially those involved in the Superior and Abaddon’s daring mission.

  Gabriel reached the desk and bowed slightly.

  “Sir, I request permission to enter space-time,” he asked with the required formality. “I am certain that Abaddon will need my help.”

  The Archivist nodded in understanding.

  “If it is deemed necessary, you will be notified.”

  “I am concerned that it may be too late then,” the Archangel replied.

  “Your relationship with the commander of the Defenders is affecting your judgment and is not allowing you to see the situation clearheadedly,” the Archivist said with the serene solemnity with which he addressed all the Celestials. “The Source knows best if and when we should act.”

  Gabriel didn’t plan to give up so easily.

  “The first and last word always belong to It. But until now, Celestials have always acted according to their own judgment and free will,” he returned calmly. “If this too has changed, I would like to know, as I would like to know the new Rules so that I may act accordingly.”

  The Timeless Being’s representative interlaced his fingers over the book’s blank pages.

  “I know nothing about that. It has not laid down new Rules.”

  Gabriel was looking at him bewilderedly.

  There were many things the Mentor knew nothing about lately, and that wasn’t normal. He wondered what the Source was doing. Was It creating chaos in order to bring about a new order? “And how are we to function in this new situation?” he asked.

  “We shall follow Its commandments.”

  The Archangel’s expression turned worried and troubled.

  “Without judgment or free will?”