by J F Cain
Abaddon smiled fondly at the sight of his partner succumbing to the biological needs of her physical body, which also had to nurture its tender cargo. Uncaring if Eiael could sense that half of him was absent, he left his physical form at the ceremony and went to Aranes. He stood beside her and watched her sleep, a guardian Angel and protector of the only love he had ever known as a Celestial and as a human. Later, when the bodies’ cremation was over, he returned to his physical body. He waited for Eiael to conclude the ceremony and left with the imposing grandeur of a high-ranking Celestial, amid respectful bows owing to his nature and awed gazes owing to his fighting skills, which had impressed all the Guardians, except for their leader.
Abaddon entered the castle through the back entrance, followed by pairs of white-clad theurgists who were walking silently behind him, as if the ceremony wasn’t over and was merely going to continue elsewhere. He was glad to see them scatter just as quietly, on their way to their rooms or other destinations. Even so, by the time they reached the entrance hall, one hundred warriors were still behind him. He climbed the stairs with the necessary entourage and was relieved when he finally reached his room. He didn’t feel comfortable with the respect and admiration the theurgists showed him. He didn’t see himself as they did—as a majestic entity of a higher order of creation that was honoring them with his presence.
He turned the door knob gently so that he wouldn’t wake Aranes, but as soon as he entered the room, he saw her open her eyes.
“Is the ceremony over?” she asked him in a melancholy voice, with her head against the armchair’s backrest.
“Yes, my love, it’s over,” he replied, changing his armor for a dark shirt and pants as he approached her. He kneeled in front of her and took her hands in his own. “How do you feel?”
Aranes smiled at him.
“Much better. How many hours did I asleep?”
“Only two.” Abaddon let her hands go and slipped his arms around her lower back. “It would be a good idea if you slept a little bit more. Would you like me to take you to bed?”
A kick from the baby reminded her that she had someone else to nourish too.
“No, I’ll go down to the dining room and get something to eat. Our son has started to complain.”
Abaddon moved his hands to flank her knees.
“Makes sense. He hasn’t eaten in fourteen hours. If he had been a normal baby, he would have complained much sooner. You should have something to eat and then get some more sleep. The baby has been through a lot, what with your fighting and lack of sleep.”
“Yes, I’ll go back to sleep later,” Aranes agreed, evidently tired.
Her “later” seemed rather vague to Abaddon.
“Just please make sure later doesn’t become nighttime,” he answered, his tone broody.
Aranes cupped his face with her hands.
“I promise,” she said sweetly and kissed him softly on the lips.
The Dark Angel stood up and helped her to her feet.
“Would you like me to come with you?” he asked, knowing that his partner didn’t think it right for him to follow her everywhere.
“I won’t get lost inside the castle,” she teased.
“You know that’s not why I do it,” Abaddon retorted moodily.
Aranes’ expression turned understanding.
“As I’ve explained before, following me everywhere shows fear and insecurity, emotions not befitting a Celestial.”
“Or love,” Abaddon added with a meaningful look.
“The Guardians are well aware of that. But it’s not necessary for you to remind them of your human nature,” she replied, taking off her cape.
“Yesterday evening I reminded them of my celestial nature,” the Dark Angel retorted with annoyance.
Aranes smiled approvingly.
“And I hope you continue to do so.”
The baby, which had already shown a lot of patience, aimed a powerful kick at his mother’s midriff. The pressure took her breath away and she bent over slightly.
At once, Abaddon gripped her arms.
“Are you alright?” he asked worriedly.
Aranes took a shallow breath and slowly straightened.
“I’m alright,” she said reassuringly. “But our son won’t tolerate any more delays.”
“Are you sure you can walk all the way to the dining room?” Abaddon asked.
“Yes, don’t worry.” Aranes lifted her hand and touched his cheek tenderly. “Please, try and remember your true nature.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You’re reacting like an ordinary husband. You’re forgetting that you are capable of dealing with much more serious problems,” Aranes replied and left the room.
“That’s more easily said than done …” Abaddon muttered to himself with a scowl.
He left their room and materialized in the kitchen, where ten Guardians—men and women with long aprons and rolled-up sleeves—had already gotten to work preparing lunch. They were bent over the long wooden kitchen island, which was loaded with fruits, vegetables, and various other products. Big steaming pots sat on burners in the huge gas range that had replaced the old fireplace. The big chimney was now connected to modern range hoods and even though it was working, the edges of the windows facing the back of the castle had steamed up.
Seeing the Angel materialize, the Guardians stopped what they were doing at once and stood at attention. Abaddon asked them to prepare the Superior’s usual breakfast so that his long-suffering son wouldn’t have to wait much longer, and then quickly returned to the bedroom.
When Aranes entered the kitchen and saw the fruit, vegetables, and herbal juice she drank every morning ready on a tray, she realized who had intervened. She smiled politely at the Guardians, who had once again abandoned their knives and spoons and were standing at attention, and left so that they could get on with their work. She sat in the seat closest to the kitchen’s swinging doors and waited patiently for her breakfast, staring absent-mindedly at the big empty dining room with the long wooden tables and benches arranged in long rows.
Ever since she and Abaddon had come to stay at the castle, she hadn’t allowed them to serve her breakfast in their room even once. The Guardians treated her with the awed and adoring respect befitting the Superior of the Angels, and she treated them as equals. She saw them as her children and expected them to be genuine people who served themselves and humanity, not her.
The baby moved restlessly in her belly, reminding her that its demand for food had yet to be satisfied. Aranes bent over her belly with a smile and caressed her unborn child.
“You’re so much like your father!” she whispered sweetly, seeing that her son placed the same importance on physical needs as her partner.
One of the swinging doors opened, and a newly inducted Guardian came through holding a large tray. She approached and deposited the tray in front of Aranes.
“Will you need anything else?” she asked, her trembling voice betraying how pleasantly flustered she felt about being able to offer this humble service to the one who protected the human race.
Aranes regarded the full tray. Besides the juice, there was toast, honey, and a fruit salad. And Abaddon had also added an omelet with fresh spearmint.
She looked up and smiled kindly at the Guardian.
“No, thank you.” I won’t even be able to have all of this.
The Guardian bowed and, with her gaze lowered, she walked backwards until she reached the kitchen door and quickly ducked inside.
“I hope you don’t overdo things like your father, because that will make it difficult for me to keep my promises to you. How will I get back to sleep if I eat all this?” she whispered to the baby, but was really directing the question to Abaddon, who she was sure was listening.
She shook her head and sighed, then slid the fork out of the folded white napkin in which it had been wrapped together with the knife. Alone in the deserted dining room, she ate p
ensively, watching through the large windows as the oak leaves danced to the icy gusts of wind. When she felt that she had eaten enough for her and the baby, she went to find Eiael.
Aranes entered the library and saw the head of the Guardians standing in front of one of the balcony doors. Lost in thought, she was staring out at the green expanse at the front of the castle with its few wide-trunked trees scattered here and there, all blanketed by the winter mist. The tall fine-featured Creole woman’s dark blue gown showed off her nobility and strength. However, a keen observer would say there was something indefinably threatening about her, something that she herself didn’t seem to sense.
Even a long-lived theurgist can’t know all the hidden facets of her being, Aranes thought as she crossed the large room without taking her eyes off her spiritual daughter, who had turned around and was waiting for her to approach.
“How are you, Eiael?” she asked, her warm gaze searching the theurgist’s face to determine how she was really feeling, something that for various reasons she rarely let show.
“I am fine and ready to perform my duties,” she responded just as warmly.
“You aren’t needed anywhere right now. Why don’t you go and get some rest?” Aranes asked.
Her intention had been to prompt Eiael to examine the peculiarities of her nature, but she didn’t catch the hint and thought it improper to remind the Superior that her special qualities and the fact that she was a theurgist gave her much greater energy reserves than ordinary humans had.
“Thank you for your concern, but I don’t feel tired,” she politely refused. “Besides, I have a few matters to deal with concerning your charity.”
Ever since the vampire attack, she had appointed another suitably qualified Guardian as chair. However, she monitored all the important cases from her office at the castle. She had wanted to be free to help Abaddon in an emergency, and as things had turned out, she had done well to do so.
“Of course. Your nature gives you advantages,” Aranes remarked with a mysterious air.
This time Eiael picked up the challenge coloring her spiritual mother’s voice.
Since she knows this, why is she mentioning it? she wondered. Suddenly, she felt her stomach clench—her body’s reaction to the knowledge that was fighting to rise up from her subconscious and was being pushed down by fear. “How are you feeling?” she asked, ignoring the unpleasant sensation for the time being.
Aranes noticed her goddaughter’s momentary confusion, but didn’t push. She had got the reaction she wanted.
“I took care of my physical body’s needs and I feel better,” she answered. She saw Eiael rubbing her hands together nervously. “Say what’s on your mind,” she encouraged, knowing what was bothering her.
“We need to act at once, in my opinion,” the head of the Guardians said hesitantly. “As your time to give birth approaches, the Demon attacks will increase until they get what they want. And from what we have all seen, and for some reason we cannot know, never mind judge, the Eternal Source doesn’t intend to help the Dark Angel.”
Aranes nodded in silent agreement.
“There is only one solution. I’m sure you can also see where things are leading,” Eiael continued pleadingly. “I am going to summon all the Guardians on Earth. Together with the Exorcists, we might be able to keep you safe until you rise again.”
“Is that what you believe will happen?” Aranes asked, regarding her probingly.
“I think, and I hope I’m not wrong, that some of the passages in the prophecy will come true. Besides, once the child is born, you will have carried out your mission. All that is left is for the other party to carry out his.” Although I seriously doubt he has the strength to do it, she added to herself.
“My mission doesn’t end with the child’s birth,” said Aranes with total conviction. “No one’s mission ends there. There is still a lot left for us to do.”
“You know best,” the theurgist replied. “So, what do you say? Will you consider my proposal?” she asked, gazing at the high Celestial anxiously.
Aranes had been considering this solution since the vampires had attacked her. She and Eiael had discussed the matter before, but she had hesitated to make a decision. She didn’t want to sacrifice such important beings. However, delaying would cost them precious lives anyway. Her child would bring change for billions of people, and everyone who had sworn to serve humanity might have to sacrifice themselves at the altar of this goal. But if the Guardians and Exorcists were lost, humans would be left without any protection against the dark forces. And it would take many years to create a few of them once more.
The Angels couldn’t assume the duties of the earthly warriors of Light. The Rules the Source had made required Its warriors who lived in the physical world to protect the human race from the Cursed and other Demons. The Celestials were only active in the ethereal world, until that changed when Abaddon, Gabriel, and the Superior were incarnated. However, the Source’s unusual actions made it impossible to be certain whether this was an exception or if It intended to change the Rules on a broad scale to serve Its plan.
There was another reason why Aranes was delaying making a decision. It was Abaddon, whose actions would determine the outcome of the human race and the planet. She wanted to stay with him, at least until she gave birth. She believed that if he had the chance to hold his child in his arms, it would be easier for him to bear the hardships he would later have to face.
Aranes heaved a troubled sigh.
“This is one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever had to make,” she said pensively.
At that moment, Abaddon entered the library. He had listened to the discussion from the start, and what he had heard worried him. Since it concerned him, he felt he should be present even though he hadn’t been invited. So he thought it would be more polite to come in through the door than to suddenly appear in front of them. He approached them hurriedly and aimed an inquisitive look at his partner.
“Notify Kadu of my arrival,” Aranes told Eiael. She hoped that if worst came to worst and the earthly warriors were annihilated, the Source would see to it that the human race wasn’t left unprotected from the dark forces.
“Wait a minute! What do you mean? Where are you going?” Abaddon asked with a frown.
Aranes turned and her somber gaze met his.
“To the Exorcists’ fortress. I will be safe from the Demons there.”
“How?” he asked, getting a bad feeling about it.
“The Exorcists are ancient souls that possess special knowledge and powers. This has made it possible for them to create an energy field that can keep ethereal entities out,” Aranes replied.
“Why do they need the field? They exorcise Demons anyway,” Abaddon remarked.
“There are never more than three hundred Exorcists, since the souls that can undertake their task are rare. If hundreds of Demons attack them, they have no hope of saving themselves,” Aranes explained.
Abaddon regarded her suspiciously. He couldn’t see what the problem was. Why had it been so difficult for her to make a decision that would rid them of the Demons’ threat.
“Why didn’t you suggest it earlier?” he asked, quite calmly given the agitation that was seizing him.
“I had my reasons, and … I had hoped that things would turn out differently.”
Abaddon felt a wave of anxiety come over him.
“Come, Aranes, say it. What’s the problem?”
She looked at him for an endless moment.
“You cannot enter the Exorcists’ fortress,” she replied sadly.
“Why not? I have a human nature,” Abaddon said with ominous calm.
“Yes, but you’re also an angel,” Aranes pointed out gently.
The loss of his final hope made him freeze. For some moments he said nothing; he just looked at her. As soon as he recovered from the initial shock, rage began to surge inside him, like a fire that he wanted to unleash to incinerate the invisible forc
es determining his fate.
“I knew there was a trap somewhere,” he said with a note of bitterness in his voice, and then immediately vanished from her sight.
He didn’t react violently, as would be expected from any being with human thinking who was being stripped of everything that was most precious to him. His shock at Aranes’ sudden decision to leave him had filled him with pain and an agonizing feeling of impotence that kindled his rage. This was why he had chosen to be alone—to soothe that dangerous emotion as much as he was able to. Besides, if he let it loose, he would gain nothing, nor would he solve his problem. He didn’t want to give Eiael the right to say he didn’t have the strength to control his emotions, because she thought he was dangerous for precisely that reason.
The Guardian leader regarded the spot where Abaddon had just been standing with disappointment and then turned to Aranes.
“Permit me to express my concerns about the Dark Angel’s spiritual growth,” she said, the expression on her face one of absolute conviction that she was right.
Her invariable habit of referring to Abaddon by his identity as a Celestial rather than the Superior’s partner spoke of the theurgist’s inclination to separate Aranes from the dangerous, in her opinion, fulfiller of the prophecy. This didn’t escape Aranes’ attention.
“You know that he is not like other Celestials,” she replied, dealing with her spiritual daughter’s attitude with understanding. “He is the most powerful of the Dark Angels and, moreover, the possessor of my secret name. It is not a matter of random luck that the Source has chosen him to achieve Its loftiest goals. His distinctive qualities make him unique and, just like with any unique entity, the way he behaves and other things about him will be different.”
“I understand. But some things about him are especially worrying,” Eiael remarked in a meaningful tone.
“You obviously saw something that worried you. What was it?” Aranes asked calmly.
“It was the Dark Angel’s physical reaction to the Exorcists’ chants,” the theurgist said bluntly. “It was the same as the Demons’, just not as powerful—only his palm was bleeding. But it’s a frightening sign.”
