He didn’t know. What he did know was that rescuing Ariel was the one thing he wanted to do, the one thing his mind has been focused on since he’d watched her being taken.
“I have gone soft, haven’t I?” Caelum said, covering his face with his hands.
“That’s not exactly the word I would chose to describe it,” Mikaela told him. Caelum lifted his face to meet her gaze again, and he saw the familiar look of determination in her expression. He felt as though he was walking in the graveyard again, in the early morning while the church was still intact.
Caelum found himself hilarious.
“I guess I need to do more work,” Caelum announced, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Are you interested in assisting me still?”
The red-headed witch smiled. “I am going to get paid, anyway.”
Chapter Five: Heavenly Sin
Tired eyes returned to search for the written word that may point Caelum in the right direction. He’d gathered more information from Mikaela’s books, his head sandwiched between his palms as he skimmed through them. Mikaela nodded off on her study desk as she worked on her own research. Caelum wondered why his daughter suddenly had an interest in helping him.
The soft tapping of paws made Caelum turn to see Miss Fortune entering the room and climbing on Mikaela’s lap. The witch jolted awake upon the landing of the cat, and she massaged its head. Caelum watched the two attentively, knowing a silent conversation was ensuing.
Mikaela looked up and reported, “Miss Fortune hasn’t found anything useful.”
“Great,” Caelum muttered, returning his attention to the book spread on the coffee table.
“How about you?”
“If I had, I wouldn’t be sulking like this, would I?”
“Right…” Mikaela pouted. She lifted Miss Fortune from her lap and placed her on the floor. The gray cat made for the sofa where it jumped up to land at Caelum’s side and take its place to rest.
As if by habit, Caelum moved one of his hands to the cat and began to scratch behind her ears, eyes remaining on the book. The cat purred in pleasure and leaned against Caelum, making herself comfortable.
“Just like old times?” Mikaela said. Caelum looked down at the cat, who settled in to slumber beside the demon.
“Guess so…” Caelum said softly. He let out a sigh, thinking of his home back in Chicago where he often worked at his study table while Miss Fortune was curled up on its edge.
Since the day he’d gone to the church with Ariel, he hadn’t returned to his loft. After what he’d done in Hell, he had no doubt in his mind that Baron and his minions were already watching the building, waiting for him to return. The temptation to take the risk called on him as he thought of his own collection of old books. Maybe one of them could tell me… He shook his head. The reaper’s words echoed in his mind.
Actions taken without caution may lead to actions put to waste.
He massaged his temples to clear his head. If he were to be caught by either Heaven or Hell, he would have no chance of ever rescuing Ariel. Even if he were taken to the depths of Hell where Ariel was imprisoned, to be caught unprepared would risk the entire mission. But how can I possibly do this? He asked himself, frustrated. He had both demons and angels out for his head. And if by some miracle he bypassed them and managed to enter Hell, he had no clue how he’d ever get to the cage, much less get inside. The map wasn’t really handed out to every demon who passed the recruitment test, he thought bitterly.
Then, there was the problem of Lucifer himself. How can a simple demon take on the angel who waged war against God? Unlike yesterday, Caelum couldn’t bring Mikaela as his backup. Only demons would be able to pass through Hell alive. And angels, apparently.
Time he spent thinking was time he spent wasting. Caelum shook away the thought and continued to read the book before him. He read about the known history of the angels, of Heaven and God. Stories told by mortal lips and handed down over the centuries, when angels were free to roam on Earth until Lucifer fell. He studied all he could, about the blade forged in Heaven and any other means one could use to kill an angel; he discovered a very few. And none of them were guaranteed to slay an archangel like Lucifer.
He thought of Ramiel and how the fallen angel had managed to equip the monsters he’d ordered with the Zound. He wondered if more of those monsters carried the rare weapon.
The sweet scent of tea woke his senses as Mikaela brewed a cup for him and served it on the coffee table. “Sad to say, I have to hit the hay,” she told him, smirking at her rhyme after leaving the tea.
Caelum had buried himself so deeply in his research that he didn’t realize it was already past midnight. His daughter, who’d inherited the mortal body of her mother, required daily rest. He gave his thanks to her for her help and for the tea before she retired to her bedroom. Minutes later, Caelum passed by Mikaela’s bedroom to find the beating orange glow he assumed to be coming from the Hellfire he gave her. So much for rest, he thought, wondering if Mikaela had inherited his persistence.
By two in the morning, Caelum felt the urge to slam the book he was reading against a wall. After hours of slaving, he still hadn’t found a sure way to reach the cage and defeat Lucifer. Or at least trap him long enough to take Ariel out of there! He buried his face in his palms, feeling the energy he’d absorbed from the souls from the wraith slowly diminishing. He slumped against the back of the sofa, startling the cat beside him awake, who meowed at him cantankerously.
“Sorry…” he muttered to the cat. Miss Fortune hopped off the sofa and onto the coffee table, where she paced around to find a nice spot to curl up. Caelum’s eyes followed the feline marching around the coffee table before she finally settled beside the journal. He sighed heavily and retrieved the journal from the table. Miss Fortune let out a purr as he did so, and he wondered if the cat merely liked the smell of the old paper, hence choosing the spot beside it. Not that he cared at the moment; he had far too many things on his mind as it was.
Sweden
October, 1708
The travelling man who slept on the hay
Had much worry for the rest of his days.
In his pockets were his hopes and dreams
That he protected from the salty streams.
I have taken myself to lands across the countries, relying on the generosity of strangers I meet on the way. As if God sent an angel to watch over my travels, the faces I encountered were all with kindness and smiles. My days of sun are blessed by the living, and my world under the moon has turned to be my time with the dead.
When I was eleven, my mother fell ill. In her womb, she carried what was supposed to be our new sibling. I always fancied having a younger sister who I would protect, unlike how my brother had treated me. But due to mother’s illness, my unborn sister died inside her. It was heartbreaking to see my mother hear the news. I remember her face on that day, such sorrow and regret. When her life was spared from the illness, the innocent young one was sacrificed.
I remember telling my mother that my new sister had loved her so much, that she offered her life to God and Heaven so He would protect hers. Mother smiled at the thought, despite the tears staining her cheeks.
I had always wished I could have met my sister. Tonight, I felt as though I was granted that wish.
In my sleep, I saw her smile. She had my mother’s smile and eyes, with the same bronze hair we inherited from our father. My baby sister looked to be the age of thirteen, the age she would have been today. I walked side by side with her, hands clasped together as we journeyed across the country. She called me by the nickname mother gave me, and it sounded sweet in her voice as it was with my mother’s.
“Connie! I talked to God! He said He would protect you, and that He loves you.” She beamed at me, her eyes looking up to me so sweetly. “Mother and father were there, too! They say they miss you, and that they will watch over you and Peter.”
Peter. I hope that my little sister also visited him, so
that he may find peace in his pursuit of war.
I dreamed of spending the day with my sister, and nights before I dreamed of mother and father. Perhaps they mean for me to live in peace. I shall not disappoint them.
-C.W.
Caelum looked up from the page and wondered. Seeing the dead in his dreams? It sounded familiar to him. His mind ran wildly as he connected the dots, of how this Cornelius fellow had lived in his days and in his sleeping nights. He imagined himself back in Chicago, watching the woven dreams of the prophet, John Maxwell Saunders. In his mind, he could see Ariel creating the dream where all of Maxwell’s lost loved ones visited him and assured him of God and Heaven.
Could it be? He wondered, turning the pages over. He spent the next hours slumped on the sofa, reading the words Cornelius had written. Like watching a movie, he pictured all the things Cornelius had seen in his waking hours and in his dreams. In an age of war, Cornelius had gotten lucky in his travels. He crossed countries with the help of strangers who did not ask for anything in return. Caelum found it too convenient.
Slowly, Cornelius talked about the dreams with more caution, as if things were changing to something that didn’t please him.
Finland
November, 1708
Waking in the dead of the night
Reaching for anything that would bring me light.
My eyes wide open to see the stars
But my mind sees nothing but the imaginary scars.
I woke with a racing heart in the middle of the night. My dreams of late have been haunting when they used to be comforting weeks before. But tonight, it felt different. My dreams felt real, and the images were engraved into the lids of my eyes even as I write.
I saw torture, I saw pain. Chaos spreading on the backs of the innocent. Darkness crawling from the tips of their fingers and their screams tore through the sky on fire.
Will this be the result of the war between Kings? I pray to God I am merely disturbed by my own mind.
-C.W.
On the next few pages of Cornelius’ journal, he spoke more about the nightmares. The visions disturbed the poor man so badly that they haunted him even in his waking hours. The once blessed wandering man had turned into a recluse who avoided the kind gestures offered to him by strangers. He crossed from village to village in the wintery season, hugging himself for the small warmth he allowed himself to enjoy. Caelum felt his hand reaching up to his arm, rubbing some warmth into it as if he could feel the cold winter winds from reading about them in the journal.
The entries became darker and darker as he reached the halfway point of the journal. A lump formed in Caelum’s throat when he reached the pages where Cornelius wrote about the nightmares unfolding into the reality he knew.
Finland
November, 1708
Panic is rising in the land I left behind. The news reached me about a plague spreading across Sweden, taking the lives of its residents and breaking apart their families. I carry the news with a heavy heart. As I listen to the details of this plague, the images I have seen countless times in my sleep recur in my mind.
No, it is not possible. Is it?
-C.W.
Guilt ate away at the man who sought comfort by writing his thoughts on a piece of paper. With Mikaela’s spell, she had restored the papers, erasing the damages from water and time. But somehow, Caelum could picture the tears and sweat that had dropped on the pages as the writer spilled his heart out under the tip of his pen. No whimsical poems opened the entries anymore, as if his thoughts were too clouded that he could only focus on documenting the nightmares. Caelum swallowed the lump in his throat, seeing the images clearly in his mind. He remembered the plague; he had seen it when he’d first set foot on Earth as a demon. The disease had wiped out thousands of lives while the war raged on.
He knew what Cornelius was thinking. He knew that a person who had seen such images in his dreams, and saw them again in the real world, would feel a sense of responsibility. Responsibility of warning the masses despite refusing to believe in the nightmarish visions he saw. Caelum pitied him, feeling the tug in his chest. Guilt, sorrow and regret. Such emotions filled Cornelius’ heart and weighed him down. He struggled to make things right, never speaking to anyone about what he’d seen in his dreams. Never speaking of the thoughts in his mind.
I should have warned them, he wrote. But what can one man really do when chaos was already burning in people’s minds? Even if he spoke about the dreams, he would be regarded as nothing more than an insane man who would likely be killed for bringing more fear to the masses. And he would be labeled as cursed, burned alive for creating the plague he spoke of. Such was the way of the mortals, damning all they could not comprehend.
Caelum continued to read about the man’s journey, and how Cornelius volunteered to tend to the sick, despite risking his own life. He didn’t care. For once, Cornelius had purpose. Even if the purpose he bore was to cleanse the wrongs he’d committed, so be it. He had to do something, he wrote. But no matter how many lives he helped to save, each death was another weight on his shoulders, another life he could have warned about the disease that eventually took their lives.
The wandering man was lost in a spiraling depression.
When the death toll was far too heavy for him to handle, he felt as though he had failed God with the task He assigned for him. Cornelius retreated to his dark rented rooms, a bottle of rum in hand. In his hopeless life, he’d wandered far, putting distance between him and the lands the disease had taken over, much like the rest of the people. Guilt still weighed him down, despite all his attempts to convince himself that he wouldn’t have been able to truly help all those people even if he had warned them.
Morning was breaking when Caelum reached the last few pages of the journal. Light finally shone on the life of its owner.
Norway
January, 1709
In the bleak path I carry my days
With the remorse on my shoulder weighs
But hope reached to claim me again
Her smiles and eyes take away the pain.
I felt as though Heaven was giving me another chance. Another hope to hold onto to carry on. I never fancied myself a romantic, but upon seeing the one who walked in my life, fate may be giving me an opportunity to become one.
I met a woman of great beauty, who talked with such passion that set my worries aflame. Never have I spoken about the terrors that haunt my mind so openly, but her presence made me feel safe to speak. And so I did. I told her all my woes and fears, and she listened well, her soft eyes understanding and kind. She placed a hand on my shoulder, assuring me that God still had His faith in me, as I do for Him.
The hours went by with me speaking to this mysterious woman, who spoke about her worries for the people in the world. How war and greed had turned God’s gift to the humans into a land of death and sin. I felt her concern, her love for all.
We parted ways in the night, and despite my insistence, she refused to allow me to walk her home or to give me her name. But I know I shall meet her again. The woman with dark hair and blue eyes, who moved with grace like an angel from Heaven.
-C.W.
The rest of the pages talked less about the plague and more about the woman Cornelius sought. He never mentioned her name, because she never told him, as Cornelius wrote. But Caelum could tell from how he wrote about this mysterious woman, Cornelius was quickly falling in love with her.
An idea tugged at his mind, but he kept it at bay. Caelum didn’t want to expect, lest his assumptions were wrong. But at each turn of the page, he was becoming more and more convinced that his deduction was true.
When he reached the last two pages of the journal, just after Cornelius spoke about meeting the woman in a cottage away from the village, Caelum felt his world shift. No dates were written, or a location, not even the poetry that he’d opened his journal entries with that conveyed his affections for the mysterious woman. Only the message that Caelum read repeatedly
for perfect comprehension.
I waited for her. I waited for her to arrive like we promised. But something happened. I don’t understand what happened. I heard her nearing. And I saw her through the window. She was beautiful in a white dress and her beaming smile. But something was different. As if her skin itself glowed under the sun. Then, I saw something shimmering behind her. Like a mirage that distorted the landscape that stood at the background.
Everything turned into a bright light. Like something exploded from afar and spilled golden light everywhere. I was blinded by it. And I heard struggling. With my eyes closed shut, I fumbled for the door and stepped out, straining my ears to locate her.
Then, I heard voices. A woman’s voice, deep and strict.
“You shall come with us, back to our home where you will be judged,” she said. I didn’t recognize her voice, but her words struck fear in me. I ran for them, and I heard my beloved’s voice calling my name, telling me to stop.
And then, the light disappeared. I looked around, blinking against the bright sun. I was alone.
Caelum reached the last page of the journal. Again, nothing else was written on the page but the grief Cornelius felt.
I’ve searched for her. I ran back to the village, asking everyone if they knew where she was. No one knew. No one even remembers her!
Was it all a figment of my imagination? My mind creating a woman to save me from my despair, only to be taken away?
No, I know she was real! I will search for her, no matter what.
The words of the woman who had taken her repeatedly rang in my ears. About home, about judgment. I do not understand what happened. But I need to see her again. I need to see my beloved, no matter what I must risk.
Caelum stared at the last page with tears brimming at the corner of his eyes. The words Cornelius wrote were confusing, but in his mind he could see what he saw and feel what he felt. He closed his eyes and saw the woman outside the window. Her long black hair swaying softly with the wind, her blue eyes shining brightly even from afar. He could see the distortion behind her, as if something translucent were on her back.
The Damned and The Pure Series: Books 1-4 (The Damned and The Pure Series Box Set) Page 26
