War Angel (The Tales of Tartarus)

by A. L. Mengel

  Now, things were different. Darius didn’t die this time in possession of the gift. The gift was gone. He died of old age. And Delia discussed it with the Monsignor.

  Darius was meant to die. It was his time.

  “It’s time to let him rest,” Monsignor Harrison said, as they closed up their books. “Exhuming Darius and attempting a resurrection – when he died as a mortal – will accomplish nothing. Don’t you think Antoine knows that? He died without the gift. His body is rotting in the ground as we speak. There’s no magic anymore.”

  “Unless he invokes the demons,” Delia said.

  “Do you think he will? Do you think Antoine would attempt something like that?”

  Delia shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I do know he is down in the mausoleum. And I’m getting concerned for his safety. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  Monsignor Harrison nodded. “True. But why would we want to go down that path again? I just got finished protecting him from Asmodai recently. That’s a bastard of a demon. And when these incantations take place…when the demons are summoned to resurrect someone…payment is demanded. And I know, for a fact, that they want Antoine’s soul.”

  “That’s why I’m concerned, your highness. I don’t think his intentions is to attempt to raise Darius. But I don’t know. But I also know what’s there. And so do you. Do you think he’s trying to access it?”

  “You mean the portal? I thought that was a secret. How would he know about it?”

  Delia shrugged. “He’s been coffin sentenced in the past. You know that when an immortal returns from a sentence that they come back quite enlightened. No telling what powers he will have now. At least of knowledge.”

  “So he is not conspiring against us? You are certain?”

  Delia shook her head. “I don’t believe so.”

  “Then what do you believe?”

  “I believe that he might be in danger.”

  *****

  Back in the mausoleum in France, the ground shook again. Dirt rained upon them and covered the casket.

  “I think the ceiling is going to cave in!” Giovanni cried. He jumped to his feet. Antoine reached up and pulled him back down.

  “Stop!” he said. “Asmodai will not come down here! There is no way he can!”

  “How?!” Ramiel asked.

  Antoine raised his hands up and shook his head. “No! Wait! I have to look at him one last time!”

  Ramiel grabbed his shoulder. “Let him rest, Antoine!”

  Antoine pushed him away. “No! Once I enter through there I won’t be back! This is my last chance to see him!” He pointed into the center cubby where Darius’ coffin had been.

  Giovanni looked up at the ceiling as the rumbles became more methodic and centered. Each shake felt more spaced and determined, like giant footsteps. “Is he coming here? Is he coming down here?!”

  “He cannot come down here!” Antoine screamed.

  But the rumble got closer.

  Deep, heavy, grating footsteps.

  Heading down the stairs.

  Getting closer.

  Giovanni dropped the torch, ran towards Antoine and held onto him tightly. “Please! He is coming!”

  Ramiel grabbed the torch and held it out towards the opening from the stairs across the chamber.

  The steps continued.

  Ramiel shook his head and retreated back to the wall. “Antoine!”

  But Antoine did not answer.

  He was focused on the approaching shadow. The dark shadow which shrouded the room in darkness; the darkness which led to the green, muscular legs, the canine snout and horns. Antoine remembered the last time he had seen the lumbering demon; the time he had listened to the slow, methodic approach; as he lay in a grave of putrid water, so many years ago, in the same cemetery they were close to under the tree that Darius had once loved so much. As Giovanni cowered closer to Antoine, Ramiel retreated back to the wall, and the three of them sat against the hard stone, as Asmodai lumbered towards them.

  Look deep within yourself!

  *****

  The thunder rumbled as each who had been gifted, and all those across the world who were angels raised their heads to the sky; each at the same precise moment, throughout the astral plane and the other parallel worlds, across space and time, at the very same moment.

  “Antoine!”

  Tramos was waiting in the other world and also raised his head, seeing light shine down from the heavens. There was a crash, he could tell, he could sense it.

  Darius extended his wings, his face painted with fear, his eyes wide and flew to Tramos.

  And at the same precise moment, Delia sat in Rome, as the conclusion of the proceedings were drowned out, she raised her head towards the ceiling but saw a vision of angels cascade and soar towards one another, their wings spread, joining each other in chorus, painted and organizing across a brightly lit sky:

  Antoine was in danger.

  VII

  CHORUS

  ANGELORUM

  DELIA RUSHED BACK to the Monsignor’s side as the Cardinals looked up. “What is this? Go back to your seat!” Cardinal Klemmson took off his glasses and tossed them on the table. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were flushed. “We are not finished with these proceedings!”

  Delia ignored them. “We must get to Lyon at once! Antoine is in trouble! It is confirmed! We must go now!”

  Monsignor Harrison rose from his chair and started leaving with Delia. Klemmson banged his gavel against the table as the obeservers started chatting amongst each other. As they reached the doors, they turned and Delia transformed; her aged appearance shifted and her skin became more tight, taught, soft and youthful. Her snow white hair lengthened and turned dark brown.

  The Cardinals all looked up in their direction. “And where do you think you’re going? We are waiting for Antoine’s testimony and you cannot leave!”

  Delia stood forward as Monsignor Harrison stood behind her. Her wings rose from her back; they reached towards the ceiling and stopped, folding inwards.

  “You’re an angel!” Klemmson exclaimed. “You are one of the chosen ones!”

  Delia nodded. “And Antoine is in danger. I must get to Lyon. He is our salvation, and I must save him!”

  Klemmson nodded. “Go. Go now. Save him! We will wait.”

  As Monsignor Harrison reached around her chest, she soared upward, crashing through the ceiling; her wings broke through the concrete and stone, they splintered the wood and broke through the roof, showering tiles on the piazza below. The Monsignor held tight to her back as they flew above Rome, reaching upwards, towards the sky and towards the sun.

  Her wings spread through the clouds, tearing them apart, letting the sun shine through.

  They carried them over the land, up towards France, and down into Lyon. She flapped her wings up as they eased themselves to the ground. The sun shined on Les Enfantes, the headstones were pronounced, like grey patches in green grass. But her focus was on the forest nearby.

  “Antoine!” she called out as she retracted her wings. “Antoine! We have come for you!”

  But there was no answer, only silence.

  Monsignor Harrison stood and scanned the area as Delia watched him. “Listen to your senses, Delia. They are far heightened now. Don’t let yourself be run by adrenaline.”

  She nodded and looked in the same direction. After a few moments of silence, she nodded. “That way.”

  They walked to the edge of the graveyard together, deeper, away from the clearing and monuments and towards the forest. There was something about the forest, Delia had said. And so Monsignor Harrison had followed her, deeper, through the woods, in the midst of the silence, until they approached the mausoleum.

  Delia pointed. “The door’s open! And Antoine would not have the key! Come on!”

  They approached the small, stone structure, and looked down the stone stairs towards the darkness. Delia saw the small pickaxe off to the side.

 
“Well I see how they got inside,” she said. She turned around and looked at Monsignor Harrison. “Let’s go. You ready?”

  He nodded.

  They descended the stairs down into the darkness, and when they approached the large room, they saw Ramiel and Giovanni, laying on the floor. The light that emanated from Delia cast a cool, pale glow in the room. They saw the caskets, and the one particular coffin that sat in the center of the room. Ramiel and Giovanni lay next to it.

  Delia rushed to Ramiel and slapped him on the face. “Wake up! Wake up, Ramiel! Are you okay?”

  His eyes fluttered after a few minutes.

  “Where is Antoine?!” she asked. Her voice reverberated against the silence. “Where is Antoine?!”

  Ramiel raised his arm slowly, pointing towards the wall. Delia and Monsignor Harrison turned around to where he was pointing. “It’s the portal,” she said. “We must go.” She looked down at Ramiel. “Are you two okay to come? Or would you rather stay?”

  Ramiel coughed and got up to his feet. Giovanni shifted as Ramiel approached him and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Gio. We’re being rescued!”

  They all approached the cubby where Darius had lain. Delia looked back down at the casket, sitting in the middle of the room, untouched. She turned and focused her attention on the darkness at the end of the cubby, as she assisted Monsignor Harrison, Ramiel and Giovanni crawl into the darkness.

  And then she crawled in herself.

  *****

  The darkness held fast.

  “Monsignor!” she called. Her voice reverberated against the silence. “Ramiel!”

  No answer.

  “Giovanni!”

  Still no answer.

  She was in a silent blackness; she could see nothing, nor could she hear anything.

  Only silence.

  Until she saw a wing, a white wing cut across the darkness. It reached from her left view to the right, and then closer. It transformed from white, to feathers, to the fine lines and details that she had come to expect from her own wings.

  And then he was in front of her.

  His long dark hair looked familiar.

  His smile.

  But now his skin was different; it was more translucent. Like glass.

  “Darius!” she cried. She hugged him. A tear streamed down her face. “I am so glad to see you here!”

  Darius looked down at her. He looked her in the eyes. “I know what have come here for,” he said. “And Antoine is not here. He is farther in. I saw him. Asmodai dragged him through the muck. Antoine’s body was tattered and bloodied! How can a physical being survive in this?!”

  Delia gasped and drew her hands over her mouth. “But where is he? How did Asmodai get him?”

  Darius looked down. “Asmodai came to settle the score from my resurrection.”

  Delia turned to face Darius. “You mean from years ago? From your coffin sentence?”

  Darius closed his eyes and nodded.

  Darius leaned in closer and turned Delia around to face a new darkness, when a scene painted itself in front of her. Of writhing bodies. Limbs thrashing in a vast, dark ocean. Near a beach littered with more bodies.

  “Now watch,” Darius said.

  Delia fell to her knees as she saw Antoine spill to the ground from a dark, muscular force in a red sky painted with dark clouds.

  “You!” she said. She lunged forward towards the vision. “You have been tormenting me my entire life!” She turned to face Darius. “Can I enter the vision?”

  Darius nodded. “If you do you will become it.”

  “I don’t care. Antoine is in there! We must save him! I must stop that dark force!”

  She jumped into the vision, above the sea, as her wings soared from her back. Her sword shot into her hands and ignited in bright, orange flames. She flew across the sky, swinging her sword, showering the land with light. she saw Giovanni and Ramiel, standing on the desolate beach below, their faces looking upwards and shifted in a swirl in torment. Their eyes were floating around their faces as their skin dripped from their skulls. Delia snapped her head to their direction. “How did you get here?! Why did you come?!”

  Ramiel raised his arm silently and pointed his finger out towards the sea, towards the thrashing limbs and crashing waves.

  She saw a rectangular, dark silhouette.

  The altar.

  There was a stone island, in the center of the sea. She squinted to see, but she could still see the darkness of his body. She snapped around to Giovanni and Ramiel. “He’s out there. I can sense it. Where’s Monsignor Harrison?”

  They looked up at her but could not reply.

  She hung her head as Giovanni ran to her side. She screamed towards the sky. “I have failed!” She fell backwards and lay on the dirt as the clouds swirled above her. “I have failed you again!”

  She took deep breaths, concentrating on each one, knowing that Antoine lay dead on the altar in the center of the sea. Delia lay on the beach, flat on her back, her arms draped over his head, and cried out as the tears flowed down her cheeks. Her wings were spread out on the sand, reaching out; Giovanni placed his arms around her shoulders, down around her back, and started to lift her up into a sitting position. “Don’t punish yourself!” he said. “You are the war angel! You went to battle for him the entire time you knew him!”

  Once sitting up, she hung her head low. “I am cursed! First it was my father. He was lying in a lake of blood. Then Antoine. And now he’s dead.”

  Giovanni knelt next to her. He grabbed her chin and turned her head to face him. His eyes were wide and pleading. “No. You are the war angel. The chosen one. Your protection is infinite!”

  She shook her head. “No, Gio. It was never me. I never was the war angel. I know everyone has wondered. But it was never me.” She raised her head and looked out towards the sea. Towards the dark, stone altar where Antoine lay. The limbs still thrashed as the bodies emitted wails around him.

  “It was always Antoine. It was always him!”

  *****

  Her wings soared outwards, reached across the sky, and carried her over the thrashing limbs in the sea. She soared down towards the altar, and saw Antoine lying, motionless, eyes closed, as a fire burned beneath him.

  But before she could reach Antoine, the darkness filtered through. And here, in this realm, in Tartarus, in center of Hades, she could see him. The one standing guard over Antoine; the one who was no longer the swirling dark cloud he had been. He was no longer the muscular red-skinned demon sitting in the rocking chair in her room in Paris.

  For here, it was a much darker presence.

  It was much more sinister. It was not only the darkness swallowing the light; it was what was fighting for the capture of her soul. She saw the darkness. Swirling before her in an angry, dark cloud.

  But what she felt was far more profound.

  She felt the disappointment. It held her like a vice. She hung her head low. “I have failed my God,” she said. “I do not deserve to go on.” And then the discouragement. “I do not have the courage to move forth.”

  “I cannot save anyone. I could not save Antoine. Could I?”

  And the cold reached her.

  The feeling of loneliness.

  She looked at the darkness, her hand at her side, holding the sword in its sheath. She closed her eyes, hung her head, waited and cried out, her hand gripping the handle. “Give me strength! Even I need strength!” She tore her sword out from the sheath, raised it up towards the sky as it burst into flames A torrent of brilliant light filtered across the sky.

  And she thought she saw movement in the showering light. Was it the appearance of rainbows? A show of colorful pastels?

  But then she saw the upwards and downwards motion – the carrying of feathers; of white upon white, swirling the light throughout the sky.

  In that instant, Tramos appeared, his wings extended, soaring and reaching across the sky. “Raise your sword!” he said. “Do it again!
You have the power! It is within you! Draw…your…sword!”

  She gritted her teeth and tensed her muscles.

  She dared not open her eyes and look at the swirling, dark presence. For when she saw in her mind’s eye, there was no darkness. Only light. In her mind, the darkness was gone.

  And she tore her sword from its sheath, raising it to the sky as it burst into bright flames.

  “Believe!” Tramos cried. “Believe, Delia, believe!”

  She lunged forward, piercing the darkness. The flames swelled and spread, burning brighter and hotter than she had ever seen them. The light grew larger, brighter and hotter, as the aura changed.

  She released her sword and turned to face Tramos.

  The sky had lightened.

  “Now go down and get him,” he said. “Complete your mission.”

  Delia flew down and knelt next to the altar.

  She reached the altar. “I will lift you from the flames! I will carry you upwards, soar you across the sky!” She spread her wings outwards.

  The writhing bodies had burned to ash and charred, as if they were in the center of a field of stones. The water splashed against the altar as Delia leaned forward and eased her arms underneath Antoine’s burned and charred body. She looked down at him and sighed. She looked up for a moment at Tramos.

  He looked downwards and nodded in approval at her carrying Antoine upwards towards the sky. Light filtered down from the heavens, reaching down to Delia and Antoine, as she flapped her wings against a lightening sky; the oranges, yellows and reds fingered their way through the darkness; painting the light against the pastel pallet.

  And as she soared higher, the angels filled the sky.

  Their wings spread, interlocking with one another, carrying their hymns across the sky. Love wrapped around them like a warm blanket as she raised Antoine further upwards, as the light shined down on his charred body, it reached around him, like a mist, but one of compassion and love. It wrapped around his body and Delia looked down at him.