Jeremiah turned to leave, then stopped. “I don’t give a damn what’s happenin’ with your buddin’ war or your responsibilities ta your cause. You gotta be with ’em when they reject Heaven.”
Joseph smiled. “They have my love, faith, and loyalty just as they have yours.”
Later that night, the rebels plundered Diana of her guns, rigging, and equipment, and then, with some strategically placed hay, set her on fire. The flames reached the vessel’s powder magazine, and Diana exploded.
That same night, Israel Putnam and Joseph returned to Cambridge to report the outcome of the battle to General Artemas Ward.
“I wish we could have something of this kind to do every day,” Putnam crowed.
General Ward was aware of Putnam’s reputation as a firebrand. However, the general was more cautious. He frowned and said, “I am afraid that what happened tonight might provoke the British to launch a sortie from Boston that we may come to regret.”
Putnam was undaunted by the general’s worry. “We shall have no peace until we gain it by the sword.”
Joseph said, “I admire your spirit, Colonel Putnam, and I respect General Ward’s prudence. Both will be necessary for us, and one must temper the other.”
The skirmish at Chelsea Creek was a clear rebel victory. It also consumed a large amount of gunpowder. That consumption, along with the 200 pounds of gunpowder the Provincial Congress had sent with Colonel Benedict Arnold on his mission to Ft. Ticonderoga, worried Joseph. Since the battles of Lexington and Concord, he had favored an assault on Boston. Now, he had a more realistic view of his army’s preparedness for a major offensive against the British. In his opinion, they were prepared in spirit and desire, but not in armaments.
His concerns prompted him to write to Samuel Adams seeking guidance on the matter.
Thirty-four
The angels and Jeremiah returned home from the Battle of Chelsea Creek long after midnight. An unfamiliar carriage was parked in front of the farmhouse. The carriage meant Liam was home.
The angels were anxious to see him despite their physical exhaustion, but Colm ordered them to their beds instead of allowing them to huddle around Liam. When he was certain they were settled, Colm went to the tiny hidden alcove that served as his bedroom above stairs in the farmhouse.
He was surprised to see Abigail lying on the narrow bed beside Liam with her arms wrapped around him, just as Sidonie had done the night she sacrificed herself for Ian. Liam’s green aura blinked once. It was enough to reassure Colm and coax him into resting his own drained body and spirit. He went to sleep in the barn with Gordon and Abe.
When the first rays of the morning sun brightened the eastern horizon, Colm rose and walked to the stream behind the barn. The urge to baptize his body and spirit couldn’t be ignored. He stripped off his clothes and sat cross-legged in the shallow rocky stream. The cold water bubbled and flowed over his legs and hips while he bathed and washed his hair and clothes. He rose from the stream and shivered in the light morning breeze. He hung his wet clothes in the low branches of a tree. Then, he walked naked through the woods to the place where Ian Keogh, Sidonie Roux Denning, Abijah Cunningham, and an unknown man were buried.
He kneeled before the graves. The muscles in his thin strong body tensed, and he tried to remember the freedom of existing without physical restraints. He released his green aura and slowly unfurled his imperial silver wings. Silver crystals showered the graves and drifted into the surrounding woods. Golden radiance shined from his spirit.
“I don’t remember the name God gave me,” Colm said, looking down upon the graves. “I don’t remember the names of my six brothers. Only Lucifer’s name remains in my memory.”
He sat down and folded his legs. Perhaps, if he strained to hear the ancient melody of Heaven, he could remember. Or perhaps, if he released himself from his Earthbound vessel he would encounter their energy in the cosmos, and their names would be unimportant because he would not have to pray to them.
Silver tears seeped from Colm’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks. “Brothers, can ya hear me?”
The late May sun rose a little higher above the eastern horizon. It caught a glimpse of the shivering archangel and heard his pleas. It murmured, my energy and your energy are God’s celestial creations; therefore, we are bound. You were born on the fifth day after God created the Heavens and the Earth. It was a day of much joy for your older brothers, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, and Uriel; as it was for me.
Colm’s wings fluttered and he looked into the comforting rays of the sun. “Did ya once love me, Brothers? If ya did, help me! What do I have to do to save my angels and the children of man I love?”
Silence.
“I haven’t asked ya for anything since our banishment!”
You have no right to ask anything of us—Brother.
“Three of my angels created Nephilim, but their intentions weren’t heinous! They did nothing out of malice!” Colm cried. “Four of my angels were innocent of disobedience, yet still they were punished! Why did ya blindly take our father’s side against them?”
Colm put his forehead in his hands. Drops of silver tears seared the ground. “They were my responsibility. I shou’d have been punished, not them! They’re still my responsibility. I’ll sacrifice myself if that’s what I must do to protect them.”
A startled flock of swallows took flight from the trees. Colm raised his head and watched them soar skyward. Amid the flurry of their snapping wings, he heard—you deserve to dwell in the chains of eternal darkness, Brother, as do your angels. Perhaps, if you throw yourself upon Henry’s sword, Father may let them live, but you are detestable; and Father may not be that merciful.
With the warm sun shining on his back, Colm realized for the first time that their ability to escort a soul to its egress, and pass the soul’s God-given fate to a reaper, was a cruel joke designed to keep the banished angels in Heaven’s grasp until the demons finally killed them.
“Then we have no choice. We must reject Heaven,” Colm whispered. “And I have to kill Henry before he forces me to choose between Michael and Joseph.”
Then, the archangel, who had spent millenniums protecting seven banished angels, cried for everything they had lost and everything they had yet to lose.
Joseph was asleep in Hastings House in Cambridge when Colm fell to his knees in front of the graves. He was awakened by the macabre sound of an archangel crying. Joseph dressed and rode to the farm in Roxbury.
Fergus sensed his archangel’s attempt at baptism. He rose from his bed in Dillaway House in Roxbury and got dressed. He told Captain Enos Woodbury that he was needed at the farm, and he was uncertain when he would return.
There were many mouths to feed at the farm. Gordon, Ian, Patrick, and Abe left before dawn to go hunting. When they left, Colm was asleep in the barn. When they returned with the spoils of their hunt, Colm was gone.
Jeremiah’s skinning table was just off the back porch. It wasn’t much different than his skinning table in front of his rough cabin in Burkes Garden. As he skinned and dressed the rabbits from the hunt, he thought of Mkwa. He missed her laughing, yet shaming brown eyes, the intoxicating smell of her shiny long black hair, and the feel of her warm silky skin against his naked body. He missed their conversations and her wisdom.
He gathered the rabbit carcasses and skins and walked to the stream. The stream’s flowing water rinsed the blood and pollution from them. The reddening water reminded Jeremiah of the cycle of birth and death. Mkwa’s time was growing near. He hoped Colm would sense when that time came. The thought brought a smile to his lips.
What Jeremiah heard coming from the woods on the other side of the stream, wiped the smile away. Oh Lord, Jeremiah thought. He shivered as he stood up. Colm, what’re you afraid of?
He looked back at the farmhouse. The angels were standing on the back porch looking into the woods beyond the stream. Their faces were calm. Their wings were furled and silent. Their auras were doused. Bran
don and Ian were supporting Liam so he could stand. Abigail was beside Ian. The angels’ calm quietude unnerved Jeremiah worse than their violent show of emotions.
Gordon and Abe crossed the porch and approached Jeremiah.
“It has to be tonight,” Gordon said. “They won’t be able to endure another day of uncertainty.”
“That ain’t our decision,” Jeremiah said. “It’s Colm’s decision.” He glanced at the angels. “Colm’s doing somethin’ in the woods that’s upsettin’ ’em, but they look calm.”
Gordon heard the archangel weeping. Gooseflesh formed on his skin. “Whatever Colm’s doing can’t be revoked.”
A chill ran up Abe’s spine. “What makes you say that?”
“They came here to finish their war with the demons. I think that time is very near, and—”
“—and besides rejectin’ Heaven, he’s tryin’ ta figure a way ta end it without them all dyin’ in the battle,” Jeremiah interjected. He shivered at the thought of all that celestial power exploding on a battlefield—angels and demons warring on Earth.
Horse hooves thundered on the road. Fergus and Joseph arrived at the farm concurrently. They dismounted and ran, side by side, beyond the barn to the stream.
“Stop!” Jeremiah shouted at them. He reached out and hooked a hand around Fergus’ wrist to keep him from splashing into the stream.
Joseph came to a stop beside Abe.
Fergus tried to pull away from Jeremiah.
“Slow down, Fergus!” Jeremiah shouted. He lowered his voice. “See ’em standin’ on the porch?”
Fear burned Fergus’ spirit. Liam needed help to stand. He knew Liam was sick, but he didn’t realize how close he was to dying. And he saw something in the angels’ demeanor he didn’t understand.
“They’re scared of what Colm’s doin’ out there in the woods, but they got the sense ta let him do what he needs ta do,” Jeremiah said, calmly. “Act like the second ta an archangel is supposed ta act and take care of ’em until Colm comes back. I don’t give a damn if he released you from his command. Do it anyway.”
Jeremiah let go of Fergus’ wrist.
Seamus stepped off the porch and approached Fergus. He said, “We were gonna fetch you back to the farm today anyway.”
A new flame of fear seared Fergus’ spirit. His boyish face tensed with shame and grief. “Liam’s going to die soon, and I didn’t sense it. Seamus, how did I move so far away from our brotherhood?”
Seamus said nothing. Fergus would have to struggle with the answer on his own.
“Something else is terribly wrong,” Fergus observed.
“We ain’t sure if it’s terrible or not, but it scares us real bad. We think that’s what Colm’s strugglin’ with as we speak.”
Fergus and Seamus forced themselves to remain focused on one another in deference to the woods beyond the stream.
“He ain’t here so I’m gonna tell you myself,” Seamus said. “Colm thinks we need to reject Heaven to get strong enough to beat Henry and his demons. Ian and Patrick already conjured the words to the spell we’re gonna cast.”
Fergus’ tense expression intensified.
“Damn it!” Gordon exclaimed. “We have to fetch William! Fergus doesn’t have the tattoo. He has to have it before they can cast the spell!”
“I will fetch William,” Abe volunteered. There was no need to discuss the importance of the tattoo. He was mounted on Fergus’ horse and riding to Watertown before anyone could say otherwise.
“What tattoo?” Fergus asked Seamus.
Seamus unwound the cravat around his neck and tilted his head.
The Sigil of Lucifer. Fergus recalled his bravado the night he touched it against Colm’s will. The sigil had not harmed him at the time, but the idea of having it tattooed on him was daunting. His emotions from everything his brotherhood had been through and what they had yet to face beset him. He struggled not to splash across the stream and run until he found comfort in the arms of his archangel.
Patrick jumped off the porch and ran to comfort Fergus. He pressed his palms against Fergus’ cheeks. “Colm said the road we’ve been walkin’ ain’t got us nowhere and he’s right. We gotta do this, and we cain’t do it without you. The spell has to be cast by all of us. Liam don’t have much time left. Maybe, if we reject Heaven, he won’t die. We gotta try.”
Fergus shifted his eyes to Liam’s pale drawn face. He saw Abigail Adams standing beside Ian. “Why is Mrs. Adams here?”
The last thing Patrick wanted to do, at that moment, was explain a palimpsest. Michael could explain it later. Uncertain how to answer Fergus, Patrick let his hands drop from his cheeks. He took a step back.
Seamus saw his little brother’s quandary and said to Fergus, “Her and Liam has formed a close friendship, and she offered to take care of him.”
Fergus sensed there was more to it than that, but he didn’t ask anymore questions. He was already overwhelmed with the idea of rejecting Heaven, Liam’s impending death, and his archangel’s tears. He walked to the porch and looked into the calm, but distressed, faces of his brotherhood. Their existence was about to change forever—if they continued to exist at all.
He jumped onto the porch and went to Liam. Brandon and Ian each had an arm around Liam’s waist and an arm around his shoulders. Liam was sweating and trembling. His dissipating green aura blinked once. Fergus pulled him into his arms. The rotting gash on Liam’s forehead made his spirit ache.
“I will not leave you again,” Fergus whispered. The foreign sensation of tears dropped from his eyes and wet Liam’s cheeks. “I didn’t realize how close to death you are. If I had, I wou’d have come back to stay with you.”
Michael winced and emitted a low grievous grunt.
Liam wanted to tell Fergus that commanding a budding provincial army unit was more important than a dying angel, but he could not gather the right words in his mind, let alone speak them.
Joseph was worried about Colm, and he could not endure the angels’ tension another minute. He turned to wade across the stream. Jeremiah stopped him with a curt, “Joseph, I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told Fergus. Stay here and leave Colm alone.”
“Do not tell me what to do,” Joseph snapped, “and if you dare to try to stop me, we will come to blows.”
He quickly crossed the stream. When he stepped onto the far bank, Joseph saw Colm’s clothing draped over low hanging tree branches. He took the damp breeches and walked into the woods.
Colm heard Joseph approach. Without looking up, he said, “I can’t remember the name God gave me.”
“Does it matter now, after you have chosen to reject Heaven?” Joseph asked.
“My archangel brothers spoke to me for the first time since we were banished. Their hatred for me is—” He wiped a hand down his face. “They see me as an abomination like—”
“—God saw the Nephilim?” Joseph asked. He sat beside Colm.
Colm’s eyes flashed when he looked at Joseph. “Aye.”
“That is not the way I see you.”
A fresh stream of silent tears coursed down Colm’s cheeks. “We’ve been alone since we fell, but until today, I didn’t understand the finality of our banishment. We’ve been blinded by fear and desperation and exhaustion.”
“You are not alone, Colm.”
Colm wiped his face and eyes with the back of his hand. “I understood that with clarity today, and I know that our power doesn’t lie in God’s hands or Heaven’s shelter. It lies in our loyalty, faith, and love for one another and the brotherhood we have formed with the children of man. Ya are my brother now. Jeremiah, Gordon, Abe, Abigail, Paul, William, John, Samuel—all of ya are our brothers now.”
Concern and kindness mingled in Joseph’s tone. “You are terrified of something. What is it?”
Colm knew what Joseph was asking, and he had no intention of ever answering the question.
“Answer me,” Joseph insisted.
Colm remained silent.
&
nbsp; “You do not intend to tell me.” Joseph observed. He handed Colm the breeches. “Put these on. Your men are nervous and unhappy because they do not know what you are doing or what you are thinking. Fergus is here. Abe has gone to get Paul and William. Ian and Patrick have conjured the words to your spell. It is time to take care of what needs tending.”
Thirty-five
Roxbury, Massachusetts June 1775
On the afternoon of June 1, William Dawes tattooed the Sigil of Lucifer on Fergus’ neck while Paul Revere etched the sigil into Fergus’ dagger.
Just before sunset, seven children of man and seven angels ate a dinner of rabbit stew that Abe and Brandon prepared. Colm tried and failed to get Liam to eat. It was 10:00 p.m. when Gordon began to draw an octagon on the top of the round table in the dimly lit living room.
Liam slept on a couch with his head in Abigail’s lap. She hummed softly and gently stroked his cheek.
Michael, Brandon, and Patrick hovered near Liam while they watched Gordon draw the octagon. The three boys were trying to get drunk, but their anxiety absorbed the alcohol before it had a chance to affect their vessels.
Joseph, Paul, William, Jeremiah, and Abe were also attempting to get drunk. They, however, were succeeding.
Seamus, Ian, and Fergus sat at the table and copied the words to the spell on pieces of linen—one for each angel.
Colm stared at the forming octagon. In the number symbolism of Medieval Europe, eight was seen as representing cosmic balance and eternal life. It was a cruel oxymoron.
Gordon drew the last line of the octagon and threw tiny remains of the piece of graphite into the dead fireplace. He unfolded his sketch of the Sigil of Lucifer and laid it in the center of the octagon.
Colm shelved his tankard of rum on the fireplace mantel and went to Liam. “Wake up. It’s time to cast the spell,” Colm said gently. “We need ya to cast this spell so ya have a chance to survive.”
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