Eternity

by Nealis, James

  I look back toward my plate and all my food is now gone.

  “What rumors?” Christine says.

  “You know the dungeons under the Temple?”

  “Don’t speak of them,” Christine says. “They give me the chills just thinking about them.”

  “What’s so bad about them?” I say.

  Uriel leans forward. “They throw you in there, and then they never let you back out. It feels like you have just been thrown away. Forever.”

  “Anyone in those dungeons, deserves their punishment,” the angel who stole my food says, “They should rot in those prisons for eternity.”

  “Ok, so quick question we are asking,” Uriel says. “Who are you and why are you eating all our food?”

  “I’m Raphael,” he says.

  I look at this rude intruder. His skin is pock-marked and hideous. Scars run up and down his neck. He is so fat his legs seem to be fused together.

  Uriel and Christine introduce themselves while I remain silent.

  “Don’t mind him,” Christine says. “He has this loner thing going on”.

  Raphael scoops entire handfuls of food into his mouth. He chews with his mouth agape, an open window into the half-masticated slop that was once the fruit on my plate. I try not to show my disgust, but I fail.

  “So what’s it like?” Raphael asks. “Knowing you out-battled our captain?”

  Christine laughs. “Won’t be long till you’re instructing us.”

  "You were incredible today," Uriel says. Uriel slaps me on the back. "How bout you show us how you did that?"

  “When I encountered the Rogue in the Oasis, he obliterated me. It wasn't even a fight,” I say. “But this time the role reversed. Even though it was only for a moment, I was his equal. Perhaps battle is really just a game of chance. One of the two sides is bound to come out better than the other. But ultimately the Frosted still came out on top.”

  “You sound like a blithering fool,” Raphael says.

  I am caught off guard by his response.

  “I’ll tell you why you stood a chance,” he says. “You are bigger. You are stronger than every one of us in this room. You were literally crafted to be a warrior.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “I am a Designer at heart.”

  “Tell that to the bandage around his leg.” Raphael points to the Frosted who limps into the dining hall.

  “What’s he doing here?” Uriel says.

  “Yes, he was sent to be dealt with by Captain Salidryl.”

  I glance over at Sal. His eyebrows lower on his forehead.

  The Frosted looks at me. His gaze is unnerving. He grins and licks his lips.

  “The arrogance,” Christine says. “You’d think he earned an award or something.”

  I shake my head and look down at the empty plate of food in front of me. I am tempted to spoon out greens just to provide an excuse to look away. How is it that I feel this intimidated by him?

  An angel with markings all over his skin rises to greet the Frosted. The two lean forward and speak in hushed tones. The marked angel takes a quick look in my direction and then turns away as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

  “What’s the story on that one?” I point toward the angel covered in markings.

  “His name is Baal,” Christine says. “He’s a Cleanser.”

  I spit my food back onto my plate.

  “Yeah, that was my reaction as well,” Uriel says.

  “It makes sense,” I say. “They would be friends.”

  “We know him well,” Christine says. “We dealt with him outside these walls.”

  Uriel shakes his head. “Christine worked on this one design. I tell you it was beautiful the way that massive beast would slide through the water, just shifting its long slender body back and forth. The biggest animal in the ocean. And that mouth. You never saw anything so impressive. No lack of teeth there.”

  “The amount of time I spent on streamlining those four legs,” Christine’s voice trails off as if she were lost in a memory. “Baal didn’t even pause before carrying out his role.”

  “Cleansers serve an important function,” Raphael says. “We can’t have the Earth dominated by a few overly destructive species.”

  “I know they have a place,” I say. “But we Designers put so much care into our animals we will never get along with those tasked with sending our designs to extinction.”

  Everyone stands and I realize the Prince has entered the dining room.

  His bejeweled armlet glistens in the candlelight as his signature cape flows behind him. He wears a golden band around his head as if it were some sort of humble crown.

  He makes his way to the head table and stands behind the chair beside Sal. He motions with his hands for us all to sit. We do as we are commanded.

  “My children,” he says. “Let me begin by congratulating you on completing your first phase of training. Captain Salidryl has informed me of your progress. I am quite pleased.”

  Sal’s facial expression does not change. He remains stoic as his eyes stare forward over the dining hall.

  “But we must always strive for more. The threat of the Rogue armies grows. I regret to announce that they attacked more of our innocent in the deserts of the North. There were many wounded, but it appears that our Healers were able to keep all from death.”

  Christine shakes her head.

  “We can’t just sit back and wait for it to happen again,” the Prince says. “Next time it could be those you care about.”

  He rests his hand on the chair. “It’s with this urgency in mind that I have chosen the first of the three remaining stone recipients. The remaining captains will be selected by you and your captains. I will not interfere with their decisions. But in this appointment, I find special joy as I have been able to hand select the victor. So with that, I leave the ceremonies to Captain Salidryl. May my light shine upon you.”

  His last words linger in the air. Something about it does not sit right. But I turn my attention to Sal who rises.

  “I wish to congratulate you all for a remarkable time of training today,” he grinds his teeth between breaths. “War is a violent art. It involves real danger and violence. It is not for the weak of heart.”

  “Does he look like he is in pain to anyone else?” Raphael whispers. “Maybe he needs a little more fruit in his diet.”

  Christine hushes him with her hands.

  “So now I will award the first of the remaining three stones to an aggressive young warrior. The Prince has deemed that you were fearless, displaying valor and tenacity. This stone who belongs to the one among you who is willing to stand up and fight.”

  Christine’s eyes widen as she looks at me.

  “Oh blimey,” Uriel says. “That was a bit of an exaggeration. You were good but you weren’t that good.”

  Uriel speaks so loud I can’t hear Sal’s voice. I scan the room as the recruits all stand to their feet and cheer. I feel a weight fall from my shoulders as I stand to my feet.

  I turn to walk from the table when I realize the Frosted is already standing beside the Prince.

  “Thank you, Captain, for this honor,” the Frosted says.

  “Take your seat at the Captain’s table,” the Prince says.

  “What just happened?” Christine says.

  “Now, I’ve seen it all,” Uriel guffaws. He glares at the Captain’s table. “Why don’t we go ahead and appoint Cephus to commander while we’re at it!”

  I quietly sit back down, my hand squeezing my chair.

  “They called him the Frosted,” Christine says. “Even the Prince doesn’t speak his name.”

  The Frosted takes a command post which will make everything much more complicated. I will not take orders from a Rogue, even if he has deceived the Prince himself.

  I will do whatever it takes to win one of the remaining two stones.

  Chapter Twelve

  The New Captain
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  I SHIFT MY WEIGHT allowing my broadsword to brush my side. The foible clinks against the rocks beside me. I steady it with my right hand. The hilt feels warm, as if the memory of my altercation with the newly appointed captain is inlaid with the leather.

  Christine approaches in the twilight.

  She pulls her brown hair back with her hands as she walks, tying it into a knot. Her violet dress reflects the light of the sky, and she carries her curved sword in her hand.

  “You are more motivated than you let on, soldier.”

  “I don’t see why we have to start every session mid-dream,” Uriel says.

  My eyes narrow. “Every minute that passes is another minute the Rogues could be gaining an upper hand.”

  “It’s too early for your broodiness,” Uriel says. “And if you could leave a little more quietly in the middle of the night, I might not feel so much like I have been hit in the face with a tree trunk.”

  “You do realize we are training for war, right?” Christine says.

  “Train all you want for all I care,” Uriel says. “Just let me sleep.”

  Christine hushes him.

  I have a feeling that I’m a popular topic for discussion even when I’m not around. Perhaps that’s to be expected. I have grown to learn the more invisible I try to be, the more fascinating to others I become.

  Uriel completely overlooks Christine’s social cue, and keeps on chatting. “Anyone else get the feeling we will be doing a little more than stabbing bean bags today?”

  “A new captain,” Christine says. “Should be interesting.”

  “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

  “But you didn’t, did you?” Uriel laughs. “And now, he gets to bloody well call the shots next to your good old friend Captain Salidryl.”

  I turn from them.

  Christine whispers something into Uriel’s ear. He laughs and turns to watch the others approach.

  Baal marches this way.

  He’s a peculiar angel, his arms imprinted with emblems and symbols. Tattoos--most likely burned. Some of the symbols appear to be in some form of language I don’t understand. Perhaps something deeply sentimental. But I can read the words on his exposed upper shoulder, as clear as still water.

  “Do what you please; that is the complete law.”

  Raphael takes his time, several feet behind Baal. He pants as he meanders, his arms grabbing at the air as if the two -hundred-foot walk to the barracks is a long journey.

  Sal orders us into rows before Raphael even gets to the Courtyard. “Today we will divide into groups. Half of you will follow my leadership while the other half will group under our new captain.”

  The Frosted smiles and raises his hand.

  I curse in my head. Please do not let me fall under the control of the Rogue. I hate him. I despise him. He has no claim to my will.

  “We will choose by a simple alternating pattern of selections.”

  “We’ll take turns,” Sal says. “I will start with Uriel. You’re with me.”

  I gasp so forcefully my lungs are empty of breath. Why didn’t he call my name?

  “I’ll take Christine,” the Frosted says.

  I thank the Origin under my breath. Christine, however, grinds her teeth and glares at the Frosted. The way she treats Uriel, I would have thought she would be thankful for the brief separation from her parallel.

  “Apophos,” Sal says.

  Apophos?

  “Auro,” the Frosted announces.

  “Oriphiel,” Sal says.

  What on earth is wrong with Sal?

  During the entirety of my time training, I don’t recall even seeing this red-headed angel who now walks up toward Sal. Yet he was chosen before me?

  My eyes meet the Frosted’s. I instantly realize it is a mistake as he smiles.

  “Michael.”

  Sal’s eyes find my own. I glare right back at him. He doesn’t deserve a reprieve for this betrayal. I know the Frosted is a Rogue and now has power over me and Sal let it happen. Is my old friend even on my team, now that he has the power of a captain?

  He must feel resentful that I outshined him in the skirmish with the Frosted. So be it. Let us be enemies for all I care. It is not my fault that his skill with a sword is so woefully inadequate.

  I make my way over to the Frosted’s team. They stand in a semicircle, backs toward me. The Frosted addresses them from the center.

  I squeeze between Auro and Christine. The Frosted sees me and a barely perceptible grin appears on his face. As his eyes sparkle, I fantasize about lunging forward and ripping the skin off his smug face.

  “Don’t get too excited,” the Frosted says. “Your teams will keep revolving until we appoint our final captain.”

  His words don’t bring me any comfort.

  “But this is our time,” the Frosted says. “You are all only mindless drones. If this army were to face only one Rogue today, every last one of your bodies would nourish the weeds. But don’t you worry: I will train you. It’s time that we make warriors out of you.”

  “Was he not one of us just yesterday?” Christine says.

  I ignore her.

  Instead, I search for allies among the twenty-two of us. He may be my leader but perhaps I can find strength in numbers. Uriel and Baal are the most noticeable absences in the group. I see Raphael. He is not much help and I believe even the Frosted knew that when he selected him. Chosen dead last, Raphael still celebrated at hearing his name called.

  Auro is also a part of this group. He doesn’t appear to make for much of a warrior. Not knowing many of these other recruits, I am realizing this is the most rag-tag group of the entire leadership pool. It’s as if the Frosted wanted me on this team just so I could experience the frustration of the others’ ineptitude.

  “You seem like a confident fighter,” the captain says. “Why don’t you start us off?”

  Just hearing his voice makes me grind my teeth.

  “Michael,” Christine whispers. “He is talking to you.”

  I walk to the center of the semicircle realizing I have no idea what it is that we are doing. I grew so lost in my thoughts.

  “Your sword,” the captain orders.

  I draw it out and lift it in front of me.

  Christine shakes her head and leans in toward me. “No, give it to him.”

  I look at the Frosted who spits before my feet. I hand him the weapon. He throws it to the ground behind him.

  “If you are to become a warrior, you must learn how to avoid a blow.” He lifts a wooden sword from the weapons rack behind him. “You will not always have the benefit of a weapon, so take your stance.”

  The others back up around us as I widen my stance. I grit my teeth as I prepare for this unfair fight. What does he even want me to do?

  “You must get your weapon,” he orders.

  I stand there awkwardly for a moment looking at him. I creep slowly toward it with my hands outstretched. He slams the wooden sword into my hands. I feel the ends of my fingers crunch and scream in pain. I back up from him as he steps toward me.

  “Come on!” he shouts. “Is that the best you can do?”

  I look down at my burning red finger tips and then back at him. He is no better than those we fight. He is vicious and blood thirsty.

  My eyes narrow and I leap forward toward him. He parries to the left and swings his wooden weapon at me. I dodge it once but then he jabs it forward. The blunt sword pounds me in my gut. It does not pierce the skin but it hurts. I fall to the ground.

  I hear the others begin to mumble. They feel bad for me which does not make me feel better. Rather it makes me feel ashamed and angrier.

  “Again!” the Frosted says.

  I rise to my feet.

  The burning in my fingers seems to radiate through my entire body. I can barely close my hands; they feel so stiff. My stomach also throbs in pain.

  “Look at Michael’s shoulders,” Auro says. “How is he doing that?”


  I ignore the comments from the other angels.

  “What will you do, boy?” the Frosted says. “Will you just let me beat you to death or will you fight for victory?”

  I take one step backwards. My eyes never leave his.

  “It appears you’d rather run than fight. But the truth about those who run is they never escape those who pursue. They only encourage a fiercer attack.”

  He steps forward.

  “And those who bluster,” I say. “Overlook the stupidity of their own arrogance.”

  I reach down, grab his outstretched leg, and pull it upward.

  He falls backward onto the stone. I grab my blade off the ground and stand over him, ready to pierce his neck. But before I can strike, he slams his wooden sword onto the side of my knee.

  I fall to the ground. My head slams against the stones and for a moment, everything stops. I lose track of what goes on around me. The pain radiates in my neck and chin and after an unknown amount of time, I regain consciousness.

  The captain now stands in front of me laughing.

  He directs me to take a break. I need to return to the Temple Center to see a Healer, but I hold my tongue.

  “That was great,” Christine whispers to me as I make my way back. “But how exactly did you do that?”

  “Get beaten with a wooden stick?”

  “No,” she says. “Your shoulders, they were glowing red.”

  I shrug.

  One by one, the others in my clan rise up to be bludgeoned by the Frosted. I watch hoping that at least one of them will manage to inflict some form of pain on him, but unarmed, we stand no chance.

  For most of them, this is the first time they have engaged in a battle. They've only trained in technique and bag slashing. And it shows.

  Christine leaves her encounter with the Frosted, her nose bleeding and a tooth in hand. “I did it!”

  “You did what?” Raphael says. “From what I saw, you simply took a beating.”

  “Raphael,” the Frosted shouts, as if on cue. “You’re up.”

  Raphael saunters to the center of the semicircle. He stands still, watching the captain’s advance. The captain swings and Raphael falls to the ground before contact is made. He rolls into a fetal position.