by C. L. Roman
Descent
Book One of the Rephaim Series
C.L. Roman
When Captain Fomor leads six angelic warriors to Earth in an attempt to escape the war in Heaven, not only do they unwittingly set into motion the age of legends, but they must face an inescapable evil that threatens to destroy them, the humans they fall in love with and the Earth itself.
Contents
Contents
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Names of God
Introduction
“Angels are neither omniscient, omnipotent nor omnipresent. In short, they are not God, they are merely his creatures. In fact, given the rebellion of Lucifer and his minions, it would appear that they are as imperfect and understand as little of their maker as we do. It would not do to underestimate them, however. They are, after all, bloody hard to kill.”
Aurora Fischer, PhD
Keynote Address
Convention on Angelology
2004, Los Angeles, CA
Gen 6:1-4 And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, 2 that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they [were] fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose. 3 And the Lord said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, for that he also [is] flesh: yet his days shall be an hundred and twenty years. 4 There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare [children] to them, the same [became] mighty men which [were] of old, men of renown.
Chapter One
War raged in Heaven. The marble halls of Par-Adis echoed with the sound of running feet and clashing swords. Angels cried out and then fell, burning earthward. Even within the thick stone walls of the high commander’s headquarters, he could hear them, and he shuddered with grief and horror.
The angel paced the narrow confines of the anteroom. Why call me here? Especially now? If there were orders to be carried, surely Phaella should have been the one summoned?
He stared at the massive obsidian portal, shut tight for the moment, and felt the arid lick of fear on his tongue. His lips twisted in a pained grimace. Perhaps he should simply shift down to Earth now. Once he entered the colonel’s offices, he would be trapped, unable to enter the space between. Did they know? Was this an arrest? If so, where was Fomor?
His scurrying thoughts were interrupted by the silent swing of opening doors.
“The colonel will see you now.”
The wand thin form of the secretary shimmered and faded before he could thank her and he was left to walk through the door, or not. He swallowed hard and moved forward.
“Lieutenant, I am sorry to have kept you waiting.” Colonel Dolosus didn’t bother getting up. Instead she indicated that he should take a seat, one hand gesturing distractedly towards the stiff formal chair facing her desk.
Tall and slender, with widely spaced green eyes and red hair now scraped into a tight coil on the back of her head, the colonel carried herself with a commanding presence, even when seated. The lieutenant found himself looking around the room in an effort to avoid her gaze.
The arched windows of stained glass behind her gave admittance to the sun’s rays. Shards of light glanced off the crystals in the small chandelier to shower the room with multicolored sprays of light. The art on the walls was from Earth’s Impressionist Period and seemed out of place, given the Baroque style of the furnishings and the gothic nature of the architecture, but it was not his place to critique the colonel’s taste in decor. Despite the discrepancy the room might have been pleasant enough if it weren’t for the anxiety crouching in his gut as he took the offered seat.
“Don’t concern yourself ma’am. I’m sure you have a great deal on your plate just now.”
His posture was as stiff as his tone and the colonel’s eyes shifted with what might have been annoyance or amusement. She leaned forward slightly, her long, pale fingers tapping a rhythm on the desk top. Outside, the sound of fighting grew louder.
“I have orders for your command unit. You will report to the Crystal Sea where Captain Fomor will take charge of the Twenty-First Battalion. From there he will be given further orders. You will take the message to Captain Fomor.” It was not a request. Colonel Dolosus stared at him with the calm assurance of one used to being obeyed.
“I am not the communications officer ma’am.” His tone shifted quickly from petulance to obedience as the stern visage lifted one black brow. “But it shall be as you wish, of course, Colonel.”
The light dimmed as the dust of war filled the air outside. Harsh cries warred with explosions and the clash of metal on metal as the scales of battle tipped precariously, but surely, towards their violent conclusion. The colonel continued her instructions without haste.
“The captain is to bring his unit to the South Bay within the hour. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am. I will—”
A rending crash tore through the room, interrupting the younger angel’s reply. Dust and the savage reek of smoke tainted air clogged his lungs as he fought his sword free of its scabbard. He whirled, wings extended, his skin glowing faintly in the murky light, but found no enemy to fight. Instead, he saw a gaping, smoke filled hole where the marble wall had been. Blood leaked sluggishly from under the wreckage and spread in an inky pool as if reaching for him.
“Colonel,” he cried, springing forward to lift one of the largest slabs of wreckage from the body. The sight that greeted his eyes forced him to back away, struggling to control the bile rising in his throat. The blast had sent a jagged blade of shrapnel slicing through the colonel’s neck, effectively decapitating her. Survival instincts kicked in and, dropping slab, the lieutenant stepped back and looked around him, checking for a threat – or a witness.
As it became clear to him that neither were close by, his expression twitched between sadness and relief. The colonel had been a good leader; smart and well respected. It seemed unfair that a stray blast from a battle that should not have been fought had destroyed her.
And yet, he couldn’t help but contemplate the possibility that no one else knew whether he had received the orders she had given him. Timing is everything.
These thoughts were scarcely formed when a second detonation shattered the stained glass, sending a rainbow of shards slicing towards him. His wings flared, forming a protective canopy as he backed toward the black stone doors. They groaned open at his touch and he pushed through them, settling his wings back beneath his tunic as he gained the outer offices. He took one last glance at what remained of the colonel, shaking his head with mixed emotions.
Wasting no more time, the younger angel turned, stepped and shifted, traveling the distance between Heaven and Earth in a small shower of orange sparks, like the winking out of a hundred tiny candles.
***
“You must choose now.”
Captain Fomor’s quiet voice echoed against stone walls. He stood
facing Second Lieutenants Gant and Phaella in the long, stone hall of the unit’s barracks. Floor to ceiling windows were spaced along the hallway to admit a pale, wavering light. Dormers at the top of each casement were open to admit fresh air and the sweet scent of the gardens outside. Opposite the windows, spaced widely along the wall, were doors that he knew opened onto meeting rooms and domiciles, and, at the far end, a set of double doors that led to the dining hall.
The captain winced at the sudden crash of distant light and sound coming through a window behind him, but held his ground. He stood before his lieutenants, hands resting one atop the other on his sword pommel, hipshot and relaxed, but they had no doubt of his urgency. They had seen him in training leap from just such a posture of repose into full battle glow in the blink of an eye.
Outside, the faint sounds of battle drew minutely closer through the flickering light. Gant raked strong fingers through his black curls and turned hazel eyes to assess Phaella’s reaction. They were a matched pair, even calling each other “brother” and “sister,” though there was not, could not be, any such blood tie between them. In truth, their relationship was more like that of siblings than co-workers or fellow soldiers. Created at the same time, they might have been cast from the same mold with similar abilities and talents. Even their thought patterns matched more often than not.
Both sported a compact, athletic build and olive skin. Black, curly hair topped attractive, long nosed faces with strong jaw lines and dark, expressive eyes. The resemblance didn’t stop with the physical. The pair possessed a keen intelligence and were as loyal and steadfast as dogs but with a fierceness in battle that bore greater resemblance to the wolves Sabaoth had created than to those companion helpers of human kind. It pained Fomor to require them to make this choice.
“What you ask is not easy Captain Fomor.” Phaella avoided her captain’s eyes by keeping her own on the floor as she toyed with her long, black braid. After a moment she looked at him, “Sabaoth has not even called us yet.”
“Sister,” Gant reached out to put a gentle hand on her arm. “Would it be better to wait until He summons us into battle, and disobey Him?”
Phaella’s breath sucked in, her dark eyes widening as she shook her head.
Gant turned back to his captain. “What of Sena?”
“Lieutenant Sena waits for us below,” Fomor replied. “She, Volot and Jotun have chosen not to fight in this war.” An explosion, perhaps two hundred cubits outside the corridor, rocked the trio and sent smoke drifting into the wide hall. Fomor ignored the interruption, merely brushing a few strands of black hair out of his eyes before continuing. “Adahna went ahead to find a sheltered area where we can settle in for…” he stopped. It was hard to admit, even to himself, that he didn’t know how long they would need to shelter on Earth. “She asked me to remind you that we are all children of the same maker. It is not right for siblings to kill one another.”
Trouble clouded Phaella’s gaze. “Still, to disobey…”
For the first time Fomor’s pale skin reddened slightly and his voice held a cold edge. “We cannot disobey an order that has not been given. This is the point Phaella. To leave before it is given.”
A trumpet sounded outside, followed by another detonation, closer this time, and the air became dense with smoke.
“Decide quickly, or the call will come, and it will be too late.” Fomor spun on his heel, the fastenings on his boots glinting in the dim light, and shifted, disappearing in a flash of green sparks.
Phaella and Gant stared at one another, misery shared, but not lessened. How did one choose between abandoning Sabaoth and fighting, perhaps killing, fellow angels? It was as if a father were asking his children to fight one another; an impossible choice.
In the end Gant reached out his hand, “I cannot leave Sena.”
Phaella’s smile was dim, but determined. She gripped his fingers with her own, “And I will not leave you, brother.” A third blast struck the hall, raining bits of marble and dust down upon the siblings until the dark blue of their tunics looked gray.
“Well then, sister, time to move?” Gant forced a grin and the two stepped together into the fog shrouded corridors of the Shift. Light and sound from the hall they left behind was cut off as suddenly and effectively as a slammed door. Cold pressed against their skin through the fluid dark, while frigid gray fog probed their faces, pressed against lips and eyes, clinging and trailing behind as they moved through what seemed to be an endless, black expanse.
Gant heaved a sigh of relief and pointed at the ground before them, distinguishable as such only because they were standing on it. The silent sparks of Fomor’s passage were still clearly visible; tiny beacons of deep green edged in gold, indicating the path he had taken. In the distance all around them glowed other, less familiar lights, each one a singular shade of the spectrum. Their luminescence hummed in a tone so low on the scale that it was felt rather than heard, vibrating in the bones behind the ear; insistent and somehow menacing. Pausing now would call those lights closer, to touch them brought death or madness; movement was imperative.
Phaella, so uncertain before, showed no hesitation now. Moving swiftly through the dark, she left her own trail of lavender sparks edged in bronze as she followed the green beads shining at her feet. Seconds later they saw the thin, vertical blaze of bronze edged green which marked their path out of the Shift. Gant kept pace beside his sibling and the two arrived on Earth only a few moments behind Fomor.
Chapter Two
The forest breathed deep around Sena, Jotun and Volot as they awaited Fomor’s arrival. He would bring the knowledge of whether or not they were still seven, still a unit. Jotun crouched easily beside the small fire he had started, the sharp planes of his face thrown into high relief by its light. Pale skinned and blue eyed, he was easily the tallest warrior in the seven angel unit. Jotun was broad chested and well-muscled, but he wore his size without arrogance.
“I do not understand what delays them,” Volot said. Worry marked his stern features, carving deep lines around a generous mouth and deepening the shade of his eyes from summer sky to indigo. Shorter and more compact than Jotun, he was no less athletic, and far quicker to reach for his blade.
Sena shook her head, but did not turn from her task of guarding the perimeter of the encampment. “It is not an easy decision. Give them time to make it carefully,” she said. The warm breeze fanned her hair across her face and she automatically brushed back the straight black strands, but kept her dark, almond shaped eyes trained outward. A few moments later she tilted her head to the side and spoke. “Someone is coming.”
Volot sprang to his feet, his scimitar flashing in the firelight. Jotun rose more slowly, loosening his broad sword in the scabbard without drawing it. Just outside the ring of firelight a green glow the size of an apple hovered several cubits off the ground. Sparks shot from the light, intermittently at first, then fast and dense, broadening quickly into a tall figure, before fading. Fomor stepped toward the trio, walking before the hum of his shift from Heaven to Earth had faded.
“Captain Fomor.” Volot stepped forward. “Where are the others?”
Fomor lifted one black brow. “Put away your weapon Lieutenant. I have no wish to be skewered before dinner.”
Volot flushed as he glanced down at his scimitar and sheathed it. His embarrassment did not keep him from repeating his question. “What of Phaella and Gant?”
Before Fomor could answer, the air behind him began to glow once more and a double shower of sparks lit the small clearing. Phaella and Gant stepped out of residual light created by the shift and looked around them. Gant’s strong face broadcast his joy as Sena finally abandoned her post to run into his arms.
“So, my love,” he smiled at her, “Perhaps you missed me a little?”
Sena punched his shoulder playfully and then kissed him hard. “You are late,” she pouted, pulling back, “I had to stand your watch.”
“So much for military bearing,
” Jotun rumbled, but he was smiling.
Fomor looked around the small encampment, counting heads. “Adahna has not arrived yet?”
First Lieutenant Adahna, their logistics officer, had been assigned to scout ahead. If she had not shown up, it could only mean she had run into serious trouble.
Jotun was quick to allay the captain’s worry. “She is doing a perimeter check. She should be returning – ah, there she is now.”
Adahna swept gracefully into camp. Her long dark curls, caught loosely into a band at the back of her neck, contrasted dramatically with piercing blue eyes fringed by thick lashes. Her pale green tunic, like those of her companions, came to mid-thigh and was short sleeved. It showed off long, supple arms and skin the color of fluid topaz. Underneath she wore a pair of soft pants in the same hue as her tunic and knee high, brushed leather boots with a flat heel.
Adahna gave Fomor a weary salute and motioned towards the fire. “May I give a casual report? Flying between trees instead of through or above them is tiring.”
Fomor nodded his consent and took a seat across the fire from his logistics officer.
She sank gracefully to the ground and sighed. “The forest is empty of angels and humans for a distance of at least three days walk in any direction. We are in a valley within a larger mountain range. There are passes through the mountains to the east, but I did not travel further.”
As she began her report, the other members of the unit settled into places around the fire, listening carefully.
“Any signs that Lucif—” the hiss of warning from his companions stopped Volot from completing the name. He shook his sandy head and rephrased, “Well, what am I supposed to call him then? Archangel he may be, and very keen of hearing, but I’ll be damned if I’ll be afraid to say his name.”
Jotun gave a rueful snort. “Damned we may very well be, my friend. We are deserters at the very least. We’ll be lucky if Sabaoth does not lump us in with the evil one and call us traitors as well.”
