by Nana Malone
“Of course he did,” Lucifer said. “Too bad he didn’t want to stay and take my place here. But … c’mon! A toast!”
Lucifer grabbed a second glass of champagne off a tray brought out by one of his demons and held it out for Azrael to take, nearly stepping on a stray tentacle and getting himself killed.
“To Azrael,” Lucifer straightened and moved his wings into the eloquent dress-wings position of respect. “May all your scientific theories be verified through the peer-review process.”
Just for a moment, Lucifer regained the echo of the brilliant politician who’d once captivated the imagination of a vast empire. The Morning Star, destined to lead the way through the darkest times, and brilliant enough to understand just which compliment would soften Azrael's dark mood. Peer-review. It was the highest level of affirmation a scientist could receive.
Lucifer staggered, nearly landing face-down in Azrael’s tentacles. Falling. The echo faded. Lucifer went back to being the Fallen son of the Eternal Emperor once more. Azrael wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted, or to pity him. ‘How art thou fallen from heaven, oh Lucifer. Son of the morning.’
“Mpf. S’cuse me.”
Azrael had no mouth to drink, no stomach to digest, and no way to touch the glass without dissolving it. And anyway, he wasn’t sure it was appropriate to toast Yeshua's resurrection given how gruesomely the man had died. But still … success. His suffering had not been in vain.
“You drink it for me.” Azrael solidified his form into the soft, fine-tentacled one that made him look like a gigantic black fur ball, the most innocuous-looking form he’d learned to shape thus far. “I’m glad he’s going to be all right.”
“All right,” Lucifer hiccupped. He practically whacked Azrael with his snowy white wings as he turned and staggered back into his personal quarters. He raised the glass he’d offered Azrael to his lips as he sucked it down in a single draught.
The door slammed shut behind him. Squeals of delight welcomed the Fallen angelic back to his earthy pleasures. The demons shook their heads, puzzled at how someone as emotionally unstable as Lucifer had ended up in charge of this hellish place.
Azrael practically skipped out of there. He’d been right! His scientific theory had been right! Now it was up to him to track data on how the causality of the rallying point rippled through the general population. If only he could hold a pen and paper without dissipating it! He’d find a way. Given how much Yeshua had suffered to make his 'point,' Azrael owed him much.
* * * * *
Chapter 9
What we commonly call death
Does not destroy the body,
It only causes a separation of spirit and body.
Brigham Young
Galactic Standard Date: 156,523.10 AE (994 years later)
Haven-2 – Cherubim Monastery
Through the garden lay a courtyard, and past the courtyard sat a magnificent, yet simple palace which rose from its square stone pillars like a pagoda. Enormous rough-hewn timbers, each carved from a single tree, imparted a sense of strength and permanence as Azrael moved past the guards into the winding halls. The powerful vibration of Angelic voices chanting the low, sing-song meditations of the Cherubim tugged at Azrael’s grief, urging him to let it go and become one with the song.
Sound. The force which underlay All-That-Is…
Azrael closed his eyes and drank in the soothing vibration caused by thousands of novitiates chanting ‘ohm’ in an evening prayer. Even solid matter could be moved by the application of the Song; to create or, in Azrael's case, destroy. Life itself existed in that vibration … and death … though Azrael knew better than anyone that death was merely a change in phase and not the end of everything as mortals feared it to be. A higher voice rose above the choir, tinkling like a silver bell.
The Regent sat surrounded by her children, grand-children, great-grandchildren, and others who had taken refuge here, all creatures who held the promise of one day evolving into Archangels. Her voice rose above the choir as she sang an epic saga that was a tale about morality. The novitiates sang the 'ohm' to provide a soothing backdrop for the tale, adding their voices to the legend, but only the Regent could give voice to not only the song, but also The Song, for mortal ears to hear.
Azrael hung back in the shadows, listening to the Regent sing. It was hard to believe the most secretive goddess in the universe, sister and heir to the power of He-who's-not, had been nicknamed 'The Destroyer' as she told her progeny a favorite tale. It was a story Azrael knew well, for when the General had first brought him here to learn how to contain his power, the Regent had told him this story.
"How long did Pinochiel's nose grow, Seanmháthair?" one dark-winged Angelic child asked, perhaps five cycles old.
"It was not his nose, silly!" a Centauri filly scoffed. "But the karmic spider web cast out by his tangle of lies!"
"It is a metaphor," the Regent smiled, her fangs not threatening. Wing-spikes rustled like the sharpening of a sword against a whetstone as she spread the appendages like a bird of prey, enhancing the lesson with their bat-like visage. "When you tell a lie, it multiplies many times over and comes back to haunt you."
"I knew that!" the Centauri filly sniffed. She was a pretty pre-adolescent who would soon be tested for entrance into the Order.
"But you are older!" the little Angelic's lip trembled at being scorned.
The Regent picked up the child and sat him upon her lap. "Arrogance can come back to haunt you every bit as much as Pinochiel's lies."
"Like happened with Lucifer," a strapping Leonid boy chipped in. "He rebelled and the Emperor cast him down!"
Azrael shuddered with revulsion. The Regent had asked him to treat the debauch gatekeeper to the fires of Gehenna with compassion, but that didn't mean he had to like it!
"The truth is much more complicated than the myth, leon beag," the Regent said. "Lucifer's role is every bit as important to keep the balance as yours, or mine, or even the Eternal Emperor. Never forget, archangels-to-be, that all chess pieces have a role to play. Even the lowly Fallen."
'More like a non-stop orgy,' Azrael thought to himself with disgust.
"Remember this lesson when you leave these walls," the Regent chastised the filly. "As the first Archangel novitiate amongst your species, you will be held to a higher standard than the other Centauri."
The filly looked mollified. The other children moved closer, vying for a place at the feet of the most feared goddess in the universe. Even Azrael's power paled in comparison to that wielded by the Regent, or her missing brother, He-who's-not, Lord of Chaos, the Dark Lord.
"Tell us about the Blue Fairy!" the children clamored.
"Ki understood Pinochiel was more than he appeared," the Regent said. "No matter how many times he fell, she whispered he had a choice to make, and in the end, he sacrificed his life for the good of the Alliance."
"And she rewarded him by making him real!" the children finished the story.
"Pinochiel made himself real," the Regent said. "He just had help making better decisions. Just as someday you shall all be charged with helping the mortals in this galaxy make better choices by the example you all set. Remember this, réaltaí beag [little stars]."
'If only the Blue Fairy would make -me- real,' Azrael thought to himself. 'I didn't do bad things. All I did was disobey a direct order from the Emperor to never interfere.'
The children's tutors summoned them from their bedtime story to get into their pajamas, wash, and sleep in the great dormitories where genetically promising children from all species dwelt together as a single race, archangelei, heirs to the duty once carried by the Cherubim. Not all would become full-fledged Archangels. Few possessed the advanced genetics necessary to cast off their mortal shells and exist in a semi-ascended state, but the Regent herself was living proof that all species contained the seed of greatness.
The Regent waited until the room was clear before she fixed her bottomless black eyes, so much like Az
rael's, upon the shadows where he lurked.
"Come, fear faire beag [little watchman]," the Regent said gently. "I fear I have bad news." Those black eyes were filled with pity, as though somehow she understood his pain. How could a creature so powerful know what it was like to lose the only living creature he still had left to love?
"Lucifer told me," Azrael whispered. "My sister is dying."
"You must go to her," the Regent said. "Do not let her pass into the Dreamtime thinking even your spirit was destroyed."
“I am hideous." Azrael touched the ever-present ache within his own chest. "It is better she continues to think I am dead.”
“Eternity is a long time to grieve.”
"I want her to remember me the way I was," Azrael said. "A beautiful, guileless boy. Not a creature of the void."
Had it really been nearly a thousand years since he’d died? It hurt Azrael’s brain to contemplate what it meant to be immortal. He was still, after all, existing within the potential lifespan of his former species. His little sister’s impending death from old age, however, dragged him kicking and screaming out his denial about his current condition being a permanent one.
“For every evildoer the Cherubim killed,” the Regent said. “They redeemed the lives of ten good men. It prevented them from becoming as soulless as the malefactors they reaped.”
“How can I redeem anyone?” Azrael asked, his voice filled with woe, “when everything I touch dies?”
The Regent gestured for him to come closer, the only living creature who dared risk his touch, for she was a void creature, too, only her brush with power had left her stronger, not condemned to exist without shape or form. Azrael tried to hide his pleasure at being touched as she coaxed an ant-like pincher that kept erupting from the crude face he'd learned to shape back into a cheek.
Touch! What mortals took for granted, Azrael would give up the rest of his immortal existence to experience one last time without killing someone.
“Death is not the end, fear faire beag," the Regent said. "You know that better than anyone. Sometimes, death is a mercy.”
Azrael bowed his head so the Regent wouldn’t see him weep. Black tears left holes in her favorite silk robe. The Regent wiped his cheek, her flesh oblivious to his power, and adjusted his cloak.
“I think this newest containment shield will do the trick.” The Regent gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I know it's uncomfortable, but it will allow you to walk amongst the mortals without dissipating them.”
“Thank you, my Queen,” Azrael bowed. The Emperor, himself, had fashioned this latest design, an apology, he supposed, for making him the butt of Shay'tan's wager.
The Regent's tutelage had improved his appearance, but not by much. To a casual observer, he now appeared to be a tall, slender humanoid enveloped in a hooded black cloak. Beneath the cloak, however, depending upon his emotional state, he might be anything from vaguely humanoid to a billowy black thundercloud.
“Go! Go guide your little sister into the Dreamtime.”
Azrael exited through the courtyard, pretending not to notice the way even full-fledged Archangels dove off the neatly tended pathway to avoid him. Even to an ascended being his touch was death, although not a permanent end as they could pull their broken shells into the upper realms and reconstitute them; a tedious, inconvenient task that could take anywhere from hours to years. Closing his eyes and focusing on the mental connection the General had taught him to form with the other Archangels, Azrael punched through the fabric of time and space to teleport himself to his sister's hospital.
“Sir,” Azrael saluted.
“Sergeant Thanatos," the General greeted. “She is asking for you.”
“She knows?”
“She has been apprised of your condition.”
The whir of life support equipment filled the air. Azrael glanced at the curtain which separated him from the last vestige of his former life as a real Angelic; the baby sister he’d spent the past millennium remaining invisible to because the Emperor had felt it kinder to allow her to believe he was still dead rather than explain 150 years after she’d grieved his death that her brother now existed as a creature of the void.
“The Emperor himself tried to teach her how to ascend into the higher realms.” The General's stoic expression softened as he delivered the bad news. “She’s not genetically evolved enough to do so. He used a different sire’s DNA when he helped your mother conceive her.”
“Please convey my gratitude to the Emperor.”
“Gazardiel wishes to see her brother before she passes into the next realm.” The General's stern visage was filled with compassion. “It doesn’t matter what your current physical form looks like. She will recognize you.”
He stepped back and gestured towards the curtain. Azrael used the sleeve of his cloak to push it aside so he didn’t dissolve it. With trepidation, he stepped into the room and waited for his sister to notice him.
“Azrael?” Gazardiel whispered through wrinkled lips, her once-blonde hair now white with age. “Is it really you?”
Blue veins showed through paper-thin skin. Her feathers had become sparse upon the white wings splayed beneath her on her bed, having years ago lost the ability to fly. Rheumy blue eyes fixed upon where he stood.
“Yes.” Azrael stepped out of the shadows, standing so the light would not expose what lay hidden beneath his hood. “I had an accident. It disfigured me.”
“So the Emperor told me,” Gazardiel said. “Your mission must be very important for the Emperor himself to come and make excuses for you. Why did you wait until I was on my deathbed?”
“I did not wish you to see me as I am now,” Azrael said. “But I have watched over you for nearly a thousand years.”
“I thought many times I sensed your presence, only to find the room was empty.” The heart monitor hiccupped, then resumed its weak sinus rhythm.
“I am hideous,” Azrael cried. “Mortals scream in terror and run when they see me. Even the gods are repulsed by the sight of me.”
“Oh … Az!” Tears welled in Gazardiel's eyes. “Don’t you know I love you no matter what your appearance?”
“I know,” Azrael said. “I just …”
“The Emperor said this happened because you tried to save a little girl? Did she like my old doll?”
“She died before I had a chance to give it to her,” Azrael stepped closer to her deathbed. “But I think she would have liked it. She reminded me so much of you it made my heart ache for missing you.”
“They said you defeated Moloch,” Gazardiel said. “I had not believed the legends until the Emperor assured me it was true. He said you saved us all from destruction.”
Azrael evaded talking about just how horrific and painful his own death had been. It was a good thing he didn’t need sleep or he’d be plagued by nightmares. As it was, the flashbacks alone were enough to drive a less balanced individual to madness.
Mama. Gazardiel. Elissar. Agape. Unconditional love. So long as he kept the memory of just how much he’d loved each one of them, he was able to keep the horror at bay and push it out of his mind.
“The Emperor asked me to be brave and not recoil from your injuries.” Gazardiel reached towards his hand.
“The accident changed me,” Azrael stepped back. “I can’t touch anyone. Not even a blade of grass. Every living thing withers beneath my touch. Even an inadvertent brush brings death, which is why I wear this cloak.”
“So cruel!” A cough shook Gazardiel's failing body. Azrael held his breath, believing she would leave him and journey where he could not follow, but she held on. “You loved nothing more than to crawl into Mama’s lap and be read stories, even when you grew too big and the other children made fun of you.”
Tears streamed down Azrael’s face at the truth of her words. Deadly black tears that dissolved everything they dripped upon and left tiny holes in the sheets.
“They send me to eradicate Agents of Moloch from what
ever mortal host they’ve hijacked,” Azrael said. “One touch and your spirit steps out of your mortal shell. The Emperor said I can escort you to the gateway of the Dreamtime so you don’t have to make the journey there alone.”
“Will there be any pain?"
“No,” Azrael said. “My touch has no effect upon your consciousness. Those I capture complain they didn’t realize their spirits had been severed from their bodies until they looked down and saw their bodies crumpled upon the floor. But I may only touch you once. I have never been able to un-kill somebody once I've taken their hand.”
Gazardiel coughed. The heart monitor beeping frantically for a half a second, then returned to normal.
“Then we will speak a little while,” Gazardiel said. “You must fill me in on your adventures so I can tell Mama when I see her again. And then you shall kiss me goodbye.”
They conversed until Azrael felt almost like a normal person as he told his sister about his little friend on Earth, his work for the Eternal Emperor, and the data he’d been collecting between assignments to quantify his theories of ‘rallying points’ as a means to encourage social evolution. His work was the only thing he had left to keep him sane. At some point, he realized she was tiring. Whether he touched her or not, Gazardiel was ready to leave this realm and she only lingered because of him. Her spirit had already begun the process of pulling itself away from her mortal shell, only tendrils of consciousness keeping her here.
“I am tired,” Gazardiel whispered. “I have led a good life, with a good husband and children. A life that I am proud of.”
“You’re all I have left,” Azrael wept. “I wish there was some way for you to stay.”
“I can see Mama and my husband waiting for me.” Gazardiel's eyes were no longer focused on this realm. “Just but on the other side. Will you take me to them?”
“It would be my honor."
“Take down your hood,” Gazardiel said. “I wish to recognize my brother when I cross paths with you again.”
