TABLE OF CONTENTS
Part I: The First Rank
Part II: A Song in the Darkness
Part II: The Elitist's Move
Part IV: And They Knew They Were The Same
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wings of the Divided:
The Divided Book 1
by
C.J. Sullivan
Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1
Copyright © 2012
C.J. Sullivan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Image Copyright © Susan Kimes, 2012
Cover Design by Susan Kimes
To Mom, for believing in this story, for believing in angels, and for believing in me.
Part I: The First Rank
Max
Max Edenton knelt at the altar, his hands tightly clasped. Thick white hair brushed against his creased brow. How long had he been here? Minutes? Hours? The frantic worry traveling through his brain had a way of manipulating time until he often felt outside of it.
Opening his eyes, he forced himself to relax his tense shoulders, and he let out a shallow breath. The quiet surrounding him suddenly struck a lonesome chord. He took off his gold-rimmed glasses and placed them in his shirt pocket then continued to pray.
For the umpteenth time tonight, he formed the words of his plea, though no sound escaped his lips. It was rote by now, nothing more than habit and repetition, and it got him nowhere. Nobody seemed to be listening. But he could think of nothing else to do.
Candlelight trickled down on the aisles of the small Gothic-style church, casting dancing shadows on the rich oak pews. The priest began to make his way along the walls. He stopped at each shiny sconce to cup out the little lights with a long golden snuffer. Puffs of smoke perfumed the air as darkness quietly crept to the front of the sanctuary with each extinguished flame.
"Please, not yet," Max said, turning to the priest. His voice carried remnants of a British accent.
The priest stopped and sat down in a pew five rows behind Max. Unlike Max, the older man had not kept in good health. He'd lost his hair years ago. Letting out a sigh, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes.
"It's late," he said.
"Please," said Max.
Two years.
It had been two years since he had last laid eyes on his only son.
Heavens, had it been that long? Surely Harry was alive and well. Max could feel it. And Harry did plan to come back, even though the letter said he didn't. Max couldn't figure out why his own flesh and blood would ever want to disappear from his life, to vanish without another word for two years and counting.
"Mr. Edenton, you have been here for three hours," said the priest, his energy deflating with each word. "Go home. The Lord has heard your prayers. Besides, I don't want you to get sick staying out so late, Max. You need sleep like the rest of us. You can pray on the way home. God will hear you there too. I promise."
"Let me pray for my son!" Max cried, his voice echoing off the high, arched ceilings.
The priest sighed again. Max glared at him.
"Go home indeed," he said. "I'm already sick with worry."
He reached into the cotton pocket of his blue button-down shirt, pushed aside his folded spectacles, and pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper, soft from being held so many times. His tired blue eyes read the memorized, roughly scribbled letters for the thousandth time:
Dear Father,
I have made a choice. You know how you're always telling me that I have to make choices and not just let everyone else do it for me? Well, I've made the choice to leave and I'm not coming back. You might find this as a shock, but you'd be the first to say that life is unpredictable. My life is just too complicated for you to ever understand… I wish you could understand, but Father, I don't want you to look for me. I'm very far away by now and you couldn't find me anyway. I can't explain any more.
If people ask what happened to me, you can tell them that I am just another rebel teen who hates his father. Please, respect my decision. Do not try to find me. Please.
-Harry
Max read it over and over. The first few times had been such a shock, such a blow, he thought it a joke. After a time, the letter stabbed him straight through the heart, and he'd get teary-eyed simply looking at the folded piece of paper. Now, it merely baffled him. It just didn't make sense. He rubbed the smooth, tan skin of his chin.
"I know you have a key to the building," the priest said, standing up. "If you promise to leave in a few minutes, I'll trust you to lock it up."
Shiny candlesnuffer in hand, he walked over to the kneeling man. He yawned and placed the snuffer at his feet. Max glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and nodded. The priest then sauntered to the front of the cathedral where he took off his robe and hung it in the vestiarium. With a grunt, he pushed down on the iron handle and pulled. The massive wooden door creaked open, and then it shut with an echoing click.
Max faced the altar, clasping his hands, and sent his prayers with adamant faith.
***
Gidyon
In the first realm, galaxies away from where Max prayed, two angels of light hovered amidst starry space. Gidyon, his bluish translucent essence glowing in the dark, turned to Noam and spoke telepathically, as all beings must do in the first realm:
I think we've lost them.
Noam turned his spiritual body around, his weightless hair's essence slowly undulating. The angels were outside of the limits of time and distance, but they could still see the universe around them. Sparkling newborn stars floated amidst pink and purple nebulas, distant galaxies continued their slow and mighty turn, and the millions of stars twinkled around them like diamonds in a sea of black.
Noam raised an illuminated hand, pointing straight ahead.
Gidyon looked and his essence flickered with fear.
Oh, no, he said, not needing to move his translucent lips.
There were three distant shapes, three more angels. But these angels were different from Noam and Gidyon. Instead of their wings sparkling white and radiating calm, their lightning-streaked blackness exuded dark power.
Before the angels of light moved, a shower of fiery darts flew toward them. They flapped their wings and dodged the flaming red arrows, the weapons void of sound in the first realm. The angels of darkness drew closer. Noam and Gidyon continued to dodge.
They've been reading our minds, said Gidyon. Everywhere we go, they follow!
He ducked as an arrow flew by his head's essence, far too close for comfort. His big blue eyes lit up with harrowing terror. They were going to be captured. And then they would be taken to Hell or worse — to a world where they would be forced to fight their captors. It might not be such a big problem for Noam, but a physical battle was out of the question for Gidyon. He refused to participate in bloodshed. He was a healer, not a warrior.
Two darts dashed under his glowing feet.
Panic threatened to consume him.
He'd been running for much of his long existence. But he knew he could only run for so long.
Out of the cosmos a blinding flash of light appeared, blocking the darts that
surely would have struck him.
A booming telepathic voice ordered, Go to Earth! It was the Archangel Michael. I'll hold them off. I have a special assignment for you.
Without thinking twice, Gidyon focused all his energy into his white wings. Noam did the same until the gathered energy made thin halos of light appear around their heads. The giant Archangel before them spread out his body like a shield so they could make their escape. Once their wings were fully charged with power, the angels gave them one strong flap, and their essences disappeared.
They reappeared in Earth's orbit, Gidyon honored and frightened to be there. The greenish-blue planet spread across his view like a vast, curved wall, the sun behind giving it a bright yellow halo. It was that sun, otherwise known as the Earthstar, which served as a guide in navigating the known universe. It shone an array of God-set colors like a rainbow compass.
Behind them, Michael appeared as if from nowhere.
We must hurry, he told them. I was able to distract the enemy, but not for long. Come with me.
He guided Gidyon and Noam down through clouds neither could feel, and to a stony road in North America. It was night on this side of the planet, and Gidyon turned to Noam, who stared at the Archangel with a curious expression. Was something amiss?
Without acknowledging the stare, Michael raised his hand and a blinding rip tore through the air, providing a way to the physical realm of Earth. His translucent blue armor shone with energy.
You must go now! I will send the mission to your parchments once you have entered.
The angels of light did as told, Noam passing through first, Gidyon second. But as they did, Gidyon's eyes met Michael's, and there he spotted a strange, prismatic gleam he had not been aware of before. It was too late to question it. Stepping into flesh, he looked around, his and Noam's now-physical bodies standing on an old cobblestone road. Gidyon turned his eyes to follow a path that ran southward over grassy hills and into a dense forest of great oaks, whose leaves had turned from summer's green into a striking assortment of autumn's reds, oranges, and yellows.
The gate closed up, taking its powerful hum of energy with it, leaving behind the lonely sound of moaning wind. Neither angel made a move, be it the blink of an eye, a twitch of the finger, or a shift of the massive white-feathered wing.
Their spiritual bodies now lay hidden beneath a layer of flawless flesh. If they chose, they could hide their wings and appear as mortal men. But unlike mortal men, there was still something marvelously inhuman about their appearance at close inspection. One could see it in the way their eyes flickered with sparkles of heavenly light, in the way their hair slowly turned with their movements as if the strands were weightless and in no hurry. But perhaps most evident of their supernaturalism was the way they stood so poised, their wings in elegant folds, as if their bodies were sculpted into artistic perfection no matter what position they moved.
Gidyon shifted his tense, feathered appendages. The immaculate wings arched out from his back through slits in his white wrap-around shirt, extending down his loose-fitting pants, the tips reaching the back of his knees. His cobalt eyes looked down to the dark stone bridge he stood upon. It made a slight arc over the grassy remains of an old creek bed. The angel's long flaxen hair of snowy white fell down to his waist, the mane decorated with several thin braids; a bluish sheen raced across the strands with his movements. Crossing strong, lightly tanned arms over his chest, he let out a shaky sigh and eyed the forest, the hills, the sky, waiting for a signal of some kind that would tell him what to do next.
Noam stared at him and raised perturbed looking dark brows over sparkling green eyes. Gidyon noticed the current color of his comrade's mood-determined irises and quickly glanced away. Noam was nervous. That didn't happen often. Shifting his thick boots on the earthy-colored stones, Noam turned away from him. His wavy soft brown hair reached just below his shoulders. It blew in the light breeze. He slowly slid his copper hands over his green shirt then positioned them in the pockets of his brown duster coat.
Gidyon turned, abandoning his search for a sign, and faced his friend.
In a voice like warm silk he asked, "Who opened that gate?"
***
Lucifer
The angels of darkness hovered before the one who opened the gate. Slowly, the guise of Michael dispersed and the Fallen Archangel Lucifer retook his original shape. His long hair undulating like glittery eels, he smiled, his essence awe-inspiring.
All too easy, he addressed his followers.
The tallest of the group, a calm and elegant Elitist with dark, waist-length hair, spoke: My lord, I have been waiting forever for an opportunity like this.
Lucifer lowered his pretty face in a nod.Is your religion fully prepared, Malynko?
Yes. And I have found several potential followers. When will you be returning for us?
Lucifer glanced to the frightened little angel clinging to Malynko's essence so that he nearly melded with it. Then the Devil looked up to the third Fallen warrior.
His name was Laphelle.
Lucifer let his threatening gaze burn into this angel's eyes. Laphelle replied not with trepidation, but with a clandestine grin. Insubordinate fool.
Good luck to you all, the Devil said.
He did not tell them when he would be returning.
Raising his hand, the long, silky sleeves of his translucent robes moving hypnotically in the weightless air, he opened the gate once more. This time the portal was a swirling, black vortex.
***
Gidyon
A black hole appeared in midair behind them. Gidyon exchanged a furtive glance with Noam. Goosebumps trickled up his arms and his pulse quickened.
"Noam, what is going on?"
Noam reached into his duster jacket. Gidyon grabbed his arms and shook his head.
"I have no weapon," he whispered.
Noam narrowed his eyes. He shoved Gidyon's hands off him.
"Please, Noam!"
Noam shook his head. Gidyon let out a sigh through clenched teeth. Noam did not — could not — understand Gidyon's need to run. But just when the healer thought they were going to stay put and start spilling blood, the dark haired Thanatakran brought his hands out of his pockets, weaponless. The angels stepped back from the gate opening a tear between time and eternity. Gidyon waited, hoping, praying it would just close back up, that it was only a glitch, an after-effect of the gate that had let them through.
But it wasn't.
A criminal laugh roared from the gate and echoed in Gidyon's ears like a psychotic siren. Wide-eyed, Gidyon grabbed Noam's arm.
"Come on!" he cried, flapping his bright wings.
Noam did the same, and they jumped into the air and started speeding north toward a cluster of metropolis lights.
"WAIT!" Laphelle shouted as he burst through the portal. "I just want to talk!"
Gidyon felt his stomach lurch as he looked back. The sleek, black sword in Laphelle's pale, long-nailed grip had a dark, wavy blade that weaved like a wicked flame frozen in time, shining like polished glass. A black snake with oval rubies for eyes protruded from the weapon's guard and twisted around Laphelle's hand and up his arm, the fangs latching into his bicep as he gripped the handle.
The dark angel flapped his black-feathered wings, those once-sacred appendages that now defined his Fallen identity, and he soared after his prey.
"Noam!" Laphelle shouted as two more figures emerged from the gate behind him. "Don't let that coward tell you what you can and can't do!"
The dark angel grinned wickedly, the sharp tips of his canines glinting in the moonlight. His ash blond shoulder-length hair whipped back with the speed of the wind; the black crystal on a leather strap around his neck flew back as if it were holding on for dear life. The blond rogue's silken, black suit blended into the velvety night, the fitted jacket fastened by silver latches below a V of bare ashen chest.
"Come back and fight me!" he said. "To arms, you wretched deserter!"
Gidyon spotted the little cathedral first. He turned to Noam, who had to be fighting with all his might to ignore Laphelle's challenge.
"There!" Gidyon said.
Noam turned to the church and nodded, and like gulls dipping into the ocean, the angels of light took sharp dives for the sanctuary's wooden doors.
Gidyon glanced back, couldn't help himself. The smile vanished from Laphelle's face, his icy blue eyes widening with rage.
"Putrid PAWNS of the ALMIGHTY!" he shouted, raising the sword. "Don't you DARE!"
But the angels of light ignored his threats. They entered the safe sanctuary and quickly shut out the night.
Inside the church, Gidyon stood with his ear pressed to the closed door. Once he was certain Laphelle was not going to be a fool and try to enter the holy building, he began to turn around, releasing his anxiety with one big deflating breath. He raised his brows when he saw a man — Max Edenton, so he read from the man's mind — facing them on the aisle, his human eyes widening like full moons. Noam turned his head to the side in a curious gesture.
Then Max fainted.
***
Laphelle
Hovering some distance away from the cathedral, Laphelle stared at the building with fire in his glare. He sheathed his sword on his back and crossed his arms, scowling. All he could do was give up for the night.
And oh, how he hated doing that.
He turned around to head back for Malynko but the Elitist was already flying directly behind him, and Laphelle bumped into the superior dark angel.
"Let me know when you're behind me, would you?" he spat, backing away.
The dark general blinked cunning, half-opened eyes of green so piercing they glowed. His Elitist presence exuded erotic magic and radiated the power of the warrior he was.
"Didn't I tell you not to get hasty?" Malynko said. His voice was a sensual stream, but chilled with an edge of dark ice. "You never listen to me. I let you get away with entirely too much nonsense."
Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1 Page 1
