Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1

by C. J. Sullivan

  Wait.

  It wasn't entirely empty.

  There was a runner, a woman with an unruly head of long blonde hair.

  He watched her figure bouncing up and down in an aerobic rhythm, and he heard her short, quick breaths as if she were right beside him—or better yet, underneath him. He didn't want to take Eva yet, but there was no reason he couldn't taste the other fruits of Earth. A fresh smile crept to his lips. He walked up the road to introduce himself.

  ***

  Gidyon

  Daylight was well on its way when Gidyon stepped onto Max's back porch. He smiled, hardly able to keep contained at the good news Aaron had given to him. As he reached for the doorknob, Noam opened the door.

  "Well, hello there," Gidyon said, lowering his hand, entering the house.

  "Hello," Noam said, shutting the door.

  "I made contact with Aaron. He said that Michael himself is coming." He walked three steps then came to a dead halt. Turning around, he gave the Thanatakran a curious glare. "Did you just—"

  "Yes," said Noam.

  Gidyon's eyes were as big as an owl's. His mouth slightly dropped open. Composing himself with quick grace, he approached his friend and placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

  "Can I ask, what—what made you start talking again? Does this mean you're ready to tell me what happened—"

  "No," said Noam, pulling away.

  "Oh, oh, well that's okay." The healer's heart jumped with guilt. "Whenever you're ready." But his face was alight with joy. "Does Max know?"

  "Yes, he knows. And I have a story for you."

  He smiled. "Tell me."

  Noam told him about finding Christine, about rescuing her from her slob of a father, and bringing her to safety. He explained the rage he felt, and the compassion for her, and that it was just time that he spoke again.

  Max had plans to call his friend who was a judge, in the morning, just to secure the girl's staying for a while. She had given her last name and might have a relative who was more fit to care for her.

  "Where is she?" Gidyon asked, already excited about making a new friend that he didn't have to hide his identity around.

  "In the kitchen with Max. Cooking."

  Gidyon gave a sly grin and patted Noam on the back. He rushed outside and grabbed the prettiest flower he could find. Then, he made his way to the kitchen, creeping. He leaned one hand on the creamy marble tops and hid the one holding the blossom behind his back. Max stood with his back to the angel and explained with dignity how to roll dough to a copper-haired little girl next to him. She wore one of Harry's old shirts and pants that were her size and stood, smiling sweetly on a stool, completely dusted with flour, the thin particles tickling her little nose. Max donned an apron that belonged to his cook, and looked quite silly—the garment being covered in floral print—but he smiled nonetheless, teaching the sweet pixie how to make bread.

  "Oh, my, oh, my!" Gidyon said.

  Both humans turned around, and the girl smiled.

  "I didn't know we had a royal guest!" said the angel, looking down at her. "Please accept this humble gift, fair princess!" He got down on one knee below her and handed her a balloon flower with long, silky purple petals. "I would give more to someone of royalty, but I must be given time to go on a quest."

  "I'm not a princess!" she giggled, taking the flower.

  "You're not?" Gidyon sounded aghast. "But you must be! And you must have a husband around here somewhere. What are you, eighteen?"

  Christine giggled even more, and Max looked at the two of them as he pressed the squishy dough.

  "I know, I know," Gidyon said with a sigh. "You have to be a prince to marry the princess. I'm just out of luck!" He stood up and his smile beamed down at her. "I don't care what you say. You're a princess. There's no fooling me!"

  "You're Gidyon," she squeaked, looking terribly cute in Harry's old garb. "Aren't you?"

  "Oh, my goodness, yes I am. How did you know? You're a mind reader, aren't you? A mind reader and a princess! Oh, this is too much. I need another flower!"

  He ran out of the kitchen, sliding on the tiles like a comical buffoon. Christine fell into hysterical laughter.

  "She's adorable!" Gidyon said as he ran into Noam on his way back outside.

  "I know," Noam said, smiling.

  "Come with me."

  Gidyon entered Max's gardens to search for the perfect blossom.

  Behind him, the Thanatakran said, "I had a short run-in with Laphelle earlier."

  "You did?" Gidyon craned his head around, his eyes widening. "What happened?"

  "Not much. He was walking through the gardens, didn't have his sword."

  "What?"

  "I know. He acted like he didn't even know where he was, like he was disoriented. He doesn't know we're staying here."

  Noam eyed a cluster of marigolds. A look of bewilderment crossed Gidyon's face.

  "That's strange," said the healer. "I mean, that's good, but it's still strange."

  "I thought so, too. But anyway, no harm was done. And no new information on where he's staying, I'm afraid—I was knocked out for a few minutes as he escaped. I just wanted to let you know it happened."

  "You're all right, aren't you?"

  "Fine," Noam sneered. "He'd better be glad I fell unconscious."

  The healer smiled and turned to browse through a group of blue gentiana. "Noam, I know this might be the wrong thing to say, but you know that I'm not the most tactful angel in the universe."

  "What is it?" The Thanatakran was unable to hide his grin.

  "Christine's hair. It's the same color as Malachi's."

  "I know."

  Gidyon nodded and found a sunrise flower near the edge of a stone pond. He picked the dripping, pink blossom and walked up to Noam. Noam crossed his arms, his brown eyes filled with new strength.

  "He would have been very proud of you for saving her, Noam. And for finally speaking again."

  Noam nodded. "I know."

  ***

  Laphelle

  Laphelle tossed the tan coat over the back of his claimed red chair. He lit a couple of candles on the fireplace's mantle, fretting over how he was going to explain the absence of the Sivli. When he heard Malynko shut the front door, his eyes went wide.

  "Laphelle," said the Elitist as he strolled into the room, "I am beginning to wonder if the women of Earth are fools."

  "Why is that?" Laphelle asked, spinning around and putting on a smile.

  Malynko gave a curious glance at the rogue's sudden interest. "Well, I was very close to taking a voluptuous young morsel when I showed her my wings."

  "Yeah?" Laphelle said, his hands nervously twitching behind his back. Maybe Malynko wouldn't notice the missing weapon. "What happened?"

  He saw the blood on the Elitist's clothes but didn't bother asking what it was from. He didn't give a care anyway.

  "Well," said Malynko, "she started panicking at the sight of them—a very odd thing for women in my possession to do. She backed away from me and made the same rapid sign over and over. With her right hand she pointed to her forehead, then to her heart, then to her left shoulder, and finally to her right. It caught me off guard. I didn't understand at first. Then, I remembered it." Bitterly he spat, "The Sign of the Cross."

  "She didn't."

  The Fallen angel grimaced. "She did."

  "So what did you do?"

  "I slapped the wingless fool. And then I returned here."

  Laphelle thought about the girl, how frightened she must have been. He imagined her with shaking hands forming the Sign of the Cross as Malynko stared on in mortification. His stomach clenched as he held back a hollering laugh. He couldn't be more thrilled at the dark angel's foul luck with Earth women.

  "So, you didn't kill her?" he asked.

  "I'm not sure," the Elitist said with a shrug. "But it isn't important. We have other matters to attend. You should see Eva, Laphelle. She's mouthwatering."

  "Sounds like you'v
e got your hands full then." This conversation needed to end.

  "You know," Malynko said, furrowing his brow as he headed to the stairs, "you're acting rather strange."

  "I am?" Damn it, he was. He had to think quickly. "That's because I wanted to—apologize." The words were like razors as they ran across his tongue. "For my behavior. I've been out of line."

  The Elitist turned back, a pleased expression gracing his smooth, pale face. "Apology accepted, Laphelle. I knew you would return to your senses."

  He ascended the stairs.

  The rogue started to follow, just to see him up to his room, to ensure the coast was clear so that he could think about the evening undisturbed. Thank the Devil the Elitist didn't ask about the damned Wiccans this time. Luck was with Laphelle—or so he thought. Malynko turned to him. And the Barefoot Assassin stopped abruptly with his right foot planted on the bottom step's soft, red run. Malynko smiled as he looked down at the First Rank.

  "I told you that rebels of the system only amount to failures," he said.

  Laphelle watched him continue on up the stairs. His eyes darkened as a memory he very well could remember came to him.

  Great stone pillars of fire lit the red carpet that members of the Elite traveled as they descended the massive stone stairway leading to the ancient, royal buildings of Marne. The Battle of Seguai had been won, and another galaxy claimed by the angels of darkness.

  Angels of all rank were present at the ceremony held on the old, dark world of Soth, but only the Elite were allowed to march up the stairs and receive their medals of honor from Lucifer himself. And even though the Elitists shared the area at the top of the stairs with him, he stood on a stone slab that made him one step higher.

  The military drums echoed darkly as Elite after Elite marched up the steps toward the ancient, Roman-like structures. Dark angels of lower rank watched at the base of the stairs, drinking drinks served by human slaves or standing attention with their hands respectfully behind their backs. They were all significantly taller than the humans, especially the Elitists who ranged from six to nearly nine feet tall. Lucifer stood nine feet. He was the tallest. And the most beautiful.

  His pale body draped in black, he smiled most proud at the success of his warriors. They passed a table in front of him and he pointed a long, beautiful finger to the medal they were to take. His shimmering, iridescent hair reflected the colors of the fires, making a stunning rainbow across the sheen locks that fell down his back, almost reaching his feet. His eyes, which were a prism of color and light, watched as each Elitist bowed and took his medal. Lucifer, Son of Morning, was the most pure and feminine in appearance of all the angels, light or dark. But his black wings were a constant reminder of what he really was.

  The crowd below began to applaud. All of the Elitists that participated in the Battle of Seguai received their medals of honor and faced the crowd from above. Humans were forced to bow and cheer as well. The angelic drummers that were placed on the first few steps of the great stairway continued the rhythmic military beat.

  Then, Laphelle shoved his way through the crowd.

  The drums did not stop as he pushed the others aside; they let him get away with it because they feared him. He wore his finest military ensemble: a long navy blue jacket with gold trim. His hair was the same unkempt mess, but there were polished shoes on his feet and new gloves on his hands. When he placed his first steel-toed boot on the bottom step, the angels below gasped and stepped back.

  The Elitists above did not move, but merely watched him with vexed expressions, Malynko in the dead center of the line that faced the climbing rogue. The pounding drums only furthered Laphelle's angry determination. He reached the third to the last step, when a tall, burly Elitist with thick black hair on his head and face unsheathed his giant sword and pointed the blade out to him, indicating he should come no closer.

  Laphelle stopped with his right foot a step higher than the rest of his body. He did not seem to notice that he was much shorter in stature than the angels above him and looked at them as if he were their equal. A fierce gleam of purpose and pride shone in his icy blue eyes.

  Lucifer raised a hand and the drums ceased. He peered down at Laphelle who dared to look up into his prismatic gaze without an ounce of fear in his body.

  "I have come for my reward!" Laphelle shouted, his voice deep.

  "You are of First Rank, Laphelle," Lucifer said, his voice mesmeric, deceptive, beautiful. "You must speak with one of my Elite. Give the message to them—"

  "I wish to speak with YOU!"

  "Laphelle! You know the system. It will never be broken, because it was I who created it. It is flawless. Why do you think you deserve to change it?"

  "Because, unlike your precious Elite, I stayed behind at Seguai, even after they left! I finished off every last human and angel of light that dared to keep fighting! It is always ME who finishes the job! I am the one that is sent when your Elite are not able to handle the tasks!"

  "And so, you think because of this, you deserve the medal of an Elite?"

  "No."

  "What then?"

  "I deserve to BE an Elite!"

  Great gasps and angry comments rang throughout the ancient buildings. Lucifer frowned, but did not show any other sign of emotion.

  "I should banish you for this behavior," said the dark lord.

  "I would rather be banished than remain—"

  "My lord," Malynko interrupted, turning to Lucifer. "I apologize for the actions of my old student. He has never behaved in such a way. The battlefield must have confused his thinking."

  Laphelle was on the verge of exploding. His eyes darted defensively from face to face as a great bell within the old stone building began to toll the midnight hour.

  DONG.

  DONG.

  DONG.

  With each ring, his fury increased.

  "I assure you," Malynko said, "that it will not happen again. Accept my apology for his behavior. It would be a pity to lose such a prized warrior to banishment. I will spend some time with him and bring reason back to his frustrated mind."

  "It is REASON that BRINGS me here!" Laphelle shouted.

  "Very well, Malynko," Lucifer said. "We will complete the ceremony without Laphelle's presence, and then you will return him to his right mind."

  Lucifer waved a hand and the drumming resumed, playing along with the tolling bells as the First Rank was escorted away. Five giant angels of darkness descended the steps and grabbed his arms before he could reach for the Sivli at his side. He looked back at Malynko, his eyes afire.

  Through gritted teeth, the rogue said, "So, I'm not in my right mind, am I?"

  "Rebels of the system only amount to failures," said the Elitist with a smile.

  Laphelle desired nothing more than to murder his ex-tutor. He lunged forward, but the angels in their number were stronger, and they took him out of the ceremony, throwing his body on the cold stone road. Branded into one of the rocks was a small black symbol: three harsh lines with another crossing through them. It looked like a quick, clawed sketch of a fence, or gate. Tanden, the burly angel with the massive sword, waved his hand and Soth's dark gateway to the realm of eternity opened up in the air before him. Laphelle could still hear the cheers of the gathering less than a mile away.

  "You will all regret this day!" he cried.

  Then, they picked him up by the shoulders and tossed him through the swirling black vortex.

  Laphelle shook the memory away. His pulse beat hotly through his hands that ached for his sword. Malynko was lucky he'd left it at Jack's. Making tight, shaking fists, he turned around and faced Kiazmo whose skin was filled with color. Blood dripped down both sides of the little angel's smiling mouth.

  "Guess!" he said. "Guess what I have done!"

  "Kiazmo," said Laphelle, removing his foot from the stairs. "I could not care less."

  He stormed out of the room, shoving the swinging kitchen door open with deep and terrible fury.

/>   ***

  Gidyon

  "Checkmate," Max said, leaning back in his small wooden chair.

  "Now, wait a minute," said Gidyon. He lowered his face towards the antiquated glass chessboard, which sat atop a low table in the middle of the living room.

  "Gidyon, my good fellow," Max said, laughing, "my queen can take your king no matter where you move. You've backed yourself into a corner!"

  "No, now give me a second. I'm sure I can find some way to…"

  The angel observed his single white piece on the board. Max's black pieces substantially outnumbered it. Gidyon had managed to take a couple of the man's pawns and one bishop, but the rest of the black figurines stood firm on the board, surrounding his king.

  "Hmm," he said, his hand on his chin.

  The phone rang. A distant vacuum cleaner stopped and a feminine voice chattered away in the distance. Max looked toward the stairs and the owner of the voice, a round maid, descended.

  "Phone for you," she said to Max, then gave Gidyon a dreamy look. The angel quickly fixed his gaze on the chessboard. "Mr. Kramer, I can have lunch for you whenever you're ready."

  The angel glanced up again. His wings were tucked under a loose-fitting, flannel top he wore over a thin white T-shirt. Smiling, he nodded, stretching his arms as Max went to retrieve the phone.

  "Thank you, Mandy," said the man as he took the cordless phone from her hand.

  Mandy grinned flirtatiously at Gidyon, who was cautious to not give any unmeant hints, yet appear friendly all the same. She went back to her cleaning, and Max took the phone in the other room, when Christine, wearing a pretty new sundress, burst through the front door. In her arms was a bundle of freshly picked red dahlias. Noam followed close behind carrying pink shopping bags. He closed the door with his foot. The girl ran down the hallway and into the living room, and Gidyon turned around to face her head on. She jumped onto his lap and giggled as he fell backwards. His low-set, wooden folding chair collapsed, and his soft wings ached underneath the shirt, but he smiled as if all were perfectly fine.