Drean’s gaze attached to the man, and his face tightened with concern.
“What’s wrong?” He followed Drean’s eyes.
“That man that Greg is talking to. His spirit doesn’t feel like that of a normal human. He could be a half-breed.”
“That’s just Keep! He’s a great guy.” Gerald lifted his mug in Keep’s direction and frowned when he realized it was empty. “He owns this place and bartends from time to time.”
Greg took his apron off and handed it to Keep.
“Then, why does he feel so different?”
“Don’t worry about it. He was a devout follower of God at one time and blessed for his deeds. I think we were talking about God’s mistake?”
Drean’s attention drifted back to Gerald.
“I think you were meant to be down here, Drean,” Gerald said.
“I feel that way too, but I don’t understand all the bloodshed.”
“I think you can change that,” Gerald said. “That’s really all I want is change. God can see that I guess.”
Drean nodded.
“Once the Faithstream is recovered, everything will be different. Humans and angels alike can look forward to a golden age of peace and harmony!”
Drean smiled.
Perhaps I can trust him after all.
Chapter 10
Riell picked up the angel’s trail in the slums, tracked it all the way to The Circ and decided she would rest her wings.
She could see the other half of The Circ across the lake, Nuevas Cruces’ skyscrapers beyond and the haze of pollution that hung above them.
The humans’ blatant disrespect for life almost made her hope the angel would prove malicious. Perhaps it was Earth that needed to be saved, not humans.
She sighed. If Shrazz could have faith in them she would try to do the same.
She reached the medieval section of The Circ, waded through a sea of people to reach The Horse and entered the pub.
She pretended not to notice the six camouflaged skia that came in soon after.
Riell saw an empty table and made her way to it.
After she sat down, a thin man in a barbarian costume approached her. His apparel consisted of brown fur armor pieces that covered his groin and backside, a cloak with a hood that was too small for his head and an authentic looking short sword within a leather scabbard at his side. His dark brown color motif brought out the paleness of his skin.
“Hey, sweetie, can I get a drink for you?” he asked.
There was a mug of beer in front of her face before she answered. Riell glared at the man when he tried to sit.
“Thanks for the drink,” Riell said.
“Oh it’s no...”
“Now get lost.”
“What?”
Riell glared at the man until he took what was left of his pride and departed.
Men. They think they can just get whatever they want these days. Men were the cause of this war in the first place.
Riell took a sip of her beer.
Of course if it weren’t for the belligerent hearts of men, I wouldn’t be here.
Four skia scattered to the corners of the bar and watched her. The other two scanned the patrons for the angel.
Riell feigned disinterest and drank.
* * *
After a few mugs of beer, Drean laughed at everything Gerald said. He felt a strange energy in the air, or so he thought. He disregarded it as an effect of the alcohol. Gerald had told him he would feel different.
He looked around the room. People had left the bar, but somehow Drean had not noticed until then. Drean’s gaze rested on a young woman with long, black hair at a table in the corner. She was slouched in her chair and stared at her table.
He held his breath when he saw translucent wings shrouded her body. They resembled a sheer, gray cloak, but intermittent color streaked within her feathers: tiny chromatic lightning storms.
It’s the woman from the alleyway. The skia.
Drean could not help but admire her beauty; he stared at her unabashed: her straight lustrous black hair complimented her sharp facial features.
He imagined her slightly tan, smooth skin would be soft to touch. When she wet her thin but pouty lips with her tongue, he felt deep want for her that shook him to his core: a feeling only comparable to his need for his Father.
Gerald’s hands shook, and he fought to maintain consciousness. Drean had grown too drunk to notice, but Gerald was certain: his body was breaking down. He needed a new host.
I need to distract him, Gerald thought.
Gerald followed Drean’s eyes and saw his chance.
“Ah speaking of women... go talk to her!”
“No wait, you don’t understand.”
“I understand that you’re supposed to be experiencing human life!” Gerald laughed. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“But...”
“Listen,” Gerald fought with every ounce of will he had to seem suave and unnerved, but he knew he was running out of time, “I’m not going to help you further until you exercise some of that freewill. If God had wanted it any different he would have just sent you without it.”
Drean sighed and nodded.
“Hell, if he had wanted it any different he wouldn’t have agreed to let me mentor you.”
I think I understand what he is talking about. I’m not an angel anymore. I’m something a little more, and when I return the Faithstream to God, my own life will be affected too, not just His. I need to know why I am doing this. I need to know what I want to change in this world.
“See you later, kid,” Gerald said.
“Farewell for now,” Drean said.
“Damn that black leather jacket looks great on you. Are the docs comfy?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Gerald gave him a thumbs up and stumbled out of the bar.
Drean waited to see if he was gone before walking to Riell.
What should I say to her?
“Greetings,” Drean said and placed one of his drinks in front of her. “Can I join you?”
“Look, I’m not interested in any of your sweet talking, you...” Riell glanced up and looked Drean full in the face. “It’s you.”
She gripped the hilt of her short sword and stood up.
“Wait,” Drean said, “I just want to converse with you. That’s all.”
Riell eased into her chair and motioned for Drean to sit across from her. They sipped their drinks nervously and stole glances at one another.
“Did you steal those clothes? You weren’t wearing them before.”
“No, my friend Gerald did. Do you like them? They’re comfortable.”
“Leather and denim is not my style. It is against the law to steal. Did you know that?”
“You looked sad earlier,” Drean said, hoping to change the subject.
“Angel, you have one minute to explain yourself,” she said. The skia moved closer to Riell’s table when she said “angel,” and she cursed her carelessness.
“Why are you acting so violent toward me? I came over here to talk to you, that is all.”
“I simply cannot trust you.”
Riell finished her mug and set it on the table.
Drean blinked and looked downward.
“Your time is up by the way.”
She reached down again to unsheathe her sword.
“So there is nothing that I can do to change the way you feel about me?” Drean asked.
He hasn’t even flinched, she noticed. I thought he was an idiot not to run. Riell sheathed her sword. I would be an idiot to start a fight here. Those skia would use the confusion to their advantage.
“Do you have any memories of your past that you can recall clearer than others?” she asked.
“Yes, I have one in particular.” His face creased with anger and sadness as he thought. “When I was imprisoned, I relived it every time I fell asleep until I was released by my Father.”
Riell felt a mixture o
f wonder and dread as she studied Drean’s reaction.
He lived in Heaven before tonight. What memory could have possibly caused him so much pain? Can I bear this memory? He was imprisoned?
“Would you like me to tell you about it?”
“No, we shouldn’t talk about it. Close your eyes. Try to recall each event as slowly as possible. If you move too quickly between them it could damage my brain,” Riell said and waited for Drean to comply.
He looked uncertain of the situation but closed his eyes. He felt pressure beneath his forehead.
Just stay calm, Riell spoke to him through their telepathic link. His mind fought her entry. She was gentle though she knew the skia would make their move soon, and slipped through the initial mental wall and into his consciousness.
Warmth filled her. All of her reservations for Drean disappeared immediately. Inside Drean’s innocence she felt: comfortable, content and complete. It was beyond earthly happiness, beyond love. She let herself float in his mind and bathed in the uncanny purity of Drean’s consciousness.
She remembered Shrazz: it brought her back to herself. She struggled to concentrate, to recall what was important. Barriers would be required to penetrate Drean’s memories. If she went any deeper without preparation she would not want to leave; she would be lost forever.
She focused on Shrazz and in turn her mission. She thought of how he needed her, how he needed her to fulfill the mission and how she needed to fulfill it for him. With her mental barriers in place, Riell slid into the recesses of Drean’s memory.
* * *
Angels’ wings could no longer be heard in Heaven.
Drean, within God’s sanctuary, turned to God’s throne: a towering celestinite ziggurat. He looked upwards at its summit and waited for instructions.
The Sanctuary was the largest of three colossal, floating domes at Heaven’s center. Shimmering columns of white stone supported their roofs which were constructed from celestinite, the god-metal and glowed with the warming light of a sunrise.
Perpetual wind that blew from the throne ruffled Drean’s pale garments and his feathery wings.
He tucked his wings back simultaneously: his smallest pair on the back of his head, the pair on his back that could span three times the angel’s height of six feet when fully extended and one small wing on each of his calves.
My place is here at God’s side, Drean decided and turned from the throne. I’m sure archangels are already tending to it. Drean flew to the eastern side of The Sanctuary and looked to the Dome of Command.
As if in affirmation, Michael flew from the dome. He landed on its roof and faced north. Archangels wore only white loincloths unless they felt threatened or were commanded to do otherwise. Their wings of long, curved white feathers rested in cape-like fashion on their backs.
Michael looked expectant in his full suit of celestinite plate armor and fully extended wings.
He is going to consult the principalities, Drean thought.
Principalities were emaciated compared to the rest of their kin. Blue skin stretched over their hairless, bony frames. Wings of the same color were folded at their sides. Since the beginning of creation they had notated all incoming and outgoing spiritual energy: births, deaths, Heaven’s newcomers and those damned to Hell. They hovered above the Dome of Command in ring formations. Each angel sat next to another with their legs crossed in meditative states. Ten of these rings, each comprised of seven angels, hovered above one another. Energies emitted by the congregation created the semblance of a cylinder: a tower that surrounded all of them.
Michael saluted the principalities and spoke to them. Drean could not hear him, but when anger creased Michael’s face he knew the situation was dire. Drean had never seen emotion affect any angel excluding Lucifer.
Gabriel flew in from the north, also armored. Michael darted to him. The two archangels spoke briefly. Gabriel flew toward The Sanctuary while Michael returned to the Dome of Command to organize the angels there.
After a few words from Michael, the virtues and dominations left their posts.
Drean could hear the thunderous flapping of the dominations’ gigantic wings as they flew north. Michael followed them. Drean shielded his eyes against the light reflected by their polished, marble-like, featureless skin. This angel choir was by far the largest of their kin: their massive bodies stretched over three hundred feet into the air, with proportional wingspan.
Heaven’s sentries, virtues, armed with celestinite plate armor, longswords and shields, flew ahead of the dominations. Their flaming wings left ephemeral trails of orange fire in the air. They formed a defensive line some distance away from The Sanctuary, facing northeast.
Michael shouted orders to the dominations. The giant angels flew over the virtues and formed another line in front of them.
“Dominations!” Gabriel said from atop The Sanctuary. “Form a perimeter around The Sanctuary. Let nothing through!”
Dominations dropped down from the roof and stretched their gargantuan feathery wings out, standing wingtip to wingtip in an effort to blockade The Sanctuary.
“Virtues! Join the ranks north of the Dome of Command and prepare for battle!”
Why are they taking such precautions? As Drean wondered, the virtues flew northeast and joined the rest of their choir behind Michael and the dominations. Gabriel followed them.
Drean peered at the black clouds far below The Sanctuary that marked the barrier between Heaven and the surface of Hell and looked for any movement.
Asmodeus and his demons have not attacked for centuries... Who has infiltrated these sacred grounds?
Then he heard it: the sound of thousands of wings from the northeast. Like a flurry of snowflakes lit by the light of dawn they flew. Drean thought it beautiful, until he could see the angels’ drawn weapons.
A line of dominations lead an opposing army of angels with virtues in tow.
Michael and Gabriel flew along Heaven’s ranks to inspect them one last time and waited. Swords clashed. War tolled throughout Heaven.
Defending dominations grappled with their attacking brothers and held them at bay while the virtues fought. Though the defending angels were sorely outnumbered, their line held.
Are the defenders withholding aggression? The seraph thought. Or are the attackers losing their audacity?
An unexpected flap of wings within The Sanctuary pulled the angel from his thoughts.
“Angel,” the warm voice of Gabriel called out above him.
Even when he heard the archangel land behind him Drean did not greet him. His attention was on the battlefield. All of the fighting angels were calm despite the chaos.
“Why did you abandon the field, Gabriel?” Drean asked.
“Has our Lord given any specific instruction or indication as to what action you should take in this matter, seraph?” Gabriel asked as he willed his full helmet away. It dissolved into the neck of his plate armor and exposed a tan face, short wavy blond hair and sad blue eyes.
Drean turned to him with a puzzled expression. “You mean to tell me your defensive measures were not dictated by Him?”
“No, none of the archangels have received any instructions regarding this.” Gabriel looked back upon the two armies. Drean did the same. “Yet, we are charged with defending this realm from anyone who draws a sword against it.”
“He would expect no less,” Drean said.
“The complication in this case is the fact that we are being attacked by our own kind,” Gabriel continued.
Drean turned to the archangel. Gabriel’s despair made the seraph uneasy, and he could not maintain eye contact with him.
“Hence our inaction,” Gabriel said to him. “You know that killing our brethren is a mortal transgression. It makes me sad, angel. I have never felt emotion yet I know what it is called when these tears fall from my eyes. We were not meant to feel such things. I wonder what will happen now. It seems that so much is going to change. And are we to judge these blasphemers
? What would our judgment be if we did so without His direction?”
“Our Lord will decide when it is time for their judgment. To act on emotion would be sinful,” Drean stated.
Gabriel did not answer him. Drean thought nothing of it and assumed the archangel’s silence was one of agreement.
“If our Lord did not inform you how did you come to know about this treachery?” Drean asked. “You were able to prepare for it before it happened.”
“I was doing a routine check-in with Lucifer,” he said. “That’s how I discovered what was about to unfold.”
I wondered why Lucifer was nowhere to be seen when Heaven was being assaulted, the seraph thought. Usually he would be on the front lines dispensing justice to interlopers. Now that I think of it, Leoran is also missing in action. Drean searched the battlefield for the archangel but could not find him.
“Lucifer should be leading this defense. Where is he?” Drean asked.
Gabriel opened his mouth to reply but found it difficult to articulate as the Morning Star swooped into the fray. Lucifer’s wings snapped out and shone. All of the angels stopped fighting to gaze at him.
I knew it, Drean thought, relieved at the sight of the archangel. Our Lord was merely consulting with him to decide on the proper course of action.
Lucifer’s brilliant corona vanished and Drean could see he had shaved his long silver hair from his head. His smooth skin had wrinkled. Dark circles were beneath his blue eyes. He drew a celestinite broadsword from a sheath strapped to the back of his plate armor and raised it into the air.
“I salute you, Lord, though you deny us our freedom and give it to lesser creations,” he yelled. “Why are they so important to you that you would overlook us, your first born? I do not abhor you but this must be done!”
“I don’t understand. What does he mean?” Drean asked.
“He is the one that organized this attack, seraph,” Gabriel said. “I must go. Be prepared to initiate the emergency defenses.”
“Of course. May the light be with you.”
The archangel saluted him and took flight before the seraph could return it.
From Heaven To Earth (The Faith of the Fallen) Page 7
