Angel Realms

by Malynn, Vivienne

  “Do you trust me?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  I hesitate. Why does it matter now? We are all going to die and there’s nothing any of us can do about it. Even an angel can’t fight off hundreds of these creatures. And even if he could, I would surely die in the process. He can’t protect me. No one can. My thoughts toss about like a ship in a violent storm, facing the final wave that would break it to pieces.

  “If you can’t trust me,” he says. “Then trust your own heart.”

  The words are there in my mind, but everything in my whole soul rejects them. I start to say them, “I—I…” but eventually the resistance is too much and I say, “I—I can’t.”

  Ashur’s countenance flickers as if his confidence is shaken. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.” he says. “You will be frightened, but just know that everything is going to be alright. Stay in the light. I won’t let you die.” He steps out of the light into the throng of creatures and they surround him, forcing him to the ground. I look on as the dirt buries him. The last thing visible is his head, straining under the weight of the dirt. He raises his head to me; his eyes reflect not fear, but sadness. And then they are gone.

  “No,” I scream out. And then there is silence.

  Chapter 13

  A feeling of complete dread spreads through my whole body and my limbs give out as I collapse to the floor, which fills with dirt, spreading itself around me. I push away from it, approaching the edge of the light. Behind me, I can hear the whisperings of the shadows. I look over my shoulder, their faces are pressed close and their hands reach out for me.

  As I turn away, my hand dips into the darkness and they immediately grab hold, pulling my arm out from under me, and I fall on to my side into the darkness. Above me, I can see the shadows swarming about. Pushing back against their grasps, I scramble back into the light. Still, they hold tightly to my arm, trying to force me back into the darkness. I struggle against their grip, grabbing at anything I can to keep from being pulled in. My feet scrape across the cold stone, trying to find footing, but the dirt is gathering under them. My shoes slip unsteadily as the earth spreads beneath, preventing any traction. Soon the dirt is spread over the whole floor. Without anything to anchor myself to, my whole body slides across the stone as the shadows pull me in.

  Flipping to my back, I can see the shadows hovering. Around me are the dogs standing at watch. Then the main one speaks. “First we will silence you,” it says, “then we will kill those in the town.” Its hand reaches out to my neck, but hesitates.

  There is a sound from another part of the chamber. The mounds of dirt that had buried Ashur begin to quiver and shake. Then, as if in fear, they disperse, revealing the angel still crouching, his countenance burning. A flame seems to emanate from around him and his eyes radiate a brilliant white light.

  Ashur removes his shirt, tossing it to the floor next to me. “Hold on to that,” he says to me, waking me from my stunned state. I take the shirt, holding it tightly.

  The dirt continues to flee from around the angel, but Ashur puts his hands out as if to halt their movement. The dirt then begins to roll up his naked arm and along the sinews of his back. He raises his head, teeth gritting in anguish. From his back, a white mess of feathers begin to bud, growing and expanding as the dirt continues to flow up his arms. The flames lick the bottom of the feathers, but do not burn them. The emerging wings stretch up his shoulder blades, then arching, spread down his back past his feet, resting upon the ground.

  He stands, chest heaving with wings tucked in behind him, a fiery aura still radiating around him. The creatures scatter in fear as he stares on with his white hot eyes. Then, with the brilliance of a burning sun, his wings unfurl, flames dancing off of them. A light pulses through the chamber and the shadows incinerate, like hot cinders escaping a hearth.

  The clay men soon recover and begin to rush toward him, but his wings beat back, launching him into the air. He is suspended there for a few moments; his legs raised and back arched, allowing the wings to catch the air. Then, pointing his body forward, he swoops down toward the floor, scattering the clay men in his wake. Scooping me into his arms, he carries me into the air, rising to the ceiling. I hold tightly to him as the feeling of acceleration dizzies me. Pulling his wings back, we thread through the open eye of the darkened chamber, released into the bursting light of day.

  He again pushes his wings against the air, thrusting us ever higher. I am afraid to look. Then with a few more beats of his wings, the acceleration stops and we are suspended. I open my eyes and look out. We are so far off the ground that the forest seems like nothing more than a cluster of shrubs. In the distance, I can see the miniscule town. I breathe heavy as my stomach twists. Then his voice calms me.

  “It’s alright,” he says. “I have you now. Everything is going to be okay.”

  I look at him, my arms still clinging taut around his neck. “I thought you had left me,” I say. “I thought you were dead. You could have told me what you were going to do.”

  “First of all, I didn’t have time to explain,” he says. “Second, if I told you the plan then the clay men would hear it too. I needed them to bury me so I could use their clay to form my wings.”

  “I still don’t forgive you for leaving me like that,” I say.

  “I told you that everything was going to be alright,” he says. “You should learn to trust me.”

  I don’t say anything, still angry about the whole thing. After all, it was his idea to go there in the first place, nearly getting me killed.

  Ashur seems to sense my frustration. “I’m sorry for leaving you,” he says. He glances out over the earth beneath us and then looks back to me. “I want to show you something to make up for it. But you have to trust me this time.”

  I eye the ground hanging precariously below us. “Just don’t let me fall.”

  “Never again,” he says. And then with a beat of his wings, we are off.

  The air gently flows across my face, lifting small locks of my hair, causing them to dance along my neck in a tickling sensation. I can’t help but smile. The experience is exhilarating. It’s as if my whole being is going to burst out of me. I have never felt anything like it.

  I watch as the ground drifts lazily by, unaware of us at all. Then Ashur dips his shoulder down and we roll to the side as he heads out toward the shore and then beyond. The sun is shimmering off the waves, like the scales of some iridescent serpent, sprawling its belly to the sky. He dives in closer and I can feel the mist of the waters when they bat against each other. As we glide farther out, the ferocity of the warring waves seems to pass away into a glassy mirror of tranquility.

  With the gentleness of a dove, he levels off a few feet from the water and dips his wing in as he flies, causing the water to spray up. I cover my head and he laughs. I am not as amused. He continues to grin as he pulls up. “Do you want to try?” he asks. I am unsure what he means and so I do not immediately answer. “Relax,” he says. “Remember, you have to trust me.”

  “Alright,” I say. “But if you drop me into the ocean, I will never trust you again.”

  He laughs. “I won’t drop you.”

  Placing his arms around my waist, he pushes forward. I can feel his head against mine and I smell an arousing musk scent. I have never been this close to him before. We glide over the waters. It is so close that I can touch it. In the waters, I can see the reflection of his warm embrace, it’s like a dream that is so close, but can never be.

  “Go ahead,” he whispers in my ear. “Put your hand out.”

  I reach out toward the reflection. The surface of the water is cold and smooth as if it is solid, but as I dip my hand in, it breaks away into jets of liquid that fold around my finger tips. The sensation startles me and I jerk my hand back. Then taking a breath, I plunge my hand in again. I laugh with giddy pleasure at the movement of the water up my arm.

  In the reflection, Ashur
smiles. Again I see that look, only this time I don’t look away from it. The refection of his eyes stare into mine and my heart feels at peace. I allow myself to soak in a few more seconds before coming to my senses. He is an angel, I remind myself. It isn’t real. Then reaching into the water, I disrupt the reflection.

  Directing my hand, I send a spray up into his face. He quickly pulls up, twisting me around in his arms. We float, suspended above the water. His face and hair are wet, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. “That’s for splashing me,” I say.

  He breathes a sigh of satisfaction. “There is still one more thing I want you to see. How long can you hold your breath?” Then clutching me close, he thrust his wings downward, powering upwards with each thrust, angling toward a patch of clouds. I can tell we are moving fast, but in the emptiness of the sky it’s as if we are not moving at all. Soon we are nearly reaching the clouds. “Hold your breath,” he whispers and we drive upward breaking through the stratus clouds into a blanketed land of amber and gold.

  The sun stretches its rays over the clouds, painting them with the brilliance of a master artist. Despite my efforts to hold my breath, I can’t help but gasp at the sight. We stay there only a few moments and drift back down through the clouds. The summer sun is beginning to lower over the ocean, setting the waters beneath us ablaze by its fiery passion. It’s as if gravity and the laws of this world have no place here. The universe is torn apart and a space is left vacant where only our love fills the void. It’s only us in this dream. Even time and her angels do not dare tread here—dare not separate us from this moment.

  Entwined in a tight embrace, I place my head on his bare chest. I can feel it expand and retreat, slowly, rhythmically like the cadence of some lost song made for only us. And within beats the drum of his heart. It beats for me and for me alone. It is safe here and I never want to leave, as if my own stubborn heart could keep the world at bay. But even it must concede and I realize that soon we will stop falling and it will all be just a memory.

  They say that heaven is like reliving the most treasured moments of our lives. If that is the case, then I will never leave this, my sweet heaven—my foolish hope. I will stay here for an eternity and more, safe and in love. And neither fate, nor God himself will ever separate us again. For who can tear apart what has once been joined, what is to never be separate bodies, but one together.

  I am so entranced that I barely notice our feet have touched the shore. Waves brush past our feet, splashing foam against our legs. “We’ve touched ground,” I say.

  Ashur looks down as if he too is unaware. “I guess we have,” he says. “I suppose I should be getting you back.”

  “Yes, it’s getting late.”

  “We don’t have to,” he says. “We don’t ever have to go back to that town.”

  “The shadows said they would kill the people of the town,” I say. “We have to go back and at least warn them.”

  He reluctantly nods.

  Putting his arm under my knees, he lifts me out of the ocean foam. His wings rock back and forth behind him, anticipating his direction. Then, with a surge of power, we are again born on the wind. Gliding above forests and winding roads, we find ourselves back over Samos. Diving down, we land just outside town. Once on the ground, he releases me. I step back as his wings fold around him, transforming into a white shroud that gently floats over him, draping across his shoulders before slipping to his feet.

  “You really need to make sure you keep your shirt on,” I say as I throw it to him. “We mortals have rules you know.”

  He catches it. Rotating it around in his hands, he eventually plunges his head into it, pulling it down over his naked torso. I can’t help but stare a little. Adjusting the shirt around his neck, he says, “I should walk you back home.”

  “You could have flown me home,” I say.

  “I couldn’t risk any of the townspeople seeing me,” he says. “We angels have our rules too.”

  We find a dirt path and follow it downward toward town. The sun is getting low in the sky, making it more difficult to see. Up ahead, though, the lights of the town are beginning to come on. Our steps are labored by the uncertainty of the footing. Finally, we come to a main road that extends into the town center. Above, the way is lit by the lamps, which flicker unsteadily in the intemperate air of dusk.

  “What do you think we should do about the townspeople?” I ask as we walk along the sidewalk.

  “We can’t evacuate an entire town,” he says. “Our only hope is that they do not attack now.”

  “Do you think they will come tonight?”

  “There’s a reason they have never come in to the town before,” he says. “Maybe it is protected somehow…” His sentence seems to drift off instead of ending, as if his attention has been led away.

  I glance back to see him a few paces back. “What is it?” I ask.

  He places his fingers to his lips and shushes me. “We’re not alone,” he whispers to me.

  Searching the street, I see nothing unusual. The sun is lower now, and there are more than enough dark corners for a person to hide. I back up, stepping closer to Ashur, but soon notice he is no longer there. Really, after everything we’ve been through he leaves me here alone. “Ashur,” I call out in a whispered yell. “What are you doing?”

  There is a knock from the alley way behind me, making me jump. Suddenly, a trash can falls and a man darts out, running across the street toward a dimly lit park. Another figure emerges. This time it’s Ashur. He chases after the man. And I am left alone on the vacant street, not knowing whether I should pursue them or stay where I am. However, with night falling quickly, I decide the safest place is with them.

  I run across the park grass, still wet from the sprinklers, making each step slip. Though I am unsteady, I do not dare stop to adjust myself and so I fall and stumble. Rising on my hands, I can see Ashur and the other figure fighting. The stranger has what seems to be a large curved knife and is slashing at Ashur, who dodges, and grabbing the man’s arm, disarms him. They tumble to the ground and roll in a struggle for supremacy. Climbing to my feet, I continue on with a slight limp. As I approach, the two of them are still struggling.

  The man kicks Ashur off of him and lunges toward the knife. Without taking his eyes off Ashur, he rolls to his back, his hand reaching for the knife, but before he can get there, I pick it up. His hand searches the empty ground before he realizes that there is nothing there. He turns and sees me pointing the blade toward him. For the first time I get a clear look at his face. It’s Ethan.

  “Ethan?”

  He bangs his head on the ground in frustration. “You know this guy?” Ashur asks as he lifts himself from the ground, hugging his side.

  “Yes,” I answer, distractedly. “He’s the guy that does landscaping for my foster parents.” I wave the knife back in his direction and Ethan puts up his hands to defend himself. “What are you doing?” I ask him. “And why are you following us? And why do you have a knife?” I swing the knife precariously in the air, forgetting that I am even holding it. Ashur decides to take it from me. He spins it over his hand, bringing it to rest at his side.

  “I can explain,” he says. He sits up carefully, eyeing the knife in Ashur’s hand.

  “This better be good,” I say.

  Chapter 14

  As Ethan sits on the ground, Ashur looms over him with knife in hand and a scowl on his face. I tug on his arm, but he resists, his muscles tight like a hungry pit-bull pulling at its leash. It’s evident that the two of them have not made the best of first impressions. I step between them putting my hand on Ashur’s chest. “Let him explain,” I say to Ashur.

  “I don’t trust him,” says Ashur, eyes intent on Ethan.

  “I know,” I say. “But if he was going to harm me, he would have done it by now. At least we can hear him out. Maybe he can help us.” I place my hand on Ashur’s, lowering the knife to his waist. His disposition softens.