by Brian Rella
So I have been charged to watch over another species…again. Kuriel felt the weight of his new responsibilities on him. It was a weight he knew well, a weight that had hung on him for eternity. The weight of obedience. The weight of another’s will. The weight of submissiveness. He felt Uriel reach into him, and he quickly removed those thoughts which he knew would displease his superior and let his curious nature return to the fore of his mind. The laws did not permit him the same knowledge that Uriel had, so he filled his consciousness with more pertinent questions for his superior, which he thought would please him.
“So, they are not pure like us?”
“They are not.”
“And where is their station in His hierarchy?”
“They are below us, and there are others below them, but this is not permanent. The soul gives them a quality no other creature has had before. Observe and understand this mystery.”
“What mystery is that?”
“Observe. Discover for yourself. It is truly brilliant. He has never created another like these. We are all in awe.” There was pride and vigor in his song-like voice again. Kuriel was piqued at the mystery these humans had inspired in those closest to Him. He felt blessed that mankind was his commission.
“I am to watch over and protect them,” he muttered.
“And you will come to understand them. You will know these who have been given abundant blessings which no other creature has been given before. You will learn of them and from them, and answer the questions which beg to be answered.” Rue and impatience filled his voice again.
Kuriel had watched over His creations before, but none had been surrounded by such mystique, not since the creation of the Celestials themselves. Kuriel, lower in the hierarchy than Uriel and His other lieutenants, was not permitted to know these things, and it was an honor to serve in this way. I should be grateful. Praise Him.
“You should. This is your station, Kuriel. You shall remain here for eternity and watch over His greatest creation of all, even greater than all the other worlds and creatures combined. It is His gift to you.”
The greatest of all the worlds and creatures for me to watch over? Surely this is a mistake. But Uriel compelled him to believe, and so he did.
“Go. Observe them for a time. Learn.”
Kuriel obeyed, and drifted closer to those whom he was to shepherd. He meandered high above them on the solar currents, gazing upon them, and his curiosity was whetted. He changed his form into a ray of light and circled the planet in search of answers, passing in front of the barren moon that smiled at the planet below, pensive, as it observed the creatures from afar. The questions within him were as many as there were stars in the universe. He was to watch over these two-legged men and women for eternity. A guardian—as he was compelled to be—and he was in awe of them, and wondered disbelievingly once more. These are greater than all of His other creations combined?
Uriel invaded his thoughts and Kuriel cringed at the indignation of his superior. They are. See them, Kuriel.
He obeyed. From his orbit, he fixed his senses upon the many magnificent beasts the Creator had imagined and let grow here, searching for the answers that plagued him—and the answers were revealed, over time.
In the beginning they were few, but as time passed they multiplied and prospered on the fertile ground they were given. The years passed rapidly, and from the few came thousands and thousands, and Kuriel was awestruck at the breadth of their gift and understood why they were greater than all other creations combined. Because they can create themselves and pass His light to the next generation.
He drew closer to them, trying to understand the Creator’s decision to bestow such largesse on these hairless apes. There was a closeness they achieved with one another in order to pass on His light, and Kuriel nor his brothers could perform this act or achieve this intimacy. None of the Celestials could reproduce, could never pass their light to another, or so he believed. But this is a new law, and perhaps that has now changed.
There was more. More time passed, and the mystery of these humans unraveled as Kuriel’s knowledge of them grew, and soon he understood fully the heights of their gift.
They had something he did not have, but craved, and the implications of this gift confounded Kuriel. The key to it was the soul.
“Yes, Kuriel. You see the brilliance of His creation now, and the power of His new law,” Uriel said. “They can move. This is why they are the greatest of all His creations.”
The soul allowed them to move in the hierarchy of His kingdom. By following His laws, they moved closer to him. Disobeying His laws, they moved farther away. Unlike Kuriel and the other Celestials, whose positions were fixed in His kingdom, the humans could evolve and move by their own will, not His. They could grow in His light and eventually stand by His side by following His laws. Their station in His kingdom was fluid by their own actions. They are free.
No Celestial had this ability. Kuriel was blessed more so than some of his brothers, but less than others. He was not allowed in the presence of the Creator as Uriel was. Yet these fleshy, fragile creatures could move closer to Him? A strange feeling swirled inside Kuriel. A feeling he had never felt before and could not describe.
How can this be? How is it that we, the first of His creations and purest of His light, can be greater and lesser than these? That we who are blessed with the abundance of His light cannot change our station? We are fixed in our position to Him, and we have but two choices: obedience or damnation. But the humans have many choices over their lifetimes and move in and out of His graces by their own choices, and as many times as they make those choices? Why do these things deserve such an honor?
“Why not?” Uriel was beside him suddenly, his voice booming and fierce, startling Kuriel from his thoughts. “They are His laws. We do not question, we obey. Is that not the way of the universe, Kuriel? Or have you lost your way?”
“It is my only way and law, Uriel,” Kuriel responded quickly, burying his disquieting feelings. “It is strange, however, and the wonder of it all has me dumbfounded and overwhelmed. I meant nothing by my thoughts. I obey. I am honored with my charge. Forgive me.”
And the radiance of Uriel shifted, and Kuriel believed he had allayed his superior’s concerns.
“Then I shall leave you with your charge. You will guard them and protect them and obey His new law.”
“I will, Uriel.”
“You will not intercede among them. You will follow His law.”
“I will, Uriel.”
“His will.”
“Is my law.”
And with that final exchange, Uriel vanished through the ether to another place Kuriel was not permitted to know. He was left alone with his commission and the strange feeling he had felt before, the one he could not describe. But now that his superior’s focus was off of him, he allowed himself to feel it thoroughly and completely. It was a feeling that was foreign, yet now recognizable from his observations of the humans, and it soiled the clarity of his light.
Envy.
And he moved to the moon and contemplated his new charge, letting this new feeling boil and bubble within him.
4
TITUS
August 6, 1993
Wenatchee National Forest, Washington
The thick ceiling of trees was dappled by scattered white clouds and bright yellow sunlight as they hiked a worn trail in Wenatchee National Forest. Titus led the way. His wife, Domino, a Watcher in training, followed closely behind. Brennan brought up the rear, a good twenty paces behind, pausing to investigate would-be clues on the brush and the ground like some kind of forest sleuth. Titus glanced over his shoulder occasionally to make sure he hadn’t lost him. Brennan was a curious man and a recent graduate of seminary. He looked odd in his jeans and clerical collar as he inspected leaves and dirt on the ground, but then they were all a little out of place in this world.
Titus had his glowing red staff in hand and swiped at the straggling brush t
hat stuck out from the sides of the trail, severing branches with a crackle and hiss. Domino’s almond eyes swiveled in their sockets, alert for any sign of the forest goddess, Lal'lyth. The trees were thinner here, at the top of the foothill, and the hot sun had nowhere to hide. It beat down on their heads as they scanned the forest below, and a bead of sweat trickled down the side of Titus’ face.
Titus paused to wipe his sparkling brow and popped a cigar in his mouth to chew on. Domino sighed and stripped off her plaid, long sleeve shirt, tying it around her waist and drawing Titus’ attention to her exposed midriff. Her dark Cuban skin and hourglass curves aroused him, making his blood rush, warming him all over. His eyes fell on her lasciviously and she caught him staring, but welcomed his wanton gaze, raising her chin, sliding her hips, and making duck lips at him. A tidal wave of desire surged through him as she moved closer, resting her arm around his tight, dark-skinned waist. He rolled his unlit cigar between his teeth, from one side of his mouth to the other, grinning at her. Her hands wandered over his torso, and at the bidding of a primal urge he pulled her closer. His mind wandered back in time, first to last night and what happened between the sheets of their king-sized bed back at their apartment in Pacific Heights, and then to when he first laid eyes on the woman that held his heart in her hands. Titus had found her in the gutter while on a mission in Miami. She had been homeless, hungry, and half mad, struggling to understand her powers and the visions she was experiencing. But he saw through all of that.
She had been just a kid. A seventeen-year-old who had come to the U.S. illegally with her parents from Cuba, only to be abandoned by them when her powers began to manifest. It had been hot that summer and he remembered how sweat-soaked his T-shirt had been as he gazed into her crazed aqua-green eyes. Her face was fraught with fear and anger and confusion, but those eyes…those Caribbean eyes had him, pierced his heart, and he had been stuck on her ever since. The woman she had become had shone through the street-grime and the scowl she wore then. Something had changed in her when he had refused to drop his eyes from hers. He had spoken to her for almost an hour, her dirty, crumpled coffee cup, full of loose change between them. He offered her help, and she accepted. He fed her, let her bathe, bought her clothes, took care of her, and when he realized she was a Watcher, he brought her to the Order, and had been helping to train her himself. They became inseparable and had married after only a few months. The rest was history.
“Pay attention, you two,” Brennan said, breaking their moment.
“I am paying attention, Brennan,” Titus said through a smoldering smile, his eyes never leaving Domino’s.
“Are you?” Brennan said, nodding his head toward the forest. “Look.”
Titus and Domino turned at the same time, staring into the forest below them. Titus knitted his brow and squinted into the sunlight, trying to find what he was supposed to be looking at.
“I don’t see anything,” Domino said in her thick Cuban accent.
Titus ignored his hormones and scanned intently. Something caught his eye a couple of miles away. An unnatural movement in the canopy of trees, and then a small spark of bright yellow light winked at him through the blanket of leaves.
“There,” he said, pointing. “Let’s move.” His arm fell away from Domino’s waist and he felt the small tug of her hand, not wanting him to let go. He squeezed her hand gently, lovingly, before releasing her and starting his descent into the valley, veering off the main trail, and onto a vague path leading toward the disturbance.
At the trough of the valley, Brennan paused and crouched low to the ground, pulling at a leaf, “Wait,” he called to them. He stood and clenched his jaw. “Let’s keep moving,” he said. “We’re close. I’ll lead.”
Brennan led them on, over another crest and down the backside of a sloping hill into the next valley. Signs of the party that brought them here began to appear. A red plastic cup off the trail; a once white tube sock; an empty beer can tossed into the brush. The reports had been ambiguous. This had been a popular spot with college kids, off the beaten path and main trails, but not too deep in the forest. Perfect for the crunchy, hippy types that wanted to get high and party.
Last week, a group of five that included a State Senator’s daughter, Susan Caine, had come up here for a long weekend. Titus had been told it wasn’t the girl’s first time to the spot, but this time she hadn’t come back. In fact, only one of the group, Judson Whitaker, had, and he was talking craziness to the State Police. He spewed stories of how the forest had come alive and taken the form of some kind of yellow-eyed devil and taken his friends, the Senator’s daughter included. His account was fodder for the tabloids but as the days passed, and the Senator’s daughter never showed up, the story was picked up by the national news.
Judson Whitaker was a New England thoroughbred from the right family with the right connections and more money than the Massachusetts state budget. The media bent his story, and made him out to be a blue-blooded murdering son-of-a-bitch whose weekend acid trip had gone bad, turning him into the likes of Charles Manson. He was now suspect in the case, and the police had been searching for hard evidence against him. He was covered in blood—not his blood, he was unharmed—when he stumbled into the Ranger’s station near the beginning of the Wenatchee trails. They were holding him in the county jail now awaiting new evidence. But none was forthcoming—no one could account for the whereabouts of the other kids he was with, including one Senator Caine’s daughter, Susan. How could four people just disappear? Where had all the blood come from? What had really happened? Those were the questions the State Police had been trying unsuccessfully to answer to the media hounds for the last few weeks. The pressure was mounting, and so the Governor had reached out to the West Coast chapter of the Order, and they had been mobilized to investigate and see if there was anything to the crazed kid’s claims.
Another hundred yards into the forest, a small log cabin appeared. It had been constructed in the center of a small clearing. Signs of the police investigation were still apparent. The police had left the place surrounded in yellow plastic tape, the high grass and plant life had been trampled, and the remnants of a staging area for their equipment remained.
Brennan had gone past the cabin to the edge of the tree-line, scanning the thick forest. Titus and Domino went in through the front door of the cabin and saw a gaping hole in the wall out the back. “The wall,” Domino said, “It was pulled outward.” They inspected the rest of the cabin, but there wasn’t much to see. A musty, stained king-sized mattress, a fire pit with a metal grate over it that exhausted through a hole in the roof, and a kettle that stood on top of the grate.
Titus stared at the rapidly fading sunlight on the floor before looking up at the sky through the hole in the roof. Dark clouds were rolling in. His neck prickled as a dread-filled premonition formed in his mind. He felt Domino come to his side and pulled her close.
“Where’s Brennan?” he asked, locking eyes with her.
“AHHHHH!” Brennan’s voice trailed off amid snapping sticks and dragging sounds. Titus ran to the hole in the wall and saw Brennan being dragged away, by…something.
“Brennan!” Titus shouted, and launched himself through the hole and after his friend. Something slapped him back, hard, and he smashed into what was left of the cabin wall, knocking the rest of the structure down. On his back, dazed, he glanced up, and saw trees bending toward him, their branches like spears coming down on him. There was a sudden flash of blue above him, exploding the tree-limb-spears before they could stick him.
Titus leaped to his feet. Domino was at his side in a blur.
“Lal'lyth,” Domino said, clenching her jaw.
“Let’s move,” Titus said.
They darted through the forest after Brennan at Watcher speed, their weapons glowing in their hands leaving trails of color behind them. Titus’ red staff was a blur as he slashed at the forest that viciously attacked from all around him. Domino was just behind him, her rapier lik
e yellow lightning as she slashed at the branches and vines that threatened to snare her.
A guttural, feminine laugh echoed through the forest. Lal'lyth, the Fallen Goddess of the Forest, had somehow been freed from her prison in the Second Death.
“Watch out!” Titus shouted, seeing the rising wave of plant life come at them from out of the corner of his eye. He thrust himself forward, a ball of blue light exploding from his hands into the wave of green that rose up and threatened to swallow him and his wife.
His blast cut through the wave and Domino fell to the ground under the weight of the debris. Titus stopped to help her, and the woods came alive around them, attacking from all angles.
Trees uprooted themselves, and stalked toward them, their branches and roots becoming stabbing weapons. They encircled the Watchers, closing in. Titus and Domino stood back to back in the center. Domino leaned her head to the side and whispered into Titus’ ear, “Let’s get some, baby.”
“I love you, girl,” he said.
Her rapier was a vibrant golden blur against the dark shadow of the attacking forest, cutting through the limbs that attempted to impale them both.
Titus rammed the end of his staff into the trunk of one of the trees and slashed upward, gashing Lal'lyth’s underling. The tree roared as it split up the center, forming a ragged “V” that fell to either side.
Something stabbed his ankle, and continued up his leg, stabbing his calf, knee, and thigh. He swatted at his lower leg. A vine covered in three-inch-long thorns coiled around his leg and hoisted him in the air. He swiped at it with the edge of his staff, the vine severed, and Titus fell to the ground as blood, warm and wet, flowed into his boot.
The forest closed around them and the arena narrowed. Screw this. We gotta get outta here and get after Brennan.
“Burn ‘em!” he called to Domino.
“Fal’shjkt ‘rah!” he shouted and torrents of fire flew from his palms. The forest blazed and bellowed at him.
