I stopped my frantic scratching and probed the bumps in my back experimentally. They felt as though they had something below them. A mass? Was it cancer? No. Cancer doesn’t pop up in the space of a few hours - or does it?
I felt the urge to vomit again and bent over double, tears running down my cheeks. I wanted to call Kaila, Gee, someone. Anyone who could help me. I had no phone though and wondered momentarily if my father had left his somewhere around the house. I doubted it but embarked on a search anyway. Kicking over empty boxes, cheap take-out containers, and discarded clothing, I came up with nothing.
I bit the bullet and decided to go to the hospital.
In tears from the heat and pain in my back and racked by nausea, I nearly crawled my way to the front door. Just as I did, a searing, soul-destroying pain overtook my body, and I screamed.
I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed.
I felt a tearing in my back, in both shoulder blades, as though something was emerging. I briefly remembered the scene from a movie about aliens, where the creature leapt out of its victim’s stomach in a hideously graphic fashion. Given the pain I was enduring, I didn’t entirely dismiss that idea.
Just as suddenly, the worst of the pain ebbed. I fell on the floor, gasping in relief and unable to move. After a time, I realized I was naked from the waist up and laying in the living room. I didn’t care. The president and his entire cabinet could walk in at that moment and I would have ignored them completely.
I tentatively reached a hand behind me. Testing. I felt something bulbous, strange. I
reached to the other side and found a similar abnormality there. I withdrew my shaking hand and looked at it in disbelief. It was covered in blood, but something strange lingered - a small, tiny black feather.
The fever overtook me, and I lost consciousness.
I awoke sometime later. It was dark out, and I had no idea how long I’d been lying half-naked on the floor of my living room.
I felt confused, sitting up and rubbing my face. I was incredibly hot and aware of a fervent thirst that couldn’t be ignored. I got up painfully but compelled by desperation. I limped into the kitchen and turned on the tap, thrusting my face under the faucet and quietly thanking whatever gods there were for the water not being turned off this month.
I drank and I drank until I felt I was full to the point of brimming. Leaving the tap on, I turned around and slid down the counter onto the floor, exhausted. The act of doing so drew attention to the pain in my back and the sensation that something was attached to me that shouldn’t be. Remembering, I reached urgently behind me, hoping I had had a dream in my fevered state. Two small nubs remained on my back, a strange feeling of bone and something soft that was emerging through my skin. I poked around with my hand, trying to make sense of what I was feeling. Knowing it wasn’t my imagination, I forced my body upwards and made my way to my bedroom.
“Please,” I uttered. “Please let this be a dream.”
Turning around, I looked over my shoulder into the mirror. There were two dark, angular appearing things sticking out from either shoulder blade. I reached a hand over my shoulder and felt one carefully, noting again a softness that defied my expectations of reality.
“What?” I whispered, completely at a loss. Terrified.
I withdrew the shaking hand, then put it back, grasping part of the softness and pulling gently. My body rejected the sensation and the feeling of nausea returned in force. I closed my eyes against the urge to retch and steeled myself, pulling hard.
Something detached into my fingers. I whipped my hand around and stared at another small, black feather.
“This is impossible,” I whispered as I turned the feather around in my hands. But it wasn’t, because as sure as I was standing there, there was a feather in my fingertips.
I sank to the ground, shaking, still holding the feather. I considered again if I should go to the hospital, but I remembered all the sci-fi movies I’d ever watched of people who discovered impossible changes to their bodies and found themselves on the tables of governmental agencies for study. I determined that was NOT going to happen to me. Whatever was happening – if it wasn’t a complete psychotic breakdown – had to be something outside the scope of our current scientific understanding. Everything inside me, every instinct, told me not to share whatever was happening to me with anyone. Nobody.
I rifled around the mess in my room and found a shirt, sliding it carefully over my body. I had to try twice to get it to slide over the two unfamiliar mounds on my back.
“This is impossible,” I muttered again to myself, tears making their way unheeded down my face. “What am I supposed to do?! What the HELL am I supposed to do?!” I yelled, wringing my hands. I thought immediately of Kaila and Gee, whether I could tell them, but I was at a total loss. I heard a loud banging on the door.
“Lar?!” I could hear from my room. “Lar? Are you in there?”
Gee.
My friends knew they were never to come to my house. I often explained my father was both controlling and homophobic, which was enough for Gee to keep away, but Kaila still tried occasionally.
“Lar, open up!” I could hear Kaila shout. Great. So, she was here too. I ran to the door, grateful my father wasn’t home. I cracked it open only slightly, looking out and around anxiously to make sure my father wasn’t in the process of stumbling home. I sighed in relief when I noted he was nowhere to be seen.
“You guys need to leave. Now,” I said quickly.
“Are you ok? You were supposed to meet us at lunch, Lar. . .you also missed plans after school to go to the Trend,” Kaila said, referring to the coffee house we often frequented after school, particularly on the days I had nothing to do but avoid going home until my father passed out. I knew it was unusual to leave with no notice, but their coming here represented a huge danger to me, and potentially to them. I always underplayed the extent of the danger, but it was very real.
“I’m fine. You need to go,” I said, closing the door.
“Stop,” Gee said, preventing me from closing the door with his foot. “Lar, what’s going on? Are you really ok?”
I was about to admonish them for ignoring my request, but I saw the concern reflected in both of their eyes and I realized that I had really worried them. The truth was, nothing was right. Something was very, very wrong. But my instinct told me it was even more dangerous for them to be here now.
“Really,” I said, trying with all my might to be reassuring. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ok? I have the flu or something, and I really don’t want you to catch it. Now if you don’t mind, I need to get to bed!” Finding the foot still there, I looked directly at Gee.
“Do you want me to puke on you to prove it?”
I suppose my pasty complexion from the sickness that struck me earlier was the final straw to convince them I was actually ill.
“Ok, go to bed,” Kaila said in defeat. “Call us if you need anything, ok?” She turned reluctantly, taking Gee by the arm. He looked back with a frown that made me want to break down into sobs. Instead, I gave a weak smile and nodded at both of them.
“I will. Goodbye.”
“Bye,” they said together, walking down the path towards the road and staring at each other without speaking. I knew that shared expression, but I couldn’t worry about it now.
I closed the door completely and moved hastily to the window, lifting the old blinds and looking in both directions to ensure my father hadn’t seen their attendance at our house. Convinced he hadn’t, I ran back to my room and slammed the door shut. I threw off my shirt again, praying internally that everything had been a figment of my imagination. Both the throbbing in my back and the underlying fever I was experiencing told me it wasn’t. If that wasn’t enough, staring in the mirror I saw the black, feathered bulbs poking out, the raw flesh from which they emerged in angry contrast to their dark coloring.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, sitting on the ground and putting my arms around my
legs. I rocked back and forth, considering my options.
I could cut them off.
I felt somewhat maniacal in my fever. Running into the bathroom, I found a pair of scissors and turned around to the mirror, leaning them downwards. As though in rejection of the thought, my body rebelled, and I rushed to the toilet before the heaving began. Although there was nothing left in my stomach, I vomited, my sides contracting painfully to the unfamiliar exertion from over the course of the day. I flushed the toilet and laid down beside it, fresh tears rising again to the surface. There was nothing to do but lay there and hope for a miracle.
I fell asleep again until I heard the door open and shut. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was late, as darkness had settled outside while I slept. I jolted upright as I felt a moment’s sense of panic. If it was Dad and he wanted to use the bathroom, he’d come in drunk as hell and no answer I gave him would be enough to stop his anger at finding me there. I scurried out as quickly as I could and crept towards my room.
“Larin,” I heard Sam say.
“Sam,” I nearly sobbed, relief palpable in my voice.
“What are you doing?” he asked, somewhat drunkenly. While he was nearly as far gone as my father was in his alcoholism, Sam wasn’t completely lost to it yet. I felt sad for him, but I didn’t know how to help him. Especially now, when I had no idea how to help myself.
“I’m sick,” I said shakily. The urge to tell him what was really happening was quelled by some strange instinct in the back of my mind. Something had taken over my consciousness. I couldn’t cut the offending appendages off, and I couldn’t speak of them. I wanted to weep. Stifling the urge, I waved away my brother’s curious stares.
“I’m going to bed, goodnight.” I turned, signalling an end to the conversation as I walked
towards my room.
“You’re sick? Why? Larin...” I heard Sam call. I knew he wanted to say more. But there was nothing between us anymore that ever needed to be said. Whatever was happening to me, I was on my own. I walked into my bedroom and shut the door, sinking to the ground. Wrapping my arms around me, I wept.
Had I looked out my window I might have seen them standing there.
Watching.
“We’ve found another one,” It said.
Azrael called them all “things.” These creatures had no name to him, only a singular use. To be his soldiers. vessels for his own sinister purpose. As the Leviathan had promised, they were slowly coming forth. The trick of the task was to get to them first.
Azrael didn’t turn his head to look at the creature as it kneeled in a revoltingly human way, its black wings bowed and trembling. The creature was frightened, and well it should be. It knew it required a special position to look upon Azrael’s face when it spoke. Repugnant creatures, all of them. He felt the awakening of the first ones and sought them out. He chose the strongest to be in his guard. They, in turn, found others and were responsible for their handling. Azrael oversaw the work they did but tried as much as he could to avoid interacting with them. The Guard, the very strongest, were promised a position at his side when he was triumphant in the war. Those who failed in their tasks were punished. It kept them fearful, and loyal.
This particular one was brave in attempting to speak to him directly. His first instinct was to angrily chastise the Guard for allowing the creature an audience, but he looked below and saw the Committee of Gatherers – the ones tasked with finding the others as they awakened. They were currently testing the other creature’s resolve, to see whether he was brave enough to face Azrael, knowing he could be struck down. He felt a small grain of respect for the creature and pleased with his committee for taking the initiative to grow their strength. But he dismissed the idea of promotion. He had the ones he needed to carry out his orders. They still revolted him though.
The ones whose lingering humanity weakened them, those who resisted the change, were taken away to a special area of his stronghold to be processed. Indoctrinated into his army. Some still resisted despite his tactics and intimidation, and he snuffed out their lives as easily as a flick of a switch in such cases. There was no option for resisting Azrael’s orders, only acceptance, and obedience.
As for the others. . .
He turned his head, not bothering to hide his disgust. He almost looked forward to watching some get cut down when the war finally came.
“Collect it then, beast,” Azrael said angrily. “Why does it tell me this without presenting me with the new one? Go now! If the others find it first, there will be a price to pay,” he uttered, the threat full of promise and malice. The others. The fallen Council. Foul betrayers who would try with all their might to prevent his ascension. Azrael scowled and slammed his fist against the arm of his seat, and the creatures in the throne room cowered in fear.
“This. . .this one is different,” the creature said, and Azrael turned, his interest piqued.
“How so? Get on with it, beast!”
The creature shuddered under the weight of its fear, knowing of the danger of this moment. “Her wings have not yet emerged. . .not fully. . .she may be defective. We felt the need to consult with you before we cut her down,” the creature replied meekly, squinting against the inevitable wrath of his master.
“Why? Collect it and bring it to me!” Azrael’s feathers bristled uncomfortably at the revelation. Perhaps the creature was faulty, but never had he encountered any such case in all of history. With the mass awakenings, he reasoned that it was possible there would be some who would be defective. It was still an oddity nonetheless, and he knew he needed to inspect the thing himself.
“Go!” he barked.
The creature turned clumsily. It almost fell several times as it made its way down the long staircase that led from Azrael’s throne. The creature had not yet mastered the use of its wings, and Azrael nearly laughed at the stupidity of the thing. Such frail creatures. Yet their strength would grow and his army would be strong. His weapon, Leviathan’s power and promise, was slowly coming to fruition. As more awakened, he would collect them and disrupt the balance of power between his forces and those of the Council permanently.
Azrael suddenly felt the weight of the eons upon his back, although the promise of retribution fed his black heart and gave him strength. He refused to allow himself to give over completely to his excitement when he thought of the Council’s demise, knowing there was still much work to do in the days to come.
For thousands of years, he had channeled his hatred of the Council and their inexcusable betrayal by finding ways to frustrate and hinder the ambitions of man. Although he lacked most of his strength and his great powers of yore, the blackness of evil had insulated him like a cloak against those who sought to destroy him. He came close, so close, to bringing down the world of man. Always lurking in the background, he watched as great men rose to power before he took his chance, exploiting the seeds of whatever darkness hid inside them, whispering evils into their minds just outside their consciousness. He created chaos where he could, toiling endlessly to assist men to destroy themselves, though they needed very little help. Humans were weak, and their love of power and self-indulgence was inherent in their makeup. It was who they were. Yet somehow the audacity of ‘goodness’ found a way, and it persisted in its interference time and time again. The remaining Council intervened where they could, their sole mission to protect these horrible vermin. Men rose from the ashes of the wars he had helped to create to somehow reconstruct themselves. To endure. He hated them for their triumphs even more, which fed his resolve to try again and again.
He wanted them all to die.
He wanted them dead. Whether by his hand, or their own, he cared not. This scourge of man, “pets” created by his Father, would be wiped clean from the earth and the majesty of Eden would return unhindered by their feeble meanderings. It was his only purpose in existing, now. That, and reclaiming his place in the Celestial Kingdom. To rebuild it as he and his brother had envisioned it. But men had
interfered in his plans, had divided his celestial brothers and sisters, and he had fallen. Only Azrael himself and his beloved brother had known that man would bring about the end of things. He also knew that they were the only two who could bring about its restoration. Azrael scowled deeply, his hatred bubbling upwards and threatening to choke him where he sat.
He’d found this place, here. His stronghold. Deep within the earth, far from the eyes of his interfering brothers and sisters. Here he had created his realm, the place where his army would grow in numbers and strength. Solomanta. His city of darkness.
Solomanta was built upon the backs of human slaves millennia ago. It had begun as a place simply to regroup from his failures, to shield him from the eyes of his siblings while he searched for the means to bring about their ends. Eventually, it grew. So too, did his ambition.
He had ransacked entire cities, squeezed the life from temple priests with his bare hands as they succumbed to his violence, uttering the names of prophets they had been sworn to protect. He sought them all out, one by one – always a race against the Council to reach them first. Where they failed, he found these prophets of man, and he killed them. All. He forced them, with terrible means, to give away their secrets. After endless searching, he finally heard the words he had been desperate to hear for so long – there was a way. To awaken the soldiers – the vessels, part of the ancient army that once was his to command.
He heard, too, a whisper. A return of the seraphim. The most powerful of all, the only creatures in existence who could threaten his succession of power. The whisper spoke of a Herald, a prophet who would signal their return. He dismissed it reluctantly. Hopefully. The ramblings of a mad priest who had delved too deeply into ancient texts and blathered threats with his dying breath at Azrael’s hand.
But he searched in earnest after that for weapons that would increase his strength. After epochs of fruitless searching, he had found the creature, Leviathan, existing in the depths of its caverns since the Fall. Leviathan was the only creature in this purgatory called Earth who could bring about their awakening. But not without its prize – the heads of the Guardians. That prize in and of itself should have been an impossible task. The Guardians were the most closely guarded secret of the remaining Council.
Herald Page 3
