by August Arrea
“And Satan said, ‘Take heed, for I shall make it my personal vow to see the righteousness with which you stand before me in the name of God turn on you like a striking serpent and into you sink its fangs to sicken you with its venom,” uttered Gotham in a quiet reflective whisper.
Jacob studied more closely the illustration showing Abdiel raising his sword to Satan while reflecting on the story he had just recited as well as the vision of the rebellion he had witnessed earlier when his gaze suddenly shifted to Gotham.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” asked Jacob. “Abdiel is you.”
Gotham only needed to look at the boy for Jacob to know he was correct in his suspicions.
“But I still don’t understand,” said Jacob. “You remained loyal and helped defeat the rebellion by casting Satan and his army out of Heaven. You showed me so. So how is it you still became Fallen?”
Gotham sighed heavily in his hesitation to answer the boy, yet knew it was a question that demanded an answer.
~~~
In the hours of night that remained, Gotham spoke of a time long after The Great War, and even further past when the paradise depicted by Milton had been lost; when man and woman were cast into the wilderness of the world burdened with the weight of God’s curse heavy on their backs.
Eden may have been lost to the two marked souls, explained Gotham, but mercy was not, and one day it came down to them in the form of angels called Watchers, who were sent to help those who had become lost, pitiful beings, navigate their way through the harshness of the new world they now found surrounding them. Very quickly many of these Watchers became lost, pitiful beings themselves. They were lured to sinful ways by some of the Fallen they had helped cast from Heaven’s skirt and who now took great pleasure in poisoning the minds of men and women as an act of revenge on the Almighty. And they used the women to tempt the Watchers into committing sins of the flesh until one day, as Gotham told it, he was called upon by a deafening clap of thunder.
“I was summoned before my father, and he sharpened my blade with his wrath,” said Gotham, “and I was commanded to go down and exact punishment for the sins they birthed.
He suddenly fell quiet and bowed his head low, and it was as though a storm cloud from outside had somehow drifted inside the compartment and unleashed a downpour upon him.
“Never once had I refused my Maker, nor any command he might ask of me. But this—” His words became strained and choked in his throat. Jacob shifted to the edge of his seat afraid of what was to come, and daring not ask when it didn’t.
Eventually Gotham continued. “It took less than twenty minutes, though it felt like twenty days. Through it all I wept; tears of sorrow, tears of rage. The sounds made by the women were unimaginable, as though every swipe of my sword pierced them. The men cursed me as they cursed God, shaking their fists angrily at the sky. And the Fallen—putrid souls that they now were—looked on with serpent-like smiles on their faces. They began to taunt me, latching tight to the first signs of weakness I had ever shown as it was roused awake inside me through my growing rage. ‘Look what your God has you do in his name?’ they mocked with merciless glee. ‘Look at the sin he so easily has you commit, though a sin he dares not call it when it comes at his hand.’ Their words came at me in a hissing chorus, unrelenting and worming its way inside my head. Yet more troubling was that for the first time such blasphemous insults against the one I so loved did not incite me to turn my blood-coated blade on them and run it deep through their insolent existence. And for a brief moment, when time seemed to come to a deafening halt and all around me was red—red with blood, and red with rage—I surrendered to the Darkness chiding me and, with an uncontrollable hatred I could not stem, I silently rebuked my creator.”
A deafening hush engulfed the cabin, and Jacob, taken aback by what he had heard, found himself afraid to even breathe for the sound it might make. What horrible task had Gotham been forced to do, Jacob desperately wanted to ask, and yet he couldn’t find the nerve when he saw the anguish it brought Gotham reliving it in his mind.
“Sometimes one’s stumble from Heaven’s graces comes in a moment so fleeting and quiet, he doesn’t even know he has fallen. And by the time he realizes it, it is too late,” Gotham uttered mournfully.
He turned again from the window and returned to his seat.
“Once I had carried out fully the task handed me, the skies broke open and water poured down in a deluge to drown out the cries and screams I had left in my wake. But on my return to Heaven I was stopped halfway by the Archangel Michael, and with a pained and solemn look on his face he told me I was no longer allowed to enter my home. Why? I implored of him. Had I not done what had been asked of me? Was the blood that caked my blade and stained my hands not evidence of my obedience? But it was in vain, for I already knew where I had erred and what sin I had committed. Yet instead of remorse I once again felt anger rise up within me. And I looked past Michael and cast my eyes ablaze with contempt toward the heavens and unleashed a hateful curse from my tongue, for nothing else had been left to me at that moment. And from it a streak of lightning, vengeful as it was blinding, flashed forth and struck my forehead marking the beginning of my banishment. I was sent spiraling back down to the earth below taking with me only my name which, like the Dragon’s before me, was vanquished from ever being spoken again. In Heaven, at least.”
Jacob’s gaze slowly turned to Gotham’s forehead. There, near the temple over his left eye which the angel, lost momentarily in the memory he revisited, absentmindedly rubbed, was a scar. It reminded Jacob of the vein-like fingers found etched on the back of a sand dollar, only seared deep into the flesh as though by a branding iron.
“Is that it, where you were struck?” asked Jacob, his voice hoarse with emotion, while motioning to the spot above the angel’s temple.
“Attractive, isn’t it?” Gotham replied removing his hand and offering his profile so the boy could see more clearly the scarring. “The mark of the Fallen.”
Jacob didn’t agree or disagree. He didn’t say anything, at first. It was all, to say the least, a bit much to digest in one sitting. The only thing he was certain of was suddenly finding himself filled with deep sympathy for Gotham, though he knew such feelings would be met with disdain by the proud angel if it were made known.
“I can understand how you lost your faith after hearing all of that,” he finally remarked, which for whatever reason that remained unclear to him brought a slight smile to Gotham’s sober face.
“To the contrary. The loss of my faith wouldn’t come until much later,” said Gotham. “You see, I would come to find my father had not quite finished meting out his punishment to me yet.”
“Why…what happened?” he asked with a gnawing reluctance.
An air of angst seemed to come and congregate itself around the angel, and Jacob knew whatever words were beginning to form on Gotham’s lips, they would be tragic, but the words never came.
“Strangely, I could ask the same of you,” Gotham, drawing a puzzled look from the boy, remarked. “You held a faith as strong as your mother’s at one time. I know this to be true. How did it come to be lost to you?”
The question caught Jacob by surprise.
“I believe in God,” he answered, even as the words themselves were notably flimsy as he spoke them.
“That is not what I asked,” said Gotham. “Do not be mistaken in thinking belief and faith are the same thing. I believe in the human race because I witness their existence. But I have little hope or trust in it.”
Jacob’s first inclination was to argue against what he knew was being insinuated. Then again he knew the angel would see such an answer for what it truly was—a lie.
“I don’t know,” said Jacob with a shrug. “I suppose it disappeared when my mom died.”
“No, no,” the angel replied shaking his head. “Your mother’s death may have hardened your resolve, but it had disappeared long before she took leave of this world.”
<
br /> The boy began to fidget uncomfortably in his seat while fingering mindlessly the big toe of his foot trying to poke its way out of the hole eating its way through his sock.
“I haven’t got a clue,” he mumbled.
“Of course you do,” insisted Gotham. “Anyone who has ever truly possessed faith remembers the precise moment they willingly released it.”
And Jacob did remember, the moment the question was asked him. Saying the answer out loud, however, was not something he wished to do, though, he knew it was the least he owed the angel after his own revelation. Gotham saw this and refrained from pressing the boy further. Instead he looked to the window and the coming morning which was ever so faintly beginning to reveal its approach in the distance.
“It shouldn’t be too much longer,” the angel muttered.
~~~
After a short stop in Elazig, the train continued slowly on its journey, leaving behind nearly all remnants of civilization as it entered into the most isolated parts of Turkey. And from that isolation slowly emerged the stunning scenery that had largely been absent from the long trip. Soon passengers’ faces were pressed up against the windows, until now mostly ignored, and peered out with gratitude as the train made its way through a wild gorge carved out by the Murat River.
A gaggle of excitement and fingers tapping against the glass of the windows rang out from car to car as a small village seemingly undeterred by the remoteness surrounding it or the congregation of storks that had seemed to overtaken the small hamlet came into view. Hundreds of the white, long-necked birds could be seen perched in nests dotting the rooftops, power poles and any available high spot like Russian fur hats, watching curiously with tilted heads as the train passed through. Suddenly the river valley began to retreat and the train ascended high into the approaching mountains passing through dozens of long tunnels eating a passageway through miles of rock until finally the mighty Van Gölü lake appeared. And nestled quaintly on its western shore came the first glimpse of Tatvan.
They had finally made it, Jacob thought as he stared out of the window, but the sense of relief that greeted him was quickly dulled by a jolt of uncertainty.
What now?
What was waiting for him down there in that small diminutive town and the waters beyond?
There came a nagging feeling inside that his journey was only just beginning.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tatvan
T
atvan existed quietly behind a promenade of beach hugging a massive lake. A sprawl of small houses, local shops and businesses, muted in both architecture and color, dotted the foot of mountains surrounding the town. Lording over the town, Mount Nemrut Dagi, a long-extinguished volcano, stretched high toward the skies.
Never a destination point, Tatvan served as a stop-over point for wayward travelers and businessmen in search of a meal or a bed before pushing on with their journey to more spectacular sights, usually to the far shores across the lake which were rich with the remnants of ancient history. For Gotham and other angels, the seemingly benign hamlet had long ago revealed itself to be anything but. It was there, and all along the shores where the lake water lapped, that an unseen darkness lurked, patiently lying in wait for the eventual arrival of the winged beings forced to cross its threshold in order to reach their ultimate destination. More importantly, it waited for the unsuspecting Nephilim the angels kept close guard over, guiding them closer toward the water of the Van Gölü. It was an unavoidable danger Gotham had come to know only too well, a danger which could not be sidestepped but charged head-on in a full run, and as the train pulled into the station he readied himself for what awaited them.
~~~
A cluster of storm clouds hung ominously over the lakeside town like a giant beast ready to pounce before finally releasing the deluge it carried in its belly just as Gotham and Jacob stepped off the train. A large group of small children waiting nearby for the train’s arrival quickly broke up into small packs and descended upon the fresh batch of passengers disembarking the cars.
“Moony, moony, moony,” they began to chant in a prayer-like mantra, their hands stretched outward pleading to be filled with something. Anything.
“We must hurry,” instructed Gotham as he took hold of Jacob’s arm and ushered the boy toward the exit of the station. At the same time, he quickly discharged a few dollar bills from his pocket and blindly tossed them over his shoulder to rain down on the ground behind him where they were voraciously pounced upon as if by a school of feeding piranha. They proceeded to hurry outside and, with a torrent of water raining down on them, they ran through the slick streets with a throng of half a dozen or so kids hot on their trail.
“Moony, moony, moony...”
The chanting rang out in cadence to the footsteps splashing their way through the growing puddles and followed Gotham and Jacob into the heart of the town’s downtown hub. There they found a respite from the rain in the doorway of a restaurant.
“We need to catch a ferry on the far side of the beach as soon as possible,” said Gotham loudly, trying to keep his voice from being drowned out by the clamoring of water spilling in sheets from off the rooftops.
“In this weather?” asked Jacob.
“We cannot stay here. It’s too dangerous.” Gotham then noticed Jacob was shivering slightly inside the damp cotton hoodie he wore. Winter had arrived ahead of them, and the slushy cold rain falling was just short of adding more white to the streets already powdered with remnants of snow.
“You’re shivering. Don’t you have a heavier coat with you?” Gotham asked the boy.
“I’m fine,” said Jacob even as his bottom lip trembled slightly.
Gotham wiped away the water trickling down his face and glanced around the streets and sidewalks that were abandoned of any people except for the children who had followed them from the station huddling nearby, waiting silently in the pouring rain, their grubby faces getting a much-needed washing.
“Wait here,” Gotham told Jacob.
“Where are you going?”
“Just stay here. I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Do not talk to anybody, and do not move from this spot. Understand?” instructed the angel in an emphatic tone as though speaking to dog he had just let off its leash.
Jacob nodded and, after giving a last cautious glance around, Gotham reluctantly backed away from the doorway. When he finally turned and sprinted off into the downpour, the familiar “munny” chorus erupted once more following after him and disappearing around a corner.
Left alone, Jacob folded his arms tightly across his chest in an attempt to ward off the chill. It was his feet, however, which he now found himself growing more conscious of as they were beginning to feel like blocks of ice inside the soaked canvas Converse sneakers he wore. To make matters worse, he was hungry. Famished, actually. Cupping a hand to the window of the restaurant, he peered inside. The tables were half-filled with people looking dry and content waiting out the storm over warming cups of steaming coffee and plates of food filled with a scrumptious looking variety of Turkish cuisine. A waft of thyme, chubritza, oregano and paprika permeated from inside the restaurant beckoning a grumble from Jacob’s stomach. And when his mouth took on the drooling of a St. Bernard he turned away looking to focus his attention on something less torturous.
It was then he discovered he was not alone.
~~~
Standing quietly and motionless in the rain a few feet away from Jacob was a boy who looked to be about the same age, if not slightly younger than himself. His clothes, hole-eaten and spotted with stains, were soaked through. One of the beggars from the station who remained behind, Jacob thought, though he didn’t remember seeing this particular face when getting off the train.
“Hello,” said Jacob, offering a nod and a friendly smile..
The boy remained silent, his face expressionless, like a flesh-colored statue, staring coldly past the drops of water that dribbled steadily from the tips of his wet, tangled bl
ack hair. No plea for “munny,” no outstretched hands. Still, Jacob dug into his damp jeans and fished out the few remaining dollars he had. Not much, he thought, but enough at least to buy something to eat. He stretched out his hand toward the boy, but the boy made no move to accept the charitable gesture.
“Really, it’s okay,” said Jacob, thrusting the offering toward the boy. Then remembering where he was he repeated himself, this time in perfect Kurdish. He wasn’t even phased that the words he spoke were of a language that had never before passed across his tongue.
The boy, not even glancing at the wadded-up money, kept his gaze frozen on Jacob, who slowly felt a chilly unease creep up upon him that could not be blamed on the cold rain.
“Alright. Just trying to be friendly,” muttered Jacob under his breath.
He proceeded to smooth out the damp, wrinkled bills before folding them neatly together and shoving them back into his pocket. Maybe the kid was shy, Jacob thought to himself. Or perhaps he wasn’t fond of foreigners. It was understandable. Americans, after all, weren’t exactly the cat’s meow in some parts of the world. The Turkish soldiers back on the train made him acutely aware of that.
Hoping the boy would eventually move along on his way, Jacob turned his attention once again to the customers inside the restaurant. Yet watching people shoveling food into their mouths was the last thing he wanted to see, as it only incited his stomach to grumble once more reminding him how hungry he was. He pulled his phone out from his pocket to check the time, and as he did he could see out of the corner of his eye that the boy remained standing in his spot nearby, still watching him.
What was taking Gotham so long?
Jacob looked to the end of the street impatiently waiting for the familiar dark overcoat figure to reappear around the corner. Wherever it was they were headed to next, he wished they would soon be on their way. He then snuck a look upward hoping to spy some sign of a break in the gray gloom hanging overhead from which the rain was being wrung like a sponge. It was then at that moment of distraction when the boy loitering nearby in the open street caught Jacob by surprise when he suddenly lurched in his direction, swept something from off the ground near his feet and quickly took off running down the street. For a moment, Jacob was relieved to finally be free of him and his unsettling presence. Then he noticed his blue nylon bag he had set on the ground in the corner of the doorway was gone and looked to see the boy had it tucked tightly under his arm as he tore down the sidewalk.