Angel Born

by Brian Fuller

  “Now, no hard feelings,” he said. “You know she’ll be just fine in the morning. And to show you I am sincere and not harboring any ill will, I thought it would be nice to have a little double date. You bring my wife. I’ll bring yours. It’s formal dress, so don’t disappoint. Have Aclima wear jewelry. Oh! I even have a mystery guest to spice things up. The date, place, and time will be presented at the end of this video. Of course, if I sense any Ash Angel Organization presence, Terissa and the mystery guest will get to visit Avadan in one of his many houses of horror and have a nice long stay.

  “Well, I’d better get back to my food before it gets cold. A good steak shouldn’t be kept waiting.”

  Cain kept eating, Mars calling for the video to be paused. “He goes on eating for five minutes before the video shuts off. He wants both of you to show up at Blaine Harbor in northern Washington one week from today at eight in the evening. Formal dress, like he said. This is just like when they grabbed Aclima, a danger and an opportunity. The Archai’s chewing on it right now.”

  “I’m going,” Aclima said, lips a thin line. “Doesn’t matter what they decide.”

  “I’m in,” Helo said. If Cain would really be there, it was worth it. This had to be Cain’s final act of torment Avadan had alluded to. This was where it would all end, one way or another.

  Mars nodded. “I thought so. I’ll let the Archai know. We’ll see what we can do to help you, but Cain’s been pretty good at eluding us so far.”

  “He’s been doing it for centuries,” Aclima said, eyes hard. “Are we done?”

  Mars nodded. “Stay close to your phones.”

  They turned to go, Aclima releasing Helo’s hand. The door swished shut behind them, and he had to do a little jog to catch her. This wasn’t good. She was angry. He had to keep her away from the dark side of her nature, deflect her somehow.

  “I need to go run on my own for a bit,” she said. “Clear my head. Will you meet me in the training room in half an hour or so? I need to hit something. Might as well be you—training of course.”

  “Sure.”

  He let her go, wishing he could contrive some way for her not to be involved with Cain’s twisted dinner date. But it was impossible and he knew it. She would go. Cain would mess with her mind, if not kill her outright, and do the same to him. But they had to try. Like Mars said, it was a danger and an opportunity. It was a risk for them to visit Cain, but Cain was taking a risk too. He didn’t know the Ash Angel he wanted to face was angel born.

  Helo found his way to the training room. Room was an understatement. It was a complex, really, situated in a huge underground space partitioned into a shooting range, sports arena, and a spacious dojo for martial arts and melee weapons. Since Aclima’s invitation mentioned a beating, he followed the signs to the dojo and went inside.

  The roomy dojo reminded him of the Tae Kwon Do dojo where he and his brother had taken classes for six months in his early teens. His mom had pulled them both out of the program after the third time one of them had kicked the other in the face at home.

  The dojo’s ceiling was high and worked in dark, thick timbers reminiscent of ancient Japanese architecture. Tall mirrors lined one wall, facing a large, rectangular mat. Ancient and modern weapons hung from one wall, and training equipment—kicking shields, focus pads, punching bags, and the like—occupied another.

  A group of four Ash Angels, two women and two men, practiced Tai Chi together, their graceful movements mesmerizing, their Ash Angel auras adding an extra touch of martial-arts mysticism—until they noticed him and came to a dead stop.

  “Helo?” one of the men said.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “No trouble! So are the stories they tell about you true?”

  “Just the good ones,” he said. He didn’t want to chat, especially about Naked Nazi. “Look, I’m going to meditate over here out of the way. Please, keep going. Looked great.”

  “You could join us,” one of the women offered.

  “Gotta clear my head,” he said. “I’ve got a training session with someone in a bit, so . . .”

  They started up again as he settled into the lotus position in a corner of the room. Just like Dolorem had taught him, he brought up the image of the orbiting, shiny ball and sun. It came without any effort whatsoever. Before long, the soft sounds of the Tai Chi practitioners’ regular breathing and the padding of their feet on the mat faded away to nothing.

  There, within his mind, the ball traversed its circular path, around and around, half in light, half in dark. Why do you keep looking at the dark part, stupid? Cassandra’s words needled him, taunted him, with their cryptic nature. How could he not look at the dark part? The light actually made the shadowy hemisphere impossible to ignore. It was like rain on the proverbial parade. Without the parade, the rain wouldn’t be out of place.

  The darkness was inescapable, as much a fact of light as the light itself, as much created by it as in opposition to it. The ball spun around and around. So simple. A shiny ball and a burning sun. The only thing untainted by the dark was the sun itself. The black around it couldn’t touch it. The light projecting from it gave the silver ball its only illumination.

  The sun.

  He’d focused on the ball almost to the exclusion of everything else. It was the motion, he supposed, that drew his attention. It was natural to look at it. It was easy to see the corrupting dark upon it. It was impossible not to think the ball represented him somehow. But had his laser focus on the ball been his mistake? Had he forgotten the sun simply because it was static and unchanging?

  Wrenching is attention away from the orbiting ball took an immense amount of concentration. Exerting his will, he focused his mind’s eye on the sun. Steady and stationary. Burning, bright, and perfect. Once his focus centered there, the ball faded into his peripheral vision. But it wasn’t gone. He was sure the dark half was still there too, but with his attention fully given to the sun—with his focus fully on the source of the light—the only part of the orbiting sphere registering in his peripheral vision was the hemisphere on fire with the brilliance of the sun.

  Peace flooded him, an understanding written into his very bones. Another gift from Cassandra. The focus was the key.

  And then Rapture. There was nothing between him and the aborning light in his soul. It filled him, saturated him, pressed upon him, brimmed over without measure, and seemed to explode from his being like a star going supernova. His vision went something beyond white, his consciousness torn away like a flag ripped from a pole in a hurricane. He floated in it, relished it. There was no fear here. No loss. No pain. Somewhere in this wilderness of joy was home. Rest. Perfection.

  But he knew it couldn’t last, not here, not in a place where permanence was impossible. And as it always had, Rapture faded. And here was loss and sorrow, but not despair. Rapture always promised to return and always kept its promise. Since his first Rapture as an Ash Angel, it had been beloved, but now it was indispensable, a friend he could never do without. Bittersweet was its parting; bright the hope for its return.

  “Helo,” Aclima said softly, reverently.

  He opened his eyes, his cheeks wet with tears. Aclima knelt before him, her hands on his, her eyes wide and wondering along with those of the four Tai Chi practitioners behind her. They all seemed clothed in a haze of white. He blinked a couple times, and everything returned to normal.

  How could he ever explain what had happened? Everyone gaped at him. He got to his feet, unsure of what to say.

  “Are you okay?” Aclima asked, using her thumbs to wipe away the tears on his cheeks.

  “I’m all right,” he said and then cleared his throat. “Just meditating.” Had Dolorem known what the meditation’s potential was when he taught him the technique? Had he hidden it from him?

  “Just meditating, huh?” Aclima said, voice still full of awe. “You had an aura—a Blank with an aura! A bright one, almost blinding, for a good
minute. And when you opened your eyes, they were like fire. What happened? Is this something to do with you being angel born?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, uncomfortable with all the gawking stares.

  Aclima turned to the four Ash Angels behind her. “Do you mind if we take the gym? We have a training session.”

  They nodded dumbly and stood there.

  “Do you mind?” Aclima reiterated.

  They finally shuffled out to a great deal of whispering. Aclima waited until the door clacked shut behind them and then folded her arms.

  “Out with it, Helo,” she said. “I’ve meditated a lot in life and some as an Ash Angel, and none of it has made me glow. Start talking.”

  “It’s a meditative technique Dolorem taught me,” Helo explained. “Old Master legend had it that if done right, it could make Rapture more powerful. I guess I did it right.”

  “Teach me.”

  “After the training.” He needed time to process, but even as he thought of teaching her, he knew the secret of the focus was something he should not reveal. It was like a sacred mandate in his soul. The search, the pondering for meaning—they were a part of the journey, a necessary part. It wasn’t as much about Rapture as it was the lesson.

  She nodded, and her hair started getting shorter. “We’re doing hand-to-hand melee today—kicks, punches, grappling. Shirts off for this one.”

  He grinned. He wasn’t the best at this pickup-line stuff, but how could he not jump on this opportunity? He opened his mouth.

  “No!” she said, stabbing a finger at him. “I am not in the mood.”

  She stripped down to her sports bra, and he pulled off his shirt and tossed it in the corner.

  “I want to get an idea of where you are,” she said as he followed her to the center of the mat, admiring her slender form. “I know you’ve had military training. I’ve had a bit more, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. Now, we’re not shirtless just so we can enjoy the view as you were just doing. When grappling, it’s good to learn to use the body rather than clothes to execute the moves. Clothes are unreliable; arms and legs are reliable. So let’s spar a bit. The goal is to land punches and kicks and to do grapples and submission holds if you know any. Also important is not getting hit with punches, kicks, and submission holds. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sensei.”

  “It’s Shihan, actually. Look it up. And don’t worry,” she said, tone sassy. “I can heal you after I break you. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  While the sword had been completely unfamiliar to him before Dolorem, he approached hand-to-hand combat with confidence. He’d been trained both in the physical older brother school and the military school, not to mention the brief Tae Kwon Do stint. And he had to have fifty pounds on Aclima, at least.

  They squared off. Hands up. Chins down. Eyes on the upper torso. They danced around a bit, then she came for him. By instinct he did his favorite move from Tae Kwon Do, one that had helped him send his brother into the drywall of their basement and the both of them out of the dojo: a spinning back kick. It came surprisingly easily, like remembering how to ride a bike.

  With a pivot of his feet, a look over his shoulder, and a crisp leg thrust, his foot shot out and hit Aclima square in the face. She flopped backward but kept her feet, throwing him a surprised look.

  “Mighty Shihan,” he said, “you must teach me the secret art of blocking kicks with your face. You do it so well.”

  “So that’s how it is?” she said, grin sliding up her lips.

  “I only seek the wisdom of the warrior,” he returned sagaciously.

  “Then wisdom you will receive!”

  There was no mercy at that point. For half an hour she came for him hard and fast, and for half an hour he returned the favor. She was better, no question, but he held his own, using his bulk and reach to his advantage. She used her speed and technique to hers. And she was relentless.

  It all ended when he got greedy and tried to pull off a superman punch, which ended with her dropping down and kicking his legs out from under him. He landed hard on his back and rolled to his knees, but she was on him in a flash, getting him in a carotid choke from behind and pulling him backward on top of her, hooking his legs with her feet to immobilize him.

  As an Ash Angel he wasn’t going to go unconscious, but she had him pretty good. So he cheated, flaring his Strength and pulling her arm off so he could scoot away. She stayed on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.

  “That’s it for today,” she said. “This isn’t nearly as therapeutic when you don’t get tired. Let’s review.”

  He lay down beside her. “Yes, Shihan.”

  “You’re not half bad,” she said. “Better than I thought you’d be. I was laying off, but—”

  “Shut up. You were not.”

  She laughed. “So here’s the thing. You are mostly incompetent on the ground. Standing up, you’re decent, though you’re a sucker for a left hook.”

  “Everyone’s a sucker for a left hook,” he said.

  “True, but not as bad as you are. We’ll work on it this week. That and the ground skills.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  She turned her body perpendicular to his and lay the back of her head on his stomach like it was a pillow. After a moment she exhaled, closed her eyes, and was silent. He reached down and rubbed her fuzzy head, the little hairs tickling the skin of his palm.

  “What are you doing?” she asked with a chuckle.

  “Rubbing heads helps me think,” he answered. “And it brings good luck.”

  “I see,” she said. Her hair grew, cascading out across his abdomen. She fluffed it up. “Having someone play with my hair helps me think, so get to work. There has got to be some way the two of us can beat Cain at his little game. So help me think this through. What are our advantages?”

  Helo pulled at a long lock of her thick black hair. “Well, he may not know what I can do as an angel born—unless Avadan told him. He likely doesn’t know you have the Healing Bestowal. You know him and his habits pretty well. We have the backing of the AAO, but I’m sure he’ll neutralize it, or try to.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, sounding a little dreamy. “And our disadvantages?”

  “Everything else,” he said. “He’s got location. He’s got surprise. He’s got a kick-ass Sheid. He’s got whatever other Loremasters he wants to drag into this. He’s got hostages to manipulate us with. But what’s his endgame?”

  “Kill us,” she said. “After making us suffer. He wants to turn me into a Dread first.”

  “How do we get him to screw up?” Helo asked, massaging her scalp. Terissa used to like that.

  “Well,” she said, “he’s a rage monster. Generally, he keeps his head enough to think, but if we can tick him off badly enough, he might slip up . . . or hurt us worse.”

  “And what would tick him off? That’s something you know pretty well.”

  “The list is long,” Aclima said. “Massage a little higher on the scalp, please. He hates being disobeyed. He hates it when someone takes something that is his. He hates being associated with anything low-class. He hates idiots. He hates people smarter than he is—though there aren’t many. He hates fish. He hates traffic . . .”

  “So here’s my question,” Helo said. “Does he really think you still belong to him after all these years? Does he think you’re still married?”

  “Absolutely,” Aclima said. “He’s used Ashakaz to kill or seduce any man he’s found out I’ve been involved with. It’s not out of any love for me, of course. It’s possession that matters.”

  “So that’s it,” Helo said. “That’s why you hate her so much.”

  “Hey, you stopped massaging,” Aclima complained. “Yes, that is part of it. Six thousand years of bad history.”

  “So how’s this?” Helo said. “Would it drive him into a rage if I’m hanging all over you when we meet him?”

  “Yes,” Aclima said. “But I’m afraid the targe
t of that rage would be Terissa, so you might want to reconsider. An easier slight is not wearing jewelry like he wants me to.”

  “What’s the deal with that?”

  “Wives to him are like everything else. He wants the best, not for love, but to prove he can acquire the pinnacle of feminine beauty—a trophy wife or girlfriend, as they call it these days. He dresses the women he acquires in finery to show the world his wealth and prowess. He did it to me. A lot of women would enjoy it. I don’t think jewelry is evil, but it reminds me of my time with him, so I don’t wear it.”

  Another Aclima mystery solved, and it inspired an idea. “What if you go morphed as some whale of a pimply-faced hag like you were at the theater? The exact opposite of the trophies he likes to collect? If his idea is to turn you back into the trophy he had, what’s he going to do if you are no longer the ‘pinnacle of feminine beauty’?”

  Aclima pondered for a moment. “It’s an interesting idea. I don’t know if he’ll laugh or throw a huge tantrum, but it would certainly throw him off. I think anything we can do to make him feel out of control is key. It’s clear he’s scripted and planned this to the letter. This is his show, Helo.”

  “I know, but listen.” He sat up. She did the same, shaking her hair out. “I can Hallow desecration fields. If Cain and the Sheid are all in the room with us, I can strip them of their power. I’m sure they’ll break us down first thing, but if you can heal me, I think we can take them. We just have to stay close enough so we can touch.”

  “If that’s your plan, then you definitely can’t act like we’re romantically involved,” she said. “If you do, he’ll separate us for sure. If I act like you’re just some nobody Ash Angel I couldn’t care less about, and if you treat me like Faramir treats me, then he may force us together.”

  “Good,” Helo said. It was nice to have a plan, something to work toward. It at least gave the illusion of control.

  She smiled mischievously. “Don’t get offended when I have to direct cutting remarks your way in front of Cain—you infantile, slack-brained goat with a gun.”