“Thump. Thump. Thump.”
Hollow drum beats throb outside. Cymbals and wind instruments follow. The ‘March to Acceptance’ begins. I lose my focus and set down the box, having not yet seen what lies inside.
I step out onto the terrace and look at the Courtyard. A perfect blend of stone and earth that exemplifies the very essence of this planet. Trees sway in the wind beside large towers that extend far into the sky. My clansmen march into the circle. I search for Terra in the crowd, but I don’t see her.
The stone chair remains empty at the northern end of the Courtyard. A bird lands on the arm and proceeds to peck the rocks. The creature is unaware of the importance of the place where it stands.
I spot Sal, upright beside the Cathedra; he appears to be awaiting the arrival of the Prince. He paces as the crowds bump into him.
The drum beats increase.
The Ceremonials swing thuribles back and forth, and I watch as the fragrant smoke of the incense rises into the air. I long to breathe the smooth aroma, but from here I can’t.
The Prince, radiating light, comes into view. He descends, his wings lightly flapping.
I, like all my clansman, gasp as if this is the first time I have looked upon him. His dark hair falls behind his broad shoulders and flutters in the wind. The deep blue eyes conceal unmatched wisdom. It doesn’t matter how many times I look upon him; it always feels fresh and new.
He is the first of our brethren. The only being whose creation we did not witness. It is said that the Origin spent six days crafting him. He is the Origin’s chosen one.
“You know why we are here.” The Prince’s voice drips like oil. “You know what we are to do.”
I cling to the railing of the terrace so as not to disobey and fly toward the Acceptance.
“I must stay,” I remind myself for I fear the consequences of a second sin.
The clan drops to their knees in unison.
“Nothing can compare to the Origin’s greatness,” the Prince sings. “To his perfection”
The Prince skillfully leads the chorus in worship and admiration for the Prime Mover of all Creation.
I envy Sal and Terra. I was created to worship, yet I sit here watching from afar.
A dark shadow makes its way over my clan, seemingly unnoticed by those participating in the ceremony. Their faces remain prostrate toward the ground. I narrow my focus, trying to discern what I am seeing in the sunlit sky. It does not look like a cloud, or any other natural element, but it appears dark and ominous.
Something is wrong.
The monstrous omen draws closer at a rapid speed. A dark and fractured image that blots out the sun. The longer I gaze, the clearer it becomes. It’s a mass of approaching angels.
I lift my hand to block out the glare from the sun behind the darkened silhouettes. I try to count their numbers but they are innumerable. They are all strangers, beings from outside of my clan. And then, I recognize one of them. Is that the Rogue with the X that crisscrosses at his mouth?
“Cephus!” I shout.
Nobody hears me.
I have to warn them.
I clutch my chest with my hand, then take a deep breath and back up. I run and leap from the balcony. My wings beat violently as I approach the circle. I must warn them of the oncoming enemies.
But then again, I was commanded not to attend the Acceptance by the Prince himself. Surely the Prince would know if something threatened them. He is the wisest of us all. He is our keeper. Perhaps I am taking a needless risk to prevent an irrational fear.
I stop in the air. I feel afraid, but surely I am wrong to assume the worst.
The Rogues hover overhead now. Cephus smiles.
Suddenly, a stream of dark black projectiles flow into the crowd.
Arrows. And they are lodging in the clansman and then bursting into flames. The sight is more horrible than anything I have seen before. I fly backwards onto the terrace and hide behind the walls of my flat, trembling.
Screams from familiar voices fill the air. Horror flashes across the Prince’s face. Another Rogue sweeps down, dagger in hand, and spears a Ceremonial.
For the first time, I feel true and unmitigated terror. I want to help my clan, but what can I do? I am no longer ignorant to the painful bite of hurt. It is an agony that I do not wish to feel again. I try to will myself toward my friends, but I can’t. My will succumbs to my paralysis.
My unarmed clansmen are no match. They try to block the arrows with their bodies only to cry out with intense pain. Others leap into the air and fly at the Rogues, only to be shot and drift into death.
“Cephus!” the Prince cries.
The Rogue with the crisscrossed scar raises his hand. The arrows stop.
“It’s a pleasure to stand before the so-called ‘Prince of Creation.’”
“Stop this,” the Prince says. “This is madness.”
“Your tyranny is madness. You are all tongue and no teeth. What can you do to protect them?”
Cephus lowers his raised hand and another stream of arrows descends into the Courtyard.
Then as quickly as they came, Cephus leads the hoard of Rogues away from the Temple.
The Prince drops to his knees, face in hands.
I wait no longer; I jump into the air and resume my approach toward the circle. It only takes seconds before I land on the pavement where my clan scurries about in the chaos. They bump into each other trying to lift the wounded up and carry them to safety.
“Where is Terra?” I yell to Sal.
He doesn’t say a word. His face looks as wispy as white smoke. He only points to the north of the circle.
I push through the commotion and the rustling bodies. I see her. An arrow pierces her stomach. Blood oozes out from her ruptured skin.
Why didn’t I protect her?
This may be my fault, but I will not let her die.
Chapter Six
THE MIXTURE
I NEVER KNEW that one angel could lose so much blood.
I press my hand to my mouth for a moment and stare down at her. Her stomach rises and falls as she raises her arms out toward me.
I drop to the ground and clutch her by the waist. I find it hard to get a good grip on her as I pull her over my shoulder. My fingers slip along her blood-soaked skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my ear. “I don’t want to leave you, but I can’t hold on much longer.”
I ignore her.
I know where we need to go. Thankfully, we have a fresh batch of healing balm left over from my incident in the Oasis.
Her hand loosens its grip on my forearm as she shifts out of consciousness. Time is running out.
My large wings do not struggle under her weight. I find that my trajectory is straighter and easier under the extra burden. We fly faster than I would have ever thought capable. I put pressure to her wound to stop the hemorrhaging as the wind dries the blood on my hands.
The tail of the arrow lodged in her stomach presses up against the wound in my chest. The black feathers peel my skin. I ignore my own pain. I must carry Terra to the tub before it is too late.
My feet hit the floor of the terrace. I run through the arched walkway and to the basin. I lean forward to place her barely conscious body into the tub.
“No,” she says as her skin touches the sands. “Don’t.”
“I know it hurts,” I say. “But it will save you.”
“I can’t heal with the arrow still lodged inside the wound,” she says. “It’s hopeless. Please don’t cause me any more pain.”
“Then I’ll remove the arrow,” I say.
“You don’t know how.”
“Then tell me.”
“Michael, please,” she says. “Let me just have one more peaceful moment with you.”
“Stop that,” I say. “We are going to get you through this like you did for me. Just tell me how.”
I lay her down on the floor as gently as I can, but she writhes in pain. I run to her d
esk. My blood-soaked hands rummage through the objects looking for anything I can find to help dislodge the arrow. I find the small saw and a knife. I also grab some gauze and fill a cup with water.
She groans loudly as I kneel down beside her.
“Can I just pull it out?” I ask.
She doesn’t respond. Her pale skin and glossy eyes send a chill down my neck.
“Terra!” I yell at her but she lies limp.
I need to act or else I will regret it. I grab the shaft of the arrow and prepare to rip it out, shaft and all.
“Don’t!” Sal lands on the Terrace. “Arrows are barbed. You will have to push it through, not pull it, and before you do that, you have to cut the shaft.”
I grab the saw. I press it toward the rod and begin to cut. Terra grimaces in pain as the arrow shifts forward and backward with my cutting motion.
“Please,” she says. “I beg you to stop.”
I ignore her.
I keep cutting while Sal stoops down beside me and looks into the wound.
“She’s not working with me here,” I say as the shaft breaks off. “She’s hurting too badly to think straight.”
Sal shakes his head. “I’m no Healer, but if you remove it, it could really hurt her. You can’t pull it out but if you push it through, you could make it worse.”
“Things can’t get any worse,” I say.
“In this case,” he says. “I think they can.”
“We’re two feet from the healing balm.”
“But the ointment takes time,” Sal yells at me. “Time that we don’t have. It can’t bring her back from the dead.”
“The dead.” His words are far too cold for my disbelieving ears. “What choice do I have?”
I feel a hand on my own. I look down and see Terra looking up at me. Her breaths are strained.
“Please.” She coughs. “Michael, it hurts.”
My eyes water.
I feel my own body tremble.
Her body temperature is decreasing. Her wound bleeds slower as the time passes.
“I ha-have you here with me.” she says. “Open it.”
I look at her blankly. “Open the wound?”
“No.” She reaches beside her on the little table.
I grab the pine box from her hand and look at it. Bloody fingerprints stick to the casing where she grabbed it.
“I will open this when you get better.”
“No,” she begs. “You don’t understand, I’m almost out of time.”
I will not just allow her to die.
Sal glares at me. “Don’t do this, Michael. You can’t bring her back from this. You will only make her last few moments that much worse.”
I grip the arrow.
“Please, no!” Terra screams. She tries to push me away. She is strong, but I subdue her.
“I love you,” I say, pushing her arms back. “I can’t live without you.”
“If you love me,” her voice squeals.
I don’t stop to hear her stall.
I push with all my strength. The arrow is more lodged than I thought. I keep jamming it. With each pop, Terra screams anew. She spits blood up into my face. Her body convulses and seizes on the ground.
The arrow dislodges behind her in a red river.
I pick up her shaking body. Sal reaches over to help me as we both rush over to the basin.
Her body falls into the tub.
Sal stares at me in horror. His mouth drops in disgust.
Terra’s eyes widen.
She grits her teeth as a look I have never seen before flashes across her face. Her lips contort into an agonized frown. Her muscles constrict and she cries out one last time in agony.
She falls silent as her eyes shut. She sinks into the liquid and her blood mixes with mine in the healing balm.
Chapter Seven
THE AFTERMATH
MUCH HAS INDEED CHANGED since I witnessed the dawn of the universe. The subtle shifting ceases to disguise itself anymore. The dark void of the unknown engulfs the pleasure of safety. Our world is gearing up for war.
I sit in this unkept garden of stench. The scent of ripening strawberries gives way to mold and rot. The green foliage dots with brown splotches of death and decay. The dried out flower petals blanket the ground.
I slide my bare feet along the ground only to feel blades of grass prick my skin.
I see everything different now that Terra is gone. This planet is cold, barren, and dying.
Order once reigned supreme here, but now the Rogues lay siege to our planet. We do not know how to fight back, nor can we protect ourselves.
My breed rests his head on my knees. He closes his eyes and pants in the heat. I appreciate his empathy. It helps me not feel so alone.
The trees rustle. Footsteps pad the ground.
For the first time in days, a smile etches across my face. My fists clinch and I lean forward, watching the trees sway back and forth. I wait for his arrival.
“Come at me, Rogue.” I lick my lips. I will have my revenge.
“You have a death wish don’t you?” he says.
“You stole everything that matters to me.”
I have no idea what I will do when he comes into view. My arsenal of attack moves involves running and lunging. Most likely, he will kill me swiftly, but I hate him so much I don’t care. I only care that I do what I can to mount some form of opposition. He can’t go unpunished.
In a perfect world, he will die a death more miserable than the one Terra did. But this isn’t a perfect world.
“We need to talk,” Sal walks from behind the bushes.
I sigh and drop my face into my hands.
“I’m sorry,” Sal says. “I followed you.”
He will get no response from me. It’s not his place to follow me.
“I don’t pretend to know how you feel.” He places his hand on my back.
I stay silent. My breed however does not. He growls at Sal when he sees him touch me. Sal steps back to avoid the animal’s claws.
“It’s okay,” I say to the animal.
The breed shakes his head and lies down by my feet.
Sal catches his breath. “Talk to me. Have we not been friends since the very beginning? Don’t shut me out now. Not when you need me.”
“I don’t need anyone but Terra and she is gone. There is nothing left for me.”
I try to remember the priceless moments Terra and I shared together, but they are blocked out by that final trauma. Those horrible, last tormented screams echo in my mind.
“I should have just let her die,” I say.
“No.” Sal shakes his head. “You would just be sitting here today wishing you’d done more.”
“I should have gone back to fight them when they came,” I say. “I stopped because I was afraid.”
“Nothing good comes from these regrets.”
“I hate these Rogues. What did any of us ever do to them to deserve this?”
“They hate us just because they hate us,” Sal says. “It’s just who they are. They rebel against the Origin and the Prince.
“So why did the Origin make them?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself.”
I lift the little pine box out of my pocket. Her bloody fingerprint still adorns the outside. It stands as a monument to that terrible point in time when half of my soul was ripped from me.
“She left me this. Right before it happened.”
“May I?” Sal reaches over and takes it from my palm. “You haven’t opened it yet?”
I nod. “As long as that murderous Rogue still lives, I have no right to look inside.”
He hands it back to me. I feel the wood in my fingers. Staring into it, my mind wanders. Where do our dead go? What happens to us when our paths end? What unseen dimension holds a place for our dead?
“You should be with your parallel,” I say. “Don’t take her for granted.”
“The Prince has placed Cynthia in the safe house,” Sa
l says. “She will be safe as we prepare.”
“Prepare?”
Sal looks off to the side as if he heard something. “That must be him.”
I have no idea what he is talking about, but I see a rustling in the bushes. Again, my hand lowers toward the knife I grabbed from Terra’s healing station.
The wind blows back his long blue cape. The gold lining reflects the sunlight right back into my eyes, as he marches toward me. His matching blue pant legs tucked neatly into tall black boots that lace up all the way above his calf. A bejeweled necklace dangles regally on his chest.
“My Prince,” I say, dropping to my knees.
He raises his hand.
Sal rises and I follow. I catch a furtive glance of the golden sheath pointing downward on the side of his leg. His hand, rests delicately upon the sword’s handle.
“The Prince looked for you at the Release,” Sal says. “It was a beautiful ceremony and he did great honor to those who passed, but he noticed that you were absent. He graciously asked me where he could find you.”
“Thank you.” I grit my teeth and refuse to look into his eyes.
“You blame me,” the Prince says. “I can sense it. You feel that it’s my fault she died.”
“She is gone,” I say.
“I cry about the passing of all my children,” he says. “But yes, she wielded the Healer’s light as brightly as any other angel in this world. My heart breaks for you.”
“How did you not see this coming?” I cut him off, surprised and somewhat thrown off guard by my own boldness. Sal shoots a calm down glance but I ignore him. “You’re the Prince. You have complete control over all the earth and its inhabitants. Yet you did nothing. You allowed this slaughter.”
The Prince pauses for a moment. If my words bother him at all, he doesn’t show it. Rather, his eyes soften, and he takes a long slow breath before he speaks.
“Sometimes, I fantasize about iron fisting my reign.” He smirks and shrugs. “But just like you had the freedom to decline a place in my army, others have the free will to rebel.”
“So that’s why you’re here?” I say.
Sal interjects. “Michael, the Prince is only here because he cares. He doesn’t want anything from you.”
Eternity Page 4