Mythangelus

by Constantine, Storm

  And so, long before dawn, Jadrin carried Nothing to the creamy-stoned temple. He roused the priests, who sleepily shuffled into the Hall of Naming and lit the candles and incense.

  ‘Hurry,’ Jadrin said, glancing through the windows. Only grey light showed outside.

  They named the child Jadalan, for his parents, and crowned him with myrtle leaves. Surely no malefic entity could touch him now. Jadrin knelt before the altar and entreated the Goddess to protect the child. Perhaps he had done wrong in invoking the angel, but it had been done for love and without evil intent. Feeling reassured, Jadrin went back to the palace, leaving Jadalan in the care of the priests.

  At dawn, the angel came to him in his sitting-room. Jadrin was holding a child on his knee, a happy, bonny creature. ‘Then take him,’ Jadrin said and held the child out, turning away as the angel’s glowing fingers closed around the plump, pink body.

  ‘You had your wish, Lord Jadrin,’ Lailahel said, ‘and several years’ enjoyment of it too. Think yourself blessed that I concurred with your desires at all!’

  ‘Forgive my ingratitude,’ Jadrin replied curtly, ‘but I can find no comfort in your words. Just take the child and go.’

  Lailahel put the child onto his back and flew up through the ceiling, manifesting himself on another plane of existence. There was quite a journey ahead to the angel’s palace of light, but travelling through the aether is an intense pleasure in itself and time means nothing there. Pausing to rest, Lailahel put the child down upon a glittering crystal rock.

  ‘Well,’ it said, ‘Soon you will be a long, long way from the place you know as home. Do you wonder what your parents are doing now, little nothing child?’

  ‘I know what,’ the child said frankly. ‘My mother will be feeding the hens behind the kitchens and my father will be putting new loaves into the oven.’

  With a horrified howl, the angel realised that he had been tricked. Furiously, he cast the child back into the world of men, some yards from the city gates. ‘Find your own way home!’ it boomed. ‘And tell Lord Jadrin I will be back at sunset!’

  ‘It was a mistake,’ Jadrin said mildly when Lailahel returned.

  ‘Mistake? Don’t try my patience. Don’t try to tell me you don’t know your own child, Lord Jadrin!’ The angel glowered, emitting a poisonous aura of brown and livid red.

  Jadrin shrugged. ‘Nothing is very similar indeed to the baker’s son. I was distraught at losing him, blind with grief. The child you want is playing with the dogs on the terrace. Take him, take him.’

  ‘You should apologise for the inconvenience you have caused me,’ said the angel in a peevish voice. ‘Otherwise, I could cause all of your hair to fall dead upon the floor and really blind you, forever, grief or no grief.’

  ‘I am mortified!’ Jadrin clutched his throat, a picture of wounded innocence.

  Lailahel experienced a pang of satisfaction that such a beautiful creature had formed the magical child he intended to abduct. ‘Very well. Have no fears for the boy, Jadrin. He shall grow in power and magnificence far more than he could have done under your care.’ And in a whirl of light, Lailahel, formless and spiralling, swept out of the window and across the terrace.

  A black haired boy sat upon the chequered, marble tiles whispering to a pair of panting, grinning hounds. Light enfolded him, warm and strong as hands. Still giggling, the child was borne aloft, tossed onto the angel’s back and away.

  This time, they travelled overland; fields and forests passed beneath them as they rushed towards the sinking sun. Lailahel listened with pleasure to the delighted cries of the child as the world flashed by beneath them. However, a faint but persistent niggle of doubt caused him to sigh, ‘You will soon be far from the world you know, little nothing child. Do you wonder what your parents are doing now?’

  ‘That’s easy!’ responded the child, precociously, ‘My father will be waiting on table in the king’s apartments while my mother mends lace in the butler’s parlour.’

  Only the fact that he was prince of conception and thus, in some ways, a patron of children, prevented Lailahel from hurling the unfortunate boy to the ground and hurtling straight to Ashbrilim to raze the palace to the ground. He swallowed his fury and with a graceful curl, skimmed around and flew back the way he had come.

  Jadrin and Ashalan, as the child had predicted, were indeed sitting down to enjoy their evening meal. The light had not yet vanished from the sky when all the long, arched windows of the dining-room burst asunder and the angel Lailahel gusted into the room. With frightening calm, he strode over to the table and placed the butler’s child among the tureens of vegetables. ‘Your servant may be missing this,’ the angel said dryly.

  Jadrin attempted to bluster some reply but the angel raised his hand and shook his head.

  ‘I don’t want to hear your excuses, Lord Jadrin. There is only one thing to be said and it is this. Unless the real child of your blood is brought to me immediately, I shall be forced to shake this magnificent and historic building to rubble and then curse you and your beloved king with a dreadful plague, which you shall unwittingly spread to all your subjects before dying a particularly painful and undignified death. I hope I’ve made my intentions clear.’

  ‘I don’t think there can be any doubt as to your determination,’ Jadrin said in a choked voice. He turned to Ashalan. ‘We have no choice. We will have to give up our son.’

  ‘You should never have done this, Jadrin,’ Ashalan said. He called for the butler. ‘Your son is returned to you,’ he said. ‘Have no fear, we appreciate the service you did for us and you and your wife may keep the gold we gave you. Be thankful that events have turned out this way. Now, be so kind as to have your good woman bring out Prince Jadalan.’

  With great sorrow, Jadrin handed his son to the angel, who smiled and said, ‘In future, have the good sense to adopt some earthly child, Lord Jadrin. I believe there are plenty of them about. Good evening to you!’ And with a spiral of blinding effulgence, he whisked the child onto his back and flew away, towards the red sky of the west.

  As they streaked between the rosy clouds Lailahel felt to compelled to ask, ‘What do you suppose your parents are doing now, little nothing child?’

  Prince Jadalan curled his perfect little white fists in the angel’s streaming hair and said, ‘You know very well, Lord Lailahel. They will be grieving my loss and perhaps ordering somebody to sweep up the glass in their dining-room.’

  Thus, with a deeply satisfied laugh, the angel looped and wheeled and disappeared from the world of men taking Jadalan the changeling child with him.

  Living With the Angel

  Lailahel, prince of conception, lived in a far and mystical realm, high above the souls and aspirations of mankind. His home was a wondrous palace, wrought of light and sound, where every room had a mysterious tale to tell and strange aethers roamed the tall, echoing corridors.

  Jadalan, the abducted son of the King of Ashbrilim, was very impressed with this new home. Because he was only a child, because he was only half-human and because of the angel’s potent power, the memory of his old life soon began to fade. Away went the vision of green fields stretching beyond the city walls. Away, the sight of rolling forests to the north, skirting the great purple mountains where the night eagles lived. Forgotten too, were the faces of Jadalan’s parents; the witch-boy Jadrin and the king himself. Estranged from the lands of men, Jadalan became more angel than human.

  Now, sometimes angels stretch and stretch so far that they release a portion of themselves into new reality. Lailahel had done this once and had formed for himself a son of his own - though son is not really the word for an angel child. As all angelic creatures, they are neither one gender nor the other, but something of both and sometimes nothing of either. Lailahel’s child was named Variel. He was pleased to have a companion, especially one as strange and unethereal as Jadalan. Wherever Jadalan walked in the palace, things came into being as if he called them from the air. Variel could not
do that and was delighted when Jadalan made him dogs and jewels and bizarre furniture. ‘It was there all the time,’ Jadalan would say.

  ‘But no-one can make them real like you can,’ Variel would reply.

  They played together in the crystal fields beyond the palace, where ferns the size of houses swayed and sang to them. Jadalan learned all about the spirits that live beyond the senses of a human and how to call them up and speak with them. The air always smelled of jasmine in that place and at night the sky became a deep, rich purple, but there were no stars. Jadalan slept in a bed of sighing mist and ate from bowls of honeyed ambrosia whenever he was hungry. Lailahel, obviously genuinely fond of the boy, taught him many arcane things and would brush out his hair with the sparks that flowed from his fingers. Jadrin’s childhood, therefore, was nothing other than idyllic, but Lailahel was careful to teach the boy about the dark side of existence; misery, loss, privation and pain. The angel knew that if the boy remained ignorant of these things he could only ever exist as a powerless half-creature. However, Jadalan’s journeys through such experiences were always necessarily those of the mind and he would always wake up to the soothing light of his wondrous home and the cries of his nightmares would fade away to mere lessons in his head.

  Nonetheless, he learned and grew to be a wise yet joyful sixteen year old, with more angel in him than he’d ever have had growing up in the gardens of Ashbrilim. As he grew in wisdom, so he grew in beauty and eventually because of the close proximity in which they existed, Jadalan and Variel fell in love. Neither of them particularly understood what they were feeling because they were very innocent and neither of them had any idea what the strange sensations in their bodies could mean or how they could be satisfied. Lailahel noticed their growing closeness with unease. He knew that if they discovered the pleasures of the flesh, they might want to leave and form their own astral palace. Lailahel would no longer have control of either of them. Caught up in a maelstrom of jealousy, that had more than one cause, Lailahel decided that Jadalan would have to leave the palace of light. Variel was of his essence; the angel could not bear to lose him.

  One morning soon after this revelation, Lailahel said to Jadalan, ‘You are nearly a man, or as close to a man as you can get, therefore the time of testing has come. You must undertake a series of tasks, which, if you fail them, will mean you’ll have to return to the world of men.’

  Jadalan looked horrified. In many ways, he had lived an idle life.

  ‘It may sound hard,’ Lailahel said, ‘But believe me, it’s for the best. Beyond the blue fields of the north, you will find a single stone sticking from the ground at the boundary of my lands. It is the last stone of the spire of a buried temple. By sundown tonight, you must have excavated that temple or else be cast out into the world of men, where you will be cold and the light may burn you.’

  Miserably, Jadalan trudged down the blue fields until he saw the stone that Lailahel had spoken of. Using a spade which he’d manifested into being on the way, he tore at the crumbling, fragrant, crystalline soil, but as fast as he dug a hole the crystals fell back into it. The land was too dry, the spade too small. By the time Variel came down the field to bring him a lunch of ambrosia, Jadalan was in despair, clawing at the ground with his bare hands. ‘Oh Variel, tonight I must leave here,’ he cried. ‘As fast as I try to dig up the temple, it is covered again. There’s no hope.’

  ‘Don’t fret,’ said Variel. ‘Go over to that hill and lie down and rest. You’ll get nowhere if you’re tired. Perhaps I can think of a way to help you.’

  Jadalan and Variel went to the hill and sat down together. Jadalan ate his dinner and then collapsed on the short, alien turf, exhausted by his work. As soon as he saw this, Variel got to his feet and went back to stand by the temple stone. He held out his arms and cried out to the sky,

  ‘All ye beasts of field and stone,

  All ye beasts of woodland throne,

  Attend me now and dig this earth,

  Bring the temple to rebirth.’

  And in a great flash of blue light, strange creatures hastened out from the trees of glass and metal, burrowed up through the crystal soil and flowed round Variel’s ankles like a sea of fur and spines and fluff. He directed them to their work and, by the time Jadalan stretched and yawned and sat up on the hill, in the valley there stood a magnificent, gleaming temple. Jadalan knew that Variel had done this for him and ran down the hill to take the angel’s child in his arms. ‘You have saved me,’ he said and kissed Variel on the mouth. It was an impulsive gesture and one they had not thought to try before.

  However, Variel was afraid of experimentation. ‘We must return to the palace,’ he said. ‘Lailahel will be pleased that you have passed the first test.’

  This, of course, was not altogether true. Lailahel suspected that Jadalan must have had some kind of outside help but it never crossed his mind that Variel might have had anything to do with it. ‘You will find tomorrow’s task just as simple, I’m sure,’ he said silkily. ‘To the west of the palace is a lake that is seven miles long and seven miles wide. Your next task is to drain it so that I may walk in the ruins of an ancient angelic city that used to stand there.’

  Jadalan was again filled with alarm. At daybreak, after a mostly sleepless night, he set out for the great, still lake to the west of the palace. In the weird, morning light, it appeared as a polished, silver tray. Surely, some liquid other than water lay there. Jadalan went to the shore of the lake. White sand of fragrant resin crunched beneath his feet to release a pungent perfume that made his head ache. The lake was absolutely motionless - and vast. He sat down in the sand and rested his chin on his fists to stare helplessly out over the object of his task. He had no magic strong enough to deal with it. By tonight, he was sure, he would once again be treading the rough earth of the world of men, homeless and unwanted.

  After a while, Variel came down to the lake, bearing a pitcher of milk for Jadalan’s refreshment. ‘As you can see, I’ve made very little progress in draining the lake,’ Jadalan said scornfully and with a dismal, humourless laugh.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Variel replied. ‘Drink this milk and lie down to rest on that bank of wild myrhh-moss over there. Perhaps I can think of some way to help you.’

  Gratefully, Jadalan did as he was told. The milk made him sleepy and presently he fell asleep.

  Then, Variel went to stand at the edge of the lake and raised his arms to the sky, calling out over the shining surface,

  ‘Silver beasts of foam and wave,

  Attend to me, my friend we’ll save,

  Drain the lake and drink it dry,

  Reveal the city to the sky.’

  Immediately, the calm, mirror surface of the lake began to stir. Fish of every shape and size swam up through fizzures in the lake-bed from other water-ways, underground rivers, and hidden oceans. Being angelic by nature they swallowed the liquid of the lake and took it with them back to their shadowy aquatic realms, far beneath the ground. And in its place, the ancient city stood revealed, purple weed clinging to its ragged spires, its proud avenues choked with silt and stones. Jadrin awoke and ran to the edge of what was now an enormous crater. ‘Variel, how did you do it?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘It was done because it had to be done,’ Variel replied. ‘Let us return to the palace, so we may tell Lailahel.’

  ‘If first I may kiss you again,’ Jadalan said.

  Variel looked surprised. ‘Well, if you want to, then you may.’

  Jadalan put his arms around the angel child, and thought about how slim he was, how fragile. He took a handful of Variel’s silver hair and thought about how fine it was, how pure and fragrant. ‘Variel, you are beautiful,’ he said. ‘I could never tire of looking at you.’

  ‘Tire, maybe not. But Lailahel will lock me away if we don’t return home. It is late.’

  ‘Are you afraid of me in some way, Variel?’

  ‘Perhaps I am. After all, you are an earthly creature.’

  ‘T
hen maybe I should return to the place where I came from!’ Jadalan cried, surprised at the pain those words inspired.

  He ran away from Variel, up the swaying fields towards the palace. I belong nowhere, he thought. I am neither man nor angel. What am I? Is there anywhere I can truly belong?

  Lailahel could not disguise his agitation when Jadalan summoned him to a western window of the palace and showed him the drained lake and the city that lay there instead.

  ‘I would advise you to wait until the mud has dried before you attempt to walk the streets of that place,’ Jadalan said, trying to be helpful. ‘It looked very deep and smelled most unpleasant.’

  ‘Don’t presume to lecture me, boy!’ Lailahel snapped. ‘So you completed the task?’

  Jadalan looked away. He found it very difficult to lie. ‘The task is completed, yes,’ he said.

  At this, Lailahel gripped his arm with talonned fingers. ‘You don’t fool me! By the elements, you surely have the blood of Jadrin in your veins. A minx, a trickster, like him! Who helped you, boy? Who drained the lake for you?’

  ‘I did it myself!’ Jadalan cried, feeling his face grow hot.

  Lailahel appeared to withdraw into an icy tranquillity. His temper sloughed away. ‘Very well. Tomorrow, complete the last task or it’s back to the earth for you! In the centre of my neighbour’s garden is an image of the Tree of Life. I want you to climb it and bring me back a pearl from the crown you will find in a nest at the top of the tree.’

  ‘Your neighbour’s garden?’ Jadalan repeated in a small voice.

  ‘Just so,’ replied the angel.

  Jadalan went directly to his room, threw himself on the bed and wept. He knew that Lailahel’s neighbour was a crusty demon of truculent and unreasonable nature, who guarded his land with basilisks and cockatrices, who devoured first and asked questions later. Even before he reached the Tree of Life, Jadalan knew his task was doomed. He realised that Lailahel really meant to kill him, and in a flash of insight saw the tasks for what they were. Lailahel had no intention of testing him, he could see that now. He only wants to be rid of me, Jadalan thought miserably. It is because I am half human.