Mythangelus

by Constantine, Storm

  There was no alternative but to leave the land of angels immediately and find his way to the world of men himself. Perhaps there, he could find a secluded corner in which to meditate on his woes until death took the hand of age and left him lifeless. The thought of solitude gave him some comfort. Lailahel had spoken of earth as a crude and uncomfortable place, but Jadalan now remembered the dreams he had once had of green fields and shady glades in creeping forests filled with the bright eyes of woodland beasts. Let the angels keep their stark, beautiful purity; he would go to the land of his fathers. Only the thought of leaving Variel caused any real pang in his breast.

  As he packed his most treasured belongings, he kept seeing the huge violet eyes of the angel he loved. He saw the smile, the hair, the quickly moving hands. No matter! Hardening his heart, Jadalan crept from his bedroom and tiptoed down the misty corridors of the palace, out into the purple night, where moths the size of dinner plates flickered and glowed among the curling branches of a grove of maiden trees and the road shone white and hard towards the north.

  Jadalan walked through the night, past the temple he’d been ordered to excavate, past the boundary of Lailahel’s lands. As he walked, he found he was weeping and that his body was aching for a final embrace. But he was alone under a moonless sky and no-one heard him.

  In the lilac morning, Variel awoke and hurried down to the gleaming terrace where he, Jadalan and Lailahel were accustomed to break their fast. Only Lailahel was seated at the table sipping a distillation of amber crystals and staring with unreadable expression out towards the mud-limned city where the silver lake had once stood.

  ‘So where is Jadalan?’ Variel asked. ‘Have you set him another task?’

  Lailahel turned a speculative eye towards his son. Maybe there was a note of sarcasm in Variel’s voice that morning that was not usually present. ‘As you ask - yes,’ the angel replied stiffly.

  ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘What business is it of yours?’

  Variel shrugged. ‘Curiosity only.’

  ‘Someone has been helping the boy, I’m sure of it. Therefore, I consider it more prudent to keep to myself what I’ve asked him to do this time.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ Variel said smoothly, ‘but I fail to see why these tests are necessary. Hasn’t Jadalan been as much of a son to you as I am?’

  ‘A son to me, but what to you?’ the angel raged suddenly.

  Variel was taken aback. ‘A brother,’ he replied, ‘what else. I’m very fond of Jadalan and it upsets him that you should test his loyalty or his suitability to remain here like you’re doing.’

  ‘Variel, you are blind! I should send you too to the world of men to learn a little common sense. Jadalan desires you. He will violate your mind and body if he remains here. Don’t speak! Just think about my words. He will bring the crudity of humankind to our dreaming land. I won’t have it.’

  ‘What if he completes the tasks?’ Variel said quickly before Lailahel could silence him.

  The Angel of Conception stared long and narrowly at his son who, though small beneath his father’s gaze, stared back bravely. ‘If he completes the tasks?’ Lailahel laughed. ‘If he does that, he can have you. He can have you across my own dinner table if he likes! If he completes the task! Hah!’

  And with that, Lailahel drained the rest of his amber liquor and swept back into the palace of light.

  Variel sat trembling for a further pleat of light and shadow. Lailahel had left a lot of his rage behind, which lingered over the table like a pungent smoke. Variel was concerned for Jadalan, suspecting that this final task would be the hardest of all. He realised that Jadalan would have no hope of completing it without his help. Sighing, he rose and glided into the palace, gazing at the marvellous things that Jadalan had wrought for them. Climbing the white crystal stairs, he went to Jadalan’s room, hardly daring to hope that he would be there, but perhaps to gain some clue as to where Lailahel might have sent him. The room felt very different to how it usually did. This was because Jadalan had left a fume of grief and despair in the air - alien aromas to the palace of light. It also felt very empty. Variel sat on the bed and absorbed the atmosphere. After a few minutes, he gave a short gasp and shot to his feet. A cursory search confirmed his fears; Jadalan had gone. He had not gone to complete the task either, but just to wander away and find some corner in which to grieve. All this, Variel gleaned from the air of the room, but one thing he could not grasp - what the task had been. He must know! If he could complete it himself then he could find Jadalan and bring him back. Hadn’t Lailahel himself said that Jadalan could stay if the task were completed? Hadn’t he? Almost in a panic, Variel ran from room to room, trying to glean some clue, some pervading atmosphere, some phantom word or sigh that could tell him what he needed to know. There was nothing. Eventually, he paused in the salon where Jadalan had told Lailahel the lake had been drained. Naturally, the angel had been prudent enough to clean the atmosphere in the place; he wanted to be sure there was no way anyone could discover Jadalan’s final task, but he had forgotten one thing. On the far wall, almost obscured by a heavy curtain, hung a large, oval mirror. This was one of Jadalan’s creations and Lailahel had admired it, which was why it now hung on the wall. Variel passed through the room like a ghost himself and he heard the mirror whispering as it revolved the images it had absorbed over the past few days in its cold, glass soul. Variel paused and stared at the bright surface. Only his own reflection stared back. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Is Jadalan in there? Is he?’

  ‘Demon tree,’ the mirror whispered. ‘Crown of the tree. A pearl. A pearl...’

  ‘Demon tree?’

  ‘The tree of life. Its image.’

  ‘A pearl from the crown? Is that what he asked for?’ Variel could not believe his ears. Sabbalom, their neighbour, was notoriously solitary. It required aeons of negotiation even to secure a social visit, never mind permission to climb the image of the Tree that hung over his lawns. Variel was not sure whether even he could complete such a task. He sighed. Sure or not, it would have to be done. Why? He kept on staring into the mirror. He had lived for an age in this place before Jadalan came. Why risk danger just to keep him here? Couldn’t life resume its old pattern now? Variel considered. He thought about the barren days that would ensue without Jadalan’s bright company; the absence of his humour, the absence of his beauty. I would rather travel the world of men myself to find him, Variel thought. My father’s house is a wasteland without him.

  Thus a decision was made and without further hesitation, Variel transformed himself into a spiralling column of light-shot mist and whirled up and away towards the demon’s garden.

  Jadalan had come close to the edge of the angel’s kingdom. Ahead of him, a golden gate hung in the sky, flanked by winged sentinels holding drawn swords. The gate was so vast that he felt he could touch it, but it was some leagues off yet. Jadalan put down his bag of meagre belongings and stared back up the road for a moment. He could no longer see any of the shining dwellings of the angels, only a strange, flat plain of sparkling stones. Here the dominion of Earth crept over the threshold and the magical stuff of angelic creation drew back its toes in distaste. Jadalan allowed himself to shed a few last tears of farewell. His vision was blurred by them, to the extent that it seemed a shimmering vortex spun along the road towards him. Jadalan blinked and the rushing spiral was still there. He made a sound of distress and picked up his bag to run and run. He was sure it was Lailahel coming after him and he feared for his life. All misery was forgotten in that moment of stark desire for survival. He began to run, but the sparkling stones of the road had become slippery beneath his feet so it seemed that, as if in a dream, he could not go forward at all. The rushing wind was nearly upon him and, uttering one last despairing, defiant wail, Jadalan fell to his knees, covering his face, letting the vortex engulf him. But then there was no cold, furious embrace but only a sudden stillness and a voice he knew saying, ‘Jadalan, Jadalan, get up. Get up
quickly.’ The voice was almost unrecognisable because of its hollow ring of fear but he could tell it was Variel.

  The instant relief and joy that recognition gave him soon subsided to a more bitter, spiteful human reaction. ‘You should not follow me, Variel,’ Jadalan said. ‘I am returning to the land of my fathers, as Lailahel wants, and, if you were truly honest with me, you’d say you wanted too.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Jadalan!’ Variel said, surprised.

  ‘I won’t return! I can’t!’

  ‘I know that. Neither can I. Look.’ Variel held out his hand and uncurled the long, pale fingers. In his palm rested a single, enormous, perfect pearl in which the colours of the universe shifted and writhed. Variel looked at the light of it reflected in Jadalan’s face.

  ‘The pearl. You took it.’ He looked at Variel. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It seems senseless, I know. When Sabbalom comes cursing over the wall, Lailahel will know that it was me who took it. I’ve exiled myself. For you. It’s senseless. I don’t know why. I thought I could sneak in and steal it and bring you back. We could have said you’d taken it yourself and everything would have been alright. I must have been out of my mind. The place was crawling with sentinels who kicked up such a cacophony when they saw me that Sabbalom himself came out onto the lawn. He saw me and was furious. He will know who I was. I can’t go back. You must take me with you.’

  Jadalan looked wretched. ‘No, Variel, I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘You’d hate it and then you would hate me. Say, I bewitched you, anything, only go back to your father’s palace. I beg you.’ He had clenched his fists helplessly in front of him.

  ‘How strange you are Jadalan. You don’t want me to go back at all,’ Variel said. ‘Neither am I going to.’

  ‘I’m human, you’re an angel. You’d pine for your home. Please. Go back. Let me go.’

  ‘No. I don’t want to live here without you. I can change. I can live in the world of men. Others have done it. I want to be with you, Jadalan.’ He held out his arms and wrapped Jadalan in them.

  Then Jadalan was lost and could not have sent Variel back for all the freedom in the world. They clung to each other, tiny as pins on the wide, glittering road, with the great gate of creation hanging over them.

  ‘Come,’ Variel said. ‘Lailahel will follow, I’m sure of it. We must go.’

  Jadalan kissed Variel one last time and picked up his bag. Together they walked towards the gate, swiftly, not looking back. After a few steps Jadalan said, ‘What is that odd noise, Variel?’ He made to turn and look behind them, but Variel hissed.

  ‘No, don’t look, don’t look! It is just a breeze passing over the stones, nothing more.’ They increased their pace.

  ‘Variel,’ Jadalan said in a low, tense voice. ‘I am filled with fear - filled with it! What is that noise?’

  Variel clutched his arm, bringing pain. His face was almost translucent, his eyes wide and completely black. ‘Don’t look back, don’t say what you think it is. There are just soul birds flying above us, that’s all. Quick! Quick!’

  They were almost running. Hot air blew the hair up on their heads and a whistling scream penetrated through the wind; a scream of fury and potency.

  ‘Variel, it’s him! It’s Lailahel!’ Jadalan screamed, unable to keep the name inside him any longer.

  ‘Then run! Then run! Then run!’ Variel replied, and half swooping, half running, he dragged Jadalan along the road, which roiled like smoke beneath them, a writhing black shadow between them and the gate.

  Jadalan felt tears of sheer terror sting his face. He could hardly see the Gate now and swore he could feel the hot breath of the avenging angel on the back of his neck.

  Suddenly, Variel pulled him to a halt. ‘Keep going, Jadalan,’ he said, ‘I shall distract Lailahel in some way. I will come to you. Keep going.’

  ‘No,’ Jadalan croaked. ‘You won’t. Lailahel will kill you. Let’s keep going - together...’

  ‘Hush, no time for that, no time at all. Run. I love you. Run.’ And Variel let out one shuddering gasp of breath and blew Jadalan up the road.

  Jadalan wailed and waved his arms, calling out, until Variel disappeared into the black smoke. His voice came faintly to Jadalan’s ears or maybe into his mind. ‘I’ll come to you, I promise. But you’ll only know me if nobody else touches you in love before I come. Otherwise your memory of me will fade completely. Take care, Jadalan, and wait for me!’

  Then the black mist enclosed Variel completely. The Gates of Creation creaked open and Jadalan was sucked, head over heels into the world of men.

  Variel stood small and straight upon the road, facing the approach of Lailahel, with Jadalan’s wails fading behind him. All he had as protection was the pearl from the Tree, and his knowledge of such things was far from all-encompassing. Lailahel appeared as a black storm, eyed with golden orbs of anger. The raging column paused in front of Variel, its spin decreasing until the tall, slim form of the angel could be seen hovering within it. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked in a reasonable voice.

  ‘I am following Jadalan to the world of men,’ Variel replied. ‘You cannot stop me Lailahel. I have made up my mind.’

  Lailahel uttered an indulgent laugh. ‘A pretty show of loyalty, dear child, but woefully misplaced! Do you realise what will happen to you in that place?’

  ‘Nothing worse than the emptiness I’ll feel should Jadalan go from my life.’

  ‘Such loneliness would be a boon in comparison! Foolish child! If you turn from our world and live upon the Earth, you will become mortal as they are, doomed to age and die. But neither will you become one of them. You can’t. Neither man nor woman can you be, and they will fear you because of that. They will cast you out and pelt your body with stones, a body that will be an abomination to them, because they will not understand it. They will desire you and loathe you. And as for your beloved Jadalan, well, under the light of his own sun you will appear as a demon to him, a creature of darkness. What is translucent and holy here in our lands will become freakish clay beneath the sun. Follow him, Variel, and you condemn yourself to a misery as eternal as mortal life can be.’

  Variel hesitated. Then he said, ‘You lie,’ in a small, uncertain voice.

  Lailahel laughed. ‘Lie, do I? In your heart you know that I do not. Come home with me. If you desire closeness then I can give it to you, but do not turn to mortal beings for that - ever. They will destroy you, as they destroy all things they do not understand. And, it must be said, he could never give you pleasure, Variel. It is beyond his capabilities. Stay with your own kind. Come home.’

  Variel still hesitated. He stared hard at Lailahel, whose golden eyes were impenetrable as the metal itself. ‘I shall have to see this for myself,’ he said at last.

  ‘You won’t be able to return if everything goes black. You do know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I gave him my word I’d follow.’

  ‘They expect us to break promises. We are angels, unpredictable and contrary. Forget him, Variel. Come home.’

  ‘In my mind, I see the sense in your words, Lailahel, but my heart is telling my mind to be silent. I love Jadalan. I must follow him, for good or bad. I have no choice.’

  Then Lailahel grew in stature until the image of him filled the whole, glowing sky. He turned the sky livid violet with his fury. ‘I will not let you go, Variel. You are my son.’ And poisonous tendrils of semi-solid fume snaked towards him.

  Variel screamed, unsure of what to do. He found that he had tossed the pearl from the crown of the Tree of Life high into the air, where it spun and spun; a single bright mote against the shadows of the angel’s rage. The pearl contained the sum of all knowledge, a blinding ache that burst into the air of the land of angels, a thousand thousand sharp thrusts of light and meaning. In an instant, Lailahel was given the vision of Variel, bound and helpless, chained in the palace of light and the light was gone from him. He was given the vision of himself suffering the pain of love un
requited as Variel watched the windows for a Jadalan who could never return. All life would be sterile should Lailahel force Variel to return home. With a wail that equalled Jadalan’s in despair and wretchedness, Lailahel was sucked inside the vortex of his own ire and disappeared with an eerie hiss in the direction of the palace of light.

  Variel was left upon the road, alone. He turned around. Above him the giant sentinels spread their wings and drew back the Gates that he should pass. He flew towards them. They did not look at him directly. Variel followed Jadalan into the world of men.

  Jadalan meanwhile had emerged from the realm of angels in the land of Cos and, as fortune was with him, very close to the city of Ashbrilim, the home of his parents. It was early morning there and Jadalan found himself walking along a wide, dusty road with fields on either side. He stared at the marvels of the mortal world; the jewel colours of the trees and grasses and flowers, the impossible hue of the morning sky as the sun rose in the east. Horses galloped through the dew, mad with the joy of simply being alive. He walked and walked, and, as the hour drew on, came across other people setting out for their day’s work in the fields, the markets, the villages. At noon, he paused by a well to drink and a pretty girl with green eyes and a brown dress offered him a cup of milk instead. She took him to her cottage and fed him and then offered him more than food or drink. ‘Kiss me,’ she said, pouting prettily. ‘I’ve never seen a lad more handsome than you.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he replied, smiling.

  ‘And why’s that? Spoken for, are you?’

  ‘In a way. I’m waiting for an angel.’

  The girl laughed good-humouredly and pestered him no more. Jadalan could tell she thought him strange, perhaps mad. He left the village, still heading west. By late afternoon, the spires and turrets of Ashbrilim could be seen like a mirage in the sky. Jadalan asked an old man scything grass by the road, ‘Is that the city of King Ashalan?’