“But couldn't God heal you? I mean, He's God, right? There isn't anything He can't do.”
Sariel smiled sadly. “And now I ask you to remember how my brothers and I were formed. We were created from the Lord's own essence, His body if you will. Any other creature could be healed, but God is eternal. He has no need to heal Himself and so He could not heal us. That is a simplistic explanation, I know, but it will have to do for now. And so, we stood before Heaven and before our Creator. And He passed judgment on us. To the Angel of the Morning he said 'Son of my body, you are not worthy of Heaven. Evil is your only legacy. You wish dominion over imperfect beings? So be it. I grant you your kingdom and name it Hades. Go forth and rule it as you see fit. Fill it to the brim with beauty or make it hideous. But Heaven is closed to you forever.”
Chris was listening, fascinated. Again, Sariel was reliving the moment but his face didn't reflect satisfaction or anger; he was simply sad, almost bereft.
“For the last time, my beloved brother...crippled, murderous, proud...looked around at Heaven. He seemed to be trying to absorb and store the memory of its splendor against a bitter future. And then he raised his head, refusing to look at our Father, and called out: 'All of you who love me, my brothers and sisters! Who would come with me into dismal exile? Step forth into glory, or remain forever under the rule of a imperfect and pathetic God!' I looked around at the legions of Heaven, convinced that none would follow an angel who had betrayed God. But I was wrong. Slowly, hesitantly, in small groups or alone, angels stepped forth from the multitudes. No archangels thankfully, but untold numbers came and stood by my traitorous brother. He finally looked at our Father. 'Remember this moment, Father. You shall see us again, when we storm the gates of Heaven and take Your crown from You. And when that moment comes, Creation will once again be what it was meant to be...pure and unsullied by the animals You would bring into its folds.'”
Sariel sighed softly and looked at Chris almost in wonder. “Imagine saying that to God, the One who created him. Our Father did not answer, but with a look swept them all away to their new 'kingdom'. And then He turned to me. 'What judgment should I render unto you, my loyal and impulsive son?' He asked me. Heaven held its breath and Michael looked at me with such heartbreak in his eyes.”
“Wait a minute!” Chris said in outrage. “Judgment? You protected Him! Satan was going to strike Him down and you saved Him! Why should you be punished?”
“Did I, Chris? Can you really harm God? I didn't know, of course. He was in fleshly form and He was being attacked by one who was of the same essence. That is why I intervened. But in the countless years since, I've wondered. Did I truly save my Father? Or was it a test finally? A test of the three firstborn. If so, only Michael proved worthy. I had struck down my brother. Yes, for good cause, perhaps. But I committed the first act of violence that Creation had ever known. How could I not be judged?” He sighed again. “My Lord did not punish me though. I was left to choose my own fate. And so, knowing that my mad, infinitely powerful brother would one day attempt an attack on Heaven, I chose to come here.” Sariel looked around at the desolate plain. He began walking again toward the drop-off and Chris hurried to catch up.
“Here? But Sariel, where are we, really?”
They finally reached the edge of the cliff and looked down hundreds of feet. Chris felt a violent sense of vertigo and had to step back for a moment until the dizziness passed. Below him was what looked like a beach leading from the base of the cliff several hundred yards to an endless sea. But the water was frozen. Splashing waves and plumes of froth caught in an instant of absolute cold, looking like finely made crystal sculptures, stretched out to the horizon. Along the bottom of the cliff were an endless line of colorful tents, pennants raised above them flapped in the constant wind. There were tiny figures gathered around the tents, sitting, standing, walking. And a line of these figures streamed constantly from the cliff to the frozen water's edge and back again. The rows of beings standing at the line where the sea met the shore stretched out of sight to Chris' left and right
He caught his breath as he narrowed his eyes and tried to see more details of the people below. They were winged! They were...”
“My God, Sariel. They're angels!” Chris gasped.
“Yes, my friend. Angels. As my wicked brother had those who loved him more than Heaven itself, so did I. Those below followed me into my self-appointed exile. I did not ask them to do this. Indeed, I begged them to stay with our Father. But they chose to come regardless. And now they stand an endless watch on the shores of the Frozen Sea. Waiting.”
Chris asked the obvious question. “Waiting for what?”
Sariel turned and looked back the way they had come. He pointed and Chris followed his gaze. He let out a faint cry. Beyond the immense plain of dust and decay was a horizon where a range of mountains loomed up higher than any he had ever seen. How did I not see those, he wondered. And where the mountains met in the middle of the horizon was a gap, filled with a silver light of such purity that Chris felt tears start in his eyes.
“The gates of Heaven, Chris. We guard the gates of Heaven.” Sariel looked back over the Frozen Sea. “And from there, one day will come the demonic hordes of my fallen brother. For that way lies the gates of Hell. And this,” he glanced around dismally. “This is Purgatory. My home almost since the beginning of time. My punishment and my duty all in one.”
Chapter 11
Chris tried to sort out what he was hearing, what he was seeing. It was too much, too fast. He couldn't put it all together.
“Purgatory? This place? But I thought that Purgatory was where souls went who were neither pure enough to enter Heaven nor evil enough to enter Hell?”
Sariel's expression was exquisitely sad. “And so we are. Exactly. But not souls, Chris. Angels. Unwelcome in Heaven, too good for Hell. That describes us very well indeed.” He made a visible effort to get himself under control. “But time runs short, Chris. You've been gone too long as it is. You needed to see this though, to understand the stakes in the coming war. You see, Earth is where it all began. The devil was born there, the rift between Heaven and Hell, angels versus demons. Earth was the starting point. And because Creation works in a balanced way, the end must also start with Earth. My brother has to destroy your world to create a gate into Purgatory. And if he does, I do not know if my legions will be able to stop him.”
“But Sariel, they're endless.” Chris pointed down at the hordes below.
“No, not endless, Chris. They are finite. We are all there are. No reinforcements will come from Heaven if we fail. My brother has the advantage there.” At Chris' look of confusion, Sariel smiled. “Souls, Chris. He has been corrupting and recruiting human souls to use in his army against Heaven. His forces vastly outnumber mine even now, and if he destroys your world, his numbers will swell even more.”
“And what will happen if he does break through your lines and reaches Heaven. Can he really defeat God?” Chris waited desperately for the reply. Sariel spoke slowly, apparently feeling his way through the answer.
“No Chris, he cannot. But if he reaches Heaven's gate, he will awaken a power that has never been tested.” He answered Chris' look of confusion. “Michael. He is the commander of the Heavenly Host. He stands at the right hand of God. And never has his anger been kindled. But should Satan threaten Heaven, I know my loving brother well enough to see the consequences. He will unleash all of the power that is within him. And that power, second only to God's own, focused by his rage and backed by the truly endless numbers of archangels and angels at his command, will destroy the devil and his legions. But it will also destroy the Universe itself.” He shook his head violently. “I cannot allow that, Chris. Your planet is the focal point, but the amount of life in the Universe is immense. Countless civilizations, intelligences to rival the angels themselves, wonders without end. I will not allow Satan to initiate their destruction.” He put his hand on Chris' shoulder. And as Chris watched in awe, S
ariel changed.
The archangel grew. His clothes transformed into red-hot armor. His hair faded to gray and flowed down almost to his waist. And suddenly Chris was looking up at a being over twice his height, who stared down at him with eyes that glowed like sapphires. Over his right shoulder stretch a wing feathered, not in white, but gray like the plains around them. But from his left shoulder, the wing hung down, broken and dragging behind him. The scars on Sariel's face looked fresh and tiny rivulets of blood dripped down from his chin. But the face was still Chris' face, huge and hideously transformed. Chris could only look for a moment before he turned away, overwhelmed by a grief that he could not understand.
“You see me as I am, Chris. As we are. You were created by our Father, a blessing to me and a chance for redemption, from a piece of my soul. The rest of me dwells within you. Together we must find a way to stop the evil that is approaching your world as inexorably as time itself. If you are willing.”
That last statement caused Chris to look back up at Sariel. “If I'm willing? Wait. You mean, I can refuse?”
“Of course you can. You have free will, Chris. We are one, but you are, as they say, in the driver's seat. You must make the choice to either fight or flee. I will abide by that choice. Indeed, I must.”
“Are you sure?” Chris was suddenly suspicious. “You took over when Anna opened that box.”
Sariel shook his huge head. “Momentarily and enraged. It will not happen again. It cannot happen again. And I did not stop because Anna put that hideous artifact back in the box. You stopped me, Chris. Yes, you.” He looked down at the forces below, then turned and put his immense hand back on Chris' shoulder. “I want to give you something, Chris. A way to tap into my power that now lives within you, and to prove that you and I actually met face to face.” He reached behind his back to some hidden pocket and pulled out a shard of metal. It gleamed like silver but also seemed hot, like his armor. At least, Chris could see heat ripples in the air above it.
“When I struck down my brother that fateful day, my sword was shattered by his power. The hilt, crosspiece and blade were scattered across the Earth, buried deep in the primeval crust. All that remained was this sliver.” Sariel squeezed the fragment in his palm so hard that his arm shook. He worked his fingers into the metal and then opened his palm and showed Chris the result.
It was a ring. It glowed and flashed but the heat no longer radiated from it. The edges were rough and jagged and Chris cringed inside at the thought of trying to slip it on to a finger. “To use my power, Chris, the power of an archangel, you will need to find a focus for it. The only thing in the material plane that can do this is my sword, whole and intact.”
“But your sword was broken.” Chris wasn't sure what Sariel was asking of him.
“Yes, as I told you. But with this ring, you will at least be able to use some of the power. It won't tap into the deepest reservoir of my strength, but it should be sufficient. For now. If you one day need to use the full power of an archangel, and one of the firstborn at that, this ring will guide you to the other pieces. Yes, I know that I am rushing this and you are filled with confusion but our time together is done. Take the ring.” Chris accepted the ring from Sariel. It was heavier than it looked. “Think on what you've seen and heard here. Talk to the judge if you wish; he is a good and wise man. And then make your choice. If you choose to fight, put on the ring, but know that once you do, you will wear it until you reassemble the sword. Don't wait too long. Time is short.”
“But...” Chris started to say and then he blinked as he found himself standing in the empty kitchen again. Now he could smell the remnants of baked bread in the air and he saw several loaves left under a towel to rise overnight. He looked around and found the clock. Five in the morning? He frowned. It had felt a lot longer than a couple of hours. He looked down at the ring still in his hand. It glowed dully. He shrugged and put it in his pocket.
He was suddenly very hungry and went to look in the fridge, when the phone in his pocket rang shrilly in the quiet room. He jumped and quickly pulled it out.
“Hello?”
“Ah, Mr. Wright! I've been trying to reach you for over an hour.” He recognized Martin's voice. Did this guy ever sleep?
“Really? Sorry, Martin. Guess I had it turned down or something. Is there a problem?”
“I'm not sure. The GPS on your phone indicated that you left your room about two hours ago. And then it suddenly went off. Where are you now?”
“Now? I'm in the kitchen getting a snack.” Chris wondered if he should say something to Martin. He decided not to. Better to speak to the judge first. He might understand when Chris told him a story that would definitely sound crazy. “Should I go back to my room?”
“No, no. That's fine. I'll have someone replace your phone in the morning. It sounds like that one needs some repairs. Enjoy your food.”
“Thanks, Martin. See you in the morning.” Chris clicked off the phone and rummaged around the fridge until he found a large piece of apple pie in a plastic container. He ate quickly, put the container in the dishwasher and headed back to his room. He was very tired now.
Chris was groggy and unfocused when he woke up in the morning. No one had bothered to wake him, so he assumed that the judge had asked them to let him sleep after the traumatic events of the night before with Anna. He was grateful. He lay back and tried to go through the meeting with Sariel step by step.
It felt like a dream, but he knew it was not. Or did he? His body was sore, especially his legs but that didn't mean much. Was it real? Well, there was one way to find out.
Chris slowly rolled out of bed, groaning slightly as his muscles throbbed, and walked over to where he had tossed his jeans before he crawled into bed. He grabbed them and searched the pockets.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed loudly and pulled his hand out of a pocket. There was a small cut on the tip of his forefinger and he sucked on it for a moment before carefully feeling inside again. This time he slowly withdrew the cause of his injury. Well, I'll be damned, he thought.
The ring was real, and just as jagged and painful looking as it had been the night before. He set it on the table beside his bed and lay back down. It was real. It had all happened. He was really a human with an angel's soul. An archangel, he corrected himself. So what does that mean?
He turned his head and stared at the ring. It reflected the lamp light almost like a jagged piece of glass. I know what it means, he thought. It means I have to choose: to fight in a war against demons, which is ridiculous, or to walk away. Running away would be smarter, he concluded. So what's it going to be?
Chris put his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling. Demons. What did they look like? What could they do? Were they just wandering around, hiding in the shadows? No, that would be stupid. He followed the patterns and swirls on the ceiling with his eyes, random thoughts flitting through his head. And then something else occurred to him. Talon. They were all marked with a claw. It didn't take a genius to make the connection.
Chris sat up abruptly and reached for his phone. He called down to the front desk and a voice he recognized as Cynthia's answered.
“Good morning, Mr. Wright,” she said briskly. “What can I do for you?”
Chris realized that she must have caller ID on her phone. “Um, good morning. I was wondering if I could get an appointment with Judge Hawkes?”
“One moment, please,” she replied and Chris heard some keystrokes in the background. “I'm sorry, Mr. Wright, but the judge has left instructions to keep his calender clear for a few days. Perhaps if you tried again tomorrow?”
“No, no. This can't wait,” Chris said urgently. “Please, it's very important that I see him. Couldn't you, I dunno, check with Martin or something? Tell him that I really have to see the judge?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Very well, Mr. Wright,” Cynthia said politely. Chris thought she sounded a bit too formal and wondered if he had irritated her s
omehow. “I'll get in touch with Martin and one of us will call you back. By the way, is your phone working properly? I have an order here for a replacement that you will receive later today.”
“The phone? Oh, right. Yeah, it seems fine.” Chris had forgotten about Martin thinking that his phone was out of whack when he'd actually been meeting with Sariel.
“That's fine, then. We'll get back to you in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Cynthia. Sorry if I was too abrupt there. It's just that I really have to talk to the judge.”
“Oh, think nothing of it, Mr. Wright,” she replied in a friendly tone. “I get urgent calls to speak to Judge Hawkes all the time.”
“Great. Okay, thanks again.”
Chris hung up and put the phone back on the table. So the judge wanted to be left alone for a while. He wondered if it had anything to do with Anna. Maybe she was hurt after all? He was suddenly even more anxious. If Sariel had actually injured the old woman, Chris wasn't sure how he'd feel. Angry at the archangel or guilty because he couldn't stop him. One of those two, maybe both. He sighed in frustration, then he stood up and walked over to the window.
Pushing the curtains aside, Chris looked out over a beautiful sunny day. His bedroom faced the back of the house and he'd never really noticed what lay behind the estate. Now, with a few minutes on his hands, he checked out the view.
Confronting the Fallen Page 12