Confronting the Fallen

by J. J. Thompson

  Chris hadn't realized that there were such extensive gardens on the property. He didn't walk far from the front of the house on his evening strolls. But now, across the grass-covered yard, he could see low hedges surrounding a maze-like jumble of bushes, tall flowering trees and sprays of brightly colored flowers. He found the bolt that locked the window, opened it and lifted the heavy window frame. A slap of warm air hit him and filled his nostrils with a heady smell of flowers and fresh-cut grass. He drew in a deep breath, savoring the cacophony of scents.

  There was no sign of the dog pack and Chris remembered that the dogs only patrolled the property after nightfall. Made sense, he thought. Although the yard had a lot of trees and plants, he could see to the surrounding walls in all directions.

  He leaned forward and rested his hands on the window ledge. It was a beautiful place, he had to admit. Chris realized that though he could see several guards stationed along the perimeter, none of the other teens were in sight, dressed in those mysterious long leather coats that he had seen them wearing. Did they only come out at night too? Interesting.

  His phone rang shrilly and Chris grabbed it and answered eagerly.

  “Good morning, Mr. Wright. How are you this morning?” It was Martin.

  “Hi Martin. Good, thanks.”

  “Excellent. Whenever you're ready, the judge is waiting for you in his office.”

  Already? he thought, startled. “Great. Thanks, Martin. I'll head over right now.”

  “That's fine. He's expecting you.”

  Chris said goodbye and clicked off the phone. He headed for the bathroom and got cleaned up quickly. Then he changed into new jeans and a sweatshirt. He slipped the phone into his pocket, along with the ring, and hurried to the door. He knew enough by now to know that he shouldn't keep the judge waiting too long.

  As he headed out of his room, he almost ran into Tyler and Jacob.

  “Whoa. Hey Chris,” Tyler said with a grin. “Where's the fire?”

  “Oh, hey guys. Sorry, I'm on my way to see Judge Hawkes. Is there a problem?”

  “No idea, Chris,” Jacob answered. “You weren't at breakfast, so we just wanted to come by and see if you're okay.” He paused and looked Chris up and down. “Are you? You look a bit...exhausted, actually.”

  With a shrug, Chris said “Had a bad night. Not much sleep. And the test last night really, I dunno, freaked me out.”

  “Oh wow! You took the test? I mean, of course you did,” Tyler slapped him on the shoulder. “So, we can talk to you about all the stuff we couldn't before. Um, that is, if you passed. Did you?”

  Chris barked a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Look guys, let's talk later. I have a lot to tell you both. But the judge is waiting, so you know...”

  Both of the guys looked understanding. “Yeah, go. We've heard that he's all business, so go see him. We'll talk later.”

  Chris smiled gratefully, gave them a little wave and hurried off.

  He passed several of the staff as he made his way to the judge's office. Each one had a smile and a greeting for him and, by the time he reached his destination, Chris felt more at home at the Hawkes Nest than he had since he'd first arrived.

  He knocked on the judge's door and opened it when the judge called out.

  For a change, the judge was alone. Martin was nowhere to be seen and Judge Hawkes was sitting at his desk reading a newspaper. He looked up and smiled at Chris. The judge nodded at a chair, folded the paper and put it away.

  Once Chris had sat down, the judge looked at him inquiringly.

  “Good day, Christopher. Is there something wrong? I'm still waiting for all the material we have on archangels. Your request sounded rather urgent.”

  “Yes sir,” Chris replied. He took a deep breath. “Before I start, I was wondering if Anna is okay? I was worried after, you know, what happened.”

  Judge Hawkes smiled widely. “Your concern is laudable, young man,” he said warmly. “But not to worry. Anna is a very tough woman. Her grandson told me that she slept well last night and ate her breakfast this morning. They left for home soon after. So, you can put that worry out of your mind. Now,” the judge sat back, folded his hands and rested them on the desk. “What's on your mind, Christopher?”

  Chris was relieved that Anna was okay and a little surprised that she had left so soon. He collected his thoughts and swallowed nervously.

  “Well sir, it like this. Last night I woke up really late and decided to grab a snack from the kitchen.” He glanced a bit apprehensively at the judge who simply nodded and waved him to continue.

  Chris told the whole unbelievable story, from the moment he'd entered the kitchen until he found himself back there after meeting Sariel. Even as he was telling it, Chris thought it sounded more like a dream than reality. The judge did not interrupt. He simply sat and absorbed the tale, his face calm and nonjudgmental. When Chris was done, there was a long moment of silence. Finally the judge leaned forward and stared at Chris, his expression curious.

  “Tell me, Christopher, do you still have the ring?”

  “The ring?” Chris said blankly. “Oh right. The ring.” He dug into his pocket carefully, trying to avoid any more cuts and gently worked the jagged band out. He leaned across the desk and put it down in front of the judge.

  The ring seemed to gather light to itself and sparkled silver but with an underlying reddish tinge. Chris thought it looked even more dangerous and threatening lying in plain sight than it had earlier. He noticed that the judge didn't try to touch the ring. He simple studied it closely and then seemed to sag.

  “Ah,” the man said quietly. “It's true then.” He slumped back in his chair. Chris couldn't read the judge's expression. Fear? Concern? It was hard to tell.

  “What's true, your honor?” he asked carefully.

  Judge Hawkes stared at Chris for a moment, then seemed to collect himself. “I apologize, Christopher. I meant that Anna was right, about your soul being that of an archangel.” He paused and looked out of the window. “Sariel. The Sariel. Could it be?”

  “Wait a second, sir. You mean you've actually heard of Sariel? How is that possible?”

  The judge paused for a moment, then got up and walked over to a bookshelf that stood against the wall to his left. He ran his fingers along the spines of several books and pulled out a large, leather-bound tome. He sat back down and opened the book carefully. Chris could see that it was very old and the pages sounded brittle as the judge turned them slowly. After a minute, the judge looked at Chris.

  “Come and see for yourself, Christopher,” he said and nodded at the book. “I'd forgotten about this until you mentioned the archangel's name.” Chris got up and walked around the desk. As he leaned over the book, he could smell the scent of old parchment and dust rising from it. The pages were yellowed and laced with cracks across their surface.

  “The language is Latin. It was inscribed by my ancestor, the first Hawkes that built this house. He spent his declining years documenting his journeys and discoveries, copying out various pictures and inscriptions he'd seen in digs and tombs around the world. This book contains details of a temple or shrine that he found buried beneath the sand in the Middle East.”

  The judge pushed back his chair and let Chris examine the book.

  On the left, tiny writing in a very precise hand covered the entire page. On the right...Chris caught his breath. There was an illustration, hand-draw but very detailed, of a winged humanoid. The face was covered by a hood and Chris was reminded of the teens he had seen patrolling at night wearing hoodies and long leather jackets. The figure wasn't wearing armor; instead he was clad in a long robe, plain and blue in color. But it was the wings. One raised up and back from his right shoulder, gray, each feather drawn in exquisite detail. But from his left shoulder, the wing hung down to the ground, twisted and broken, like that of a dead bird he'd seen once that had smashed into a window and lay below it, sad and limp.

  Chris felt an emotion like grief welling
up inside of him. He shook his head impatiently, turned and went back to sit in his chair.

  The judge pulled his own chair up to the desk again, and stared intently at Chris. “You recognize the picture?”

  Chris nodded mutely. He stared at the book for a long moment, not thinking of anything really. He was being washed over by waves of emotion that were totally foreign to him. He finally managed to push them aside. “I can't see the face but the wings are the same,” he finally said.

  “Yes,” the judge said as he stared at the picture. “Sariel. They named him The Broken One in this temple that my ancestor found. Small wonder, I suppose.”

  “Sir, what does all that Latin writing say? Is it all about Sariel? How could they know about him anyway?”

  “Well, Christopher, we don't really know who 'they' were, but the original inscription on the painting in the temple was written in ancient Sumerian, a language used about five thousand years ago. The Latin is merely a description of where my ancestor found the temple and how to enter it.” The judge paused for a moment. “There may have been more artifacts within the hidden shrine but he doesn't say. As to how humans learned about Sariel, or indeed any of the angels, the method varies. For the most part, hints have been given to mankind through revelation; meaning that Heaven, for whatever reason, saw fit to pass the knowledge on to us. Naturally much of this information is garbled, often interpreted by zealots or prophets who take the knowledge and tinge it with their own beliefs or values.”

  “And someone had a revelation about an archangel?” Chris asked skeptically.

  “Probably. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. That is how we've learned of other archangels, such as Michael, Gabriel and, of course, the 'Angel of the Morning' as Sariel named his brother. The Fallen One.”

  “The Devil, you mean,” Chris said flatly.

  “Yes, precisely. The instigator of all of this madness. We know enough not to mention his real name. I'm rather pleased that Sariel warned you about that.” With a sigh, the judge sat back and watched Chris carefully. “Tell me something, Christopher. Do you trust him?”

  “Trust him? You mean Sariel?”

  The judge nodded.

  “I...well, I mean...” Chris became thoughtful. Do I trust him? Chris knew that he wasn't a very trusting person, for good reason. The streets had taught him that much, at least. He glanced at the judge who was patiently waiting for an answer.

  “No. Or, at least, not totally,” Chris finally said.

  “Ah, yes. I thought that might be the case,” Judge Hawkes said. “You have seen and done many things in the last few years, my young friend, and as a result, have learned to be cautious. And in this case, it is very wise.”

  “Wise? But, Sariel is an angel, isn't he? And he said he was one of the first three ever created.” Chris wondered what the judge knew that he didn't. “I know why I don't trust him, sir. It's because I don't take things or people at face value anymore. But why don't you trust him? Isn't finding people with angelic souls the reason your group exists?”

  The judge smiled. “Yes, of course. But this situation is unique, Christopher. When others have taken the test, as I mentioned before, they felt some discomfort or aversion to the demonic artifact. But nothing like what you experienced. And when they met their angelic souls, it was always in a dream, never in the flesh.” Now his expression became grave. “You were literally taken away to some other plane of existence, met Sariel in person and then sent back here, all within the space of a few hours. Do you realize how much power that takes? This being is literally more powerful than anyone I have ever heard of, except for God Himself.”

  Chris was a bit stunned. Put that way, he saw how unbelievably strong Sariel was. Had the creature been telling him the truth, or at least a version of it? Or was there something else going on here?

  “Okay, your honor. What do you think?” Chris asked, throwing the judge's question back at him. The man nodded appreciatively with a small smile.

  “What I think is that you have to be very careful, young man. Except for a few vague hints and this one image, we know nothing of this Sariel. The direct brother of both Michael and Satan? Made from the essence of God? The idea is frightening and exhilarating at the same time. We must find out more.” He seemed to be considering Chris carefully. “You, Christopher, are going to be the final arbiter in this. We obviously have no control over this being. You are his body, he is your soul. It is you who must take responsibility for him. I don't envy you, my young friend.”

  Chris got up abruptly and walked to the window. He stared outside, not really seeing anything. “But how do I do that?” he asked tensely. “I can't control him, sir. Like you said, he's too powerful.”

  “Christopher, you can control him.” Chris looked over his shoulder at the judge, who watched him sympathetically. “You are him, don't you realize that? Your body, this mortal shell, was created in the same way that Sariel was created by God, by using a piece of himself. Yes, you are Christopher Wright, and your own person, but you are also Sariel. So, you are in control. Please do not forget that.”

  Chris shook his head in confusion. “I don't understand that at all. And somehow I doubt if I ever will. But, if you are right, what do I do now?”

  “Now?” The judge stood up and walked over to stand beside Chris. He looked out over the lawns and garden. “Now, you decide if you want to take up that ring, knowing that it could mean a life of conflict and struggle. Or you decide to walk away from what is, I'm afraid, an overwhelming responsibility. As I've said, I don't envy you.”

  The judge sighed and continued to look out of the window. There was a quiet knock on the door and he glanced over in surprise.

  “Come in,” the judge called. Chris thought he sounded a bit irritated.

  The door opened and Martin walked in. He appeared agitated.

  Martin looked at Chris and hesitated. The judge spoke up.

  “You may speak freely, Martin.”

  “”Yes, your honor. It seems that our...ceremony last night attracted some unwanted attention.” He smiled slightly at Chris. “Or perhaps it has something to do with our Mr. Wright and his missing time early this morning.”

  Ah, Chris thought. He knows I wasn't in the house. I knew he was clever.

  “At any rate, sir, we have a visitor at the front gates. They will not pass without your permission, of course.” Martin sounded firm on that point.

  “Indeed. Hmm, this is a surprise. Who seeks entry?”

  Another hesitation. “Sir, it's Angelica,” Martin answered, his expression neutral.

  Judge Hawkes turned back to look outside. “I see. Yes, I think our enemies have been alerted to the presence of our young friend here. How does she look, Martin?” he asked curiously.

  “The same, sir. She has more, dare I say, self-assurance about her now though.”

  The judge nodded. “Yes, she would, wouldn't she?” he murmured. “Very well, Martin. Show her up. Full escort at all times, and clear the hallways of all of our young charges.” His tone was suddenly brisk. “Give us ten minutes, then bring her in.”

  “Yes sir,” Martin said and left the room.

  “Who is Angelica, sir?” Chris asked, burning with curiosity.

  The judge indicated to Chris that he sit down again, and the judge sat down behind his desk. He sighed heavily. “Angelica was our first recruit, Christopher. The first human that we identified as having an angelic soul. She actually changed her name because of that. I found her in downtown London, being chased by a gang quite similar to Talon. We got her away safely and brought her back to the Nest. For several years she trained with us, learned our methods and many of our secrets. And then...she betrayed us.”

  Chris stared at the judge in shock. “Betrayed? But, she can't do that! She has the soul of an angel.” he hesitated. “Doesn't she?”

  “She does, Christopher, although we were never able to identify the angel who dwells within her. But demons are simply angels who tu
rned away from God and joined Satan. And Angelica and her angel's soul decided to join forces with the darkness against us. We don't know why.” The judge shook his head. He looked very unhappy.

  “Our first and worst failure, Christopher. She used her knowledge to gain favor with her masters. Several of our safe-houses were attacked. Some of our youngsters were killed. It was a very bad time.”

  “She sounds horrible, sir. And you're just going to let her walk in here? Without any payback?” Chris was getting angry. How could they let an enemy like that just drop in to the Hawkes Nest? It was crazy.

  For the first time, Chris saw a hint of coldness in the judge's expression. “Young man, I did not reach the position of judge by being foolish. Nor would 'payback' be particularly useful. Angelica is a tool. She is being used by evil forces to try to learn something, possibly related to events from last night. But we can also use the same tool, by allowing her to learn only those things that we wish her to learn. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir. I'm sorry. I'm just not used to this sort of thing, that's all,” Chris said meekly. He realized that he'd crossed a line with the judge.

  Judge Hawkes' expression changed. He smiled ruefully. “Forgive me, Christopher. Naturally you wouldn't understand the machinations of an old man.” He shook his head. “Our enemies are devious, cunning and ruthless. We have to play the same game. In this case, we have to try to find out what the opposition knows, about you and anything else to do with our plans. Angelica was always a bit arrogant. This will hopefully work in our favor.” He stood up and walked over to his bookcase. Chris watched as the judge reached up and firmly pushed the spine of a book on the right side of the top shelf. There was a loud click and the bookcase quietly slid to the left, revealing a narrow doorway beyond.

  “Follow me, Christopher, if you would,” the judge said and walked through the doorway.

  Chris stood up and hurriedly followed. A secret passage, he thought. Cool!

  He entered a small, bare room. There were no decorations hanging on the rough, wooden walls and the floor was covered by a plain brown carpet. A desk stood against one wall with four large screens placed side by side above it. The desk was bare except for a keyboard. A leather chair was pulled up in front of the desk and a single light shone from the ceiling.