And Aaron saw himself through the eyes of his dog, and through those loving eyes he could do no wrong. If only he could be half the person the animal believed him to be, then he would be truly worthy of such adoration.
He was finally able to focus enough within the labyrinthine twists of Gabriel’s thoughts to find what he needed. Here was where the scent from the scroll had brought them. It was a place unlike any other on Earth. In fact it wasn’t on Earth at all, and he could see why the dog had been so spooked. Aaron took the image and made it his own—and he felt a hint of dizziness, like the descent from a great height in an elevator, before his wings opened to reveal their location.
“Would you look at that,” Lehash said in awe.
“Are we in Heaven?” Aaron asked. He gazed with wonder over the rolling plains of golden grass, at the richest of royal blue skies. The gentle winds filled with soft, traipsing melodies were the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard.
“No,” Lehash said, tilting his head back and sniffing the air. “Maybe a little piece of it, but not Heaven in its entirety.”
“The person who wrote the scroll is over that hill,” Gabriel said from beside Aaron, his snout pointed into the breeze.
“Where do you think we are, Lehash?” Aaron asked as they turned and followed the Lab up a small hill.
“Looks to me like somebody built a little hideaway smack dab between the here and the there.” The fallen angel removed his Stetson, combed back his long white hair with his fingers, and returned the hat to his head. “I’m surprised the dog was able to find it.”
“I’m very special,” Gabriel reminded him.
“That you are,” Lehash agreed, chuckling.
“I didn’t expect anything like that,” Aaron said suddenly. They had reached the top of the hill and he was pointing down toward a tiny cottage with dark brown shingles, tarpaper roof, and a rock foundation. Clouds of thick gray smoke billowed out of a stone chimney, and he had the impression that it was probably quite cozy on the inside.
“After all you’ve seen lately,” Lehash said leading them down the hill, “you can still be surprised?”
They stopped in front of the heavy wooden door.
“He’s in there,” Gabriel assured them, his keen nose twitching as he sniffed the air.
“Should I knock?” Aaron asked the fallen angel beside him.
Lehash shrugged. “Can’t hurt to be polite, I guess,” he answered, and Aaron rapped his knuckles on the door.
They waited, and when no response came, the gunslinger leaned forward and added his own two cents. Still nobody answered.
“We don’t have the time for this,” Aaron said impatiently. He reached out, grasped the knob, and pushed the door open. It was very dark inside. “Hello?” he asked, his voice echoing strangely, and he quickly realized why. The room they entered was enormous, and he was reminded of Scholar’s library, although the size and opulence of this room put the fallen angel’s residence to shame.
“Son of a bitch,” Lehash said, looking at the curved, hundred-foot ceiling and then the marble floor beneath their feet. “But then, what did I expect from a Malakim?”
Gabriel sniffed around the entrance, his claws sounding like tap shoes on the smooth stone floor, while Aaron admired the great stone pillars that flanked them on either side.
“How tall are these Malakim?” he asked, taking note of the gigantic double doors at the end of the hallway before them. The knockers, enormous lion heads holding thick metal rings, were at least thirty feet from the floor.
“They’re extensions of God, fer cryin’ out loud,” the gunslinger growled. “They can be as tall as they like.”
And as if on cue, the double doors were flung wide with a thunderous clamor that caused the great hall to tremble, and a creature the likes of which Aaron had never seen or imagined came barreling down the hall toward them. It was at least fifty feet tall and wore armor that shimmered and bubbled as if forged from molten metal. Its head was that of a gigantic ram, and it had wings the color of a desert sunset. In its equally prodigious hands, it clutched a fearsome battle-ax that Aaron guessed was at least three times as big as him. They barely leaped away in time as the ax descended in a blurred arc to cleave the marble floor. Though it missed them, the aftershocks of the impact shook the floor beneath them as if they were in the grip of a major earthquake and they struggled to stay on their feet.
“I will not be caught as my brethren were,” the great beast-man roared as he yanked his weapon from the broken marble and prepared to strike again. “The knowledge you wish to pilfer shall remain with me and me alone!”
“Stop!” Aaron begged moving toward the Malakim, hands outstretched. “We just want to—”
But Lehash had summoned his pistols of angelic fire, and as the beast turned to deal with this new threat, one of its mighty wings lashed out and swatted Aaron away. He saw a galaxy of stars as he landed upon the stone floor, fighting to stay conscious. Seeing his master down, Gabriel leaped at the fearsome giant, sinking his fangs into the molten metal of the creature’s armor, only to let go with a cry of pain as his mouth began to smoke and smolder.
Lehash’s guns roared to life and bullets of heavenly fire exploded upon the berserker’s armor, miniature explosions across the surface of the sun, but to little effect. The monster spread its wings wide and soared at Lehash. The fallen angel continued to fire his weapons as the armored beast swung his ax, the flat of the blade catching the gunslinger and sending him rocketing through the air into one of the great pillars. The constable lay still upon the cold, stone floor among pieces of the broken pillar as the beast touched down in a crouch beside him. Tossing the mighty ax from one hand to the other, it lifted the weapon above its head with a bellow of rage and prepared to finish its fallen foe.
Aaron struggled to his feet, feeling the transformation of his body to a more fitting form for battle. He didn’t want it to be this way. All he wanted was to ask for help, but they were beyond that now, and combat was the only answer. He propelled himself forward, landing between Lehash and the ax. He listened to the great blade whistle as it cut through the air, his own sword of heavenly flame igniting in his hand to meet it. The sigils burned upon his flesh and he felt his wings explode from his back as the two awesome blades connected with a clamorous peal, the explosive force of the two weapons meeting tossing them apart. Aaron’s ears rang. Quickly he struggled to his feet, ready to meet the next assault from the armored monster.
But the beast simply stood, the great battle-ax lowered to its side. It was staring at him, its cold animal gaze intensely scrutinizing. “It’s you,” it said, a strange smile briefly appearing upon its savage features.
“We don’t mean you any harm,” Aaron said carefully, and watched as the mass of the giant before him began to change, to diminish, the battle-ax fading away in a mellifluous flash of brilliance. No longer was there a fearsome warrior before him; it had been replaced by a tall, striking figure with silvery white hair and skin the color of copper.
“I am well aware of that … now,” said the angelic being. “I am Raphael of the Malakim, and I beg your forgiveness.” His voice was like the wind outside: melodic, strangely soothing. “I thought you to be servants of the renegade Verchiel, but of course you are not. There is no mistaking the sigils upon your body, son of the Morningstar.”
Aaron allowed his weapon to dissipate. “You know about the whole Lucifer thing too, huh?” he asked as he walked over to check Gabriel. The dog’s mouth was slightly blistered, but he appeared to be fine.
“The Malakim have known of your coming for a very long time,” the angelic creature said simply, turning to walk back through the towering doorway. “In fact, we were responsible—my brothers and I—for providing the seer with the vision that described the prophecy of which you are such an important part.”
Aaron watched the figure disappear into the room beyond as he hurried to Lehash’s side. The fallen angel was sitting up amidst th
e rubble of the damaged pillar, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing in discomfort.
“Did you hear him?” Aaron asked excitedly as he helped the gunslinger to his feet.
“Always was curious as to who got the ball rollin’,” Lehash said, beating the dust from his clothing with his hat. “Makes sense it was them.”
Raphael again appeared in the doorway. “Do hurry,” he said, motioning with a delicate hand for them to join him. “We haven’t much time, and there is still much to discuss.” He disappeared again into the room beyond the enormous doors.
The three cautiously entered the room beyond the great hallway. Aaron couldn’t believe his eyes—another bizarre example of angelic magick. From the regal majesty of the hall, to this: It was as if they had wandered into an old-fashioned parlor. The Malakim was sitting in the far corner at a small wooden desk, rummaging through one of the drawers. “Please, make yourselves at home,” he said, busily searching for something.
“Impressive place you got here,” Lehash said, looking about the room. The décor was warm and rich: lots of dark wood, and long velvet curtains that covered two sets of windows, the thick, red material draping down to the polished hardwood floor.
Gabriel hopped up on a sofa, upholstered in the crimson material and framed in shiny, dark wood.
“Gabriel, get down!” Aaron ordered automatically.
“But he said to get comfortable,” the dog protested as he slowly slunk from his place upon the furniture.
“That’s quite all right,” the Malakim said, shutting the drawer and rising to approach them. “That’s what our little hideaway has always been about,” he said, lifting his robed arms and gesturing about the room. “A place for my brethren and I to get away from our duties, to relax and ponder what we have seen.”
Gabriel lay down upon an embroidered area rug and with a heavy sigh placed his snout between his paws and closed his eyes. No matter where they were or what they were doing, that animal could always find the time to steal a little nap.
“Please, sit, relax. Use this place as it is supposed to be used.”
Lehash politely removed his hat, and he and Aaron sat down upon the sofa vacated by Gabriel. The Malakim chose a leather chair across from them.
Aaron leaned forward tentatively. “You said something about your brothers and Verchiel?”
The Malakim nodded and lay his head against the back of the chair. “He killed them both, taking from them knowledge that is not meant for an angel of his caste.”
Lehash appeared stunned. “Verchiel killed two a’ you?” he asked incredulously. “He actually killed two Malakim? How is that even possible?”
The bronze skinned creature closed his eyes, his face twisting in pain as he recounted the tale.
“They took us by surprise, using powerful magicks that we ourselves taught the mages in his service.”
For a moment the room was uncomfortably silent; Gabriel’s heavy breathing was the only sound.
Raphael continued, smiling sadly as he opened his eyes. “With our ability to glimpse the future, you would think we should have been able to prepare for this. But then, maybe because it was inevitable, subconsciously we chose not to see it.”
Aaron squirmed in his seat, images of Vilma in the throws of painful transformation filling his head. He was torn by the reason he had come on this mission and by what Verchiel was up to. Although his loyalty was to Vilma, he found it extremely disconcerting to learn that both he and the Powers commander seemed to be searching for the same thing.
“What does he want?” Aaron asked curiously. “What is he trying to take from you?”
The Malakim shifted in his chair and crossed his long legs. “At first I had no idea, but now it makes perfect sense.” He reached inside the folds of his robe and brought forth a vial of glass, its ends sealed with ornate golden metal. Aaron could see that there was liquid inside as the Malakim passed it to him. “Before our time is up, however, this is for your mate,” he said as Aaron took the offering.
Aaron blinked repeatedly, unsure if he had heard the angel correctly. “Mate?” he asked.
Raphael nodded as he sat back in his seat. “Yes, your mate. And may I be the first to say that your children will be absolutely magnificent.”
Fifty thousand volts of electricity could have passed through Aaron’s chair and it would have had pretty much the same effect upon him.
“My children?” he yelped, shocked by the Malakim’s words.
Gabriel sat up suddenly, awakened by his master’s exclamation. “What’s happening?” the dog questioned in a grumbling bark, looking about the room. “What’s going on?”
“I think your master just got a little peek at the future,” Lehash said, amusement in his gruff voice. He reached down and patted the dog’s head. “That’s all.”
“No,” Gabriel said emphatically. “Can’t you hear it?” he asked, his nose twitching, hackles of fur rising around his neck. The dog rose, his body trembling in anticipation.
The Malakim sighed, standing from his chair. “It all seems so brief,” he said sadly, brushing the wrinkles from the front of his robe, “when finally confronted with your inevitable demise.”
Aaron was about to ask for an explanation when he heard it as well. He knew the sound; it was the noise made when an angel traveled from one place to another, implosions of sound as the fabric of reality was torn open for a brief instant and allowed to flow shut. Only this time he heard it multiple times, and understood exactly what it meant.
“We’re under attack,” he blurted out as winged shapes exploded into the room from beneath the velvet curtains in a shower of glass and fire.
“No kidding,” Lehash growled. His pistols flashed to life in his grasp and he began to fire.
The sigils had risen upon Aaron’s flesh and an idea for a weapon had entered his thoughts, when he felt a powerful grip upon his arm. He turned to confront Raphael, who was shaking his head.
“You are to leave here now,” he said above the roar of Lehash’s guns and Gabriel’s frantic barks.
Aaron started to protest, but the look upon the angelic sorcerer’s face rendered him speechless. “There is nothing you can do for me now. Return to Aerie, help your mate, and meet your own destiny,” the Malakim ordered.
Aaron chanced another look at his friends. The Powers soldiers had momentarily stopped their charge through the windows, but Gabriel and Lehash stood at the ready, just in case. The calm before the storm.
“Take your friends and go,” Raphael told him.
And though it pained Aaron to leave the heavenly being, he knew that things far larger than him were at work here. “C’mon. We have to go,” he called to his friends as the black wings that would take them back to Aerie emerged from his back.
The Malakim bowed his head to Lehash and Gabriel as they passed him, his body already changing, his gentle features becoming more animal, the molten armor again appearing on his expanding form.
Aaron was about to take his companions into his winged embrace when the wall of the room exploded inward and more Powers soldiers surged in. Raphael met the attack with unbridled fury, Powers soldiers dying beneath the bite of his monstrous ax.
And then Aaron saw him, the focal point of the young Nephilim’s rage, portions of his body not covered in armor wrapped in bandages stained with gore. Verchiel entered the room behind his troops, spear of fire clutched in his hands, tattered wings beating the air as he searched for his chosen prey. Aaron knew he should have left then, but he hesitated, held in place by his hatred for the leader of the Powers host.
The Malakim turned, as if sensing that they had not yet gone. “Go,” he bellowed in a voice like the roar of a jungle cat. “It is not time for the final conflict. Go!”
And as Aaron closed his wings, he witnessed the most horrible of sights: The Powers swarmed upon Raphael, cutting down the Malakim in a senseless flurry of savagery. Verchiel strode passed the violence, fixated upon the Nephilim.
“Not this time,” Verchiel screeched, letting fly the javelin of fire with all his blistering rage and fury behind it.
Aaron wished them back to Aerie.
But the angel’s spear was faster.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kraus awoke curled beneath a tattered blanket on the floor, a scream of terror upon his lips.
For a moment he thought the darkness had claimed him again, that perhaps Verchiel had taken back his wonderful gift, but then realized that it was only the night collected around him. Empty bookcases and stacked metal desks emerged from the gloom as his new sight adjusted to the inky black of nighttime.
He had been dreaming, vividly recalling a time before his service to his lord and master, Verchiel. A time of woe and suffering.
Tossing back his blanket, he climbed to his feet and stood in the darkness of the room. Something was wrong; he could sense it. There was an unnatural hum, a pulsing throb like the beat of some prehistoric monster’s heart in the air around him. The sound was everywhere—it needed to be everywhere—and he felt the desperation of it worming inside him, bringing forth further memories of the dark times before he swore his fidelity to God’s warrior and his holy mission.
Kraus left the room, seeking to escape the recollections of his early days of torment, to distract himself elsewhere, but the alien thrum was with him, no matter where he went, rousing memories of a past long suppressed.
Before serving the Powers, all he had known was darkness and pain, the pity and the disdain of the sighted. He had been raised in a place very much like this one, very much like the Saint Athanasius Church and Orphanage had been before its doors were closed.
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