Angel Realms 01 The Dawn of Angels

by Vivienne Malynn; Sean Kade

  In the heat of the day, and the serenity of the graveyard, my mind flashes back to that moment. My mother dresses me up nicely in my best dress, at least it is the best we could afford. She kneels down next to me and wipes away my tears with her trembling hands. They were always trembling at that point. Then she presses her face up to mine and whispers something in my ear. Something that I cannot recall. I often imagine what those words are that she whispered. Probably words of encouragement. Maybe an apology for what she was about to do. Most likely a lie, “I’ll come back for you soon.” Whatever the words are, they left no lasting impression that I know of.

  After her words, she kisses me on the cheek and then stands. She places my hand in that of Mr. Hammonds. I still remember his face smiling down at me. It was gentle enough and strangely just as ageless as it is today. They converse and my mother gives him something, as if she is entrusting it to him. I think it is the key to the deposit box. It’s strange that I cannot recall the conversation. All I see in my memory is the actions. Even now, I see it as though I am watching it from the outside.

  I see as Mr. Hammond ushers her away. My mother is crying, but there are no tears in my eyes. Why are there no tears? Is it confusion or perhaps hope that my mother will come for me again. I can’t remember. Maybe I was just dead inside. Simply going through another motion, not allowing it to sink in, the way I have done since that day. I am angry at the mother in the vision, but seeing her there in a crumpled mess of emotion, I can’t bring myself to hate her. She is my mother and being so young I can never hate her. That is why I don’t cry. I remember now. I did not want her to be sad. Such a stupid child I was. After being cast away by her, all I could think is that I didn’t want her to feel bad. Why couldn’t I be angry then, when it mattered? Why do I have to be angry now? Now that she is gone.

  I notice that despite there being no tears in the girl’s eyes there is a deep sense of sadness in her face. It overwhelms me and my heart aches for her as if she is some other little girl and I am only a spectator. But I guess that is the way we are, just spectators of the past, anticipating the future, never satisfied with what is. I see another pain in her face, a feeling I know far too well—rejection. The feeling that I do not belong to anyone or anyplace like a ship lost in an unending loneliness with no place to harbor. I am alone in the world and everyone is a stranger to me. I have no sure ground, only the constant movements of uncertain waves, some more menacing than others. All the while, I wonder how long I can stay afloat like this.

  Then I look at Ashur as he is now, walking steady and without fear. How calm and permanent he seems, like a child who still feels that the world has its wonders, who fears nothing, and forsakes all opposition. He could be a harbor in my storm, but only a temporary one. Eventually, he will leave me too. But shouldn’t I at least spend this time with him to find some relief. Why must I live in that uncertain future of what will be? Why must I stay the course of the past as if it were a set of fixed stars guiding my unwavering fate? Why can’t I just trust what is now and forsake all the rest? But that is him, that is Ashur, the angel. That is not me. He fell from heaven and I—I was born in Hell.

  He looks back at me, trailing behind him. I know he is wondering what I am thinking about. He thinks that he knows me, just like everyone else does, but he doesn’t know me anymore than the rest of the world. If he did, he wouldn’t look at me the way he does. If he knew my thoughts or felt what I feel, he would never think it remarkable. My heart is a Pandora’s Box of all that is horrible in this world and I am the poor girl who must carry it, never opening it for fear of what it would unleash. No, he will never know me. And it is better that way. Let him see what he wants to see and then let him pass on, back to the heaven from where he came. It’s all anyone really wants when they see me. They want to see what they see, so in the end they can return to that same tranquil vision of reality, undisturbed. And so I let them.

  We approach the clearing where the shadows tried to kill me. An unsettled nervousness tugs at my stomach. In the middle of the clearing is the large crater left by Ashur’s dissension. He is standing next to it as if he is trying to remember something. I join him at the edge. “What is it?” I ask.

  Ashur interrupts his concentration to answer. “I am trying to remember something from last night. Something familiar, but it’s all just a blank.”

  “You did just fall from heaven,” I say. “I can’t imagine that doesn’t leave a person or angel a little dazed. You left quite a mark in the ground.”

  “I needed the clay,” he says. “It’s the material I used for this physical form.”

  “So that whole bit about how Adam was formed from the dust of the earth. That’s true.”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” he says distractedly.

  Of course it’s complicated, because everything with angels is complicated. The fact is he is too busy to explain it to me or he just thinks I’m too ‘mortal’ to understand. I am really getting sick of this angelic condescension crap. “Is it complicated or do you just not want to tell me,” I murmur.

  Ashur is too focused on something he is eyeing in the distance to answer or he simply chooses to ignore me. Either way I am not happy with his unwillingness to be more forthcoming with information. Suddenly, he bolts in the direction he was looking. Calling back he says, “Follow me.”

  I reluctantly follow. He leads me to a rock formation like the one I remember from the previous night. Only now I recognize it for what it is. They are not rocks at all. They are stones, ancient stones. What I thought was an entrance to a cave is nothing more than an entrance to the ruins of some ancient stone building.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “A temple,” Ashur replies. “An ancient one at that.”

  “But who built it?”

  “I think a better question is why?” He pulls back the tree branches that are concealing the opening, revealing carvings in the stone all along the entrance. On the uppermost stone of the arched entry is the symbol of the tetrad.

  I pull my necklace from under my shirt. “It’s the symbol from my locket,” I say, half-intelligible. I show Ashur the locket. “The tetrad. But why would it be here.”

  “It’s a symbol of formation,” Ashur says. “I imagine this temple is one of the six temples of formation. The question is which one.” He examines the carvings, running his fingers along their grooves.

  “Wait a minute. What do you mean the temples of formation?”

  “There are six temples of formation for the six creative periods of the earth,” he says, kneeling down to view the other markings. “They were built by the Aeons, the first angels at the dawn of creation to commemorate God’s work.”

  “So this temple is thousands of years old.”

  “Try millions of years.”

  “But that’s impossible,” I say. “The temple should have been ruined with time.”

  “This temple was sacred to the early angels,” he says. “It’s protected from the flow of time as are all the temples of formation.”

  “So what? They don’t age.”

  “And anything inside of them, will not age. Time is suspended.” He stands, brushing the dirt off his legs. “I think I know what temple this is. It’s the temple of the first day.”

  “I only went to church a few times,” I say. “Remind me what happened the first day.”

  Ashur smirks like he thinks my ignorance is endearing or something. “The first day was the dividing of the light from the dark. The night from the day.”

  “Oh, so the sun was made,” I say, trying to show that I’m not completely ignorant.

  “Actually, that’s the fourth day,” he says.

  “Okay, that makes no sense.”

  He begins to explain, but then stops himself. “It makes more sense from the perspective of an angel.”

  “There you go again, talking down to us mortals.” I say, trying to seem light hearted about it, even though I really am annoyed.

/>   He seems to notice my agitation, but I’m not sure he understands why I’m agitated. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say, an absolute lie. “So a temple huh.”

  By the look on his face I can tell he is confused. Despite all the vast knowledge of the cosmos these angels possess, they still can’t understand an agitated female. I guess there really is no hope of finding that perfect man who will understand my needs. He studies me a few moments, obviously perplexed, then decides to continue with the temple etchings. I guess they are more to his level. See, I can be condescending too.

  He asks something about the temple, but I am too lost in my feminine revelry to hear the question. “What did you ask?”

  Again he stares at me dumbfounded. “The temple,” he says, gesturing at the structure. “Did any of the townspeople say anything about it?”

  “Not that I have heard,” I say. “Maybe they don’t know it’s here. But I can’t imagine how they could miss it. Of course, Liv did say that the townspeople talk about the shadow people. But no one takes it seriously.”

  “Are you sure about that?” He looks as if he is concerned. Making a sigh, he says, “Well there’s only one way to find out what this is all about.” Stepping to the side, he politely offers the way into the temple. “After you.”

  “Thanks, really,” I say, walking past him. “So gentlemanly.”

  “I just want to make sure I keep my eyes on you,” he says, following behind.

  “I’m sure you do,” I say coyly.

  We step through a corridor with dirt covered stairs that extend back into the mountain. As we move closer in, the sunlight from the entrance is no longer enough to light the way. “It’s dark,” I say, nervously. “That’s bad right?”

  “Don’t worry,” Ashur says. He grins. “Angels have their own light.” He steps into the darkness and I reach out to stop him, thinking of the shadows that could be waiting for him. At first, he is gone, completely enveloped in the black void in front of me. But a small light begins to emerge. It’s faint at first, but grows brighter as it pulsates outward. It throbs as if it is breathing. And then, I see him. Standing in the light. He is the light. “I told you. Angels have their own light.” The surrounding darkness is cast away, scattering to the corners of the chamber, and with it my fear.

  “Now you’re just showing off,” I say and continue walking.

  Along the walls there lay heaps of red dirt, thick and lumpy underneath like clay. It’s as if there was a cave-in at some point, but the ceiling shows no sign of it. Pillars stand firmly, untouched with time. There seems to be no reason for the dirt to be there, unless it was brought in. Beneath our feet the dirt on the stairs gives way to stone. Our steps echo up the corridor, disappearing into the distance. It’s not clear from the amount that is lit, whether this passage will ever end. The corridor seems to wind around, switching back and forth subtly. I can’t imagine where it leads or how far it extends. We climb several minutes before coming to level ground.

  Ahead of us is a hall, which leads into another room. We follow it, coming to the entrance it is not just a room, but an entire chamber with other passages extending outward. As we walk into the chamber, I notice that there is another source of light overhead. Following the ceiling upwards, it curves in with several layered arches running all the way up to a circular hole overhead. The sun shines down, revealing a carving on the floor, a circle surrounded by six other circles. “This can’t be,” I say in disbelief.

  “It is a magnificent sight,” Ashur comments.

  “That’s not what I mean,” I say. “I’ve been here before. I mean not really. But in a dream.”

  Ashur looks more concerned now. “In a dream?”

  “Yes,” I say. “My mother was here and she…we were performing some sort of ritual. I don’t understand. How…”

  “She is the mother,” a voice says as a shadow stirs from among the others that surround the chamber. I recognize the voice as the one that spoke to me last night.

  “The mother.” “The mother.” “The mother.” The other shadows repeat.

  They swarm around us shifting from where they were before, forming into wispy representations of human figures. Ashur pulls me in close, wrapping his arms around me. Together we back into the sunlight. The throng of shadows moves in, but do not cross into the light. One emerges from the others, as if to stare at us.

  “She speaks the mother language,” it hisses. “She is one of Eve’s daughters.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “What do they mean? Eve is the mother of all, isn’t she?”

  “They’re referring to the eldest daughter’s,” Ashur says. “Since the beginning with Eve, the mother language was passed down to the eldest daughter of each generation. You and your mother are both from this line.”

  “But my mother never taught me anything,” I say. “I don’t know any mother language of Eve. I didn’t even really know my own mother.”

  “It isn’t a language that is taught. In fact it has never been spoken out loud since the days of Eve, though the remnants of the language are found in the angelic writings.”

  I pull away from Ashur, turning toward him. “You knew all this and didn’t tell me.”

  “As an angel, I have to be careful what I reveal to…” He hesitates.

  “Go ahead. Say it. To mortals. That’s all I am to you just another poor fragile mortal who won’t understand because it’s too complicated.”

  “This isn’t the time,” Ashur says sternly. He gestures to the shadow.

  “Oh, right.” I concede to end the discussion for now but it is far from over.

  Ashur turns to the shadow, who is probably just as clueless about the agitation of women. “Are you after her because she is one of the daughters of Eve?” he asks the shadow.

  “Mustn’t speak the words,” it says. Groans erupt from the shadows, then the echoes. “Silence.” “Silence.” “Silence.”

  “But I won’t speak the words,” I insist. “I don’t even know what words to speak.”

  “She lies,” hisses the shadow. And there is a murmur from the others. “She speaks the words in her sleep. We hear them. She comes here to speak them. To awake the forbidden one.”

  “No,” I plead. “I have never spoken the words and I never will.” Then I remember the dream from last night. Was it possible that I was speaking the words and didn’t know it?

  “Must be silenced,” it says.

  “Kill her.” “Kill her.” Kill her.”

  Their words strike fear into me. I begin to panic and shake. “I just want to leave this place,” I say in a trembling voice. “Please. I want to go. I want to go far away from here.”

  Ashur holds me more tightly. “It’s alright,” he whispers into my ear. “They cannot hurt you while I am here.”

  “I don’t want to be here,” I say.

  “We’ll go,” he concedes. “I just need to find out more about them. I need you to be brave and trust me.”

  I nod my head, reluctantly. I still remember the feeling of the shadow’s hand over my throat. Even though it’s just a memory, the thought of it strangles me. I breathe faster and more shallow. My heart is racing to keep up. Clinging closer to Ashur, I bury my head in his chest.

  “Who are you,” he says. “Why do you defile this temple with your presence?”

  The shadow darts back and forth, agitated. “It is you who defiles the temple. You and those with the eternal flame.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The flame burns us,” it says, angrily. “We hate it, like we hate the sun.”

  “Why are you here?” demands Ashur.

  “You, an angel and do not know us,” the shadow says. A mocking laughter erupts around us.

  “We are they who stood against God at the beginning of creation.” The shadow tilts its head as if to peer at me, then straightens. “We are they who fought along with the forbidden one.” It swoops past out of sight, then comes up behi
nd. “We are the ones who were cursed to the shadows while our brothers walk.”

  “Your brothers?”

  “Yes,” the shadow says, drifting as close as it can to Ashur. It pauses, turning its head as if to look around the room. There is nothing but more piles of dirt, leaning against the walls. The shadow focuses its attention back to Ashur. “Our brothers, the Golem. The clay ones.”