by Nana Malone
“Oh … no!” Azrael stammered. “Of course not! It’s just … I mean … you didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t want to wear out my … um … welcome?”
“The only thing that’s wearing out is my butt sitting in this darned chair,” Elisabeth hid her insecurities behind her usual grouchy demeanor. “I’m glad the Regent made it because otherwise I’d be sitting on the floor. But … dang! Couldn’t she have made me something a little more comfortable?”
“I think this is a replica of the house where she healed the General,” Azrael said, not mentioning that his sleeping platform was equally uncomfortable now that all of a sudden he had a bit of physical mass to make him feel it. “It’s … um … symbolic. I think they hope…”
Azrael trailed off mid-sentence. He knew what they hoped. They hoped Elisabeth would grow to love him as much as he loved her so they would become a mated pair. Was that even possible? Even if she did wish to deepen the emotional bond which had developed between them, there was no guarantee he could perform the final act of merger which would bind them as one soul for all eternity. Even after two months of recuperation, Elisabeth could only touch the group of tendrils he had reshaped back into some semblance of a hand.
Then there was the distressing fact that, once he’d regained enough of his faculties to assume a vaguely humanoid form, Elisabeth had withdrawn to that arms-distance she’d always kept between them. Interested … but wary.
“When do you think it’ll be safe to touch your face,” Elisabeth touched his hood. “I’m not sensing that uncomfortable feeling quite so strongly there anymore.”
Azrael pulled the hood tighter. There had been this Earth movie he’d watched once about a race of hunter-people who came to Earth in spaceships to hunt the hunters for sport. The hero in the movie had pulled off the alien's mask and said ‘you’re one ugly motherfucker.’ That’s what he looked like right now. One … ugly …
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Azrael's voice was a mortified whisper. “Please. Let me get my act together a little more.”
Azrael saw his own black visage reflected in her eerie silver eyes as she traced the scar which ran down her own face.
“I used to say the same thing in the mirror to myself every day.”
“You were a beautiful child,” Azrael's heart choked his throat. “Who grew up to become the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And I’ve lived a long time.” He swallowed, fighting down the sensation he felt every time he looked at her that he wanted to cry, though whether those tears were sadness or joy he did not know. Perhaps a little of both?
Silence stretched between them as Azrael soaked up the warmth radiating from her hand. Not awkward or uncomfortable. Simply … silence. As though there were no words capable of expressing what either wished to say, so they let the silence say it for them.
“Do you feel up for a walk today?” Elisabeth finally asked. “I'd hoped to visit the temple of the Cherubim god?”
"Sure," Azrael said. Beneath his hood he smiled, though he did not let her see it. "The Temple of Bishamonten is one of my favorite places."
It was close enough to the little sanctuary the Regent had reshaped out of nothingness for him to walk there like a mortal man, even though the cloak weighed heavy upon him and he tired easily, not used to the weight of suddenly having mass. The scent of flowers tantalized his sensitive sense of smell, the closest thing to 'touch' he'd experienced until now, along with the buzz of countless insects as they walked down the deceptively simple gravel walkway through meticulously tended gardens. At its center sat an ancient temple where, inside, an enormous statue of the ant-like Cherubim god stood, resplendent in his armor. The Cherubim had been the original guardians of the Eternal Emperor. Now … only Bishamonten himself occasionally visited these realms.
“It’s the blue ray of Bishamonten which gives Archangels the blue glow to their eyes when they go into battle,” Azrael pointed up at the enormous, four-armed, ant-like statue. “It gives the wielder the ability to see clearly and suppress their own discomfort.”
“Like meditation or something?”
“You have this movie … Star Wars,” Azrael said. “It talks about a force being with you. It’s something like that. Only there’s no dark side to turn you into Darth Vader. Either you use it correctly, or Bishamonten strikes you dead.”
“So Bishamonten is like, Yoda?” Elisabeth glanced up at the statue.
“I’ve never heard the guardian of the blue ray called that,” Azrael laughed. “In real life he’s over thirteen feet tall with sharp spikes and claws protruding out of every facet of his exoskeleton. Even before you add the armor.”
“What about the power you wield?” Elisabeth asked. “Is there a guardian for that power, too?”
“Yes,” Azrael said. “The Regent has a brother. He-who’s-not. But you have to be very careful about using that power because chaos does not take sides. It simply -is-. But it does naturally seek balance, so perhaps that is the energy you would consider this 'force?'"
"Does it have a dark side?" Elisabeth asked.
"Yes," Azrael said. "But anyone who misuses void matter usually ends up destroying themselves. Especially if they create a ripple in the fabric of the universe large enough for HIM to notice somebody is abusing his essence. Or in this case, the Regent. She babysits his reservoir of power while he's off on sabbatical doing … whatever. Whatever fourteen-billion-year-old void creatures do when they need to take a break from running the universe.”
“I feel as though I’m in some sort of weird dream,” Elisabeth sighed. She clapped her hand towards her mouth in a vain attempt to suppress a yawn. “Oh … sorry! I haven't been getting enough sleep!”
They admired the fresh cut flowers the Regent personally set at the feet of the statue every morning. Elisabeth looked at the flowers. Azrael looked at her.
"This place just has such a … I don’t know … Zen … feel to it," Elisabeth yawned again. "Like a Buddhist retreat."
“What we do for work takes a lot out of us,” Azrael eased himself down onto a bench set up for contemplative purposes. “We are intermediaries between the old gods, who sometimes forget what it was like to be mortal, and mortal creatures who don’t understand that being a god has its limitations. The Archangels keep the monastery exactly as the Cherubim left it when they evolved out of here so we have someplace to replenish our spirits.”
He watched, fascinated, as Elisabeth closed her eyes and drank in the atmosphere. It was peaceful here. He shivered with pleasure as she nestled against his cloak, mindful to keep his damaged wing-tentacles tucked beneath which still vibrated discordant, dangerous notes. His wings had been the first portion of him which had been incinerated in the fires of Gehenna the last to relearn their shape. His nostrils flared, inhaling her scent. His ears picked up the way her heart sped up as he adjusted his less-healed arm beneath his cloak so it would not directly touch her flesh and then nestled the limb around her shoulders. She smelled like … sunshine.
“Oh … Az …” Elisabeth asked. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
‘Love me?’ Azrael thought silently to himself.
“Just be my friend,” he said aloud.
Elisabeth curled her legs beside her on the bench and leaned into him, trusting him not to zap her. Within moments, she dozed off, exhausted from too many nights tending him. He carefully lifted a strand of blonde hair out of her mouth, staring at the beautiful, tempting lips parted slightly in sleep that he hoped to someday kiss.
‘Old friend,’ Azrael prayed silently to the statue of the fierce-looking god who held a spear in one hand, a small pagoda representing the giving of knowledge upheld in the other. ‘If you’ve got any wisdom to impart about winning Elisabeth’s heart, I’m sure open to suggestion.’
The old god, of course, did not answer. He hadn’t descended all the way down into these realms for thousands of years. But Azrael thought he sensed a tendril of the old god's consciousness perk up wit
h interest. The Cherubim god reportedly kept an eye on his pet project, the Archangels.
* * * * *
Chapter 53
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her.
William Shakespeare - The Winter’s Tale
Galactic Standard Date: 157,324.10
Haven-2 – Cherubim Monastery
“Picture the white light of She-who-is coming through the top of your head,” the Archangel Rahmiel, the Regent's oldest daughter, coached Elisabeth. “Pull it down through your heart and out your hands as you work. It should feel warm.”
Other than the fact the archangel possessed black-brown wings like her father and not the leathery, spiked wings of her mother, Rahmiel could have been a carbon copy of the Regent. Eldest of the General's offspring, Rahmiel appeared not much older than Elisabeth. She was the only archangel Elisabeth had met with black irises, reminiscent of her mother's solid black eyes which had no white to them, instead of the blue-tinged irises every other archangel possessed by default, though sometimes her eyes changed color depending upon which source of energy she drew upon that day, or blending them, like now, so that she possessed black iris's surrounded by a thin ring of blue.
“I feel nothing!” Elisabeth exhaled with frustration. “I don’t know why you guys think I can do this!”
“How do you heal your patients, then?” Rahmiel asked. “You said your grandmother taught you?”
“Not … this,” Elisabeth said. “Oma was a devout Lutheran. She prayed all the time. And sang. Hymns. Lots of hymns. I just adapted them to help my patients.”
“What sort of hymns?” Rahmiel asked.
“Oma had a hymn for just about any problem,” Elisabeth said. “Skinned knee? It felt better. Not enough money? It came. Scared? She’d teach you a hymn to make it go away. Mama used to call it her ‘gift.’”
“Were these hymns what your people call witchcraft?” Rahmiel's black eyes sparkled with curiosity. “The invoking of an ascended being to provide relief?”
“No!” Elisabeth said. “At least … no more than any other god-fearing Christian does. Everything was Jesus-this and Jesus-that. They were just … hymns! Like you sing in church.”
“Yeshua was a step-in,” Rahmiel said. “He did ascend out of your world and defeat death as your religions preach, but he's got more important things to do than fix skinned knees or bring money. Your grandmother must have possessed pre-ascended abilities in her own right.”
Elisabeth shrugged.
Rahmiel appeared perplexed. “I don’t understand how your people can possess pre-ascended abilities and not develop them. Don’t you wish to ascend to a higher plane of existence?”
“How many times you been to Earth?"
“I’ve never been to Earth,” Rahmiel said. “The Armistice forbids all but the General and one observer unless the factions agree otherwise.”
“Then how come you sent Azrael there to get chewed up and spit out by an evil god?”
“We didn’t send Azrael there,” Rahmiel said. “He was mortal then. He was filling in for Hashem’s authorized observer at the time. They had no idea he could … uhm…” Rahmiel trialed off.
Elisabeth had the distinct impression the angels had lots of not-so-angelic dirty laundry flapping on the clothesline, the same as any mortal family. God and Satan were chess buddies. Not only did angels marry, but the Archangel Michael was married to the Dark Mother and had a gazillion children. A sex goddess ruled the universe. And to top it all off, Lucifer was the de facto emperor of Earth.
Oh … and Earth was the Hellmouth…
Any moment now, vampires and werewolves would leap out of the bushes and start tap dancing and singing campy stage-tunes. Hellmouth. The Musical.
“Before you knew what?” Elisabeth gave her a sharp look.
She adjusted her gimpy leg, which had begun to cramp after two hours of sitting cross-legged on the floor. Around them, other mortal creatures whose genetic profiles showed promise of developing ascended abilities were trying to learn the same lesson … with much greater success.
“Before we knew he was capable of wielding void-matter,” Rahmiel said. “Like Mama does.”
“He was only seventeen!” Elisabeth hissed. “You didn’t even warn him there was a malignant god on our world looking for ascended DNA to feed upon! As primitive as we are, at least our Earth religions teach us not to mess around with the Devil!”
She shoved her cane into a gap in the floorboards and heaved her aching body up off the ground. A groan escaped her lips as she tried to put weight on her gimpy leg and realized it had fallen asleep.
“Why don’t you let me heal your leg?” Rahmiel asked. “You don’t need to be hindered by it any longer.”
“It is a badge of honor left by your father!” Elisabeth snapped. “Remember?”
“Papa wasn’t the one who left that injury there,” Rahmiel said. “It should have healed already. He thinks it’s the echo of a spirit-injury carried forward from a past lifetime.”
Elisabeth scowled, but did not grace Rahmiel with an answer. All her life she’d dreamed of talking to angels and discovered she had one following her around. Now … for months now dozens of them had been crawling up her ass with a microscope to see what made her tick.
“Are all humans so prickly?”
“Listen,” Elisabeth said. “I came because your father said Az was hurt and he’s my friend. It’s what I do. Fix people who are broken. But ever since I got here, I feel like that guy in Alice's Restaurant.”
“I don’t understand,” Rahmiel raised one eyebrow in confusion.
“Ever since I got here,” Elisabeth said. “I’ve been hung down, wrung down, wrung up, and all kinds of mean nasty ugly things. I’m sick of it! I’m just a nurse!"
“You’re more than a nurse,” Rahmiel retreated behind that damned unreadable expression all the angels seemed to have mastered. “If you and Azrael plan…”
“There is no plan!” Elisabeth snapped. “You got that? He’s my friend! Nothing more!”
Rahmiel winced. “That’s what we’re afraid of.”
Elisabeth didn’t know what was going on. The more Azrael healed, the more tight-lipped and distant he became. She could have sworn when she’d first touched him, he’d called her ‘my love.’ But now? She wasn’t so sure. Was he pulling away because his people didn’t approve of her? She was, after all, only human. And weren't angels forbidden to get involved with humans? They were, after, all, pretty pathetic compared to not just any old angels, but Archangels.
“Why do you all feel compelled to study me?” Elisabeth's hand jutted out with frustration. “Are you hoping you’ll find some errant gene that will make me … what? Worthy to hang out with you guys? Or are you just trying to figure out what the hell Az sees in me?”
Rahmiel was silent, as though weighing what she wished to say. “We just wish to understand you. That’s all.”
“Why?” Elisabeth shot back.
“Because if you are to become one of us,” Rahmiel said. “You need to understand our ways.”
“Do you see any wings sticking out of my back?” Elisabeth pointed to her back. “I thought I was only here until Az gets better?”
Rahmiel hesitated.
“I am only here until Az finishes healing,” Elisabeth asked. “Right? And then you’ll take me home?”
Rahmiel fidgeted, her cold-bitch Angel demeanor slipping as pink crept into her cheeks.
“I’m a prisoner?”
“Not … a prisoner,” Rahmiel said. “More like … protective custody.”
“I’m in custody?!!” Elisabeth shouted. The other creatures stopped their stupid white-light meditations and all looked at her. Cripes! Some weren’t even humanoid. There were bugs and slugs and frogs. All hanging
out in a bizarre cumbaya ceremony learning to do what she had done her whole life instinctively.
“I’m sorry,” Rahmiel stammered. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I want to go home,” Elisabeth said in clipped, authoritative words the way a drill sergeant spoke to new recruits. “Now.”
“I can’t,” Rahmiel said.
“I want to go home,” Elisabeth said again, her knuckles gripped white on her cane.
“Rahmiel!” a voice called from nowhere. A flash of darkness appeared at their side, coalescing into the Regent. “I’ll take it from here.”
Oh … shit! Now I’ve done it. The boss-woman cometh.
“Yes, Mother,” Rahmiel bowed. She backed up several steps to bow a second time before moving to another part of the room.
“Walk with me, mate of Azrael,” the Regent said.
Deadly wing-spikes rustled as she tucked them against her back to make them appear as small and non-threatening as possible. Not counting her enormous wings, the Regent barely came to Elisabeth's tall, German chin. Elisabeth wasn’t fooled. She’d seen what the Dark Mother could turn into when she was really, really pissed.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Elisabeth fell back on her Army training. As so-called 'Queen-Regent of Chaos" the Regent was the highest ranking person around here. Even the General deferred to her, unless they were in private, in which case she’d noticed the relationship dynamics shifted and the Regent deferred to him the same way any other wife sought to crawl into the shelter of her husband's arms. Although the General also deferred to someone called the Eternal Emperor; who deferred to the creation goddess who was also a sex goddess; who deferred to someone named Ki; who had delegated authority to this absentee Dark Lord; who’d appointed the Regent to act in his stead.
Sheesh! The chain of command around here was more convoluted than a meeting at the White House where multiple branches of the military mixed with the President, Congress, and a half-dozen countries' foreign dignitaries. No wonder the immortals couldn’t get out of their own damned way!