by Laury Falter
Sarai Rautenstrauch – Died Paris, France January 8, 1535
Sarai Rautenstrauch – Fallen Paris, France January 8, 1535
Sarai Rautenstrauch – Eternal Death Bavarian Alps February 10, 2011
Just like her father, she had lived only one lifetime on earth as a human, having fallen after the body she had existed in came to its end. And she did it the same day she died.
It was a choice of fate I could not understand.
Placing my finger over her name, I swiped and was instantly transported through the tunnel that was now so well-known to me.
When I landed in Sarai’s body, I immediately felt different. Unlike Abaddon’s body, which was stiff and restrained, hers was languid, flexible. It felt as if I could bend backwards and finish a marathon that way.
Sarai’s back was arched, actually, but only a little. She was leaning seductively against the wall of a busy street corner, one hand at the side of her chin, playing with the edge of the hood she wore.
As her eyes scrutinized the street, or more precisely the men on the street, I was able to catch a good look at her surroundings.
From the signs mounted over the doors of various shops, I deduced that she was in France and, from the size of the streets and the number of the horse drawn carriages, that it was Paris.
It was the middle of the day and those around her were committed to their errands, all except the older male gender. They had noticed her, or the rather tight bodice she wore, and she knew it.
Exhilaration pumping through her, she pushed herself off the wall and ambled along the street, keeping an awareness of the men around her.
“Mademoiselle,” one called out from behind her but she refused to turn.
“Mademoiselle,” he said again, more urgently.
Finally, he reached her, stepping up alongside and bending forward to peer inside her hood. As he did, he stepped back, stunned.
He made a sound of surprise and then turned and headed off across the street.
It wasn’t so much his reaction that astonished me but Sarai’s. Her joy was instantly washed away when the man had gotten a look at her beneath the hood.
Curiosity gnawed at me then, wondering how anyone could react with such repulsion after seeing Sarai. Remembering her too clearly, I knew her beauty was awe-inspiring. This man, on the other hand, had clearly been repulsed.
Only a few storefronts down did I get my answer.
She swung her head to glance behind her, checking on whether any other admirers would approach, and then I saw it.
She was young, still a teenager, but something had happened since I last saw her. The left side of her face was coarse, her skin rising in ridges where it was once flat and soft to the touch.
Somehow, Sarai had been maimed.
The hood she wore now made sense to me. It concealed the one part of her body she was most embarrassed by while accentuating the parts that drew the most admiration.
I realized then how Sarai had come to discover her supernatural ability to overpower and seduce men…She had crafted it. Years of refining had given her the ability to manipulate them, fulfilling her in a sick and disturbing way the need to be desired.
Suddenly, I was pulled from Sarai’s body and down the tunnel, abruptly dropping back to it later in her life.
The noise of the street was dulled now and the offensive smell of horse manure and rotting garbage was gone, replaced with the subtle aroma of roses.
A bouquet was arranged in a crystal vase directly in front of her, alongside delicately painted tea cups, still filled the rim and steaming.
I felt her emotions then. They were heightened and to my astonishment I found that she was nervous.
When she glanced up, it was across the table at three people in front of her, two of them I knew instantly.
Campion stood in the back of the room, hands clasped behind his back, his hair as stark white as ever. He seemed to want to blend in with the background, as Eran does when he’s watching me in The Square. Recognizing him, I smiled instantly inside.
While he stood behind a couch, the other two people sat on it, facing us. One was a woman dressed in traditional clothing. Although she seemed out of place surrounded by a room of ornate décor, she appeared relaxed. Her name was Éléonore and she had trained with me as a messenger. Thinking back, remembering her, I knew that she was excellent with the lance and that she hadn’t returned from this lifetime. I studied her face as quickly as Sarai’s fleeting looks would allow, wanting to absorb every detail as this may be the last time I see her again. But Sarai paid them little attention.
It was the teenage boy next to her that held Sarai’s interest the most.
He was tall and wiry with a nose long enough to arch downwards towards his chin, nearly touching it. The style of his clothes told me that he did not come from wealth. Yet, none of this mattered to Sarai.
She was giddy, her heart flipping in her chest each time their eyes connected. It nearly broke right through her chest when he grinned proudly at her.
I couldn’t believe it was possible but I couldn’t deny it either…Sarai was in love.
“And how is it the two of you came to know each other,” asked a woman to Sarai’s left. She spoke in perfect French, with an underlying accent.
When Sarai looked up towards the woman, I found that she was older with beauty that rivaled Sarai. Clearly, they were mother and daughter. However, unlike Sarai, who had definite Indian features, this woman’s skin tone and her heritage were less distinct.
“In the market,” said the boy eagerly, also in French. As an afterthought, he added, “Isabelle…uh…Mademoiselle .”
The woman made a sound that showed she didn’t appreciate him or his lack of etiquette.
“And how long have you been courting my daughter?” she asked, her tone nearly a demand.
“I…We…” He paused to clear his throat, clearly intimidated by Sarai’s mother but regained his composure and answered clearly, “Several months now, Mademoiselle.”
“I see,” said Sarai’s mother, her lips pinched together by the end of her retort.
Inside Sarai, I felt her growing more desperate. She sensed she was losing this battle with her mother, who evidently deemed her too worthy for this boy’s lowly station. Sarai, on the other hand, had never known adoration like this from a man, especially one who had seen her face.
The woman beside the boy spoke for the first time, her usual steady evaluation of Sarai’s mother breaking briefly. She too spoke in French, directly to the point, and with a grace in her tone that made her sound almost as if she were singing them. “Arnaud was not born with wealth but instead with the ability to earn it. He is strong, intelligent, and willful, and he will care for Sarai-”
“She doesn’t need caring for,” Sarai’s mother interrupted causing an abrupt and uncomfortable silence.
“We were sorry to hear of your unfortunate accident,” said Éléonore.
“Thank you,” Sarai said, speaking for the first time and in a nervous rush. “When the carriage toppled, it crushed my mother entirely. The doctor said she…she died but he was wrong. She’s as strong as ever. Arnaud…” she heart skipped a beat as he spoke his name. “He was so comforting when it happened.”
Ignoring the look Arnaud and Sarai shared, the woman brushed it off, “Yes, I fared well.”
In response, Éléonore nodded knowingly.
That was when I picked up on it. Something was different about this conversation. It wasn’t so much the fact that Sarai’s mother obviously did not want Arnaud and Sarai to be together as it was the way Éléonore and Sarai’s mother seemed to be dancing around some vague truth, one I couldn’t discern yet.
As if Sarai’s mother had heard enough of the conversation, she said, “Let me make this unquestionably clear…” She dipped her chin slightly to level her eyes at Éléonore. “Having met you, I will not allow your son to see my daughter again.”
“Met her?” muttered Sar
ai, confused.
“You have no idea who you are dealing with, my dear,” said Isabelle to her daughter. “Loathsome, vile creatures.”
Unruffled, Éléonore replied simply, “I recall you being one of us at some point in the past.”
“And then I became wise,” Isabelle retorted.
“After your death, no doubt,” reasoned Éléonore. “When you could have lived in harmony for the rest of eternity.”
Isabelle leaned forward, seething. “I chose to fall.”
“Fall?” asked Sarai, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
Isabelle disregarded her, the conversation having blown up now to a full scale argument while Arnaud and Sarai watched helplessly. They had no idea who the others were sitting opposite them. Sarai didn’t know Campion to be a guardian and Arnaud hadn’t known Sarai’s mother to be a Fallen One, or that they were arch enemies.
“Then that makes you more foolish than I originally suspected,” said Éléonore, meeting Isabelle head on.
Suddenly Isabelle was on her feet, a dagger in hand.
Éléonore was standing suddenly too, a sword appearing at her sword.
But the two were separated, Campion coming between them so rapidly his movement had been a blur.
“We’ll be leaving now,” Campion said coolly.
“No…” came a voice from behind a side door often used for servants. It was a voice I recognized instantly, one that would stir nightmares in me if I were ever able to sleep.
Abaddon appeared, a sneer lifting his thin, tight cheeks.
“No, you won’t be leaving.” He said this nonchalantly as if he were suggesting they stay for another round of cards.
“Pleasure to see you again, Campion,” he added cordially.
“I can’t say the same to you. Sorry.”
Abaddon gave him a tight grin, taking a place next to Isabelle, his wife. Now it was Abaddon, Isabelle, and Sarai standing on one side of the coffee table and Campion, Éléonore, and Arnaud on the other.
“I heard you had fallen,” stated Éléonore.
Abaddon’s arms flew out, causing everyone in the room to tense. “Now you see the rumors are true. Rumors have a way of being so, don’t you think? True, I mean. Take this little meeting between our families. I thought it couldn’t possibly be so that my daughter had fallen in love with the son of a messenger. I thought it laughable, ironic…to be a rumor. And yet here we see the truth. One that will need to be remedied.”
The threat hung in the air like an unfinished sentence causing a tense moment to pass with no one saying a word. And then…simultaneously wings sprouted from everyone in the room – everyone but the humans, Sarai and Arnaud.
The room spiraled to mayhem. Abaddon reached across the table and took Campion’s collar, lifting and tossing him against the wall. Éléonore and Isabelle’s swords clashed, stepping around the table for a better angle at each other.
Somewhere in the midst of it, Arnaud grasped Sarai and hauled her to the corner of the room, blocking her from any errant strikes by either party. She held him tight, terrified. I could feel her heart pounding rapidly in her chest as she kept her face buried in Arnaud’s shoulder.
Then he left her side.
Shaken beyond control, she watched as Arnaud picked up a dagger that had slid across the floor in the chaos. Holding it in his hand, he moved forward towards the fight.
“Arnaud?” Sarai called in disbelief.
If he heard, he didn’t respond, continuing to enter the fight, looking for a way in.
It came but quicker than he expected.
In one fluid sequence of motions, Isabelle temporarily got the best of Éléonore, throwing her across the room, and Arnaud took her position, stepping up to face Isabelle. But he was untrained and facing the speed, accuracy, and rage of a Fallen One. The sword came across his chest, tearing through him just as Éléonore returned to the fight.
Sarai cowered in the corner, her eyes locked on the man she loved, a cacophony of deep emotions beginning to stir in her as she made her way to him on hands and knees. Yet, even as she reached him we both knew the truth. Arnaud was gone.
“It isn’t real,” I told myself. “It isn’t real.”
In nearly the same thought, without any pause, I continued, “Look for the clue…Look for the clue.”
But I found none.
Éléonore, who sensed it too, acted with motherly instinct, taking a single swipe of her sword and severing Isabelle’s head.
But Isabelle had seen the strike coming, plunging her sword through Éléonore, their final assaults happening at the very same moment.
Sarai, who sat watching in surreal puzzlement, suddenly found the emotions welling up in her and released a scream that resonated through the room.
The two people she loved the most in her life now lay dead only a few feet from each other.
The fear and confusion she felt brimming inside became steadily replaced then with rage, like a cup filling with water until it reached the edge of the glass and overflowed. At that point, she took the weapon Arnaud still held in his hand and charged Campion, racing directly towards the frenzied clash of swords.
From inside her body, I actually tried to stop her, contracting my muscles as if I could somehow revert time, halt her movements, and keep her from certain death.
But she continued onward, coming too close. The edge of the weapon, that particular blow that came across her throat was not intended for her. I knew this because it came from her father as he struck at Campion.
His hit was good and the two of them fell back together, Campion landing against the wall and Sarai collapsing on the couch.
The pain was severe but not as intense as the terror that overwhelmed her.
Abaddon was suddenly in her view, his hand in hers. Instinctually, I pulled away but Sarai did not move. This was her father and he was going to console her.
But it wasn’t consolation he was after.
“Die, Sarai,” he encouraged. “Die…and return here to me.”
Her eyebrow curved inward. She was confused, just as I was.
“Die, fall, and you will renew. Your scars will be gone…You will have incredible command over others…”
While I was certain he meant power to inflict injury and destruction, Sarai, in her naivety must have understood his promise to mean command over men. The fear ebbed then as the light to the other side appeared, the tunnel forming.
As Abaddon’s voice became an echo in her ears, promising unbelievable powers, Sarai did something that both astounded and infuriated me.
Unable to speak now, she gave Abaddon a single, weak nod, confirmation that she heard, understood, and would follow his request.
Then she entered the tunnel and I was instantly pulled back to the Hall of Records.
“No…” I muttered, my head in my hands. “No! No! No!”
Still repeating that word, I was snapped back to my body on earth, shaking against Eran’s chest.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ELAM
“You’re safe, Magdalene…You’re safe.”
Eran’s tender English accent broke through to me, a welcome realization that my visit to Sarai’s life had ended.
I drew in a deep, trembling breath, recovering.
“I know…Thank you,” I said through my hands, which were still holding my face. The fact that my body was settled against Eran’s told me so. Yet, as much as I knew what Eran said was true, I didn’t have the motivation to come out yet.
Then I felt his fingers softly pry mine back and away from my eyes, carrying my hands to my lap where he wrapped his own around them. The heat of his skin permeated my fingertips, chilled from my experience reliving Sarai’s past.
He gave me a second, watching me patiently.
“She was kind, Eran.” It was all I could think to say by way of an explanation.
“Sarai?”
“Yes, she was innocent, Eran. As a human, she was innocent.” I shook my head, still perp
lexed.
As Eran drew me closer, I told him, “Campion was there. He saw it happen.”
He was silent and then he tilted his head back, coming to a realization. “Ah…” he muttered.
Lifting my chin to look at him, I found his eyes were now focused on the ceiling, recalling the details of the day.
“What?” I asked.
“So that is what the scroll showed you…Sarai’s death.”
When I nodded, he added, “Do you know her death was the reason Campion joined my legion?”
“It is?” I was instantly intrigued.
“Campion’s ward was killed on his watch,” Eran said. “By a Fallen One…sending her to eternal death.”
“So Campion wanted to retaliate?”
“No…No, that’s not in Campion…He wanted to ensure no one else would suffer the same fate.”
That, I could understand. I’d been working towards that goal for the last several weeks.
“He was also there when Sarai returned to the afterlife,” Eran continued. “He watched her fall and the resolve to return was evident in her, he said. Knowing she would join forces with her father, Abaddon, and cause destruction where they went, he did the only thing he could. He joined my legion.”
“Why yours?”
“You don’t think mine is good enough?” he teased.
“You know better,” I retorted.
His grin faded and he explained, “Because mine was designed with a single purpose…To protect guardians and messengers. And he knew that Sarai would be interested in killing any messenger who crossed her path.”
Despite already being aware of their motivations, I was slightly insulted. “I…You know I just don’t understand why…”
“Because, Magdalene,” he said patiently, “her mother and the only man who ever loved her were killed in a fight…a fight that involved a messenger and a guardian.”
I drew in a breath, finally given clarity to the situation.