No Shadows Fall

by L. J. LaBarthe

  Chloe continued to stare at him. Penemuel blinked owlishly at her in response.

  “I’m sorry, am I boring you?” He looked contrite.

  Chloe closed her mouth, then opened it again. “No. Not even a bit. It’s just, these are things you read in novels or see in the movies. And yet, here you are, reading a dead language as easily as I read English or French or Latin, and talking about mythical creatures as if they’re as real as you and me.”

  “Yes, well, I am an angel,” Penemuel said with a ghost of a smile. “Language, that is to say, writing, is my gift. It’s what I taught the humans in Eden when they wanted to learn how to write prayers for Semjaza and letters to each other.”

  “Amazing.” Chloe shook her head and chuckled ruefully. “Sometimes, I forget that you’re an angel, older than this planet. You’re so... self-effacing, I suppose.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Of course not!” She reached over the desk to touch his hand lightly. “It’s just a reality check for me, that’s all. I mean, considering that we saw angels and demons during the news reports about the war, you’d think I’d be more aware of you guys.”

  “Humans see what they want to,” Penemuel said sadly. “You remember what you want to. Have you ever noticed how that amazing party grows more and more amazing with every retelling?”

  “We exaggerate, you mean?”

  “In part. But mostly, the human memory is tied to imagination, and your imaginations soar and embellish because of that. You all love stories. And you are all stories in and of yourselves. A wonderful species, you humans are.”

  “Thank you, kind sir.” Chloe grinned at him. “So, what else does the parchment say?”

  “Hm? Oh yes, right.” Penemuel returned his attention to the faded words. “It talks about Uriel going to fight with the clans and killing many demons. It says that afterward, he burned the dead, not out of respect, but because he liked to burn things. Then it says that Raziel came and put limits on the fire just in case. It says that Raziel and Uriel were lovers, which isn’t really news. Then it talks about how Michael came and brought food and medicine for the wounded and thanked the clans for their help, and blessed them, before returning to the main forces of angels that Gabriel commanded.”

  “Uriel and Raziel are lovers?” Chloe was gaping again, Penemuel realized.

  “Yes?” Penemuel blinked at her owlishly.

  “Isn’t that sort of... against the rules?”

  “Why would it be?” Penemuel was puzzled.

  Chloe waved a hand vaguely. “I don’t know. I guess I assumed that you guys didn’t do that sort of thing, that you don’t have genitalia or anything.”

  Penemuel laughed. “Dear Chloe. If we didn’t, how would we have had children with human women?”

  She frowned. “I forgot about that.”

  “We were punished for that—those of us who did take wives and have children. The children were called Nephilim, and they were half-breeds. Gabriel killed them, most of them, anyway.”

  “Did you have children?”

  “Me? Only one, and that was accidental. I didn’t know what would happen, which seems foolish of me, I suppose. In any event, my crimes didn’t involve procreation. I gave knowledge of writing and reading to humans before they were supposed to have it. They were supposed to earn it themselves. I sort of skipped several thousands years of evolution by giving it to them in Eden. Very naughty of me.”

  Chloe snorted.

  “In the end, it didn’t matter. After the expulsion from Eden, after Gabriel’s slaughter of the Nephilim and imprisonment of Semjaza, after Michael’s imprisonment of the rest of us in Hell, Uriel took Noah and his family, and two of every living creature onto his boat, and unleashed the great Flood of Noah to wash the Earth clean.” Penemuel sighed. “I suppose water washes away a multitude of sins.”

  Chloe smiled sadly at him. “It’s all very painful for you, isn’t it,” she said, and it wasn’t really a question.

  “It is a little, yes.” Penemuel smiled back. “But Raziel’s given us the means to redeem ourselves, so that makes it much easier to bear.”

  At that moment, his cell phone rang, and Penemuel quirked an eyebrow. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and answered the phone.

  “Pen, you’re not going to believe this.” It was Baraqiel.

  “Probably not, no, but tell me anyway.”

  “Semjaza’s gone to America. He’s setting himself up in a place called Maryhill.”

  Penemuel frowned. “Where’s that?”

  “It’s in Washington state, on the edge of the Columbia River. The estate house sits on a cliff overlooking the water. It’s a beautiful place. But what really caught his attention is the replica Stonehenge there.”

  “A replica Stonehenge?” Penemuel was astonished. “What good is a replica?”

  “Apparently quite a bit. Ko took a look at the charts and the layout of the place, and the ring’s on top of the cliff, overlooking the river, down from the house. Positioned as it is, it fills the requirements for magic of the elements— earth, air, fire, and water. The star charts show that it’s aligned with Aquila.”

  Penemuel frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s not. It wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but with his magic, Semjaza can use the power of this replica Stonehenge to boost his own. If he chooses this spot to fight Gabriel, they’ll be evenly matched. Semjaza will have the power of an Archangel.”

  Penemuel froze. “That can’t be allowed to happen!”

  “I know.” Baraqiel’s voice in Penemuel’s ear was worried. “Kokabiel’s telling Raziel right now. Raziel’s rather... loud. He’s very angry, Pen. Not at us, but at Semjaza. We’re going over the star charts and looking at things like ley lines to see if there’s something there that can throw Semjaza off.”

  Penemuel looked around the room he was in. “Let me do some digging here, Bara. The British Library has the world’s largest collection of book antiquities. I might be able to find something too.”

  Baraqiel sounded relieved. “Thank you, Pen. I’ll tell Raziel.”

  “Of course. I’ll telephone you when I find something.”

  “Thanks. Talk to you soon.”

  “Yes, of course. Goodbye.” Penemuel ended the call and looked at Chloe. “How do you feel about some research into a very obscure topic?”

  “Fine, but what about this?” Chloe gestured at the parchment in its glass cabinet that protected it from the air and dust.

  “Hm? Oh, bother.” Penemuel concentrated, using his power to read the parchment. Then he waved his hand, and the translation appeared on his notepad. “And there we are.”

  Chloe gaped at him. “How did you do that?”

  “Magic, my dear.” Penemuel smiled. “I only use it on rare occasions, and what we need to research is of the utmost importance.”

  “Holy crap!” Chloe looked at the notepad then at Penemuel. “Wait, is the translation accurate?”

  Penemuel peered at her over the rim of his spectacles. “Ibegyour pardon?” His voice echoed with how offended he was at the question.

  Chloe blinked at him and then burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, Pen. I didn’t mean to insult you. Forget I asked. Of course it’s accurate.”

  “I’ll do that. Because it most certainly is accurate. Now then,” Penemuel removed his spectacles, folded them and put them into the breast pocket of his tweed jacket. “Let’s go do some research.”

  “I’m guessing you’ll be telling me what we’re researching as we head down to the catalogues?” Chloe asked.

  “Of course.” Penemuel carefully locked the cabinet with the parchment and took his notepad, pocketing it. “Shall we go?”

  She curtseyed. “We shall.”

  “Splendid.”

  SEVERAL hours later, Chloe set down a heavy volume written in Latin and sighed. She rubbed her eyes with both hands and leaned forward on the table. “Pen, I’m stuffed. Do we know anyth
ing more than we did this morning?”

  “A little.” Penemuel frowned and looked at her. “You look tired. Perhaps you should take a break and go and have a cup of tea?”

  She pushed her hair back with one hand and looked at him. “In a minute. What did you find?”

  “There’s nothing about ley lines, which, as you know, are lines of psychic power that crisscross the entire planet. But, what it does tell me is that the alignment with the constellation of Aquila, which is where Semjaza was imprisoned, was entirely accidental. The gentleman who built the replica of Stonehenge did so as a war memorial. All magical purposes are entirely coincidental.”

  “And this is good?”

  “Very much so.” Penemuel smiled. “It means that the magic’s never been tapped there. Also, during the war, there were several skirmishes at Maryhill, although the demons only tried to take it from the angels and their human allies who held it as a base near the end of the war. No one knew why, of course, because no one knew of the significance of the Stonehenge construction. Everyone assumed that it was because across the river was Oregon, and Oregon was the safe harbor. No demon was going to get in there. And, no demon was going to be able to go into the river because Gabriel had turned all the water on the planet to Holy Water.

  “At first, the fights at Maryhill were small, random. Toward the end of the war, they were more intense. There’s a report here that says Uriel and Gabriel fought a pretty nasty battle on what used to be the formal gardens of the estate house. The whole thing turned to ash with all the power being thrown around, and, of course, the demon blood, which is rather toxic and tends to kill plants. No matter how many demons they killed, they kept on coming. So why? That’s the question. Demons don’t care about Semjaza at all. I doubt that they would have any interest in using this modern Stonehenge as a key to open Aquila. But they would have had interest in Stonehenge itself as a magical object. If they’d gotten control of it, they might have been able to clear the Columbia River of Gabriel’s blessing, making it safe to cross. And they might have been able to punch a hole through the barrier the Archangels raised seventy years prior, to get into Oregon itself.”

  Chloe pursed her lips, her brow furrowed as she thought about it. “What if,” she began slowly, tapping her left index finger on the tabletop, “what if, somehow, this Stonehenge had its magic triggered during the fighting? And that was what weakened Aquila enough for Semjaza to do his own ooga-booga tricks and get free?”

  Penemuel’s eyes widened. “Oh, my,” he breathed. “I do think you’ve hit the nail on the head. I think you’re absolutely right.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I must call Ko and Bara. And get Raziel to come here. All three of them, actually.”

  “Well, you do that, and I’m going to get a cup of tea.” Chloe stood up. “Want one?”

  “Hm? Oh yes, thank you.” Penemuel had his phone to his ear.

  Chloe grinned in fond amusement and left him to call his friends.

  Penemuel smiled at her when she returned with two cups of tea. He wasn’t alone—Raziel sat at the head of the table, and beside Penemuel were two angels that he knew Chloe would not recognize.

  “Chloe, this is Kokabiel and Baraqiel,” he said, taking a teacup from her. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Hello.” She nodded as she sat down. “Hello, Raziel.”

  “Hello, Chloe.” Raziel smiled at her. “You’re looking well.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Chloe,” said Kokabiel. “Penemuel has told us about you.”

  She blushed. “I hope he didn’t say anything too awful.”

  “On the contrary,” Kokabiel assured her.

  “And it seems we have you to thank for solving a mystery,” Raziel said.

  Chloe blushed some more. “It wouldn’t have occurred to me if Pen hadn’t put forth his theories about why that part of Washington was so heavily attacked during the war.”

  “Yes, he filled us in.” Raziel nodded. “It seems you’ve both solved quite a few riddles for us. I am in your debt.” He looked at Penemuel. “Both of your debt.”

  Penemuel looked down, shaking his head. “Not at all, Raziel,” he demurred. “It had to be done, and who better to do the research than the Angel of Writing and Reading?”

  “Quite so. But nevertheless, you did not have to do it, and the fact that you did and that you alerted me to it means that I do remain in your debt.” Raziel inclined his head. “The three of you Grigori have been of enormous assistance, and I thank you. Michael asked me to convey his own gratitude too. You’ve all saved us months of work that would most probably have not produced a result.”

  Penemuel felt his cheeks grow warm as he blushed. “We don’t want Semjaza to rule,” he said.

  “A worthy goal and a good reason to help us.” Raziel looked at the three Grigori, and Penemuel couldn’t help but squirm a little beneath that intense, bright blue gaze. “You have given us the information we need to use this Stonehenge to our advantage and provided us with the answer as to how Semjaza was able to use his knowledge and magic to escape from Aquila. Thank you.”

  “Does this mean they’re not outlaws anymore?” Chloe suddenly asked.

  Raziel turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “Now, Chloe...,” Penemuel began.

  “No, Pen, this is serious. You—and your mates there—have been in hiding for ages, right? You’ve been living in fear, and you haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve kept to yourselves, lived your lives, and worked for humanity. Now, you’ve helped out the Archangels. So, you shouldn’t be punished anymore, because you’ve more than redeemed yourselves.”

  Kokabiel chuckled. “She’s a feisty one,” he said to Penemuel, who was spluttering.

  Raziel laughed. “She reminds me of Uri. Very well, Chloe,” he said to her, “you are correct. These three Grigori are pardoned and forgiven. You have the right to return home, should you wish,” he added, turning to look at the angels.

  Penemuel gaped at him.

  “Are.... You’re sure?” Baraqiel asked.

  “Yes. You have been pardoned and are welcome home in Paradise.” Raziel smiled.

  Penemuel felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and he blinked rapidly.

  To be allowed to return to Heaven after so long an exile... he couldn’t believe it. It was more than he had ever dared to hope for.

  “Thank you, Raziel,” he said softly.

  “Yes, thank you.” Kokabiel’s voice shook with emotion. “Perhaps... when we have adjusted to this great gift you’ve given us, we’ll do that. Go home for a little while. Just... just to feel Hashem’s Grace once again.”

  Raziel smiled. “God has ever been with you,” he said gently. “Now, you just know it for certain.”

  Penemuel smiled back, a shaky smile. He heard Kokabiel give a quiet sob, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

  “To go home,” breathed Baraqiel. “It’s been so very long.”

  “I know.” Raziel’s expression was compassionate.

  “Thank you,” Penemuel said again. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

  Raziel grinned at him. “Don’t worry about it. Whenever you’re ready to go to Heaven, and however long you want to stay, you’re very welcome. You’re welcome to come and go as you please, as do those of the Heavenly Host who love this planet and its people.”

  Penemuel nodded. “We’re very grateful, Raziel.”

  “As am I.” Raziel stood up. “Alas, I must leave now. I have much yet to attend to. Thank you all, again, and welcome back to the Host.” With a warm smile and inclination of his head, Raziel spread his wings and was gone.

  Penemuel took a deep breath and turned to Kokabiel and Baraqiel. Kokabiel was weeping, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, and Baraqiel’s eyes were glassy. Penemuel knew his were much the same.

  “Home,” Baraqiel said, and the three Grigori embraced each other in a brotherly hug.

>   “At long last,” Kokabiel said.

  “Amen,” Penemuel agreed.

  Chloe, a smile in her voice, said, “I’m very glad for you guys. Very glad.”

  Penemuel shot her a quick grin. “Thank you, Chloe.”

  THE first snows had begun falling on Iona, pellets spat in a fitful irregular flow of white. Ishtahar sat in the kitchen of the cottage, a mug of coffee in her hands, and gazed out of the window at the snow.

  She was worried. It was not just Semjaza, and oh, she was terrified that he’d find her and destroy her sons and her life. Semjaza had always been jealous, and Ishtahar didn’t think that aspect of his personality would have changed during his imprisonment. Ishtahar worried about many things these days, and Semjaza was the least of them.

  “Mother.” Ishtahar turned to face Ahijah, her youngest son and one of her many concerns, as he entered the kitchen. “Hello, Ahijah.” She smiled warmly at him.

  “Are you all right, Mother?”

  “I am.” Ishtahar held out a hand to him, and Ahijah went to her and took her fingers in his hand.

  “It is very early,” Ahijah said. “I thought you would be sleeping.”

  “I do not sleep much these days.” Ishtahar set down her mug and ran her hand through her son’s hair. “You need a haircut.”

  Ahijah laughed. “I suppose I do.”

  “Ahijah,” Ishtahar said with a sigh, the smile fading from her lips, “what have you been doing in South America?”

  Ahijah tensed. “I took holy orders, Mother. I work as a village priest.”

  Ishtahar snorted delicately. “My son, you are many things, but a simple village priest is not something that I would ever imagine you doing. What are youreally doing?”

  Ahijah looked down at the floor. “You’ll be angry.”

  “I will not.” Ishtahar gently lifted his face, her fingers beneath his chin. “I worry, Ahijah. A very great deal. Please tell me what you are doing.”