Angels Have Fallen

by Christina Byus

nights out under the stars, in the wild, open freedom. My mother disliked how I was coming up, but she allowed so because she loved me, she knew it was who I was meant to be. I hunted, fed myself, and became the animal my father would relate to.

  In my later years, shortly after my father was killed, I returned home to care for my mother. She didn’t live long after he passed. Not quite a month. Her heart and soul belonged to him and they followed him into whatever afterlife we angels pass on to. I wished for a love like theirs.

  That girl, her face so vivid in my memory, she had to exist. If Doctor Alexander didn’t return with news I would search for her myself. I had lived nearly a thousand years without once knowing the feeling of love for a girl. This could be it. She could be the one. The only way for me to find out is to find her.

  Hours agonizingly passed. The good doctor hadn’t returned. My mind wouldn’t rest until morning, I had to leave. Pushing myself off the bed was more difficult than I thought. The wound in my side throbbed. Damn demon venom. In hospital issue briefs, I made my way to the counter where my gear sat.

  My chest plate required repair. The straps were cut, probably to remove it from my body. Someone cleaned my tunic. The blood and dirt from battle were gone from the off-white linen. I slid it over my head, mindful of my healing wound. The leather straps of my sheaths and belt were intact. I attached them to my body in their rightful places. Leather sandals in shambles, I did my best to tie them around my feet. Dressed, with my chest plate in hand, I searched for my helmet and weapons, the only possessions missing. They were nowhere to be found the tiny room. Reception must have taken them for safe keeping.

  I checked the hall for the doctor…all clear. Not that anyone could prevent me from leaving anyway. A nod to the passing nurse and I made my way to the front desk. The halls were relatively empty. This was the only hospital for all of angel-kind, so I happened to be familiar with the interior.

  “Checking out, sir?” the young angel behind the desk asked. His cropped white hair glowed atop his head.

  “Yes, in fact I am. Do you happen to have my weapons up here?”

  “No, I apologize. We haven’t received any weapons in the past few weeks. Even if we did, they’d be sent to the third floor. I can still call up there and check if you’d like.”

  “I’m sure they’re not there, thank you though. I’ll just be on my way.” Attempting to leave, I turned for the sliding doors behind me.

  “Uh, sir, what was your name? I have to check you out.”

  “How many archangels have been admitted recently?” I asked.

  The young angel hesitated. “Alive?”

  “Yes alive.”

  “You and one other, sir. I don’t mean to offend, all I need is your name and you can go.” He was trembling nervously, failing to hide it.

  “Troy,” I said and left without another word.

  The task of locating the mysterious angel seemed so impossible when I got to my house. When both my parents moved on I inherited their home, kept it for a place to rest when I really needed it. Now I needed it. I had to have a clear mind to figure out what I was going to do next. I’d devote all the time in the world to finding her. The militia wouldn’t miss me for long.

  What I knew from the color and quality of her wings was that she had to be upper level of some kind. Wings that innocent, so free of corruption, could only be from the most regal part of our world. My current dilemma was not having access to that area. I didn’t even know anyone with the proper clearance. One would think in a world of angels all would be equal. That is not the case.

  Figuring my weapons were left on the battlefield I disregarded trying to locate them. I had more and could forge as many as I cared to. I didn’t plan on returning to the war until after I had found the girl anyway. Rummaging through the drawers of my dresser for appropriate civilian attire I found a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt that was a little too tight, but it worked. Black strapped boots and I was dressed. I’d been trying to convince the General to update our battle gear. His mind was stuck in ancient times, so he never listened. His reasoning was that we’d won every war wearing the same basic uniform, why change it now? Well, comfort for one, I thought of responding but kept to myself.

  The space that was my childhood bedroom was converted into a weapons room after the passing of my parents. In it housed a plethora of hand to hand combat gear, swords, daggers, several maces, and spears, as well as various sized bows. Centered on one wall in the room were my smithing tools, a forge, many hammers, and a large anvil.

  I stuffed holsters and straps into the bottom of a backpack, a handful of portable weapons on top of them. On those I folded and placed a change of clothes along with my physical identifier-a thick steel chain with a pendant attached that had my birth insignia engraved on it.

  Every angel is born with a unique tattoo (almost like a birthmark) on their left wrist. In the beginning of time, before the surge of advanced technology, the marks were our only form of individual identification. Our wing colors separate us into numerous classes. Our identifier is ours alone, no two alike. As an archangel I am set apart by the color of my wings, they are dark as the night sky, an obsidian blue that shields me and conceals blood. Archangels also have their identifiers engraved physically on a heavy necklace, so, that in the event of our demise we can be accounted for among the dead.

  Cell phone in hand, I tossed the backpack on the backseat of my car. I flipped it open, dialing my good friend Darius’s number. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Greetings, friend, how can I help you today?”

  “Darius, I have a favor to ask. Do you have any connections in Ambrosial Arc? I must find a way in as soon as possible.” I kept me voice low to keep the neighbors unaware of my intentions.

  He was silent.

  Darius once fought audaciously by my side in the Wars years ago. He was gravely injured when a demon infiltrated our camp and tore through our troops causing utter chaos. My dear friend lost his left leg up to his thigh and his right just below the knee. After years of physical therapy he can now walk with the help of prosthetics. Any other attack and his limbs could have been saved. But demon venom, once in an angel’s system, destroys any regenerative and healing abilities. We were unable get him to the hospital in time to extract the venom.

  “You know we are forbidden from entering Ambrosial Arc without a request from an official. Why do you need to go there?”

  I got right down to it. “I left the hospital this morning and I don’t remember how I got there. Stuck in my last memory is the face of a girl-a woman, she saved me during the battle. Her wings were those of someone from the Arc. I don’t expect for you to understand but I must find her. My mind and my body won’t allow me to do anything else.”

  “And what of your heart, my friend?” he asked. His tone was mono. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “Yes, my heart also pushes me to find her. Please tell me you know a way.”

  Another silent moment passed before he answered hesitantly. “I do. But I have to be sure this is worth it, not for me, but for you. You stand to lose a great deal entering the Arc. The punishment is immediate death without trial.”

  “Yes, as do you, Darius. I won’t ask you to put yourself in such a position for me. If you know any way I can get in that doesn’t put you at risk I would rather go that route.”

  He laughed. His deep voice came out raspy and rough. “Answer me, Troy. Is she worth it? Have you been imprinted upon?”

  “Without a doubt,” I said clearly. “What I feel is right.”

  Apparently that was all Darius needed to hear. He informed me of a veiled entrance into Ambrosial Arc, giving directions and minute details. I memorized everything he told me. I couldn’t leave a paper trail leading back to him. We said our goodbyes and he wished me luck. I almost asked him how he knew of such a way in, but that he knew it at all was a blessing and it was enough.

  Using my thigh I pres
sed the top of my open phone against it with one hand to flip it closed. Sat in the driver’s seat of my car I tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat, preparing to pull out of my driveway. A few vehicles drove past on the road, I watched them in my rearview mirror. To be discrete as possible I had to make sure no one followed me. Backing out slowly I watched the neighbor’s houses for any signs of snooping.

  Angels are forbidden from flying for local travel, a law put into effect before I was born. The law was created when a group of young students decided to play irresponsibly and take flight. Two of them collided causing permanent injury to their wings. One of them sustained so much damage he lost his ability to fly.

  On the way to Ambrosial Arc the streets were bare, very few cars drove by. The city itself was only thirty minutes from my home. Outside angels were allowed visitation with a sponsor from within the Arc, or by the invitation of an official. I lacked either and had no idea what I was going to do once I actually got in. The perimeter of the Arc was protected and guards patrolled the streets. Security had been heightened since the beginning of the Wars in an effort to protect our highest in power and most influential. The strongest of demons possessed the ability to shape shift, posing as angels to infiltrate the city. Since I didn’t have a valid excuse to be there I’d be a target.

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