I stagger back. Though that moment is passed, it is not gone. It exists as a part of every moment that will eventually proceed. It does not need to be rekindled or maintained, only remembered. Ashur waits, anticipating a response. He has completely opened himself to me. Now it is my turn. I offer my heart on the altar of sacrifice and stand holding the dagger in my own hand. Do I plunge it in, risking the pain and death of something so tender to me? This is the moment that love is decided and only faith can save either of us. It takes a complete commitment, a relinquishing of all reservations and doubts—a stepping into the abyss.
I stand at the edge, my fears choking the words from me. Only my heart can move me here. In that moment of decision, I choose to step off the edge of certainty, to relinquish my security for something more. The dagger falls…and I am saved by an angel. We embrace again, our lips merging into passionate expression of love’s deepest desire. The fears are gone.
Ashur pulls away and takes me by the hand. “I’m afraid of losing you,” he says.
“I know you’re afraid,” I say. “But you don’t have to be.”
“I have to go,” he says as he bends down, placing his fingertips to the ground.
“How are you going to face him? You don’t even have a weapon.”
“I’ll find some way.”
Then it occurs to me. I know where we can find a weapon. “That’s it,” I exclaim. “The sword.”
Ashur stops to look up. “What sword?”
“You said that your kind can only be killed by angelic swords,” I say.
“Yes, but there are none of those around.”
“What if I can get you one? Would you at least stand a chance then?”
“Yes, but…”
“Ben’s novelty store,” I say. “I saw one there.”
He shakes his head doubtfully. “Why would a novelty shop have an angelic sword? It’s just a fake.”
“Trust me, it’s not a fake,” I say. Ashur still seems uncertain, and although I am unsure as well, I have to believe. “You’ve often asked me to trust you. Well now I’m asking you to trust me.”
There is some hesitation, but eventually he concedes. “Alright, but this is how it is going to work. I will fly you into town. You will get the sword while I distract Sorath. However, once I have the sword, you will find safety. I don’t want you getting yourself killed.”
“Fine,” I say. Ashur bows his head and touches the ground once more. The earth begins to flow along his arms forming into wings on his back. Liv and Justine look intently on, astonished at what they see.
“Don’t worry,” I say to them. “You get used to it.” I then begin to show Justine the way that leads out toward the graveyard. “Take Liv and get away from the town.”
As I turn to leave, Liv grabs my arm. “Don’t go.”
I put my hand on hers. “I’ll be alright,” I tell her. “Everything is going to work out. We’ll see each other again.” My words seem familiar. They are what my mother told me, only I had always thought of them as a lie. As I say them to Liv now, I realize they were not lies, but words of hope.
She nods in agreement and follows Justine through the archway and out of the chamber. I return to Ashur, his wings extended. He flaps them a few times, the glint from the feathers act as a prism against the light that emanates from within him, casting colorful spectral rays that dance around the walls. No matter how many times I see it, it remains a magnificent sight. His gaze is illuminated with a fiery brightness as he beckons me to come. I run to him, his arms snatching me in and we are off, like a brilliant flame spiraling out of the chamber and into the open air of night.
Below us is the town. Despite the carnage, the street lamps and a few house lights are still lit. Just beyond the church are the fiery remains of the comet. The flames seem to have a life of their own, and then it becomes clear that it is more than fire, it is a figure emerging from the crater. From the distance it appears small, but when it stands erect, the true enormity of the figure becomes apparent. It stands at least two stories high. I am gripped with the sheer horror of it. It’s like nothing I imagined.
“I thought he was just an angel,” I say.
“He’s a seraph. They’re much bigger.” His tone is so matter of fact that it’s as if this should be known to anyone. “You’ve heard of Hell. He’s the one that etched it out of the belly of a dying star.” Ashur can see the fear on my face. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he says. The comment hardly seems appropriate for the occasion, but gives me assurance that at least he is confident that everything will be alright. I suppose in a situation as dire as this, little insanity is needed.
“He’s not so bad,” I reply.
Ashur smiles. “Alright. I will drop you off at the shop. Please hurry.”
“Nervous,” I say.
“You bet.” He takes in one last breath as he arches his back, then leans forward directing himself toward the town. We plummet headlong across the sky. As we approach the shop, I take a full view of the fiery creature. He is massive. The head is not that of a man, but almost like an ox. He steps from the crater not on feet but hooves extending from haunches, like those of a lion. Shaking off the embers, Sorath unfurls his wings, black and leathery like a bat’s. There isn’t a soft light like Ashur’s, but a fiery glow as if he were born from the depths of the earth.
He scans the sky, quite aware of us. With extraordinary speed, he takes a still-burning mass of earth and flings it toward us. Before I can scream, Ashur jerks to the side as I bury my face into his chest. I can’t tell where the impact hit, but from the force, it must have hit him squarely in the back. We spin out of control toward a store front. Ashur does all he can to take the brunt of the collision. Concrete and mortar burst from awning of the building as Ashur’s shoulder digs in.
We are rebounded to the ground and I roll out of Ashur’s arms onto the harsh asphalt. Despite his efforts to save me from injury, I can feel a sharp pain in my side and I am quite sure my ribs are cracked. It hurts to inhale, but I force myself to take in breaths. Cautiously, I turn myself on my side. Ashur is sprawled out on the road a few feet away from me. Dragging myself over to him, I look him over. He is breathing, but unconscious. His wings are crumpled underneath him, battered and torn. I raise myself to my knees; shards of pain penetrate my side.
I cradle his head in my hands. “You’ve got to wake up,” I urge. “I can’t do this alone.” I look back toward the town center. I can see the movement of soft orange light, displacing the shadows. From around the corner emerges the creature. His walk is steady and inhuman, more of an animal walk than a man. Spotting us immediately, Sorath focuses his hollow gaze on me. “Ashur, I need you now,” I scream, shaking him.
There is movement from Ashur. Dazed, he tries to get up. I help him to his feet, although the pain is excruciating. “We have to get out of here,” I say. We begin to hobble toward an alleyway, with me supporting some of his weight. In the distance, Sorath stoops beside a car. Placing a hand on it, the car bursts into flames. Unhindered by the blaze, Sorath takes hold of the roof through the broken-out front windshield, and heaves it off the ground with little effort.
We are a few feet from the alleyway now. Seeing what is about to happen, I leap the short distance with Ashur, as the flaming car is hurled through the air toward us. The sides of the adjacent building guard us from the wreckage and hot flames that explode from it.
We are both laid out on the ground. I’m on top of Ashur looking down on him. “That was a close call,” he says, slightly grinning. It’s apparent he is no longer dazed. I roll off him as he rises to his feet. He helps me up; I try not to give away my injury by covering my cringe. “Thank you for your help,” he says. “But I’ve got this now. I will lure him away. Are you okay getting to the shop on your own?”
“I can handle it,” I say. “Just go.”
“Be careful,” he says. Taking my face in his hands, he kisses me. Then stepping back, he casts his wings down
ward, launching into the air. Hovering above, he looks into the distance toward the creature. “Hey pig face,” he says. “You missed.”
I roll my eyes. Seems Ethan taught him some trash talking. The thought of Ethan brings a different kind of pain, this time to my heart. I don’t allow the thought to sink in, now is not the time. I have to get the sword. Pressing against the sides of the buildings, I make my way toward my destination. At the end of the alley, I can see the sign for the shop swinging by one chain across the way. I’m about to make a break for the entrance, when something grabs me by the arm and pulls me to the ground. I turn to scream, but there is a hand over my mouth. Looking up, I see the face of Ethan.
“Shhh.” He scans the street. “They’ll hear you.” He lets me up and points off to the side where a group of wild dogs have congregated.
“What are you doing here?” I exclaim in a whispered scolding tone. “I thought you were dead.”
He starts to speak, but then stops. Thinking for a moment, he proceeds. “I’m not exactly mortal,” he says.
“Are you an angel too?” He shakes his head. “Fallen angel?”
“Not that either,” he says. “They call me the Anathema, a cursed one.” He glances uneasily in the distance. “Look, can we talk about this another time? I promise I will tell you everything. For now, we have to get out of here before they catch our scent.”
“I have to get to that shop,” I insist.
“You’re kidding,” he says. “They’re sure to see you.”
“It’s crucial I get in there. I’ll just have to make a run for it.”
“You’ll never make it inside, and that’s assuming the door is open when you get there.” Ethan thinks for a moment. Sighing first, he continues, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll lead the dogs away. Once they’re at a distance, you run for it. If you can’t get in, you forget about it. Because I don’t know how far they will get before they realize you are there.”
“What will you do?”
“I guess I’ll have to play dead again.” Grinning, he stands and makes his way to the center of the road, while I remain hidden. It’s not long before the dogs notice him, but to ensure their attention Ethan begins to yell. “Hey doggies, shouldn’t you be on a leash or something.” Soon the whole pack is after him.
Seeing my chance, I dart for the shop and up the steps toward the front entrance. Grabbing the door handle, I pull, but it doesn’t budge. I put my weight against the door and slam my shoulder into it, making a loud thud, alerting two of the wild dogs who stop. I freeze, hoping they will overlook me, but it is no use, they have already seen me. Frantically, I begin pounding on the door as the agile beasts spring toward me. It isn’t long before they are at the base of the steps, leading to the shop.
I press my back against the door as the dogs circle around me. Then, inexplicably, it swings open, and Ben steps out holding some charm of feather and bone. “A talisman to wart of nasty things like clay men,” he says, extending it toward the dogs. “Very handy you know.” He pulls me into the shop and shuts the door.
Inside, I notice that the door is surrounded by candles with their wax flowing onto the hardwood floor. At the base of the door, symbols are painted in what appears to be blood. “Will that keep them out?” I ask.
“There is more than one way to protect oneself,” the shopkeeper says. “I believe we’ve had that conversation before, regarding that charm around your neck.”
“A lot of good it’s done me so far.”
“Some of the most powerful charms are specific to only one purpose,” he says. “But that purpose can be quite devastating.” He looks out the window at the dogs still circling around the entrance.
While he is looking through the window, I quickly glance over the shop for any signs of the sword. It’s exactly where it was before, sitting on the counter. Somehow, I have to get to it without alerting Ben. So I continue the conversation. “I thought you made an arrangement with them to protect me.”
“I guess they feel no need to uphold their end of the bargain, now that you have unleashed Sorath,” he says. “On a lighter note, it’s good to see Ethan back on his feet. For now at least.”
“You knew he wouldn’t die?” I am taken aback by his remark. Though, I am interested in understanding his motivations, I cannot forget my true objective. Casually, I make my way to the counter.
“Of course not, he’s Anathema,” he replies.
“What is Anathema?” I continue to look at the shop keeper, trying desperately not to let my intentions show.
The shop keeper is busy tidying the broken dishes and other object that has fallen to the ground in the midst of the evening’s calamites. As he works, he says, “It depends on who you talk to. Some, like the angels, see the Anathema as simply cursed ones who have devoted themselves to the acts of evil. But they’re always so one-sided.
“Then who are the Anathema?” I press myself against the counter, trying to make it seem that I am simply perusing the objects. I do not look at the sword so as not to draw attention to it.
The shopkeeper glances up from the pile of shattered glass in front of him. “They are just what their name implies, cursed. Some, by their own choice, but in the case of your friend Ethan, misplaced rage.” He shakes his head as if recalling something. “It’s a shame what happened to his family.”
Edging along the counter, my back is nearly facing the sword. “So what is the curse?”
“Immortality,” Ben says as he scoops the pieces into a garbage pail. “I know it doesn’t sound like much of a curse, but it is accompanied with an unrelenting darkness that grows within them. Some become so far gone that they become beasts. Others, like Ethan, try to fight it, thinking that their selfless service to mankind will save them. Futile really. We’re all beasts in the end.” He turns and stoops down over another pile, giving me an opportunity to grab the weapon.
Spinning around, I go for the sword, but it’s gone. Turning, I see Ben standing in close to me, the sword in his hand. He presses the blade along my cheek while eyeing me. His face is just inches away. “Thought you could come in here and steal my things.” He chuckles. “Though, I do appreciate the conversation. Don’t get many good conversations where I’m from.” He presses up against me. “You really believe you can defeat him, don’t you.”
I push along the counter to get away, spilling over jars and scattering trinkets. Ben follows with the sword pointed toward me. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you already know,” he says as if playing a game. He laughs. “You mortals don’t catch on to quick do you.”
“You’re not mortal?”
“Mortal? No. Though this body certainly is. Borrowed it from a man named…” He pauses for a moment. “Sullivan, I think. He was a true believer as well. Thought believing in me would get him somewhere. I guess that’s why everyone believes. They want something they know they can’t have. Religious believers want salvation—forgiveness—a life beyond this. He wanted power. He’ll get it too. Only the power will destroy him.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“You really should study your Bible,” he says as he paces around me. “I…,” he continues as if introducing himself on stage, “I am the one who ascended to the highest. Who dared try to take the glory of God, and led a third of the host of heaven with me as I fell.”
“Satan,” I say. The thought of all that has been spoken of this infamous being strikes images of unimaginable terror.
“Yes, Satan,” he exclaims while clapping his hands in exhilaration. He seems to sense the apprehension in me. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you. Not like others around here. I’m here to help you.”
“But why would you help me?”
“I know what you’re thinking. Satan, the prince of darkness, the most evil of them all. I do grow tired of all the stories that man conjures up to describe me.” He cringes as he thinks. “Those so called religious people who conjure me into some sort of vile monster, ha
ve to exaggerate my evils to make there’s so much less. The truth is we are the same. We are motivated the same. We have the same desires. The only difference is that I accept what I am while they secretly despise it in the form of me.”
Angel Realms Page 24