Abyss of the Fallen

by Diana Estell

  As if the baby knew his destiny, he made no cry as Savila picked him up. At the same time, the soul of his mother fell into the Abyss. With the baby inside her dragon skin, she flew to the home of his paternal uncle. The baby’s eyes widened as she flew away.

  Savila said nothing as she walked into the Execution Room. The soul of the infant’s mother struggled against the ropes that bound her to the stake.

  “Please, please release me,” the woman pleaded.

  “You are in my dominion, and I can’t look upon you. Leave no traces of her,” said Savila to a shadow soldier.

  “Burn the traitor. Burn the traitor. Let her burn,” the shadow soldiers chanted.

  Fire raked over the woman, burning her into shadow. Mortals, burned into shadow, are decimated in the Abyss. And now this traitor soul had been banished into oblivion.

  Savila loved recounting this event. She replaced the shard of glass back in her hair with reverence to herself. Soon, Dagon’s existence will be burned to ash as if he had never been created. Until then, she would dig deeper into his blistering soul. Past hurts never leave, their sorrow relived in the present, casting off hope for the future.

  7

  Scheduling Book

  A car screeched into gear as it drove along in front of the Bennett house.

  Henry sat in his office, one floor down and directly under Mark’s room.

  Dorian and Magethna materialized in front of his desk.

  Henry’s knees hit his desk. “That still startles me,” he said, rubbing his sore knees.

  “It is good to see you again.” Dorian held out his hand. “Your hair is graying.”

  Henry shook his hand. “I’m surprised I’m not fully gray by now.”

  “Dorian, you shouldn’t remind humans of their aging.” Magethna smiled at Henry and held out her hand. Henry shook her hand, then ran his fingers through his hair.

  “There are two more Seraphs here with us.” Magethna waved her hand in the air, moving ceiling and walls.

  Henry didn’t move a muscle, his mouth gaping.

  “It is an honor to meet you. I’m Raglen. Magethna and Dorian speak highly of you and your kin

  “And I’m Mystil.” She bowed her head.

  “It is nice to meet … the both of you.”

  Magethna waved her hand in the air again, putting the ceiling and walls back in place.

  “It is always good to remember that there are no coincidences for the lives of mortals or in the existence of immortals.” Magethna pointed to her and Dorian. “Dorian and I knew the family line from your fallen ancestor were chosen…”

  “To die!” Henry hit the desk with his hand, then sat back in his chair. With one hand he rubbed his forehead, and with the other hand, he wiped a tear off his cheek.

  “No, Henry, to live.” Magethna went over to him and touched his shoulder.

  “Then you’re not here to guard Mark, and he’s safe?”

  No sooner had Henry said this, when a wing of a dove batted at a window in the office.

  Dorian put his hand through the glass. The dove landed on his palm, and he brought it inside through the glass. The dove spread out its feathers on Dorian’s hand and transformed into paper.

  “That’s Snowcap.” Henry rubbed his head harder. “When you gave William the dove for his birthday, I didn’t know it could do … that.”

  “He’s a smart bird,” said Dorian.

  “The message on the feathers is for you, Henry,” said Magethna. “Though your nephew, Mark, is being guarded by Seraphic intervention, you need to rest in hope.”

  Henry hung his head. “What does that mean for Mark?”

  “Your family was chosen, as was Mark, for these times,” answered Dorian. “Even now, after centuries of friendship with your kin, the bond is still prevalent. Like your father, Martin, and the generations before him, you have been an excellent steward of believing in and instilling hope. Do not despair now. We do not know the whole path for Mark, but we do know, not everything is meant for evil. To have Seraphic qualities, like being able to see us, and to have some foreknowledge of future events. You can also cast your thoughts and feelings onto others.” Dorian pointed his finger up toward Mark’s room.

  “These are generous gifts the One Voice bestowed on your family,” said Magethna.

  “I guess I can remain hopeful, even though...Mark.” His doubts and quivering arms proved he was fully human.

  “Do you think strength comes from what you see or in the knowledge you know?” asked Dorian.

  “The world can’t see all of you, but …” said Henry.

  “You can!” Magethna pointed at Henry and smiled. “I’m not making light of this, but the fact remains, if Savila only needed Mark, we wouldn’t be here.”

  “Can I make Mark believe what I want him to believe?”

  “No more than we can make you believe that evil is not the only influence.” Dorian crossed his arms.

  Henry nodded.

  Little chirps caused the paper on Dorian’s hand to flutter. “There is another message.” Dorian rubbed the paper with his hand, silencing the dove. “All the hot action is back at home …”

  “Even for the mind of an immortal analyst, these modern words sound cryptic,” said Dorian.

  Bewildered, the Seraphs looked at Henry.

  “It means William is coming home and not to start the party without him.”

  “Party? Oh, I love parties! I will create a dress for this lovely occasion.” Magethna beamed. “And …” She nipped at her lip, thinking. “Wait now, I will wear what I wore four years ago, for it is a classic.”

  “But to wear that again and with friends you rarely see … I’m not sure …” said Mystil.

  “I’m sure Dorian would wear something different.” Raglen firmly crossed his arms.

  “Wait, wait,” said Dorian. “There are other matters at hand—”

  Magethna stood firm, hands on her hips. “Mystil is right, even in the Seraphic world, one would never wear the clothes of humanity several times over. It may be a classic but to wear it again? No, you will do no such thing. I will tailor yours myself if I have to.” Her mental scissors snipped at the fabric for her own dress.

  “You can design a new jacket for me,” Dorian conceded, “but my white shirt, brown trousers, waistcoat, and bow tie stay!”

  Magethna seemed to think it through and agreed to the compromise. She eyed him head to toe as if to ascertain his measurements, beaming at the creations she would soon reveal. “I feel like the fairy godmother in Cinderella, and you will have a grand blazer.”

  Dorian did not say a word while the designer-fairy-godmother created away in her mental studio.

  “I wonder if it should be white?” she mumbled and squinted while pulling thread through the eye of a needle.

  “White? You didn’t wear white four years ago. Besides, this isn’t a wedding, it’s a war!” Dorian looked to Henry for help.

  “Are you referring to the veil?” said Magethna. “I simply wondered if my dress should be white. Of all the things to bring up.”

  “Yes, that’s bad form,” said Mystil to Dorian.

  “Magethna knows, I had no intention in bringing that up,” Dorian said while still looking at Henry.

  Bemused, Henry just shrugged. “I just feel so much better about things now that you’re all here, and William’s coming home.”

  “I do know,” said Magethna, “but if I had a scheduling book, I could write down memories like this.” She waved her hand, transforming the room.

  Four years earlier

  Triumph and Victory waited on the driveway of the boarding school Mark attended in London while Dorian and Magethna stood at the door, unsure of what to do. With the constant rain, the ancient castle structure stood soggy and gloomy, the stone gargoyles upon their perches the only signs of life.

  “Maybe the door opens by itself when it’s ready,” said Magethna.

  “How do humans usually announce their presen
ce?” Dorian searched the intimidating wood panels.

  “Like that lovely gentleman is doing across the street.”

  “He doesn’t look very gentle.” Dorian scowled at the distance. “He looks upset.”

  “Nonsense! The doors are just too thick for the humans to hear, that’s all.”

  “Very well, I will do the honors.” Dorian banged on the door. “We’re here, Henry!”

  The man who opened the door stared at them, mouth hung open. “Are you … um … Mr. Bennett’s friends? Mr. Dorian and the Lady Magethna?”

  “Most certainly,” answered Dorian with a flourished bow.

  “Is anything amiss, sir?” Magethna asked as the man continued to gawk. “You were expecting us, yes?”

  “No! I mean yes.”

  Magethna looked down at her outfit and across to Dorian’s, following the man’s gaze. She had chosen a long flouncy embroidered pink chiffon dress with eye-dazzling silver shoes. Dorian had on a waistcoat with loud, yellow squares.

  “Too much sparkle?” Magethna closed her lacey parasol. “This wouldn’t be the first time I missed the current fashion trends by a century or so.”

  Um, no … the both of you look fine … just fine.” The man stepped back, opening the door fully. “My apologies. I am Mr. Dawson, Mr. Bennett’s assistant. Please, come in. The Bennetts await you in the office of the headmistress.”

  Mr. Dawson brought Dorian and Magethna into a room with an enormous picture window. Three crystal chandeliers hung over a cherry wood table with a delicate piece of fabric draped over it.

  The man knocked twice upon a mahogany door at the back of the room then left.

  Henry walked out of the door, closing it behind him. His eyes, swollen, he reached out to clasp their hands. “Magethna, Dorian, it’s good to see you both. How I have longed for this moment. I just wish the circumstances were different. Thank you for coming when I called. The sudden loss of Arthur has left us all in grief.”

  “Your brother was a great man,” said Dorian, placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder.

  “Though it remains a difficult time for you,” added Magethna, “know that he now resides in the Golden Land.”

  Henry nodded. “I know this, and Frances knows this. But our focus is on Mark. It’s been quite a blow to him.”

  “We will veil ourselves for now so as not to complicate matters even further,” said Magethna. “You alone will see us.”

  Inside the door, the office showcased a massive, mahogany desk before which Frances knelt in front of Mark, who was hunched over and dwarfed within a high-backed, leather chair. Mark’s crisp school uniform creased in contrast to his crestfallen demeaner. The headmistress stood by the desk, stiff, yet patient.

  The seraphs shadowed Henry, who sat next to Mark and placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “For the most part, Mark is a gentle, kind student,” said the headmistress. “He is inclined to curiosity which reflects his tardiness, and—”

  “I like adventures,” Mark whispered.

  “Speaking when not spoken to,” continued the headmistress with a sharp tap of her foot. “Scuffling in the courtyard—”

  “They were trying to rob me, but I wouldn’t let them.”

  “Rob you! That’s ridiculous.”

  “Rob you?” said Frances, her tone gentle. “Of what, honey?”

  “Of this.” Mark pulled a chain from around his neck and placed its pendant in Henry’s hand. A silver key.

  Henry knelt in front of Mark “Your dad gave you this?”

  Mark nodded. “The last time he came to visit.”

  “Do you know what it opens?”

  “His writing desk. But it doesn’t work. He said to give it to you, and you would know what to do with it.”

  “None of our students steal,” the headmistress insisted. “Ever. Mark, I am simply warning your aunt and uncle of your behavior.”

  “Madam,” Henry said, standing. “I think we can re-acquaint ourselves with Mark in due time.”

  “Yes,” said Frances. “We will be taking him back to the States with us. There’s no question.”

  “His father’s endowment ensures his place with us for his entire educational career,” the headmistress countered.

  “Ah, I see your hesitation in seeing him go.” Henry looked down at Mark who stared at him with huge, somber eyes.

  “I beg your pardon! I only want what’s best for Mark.”

  “What’s best for him is to be with family,” said Frances.

  All three began to speak at the same time.

  “Do I get a choice?” said Mark, breaking through the rising voices.

  “Of course, dear boy,” said Henry.

  Mark turned and stared at Magethna. Taken aback, Magethna stepped toward Dorian, with whom she exchanged startled glances. Their veils were drawn, she was certain. He could not see them, and yet, his sad eyes pinned her where she stood. “I want to go with you to America. There’s nothing for me here now.”

  Shocked silence thundered the room. All eyes followed Mark’s to Magethna, but Frances and the headmistress only shook their heads, brows furrowed, their confusion evident. Henry inspected his shoes, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  The headmistress cleared her throat, rubbing her arms and shivering at what appeared to be a sudden rash of goosebumps. “I will have Mark’s things collected.”

  “Please be assured,” said Henry, “the rest of the term’s tuition and boarding is paid.”

  “No, no, it will be refunded to his account.” The headmistress crossed the room to the door. “I will not take money from the dead.”

  Magethna flourished her imaginary quill. “Ah, we ended the memory just in time. Henry, do you remember what I told you after you brought Mark home?”

  “You said Savila used the timing of a terrorist attack to get Arthur killed.” Henry’s shoulders drooped.

  Magethna gently lifted Henry’s chin. “Many humans lost their lives. This is Savila’s aim. The ruby invested to Dagon was a gift, an entente cordiale to humanity. Dorian split the ruby in half on a battlefield in France where Nuvila handed one half to the English king. That half remains with the current rulers of England. The other half …”

  “Savila gave to my ancestors,” Henry continued, easing back into his chair. “And Arthur gave it to Mark, which means Arthur must have known he was going to die. My question is, what is Dagon’s role in all this?”

  “Balance of power,” said Dorian. “Savila can’t rule the Second Land without Dagon, or at least without his title. Dagon can’t rule the Second Land as long as the Ruby remains in the custody of humanity. His investiture as Guardian ensures nothing is all bad or all good.”

  “Up until this point, your ancestors have inherited the writing desk in Mark’s room and owned the key,” said Magethna.

  “And the desk houses the Ruby,” said Henry.

  “But the key has another destiny of great significance.”

  “Arthur would never let me touch the key, but when he wasn’t looking, I tried opening the desk. The key never worked.” Henry reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. It lay in his palm, dangerous and innocuous at the same time.

  “The key is no ordinary key. This is the key to life and death and can only be used by the bearer for a particular purpose. Do you know the origin?”

  “No.”

  “It was Savila’s house key in the Golden Land.”

  “How did it get here, and why doesn’t she have it?”

  “It was confiscated from Savila when she fell, along with the legions that followed her. But she has plans for it, you can be sure. The key’s path is linked to Mark and William—”

  “William, too?”

  “Yes. For now. Mark is the bearer of the Stone, and the writing desk was specifically crafted to house the Stone. But without the key, the desk will not open for him. The Stone is linked to the book we gave you.”

  “The Princely Ston
e,” said Henry.

  “Indeed,” said Dorian. “The Ruby cannot be removed from your house until the appointed time. And now the time draws near.”

  “But Mark’s not ready. He’s just a boy! Can’t we stall?”

  Dorian and Magethna exchanged glances. “Send the key to William.”

  “But that’s not much better! William is coming home.”

  “Balance of power,” said Dorian. “It may only be a few hours or a few days, but it may be just enough to temper the coming storm.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Henry placed the key on William’s letter and folded it.

  Magethna whispered into the feathers causing them to ruffle. Chirping and hopping onto Dorian’s hand, the bird flapped its wings. Dorian reached his hands through the glass while Magethna hummed, guiding Snowcap back to William.

  Impromptu tweeting erupted from other nearby birds. Snowcap’s wings flapped in the wind as the dove soared higher heading east.

  “Is that smoke above those trees?” Mystil asked.

  “Indeed, it is,” said Dorian.

  “No one seems to be hurt,” said Raglen.

  “Does anyone hear anything?” said Magethna.

  Mystil at first shook her head then stopped. “Wait. Yes, a faint voice, but I can’t understand anything.”

  “Perhaps, we are hearing only what is necessary,” said Dorian.

  “It’s a cry for help … from Dagon.” Magethna looked at Dorian.

  “Maybe that is what we are meant to think. Maybe, he is toying with a connection you are trying to rekindle. He is fallen, Magethna. Only a shadow of his former existence remains.”

  “He is not a shadow. He is half-human. If anything of his former existence clings to him, then I will continue to believe he can change.” Magethna placed both of her hands over her heart.

  “I know he is not a shadow.” Dorian placed his hands behind his back.