Chapter Thirty-Six

 

Seraphael’s Sacrifice

 

Seraphael tried to sit up, but despite the healing incantation, he was still weak. Although knowing that a few more moments of reciting the ancient words would help restore his strength, it was time he did not want to waste away from Annaleah.

Satanael had said something about the Jorogumo's children having bitten her once again, and this seared his heart deeply with sorrow and fear. Time was of the essence now. He had almost lost her once before, and could not bear to lose her again.

With a mighty groan of pain and determination, he rolled from his back onto his stomach. He dropped his swords in the grass and crawled as quickly as he could towards Annaleah's side, grabbing handfuls of long grass and weeds to pull himself forward. He ignored the pain, his eyes locked on the unconscious woman who had now become the most important part of his life.

Still fighting the pain to move forward, he didn't even try to stifle his tears. How could he have let her come to an end such as this? He had vowed to protect her, and yet there she lay, unconscious and near death. He had failed himself. Worse, he had failed her.

With the thought of his failure being a dishonor to Annaleah, the pain in his soul became too much. Tears threatened to obscure his view, but he let them flow freely, hoping they would cleanse him of his sin. There in the grass lay a Halfling like no other. Half woman, half angel. She had awoken in him a tenderness, a spark of hope that he had not known was still alive in him. He had thought it had died millennia ago when he was evicted from Heaven. The memory of his betrayal was something that had wounded him for an eternity, and yet, the thought of losing the woman who had borne in him a hope he never thought he could feel again was much more painful. After the Creator had left him and allowed for no explanation, the only defense he’d had was to harden himself against all of life. He still had left enough decency inside not to let the Darkness overcome him; still held enough of the light in his soul to keep the pain of the treachery from turning into hatred. He had used isolation, self-importance and knowledge as a weapon and as his defense, treasuring his solitude above all else. He had never let anyone get close to him, and had never been tempted.

Annaleah had changed all of that; her mere presence had shown him that his ability to feel love was not lost. His heart raced when he thought of her and he felt a longing to touch her gently, and to hold her in his arms. This had led to the opening of other great things within him and he felt again the kiss of hope for his redemption and for a normal life among the humans. It was something that he had not only never dared to think possible, it was something he had deemed a silly and useless waste of time; a thing mortals turned to in order to feel closer to something just outside their reach.

As he crawled closer to Annaleah, he thought too of Gabriel, and of how he wished he could thank him. Had it not been for the dream Gabriel had sent him, he may have never let himself feel as he felt now. "If I live," he promised himself, "I will thank you, my brother soul. I vow this to you."

With a last mighty heave, Seraphael reached Annaleah's side. He looked down at her beautiful, supine form, his heart breaking. Though he could see her chest rising and falling with slow inhalations of breath, he could tell from the slowed movements of the pale and weak arcs of light beneath her skin that she was in great danger from the poison lingering in her veins. She was alive, though only barely.

Seraphael forced himself to his knees, ignoring the pain, so that he could look upon her more closely. Her waist length golden curls fanned out around her in the grass, framing her like a halo. The fire of purity still shone from within it, only much weaker than he had seen it in the dream Gabriel had sent him. He had never seen her out of Dream Time in her angelic form, and she was more than beautiful, she was divine. He longed to touch her, to somehow heal and awaken her, to hold her in his arms and never let her go. He found himself wondering briefly if things would work the way they did in fairy tales. If he kissed her with nothing but love, would she awaken and be healed? He realized that, though he was burning to kiss her, he would not mar her purity by kissing her while she was unaware.

Through the haze of his despair and the agony of his fear of losing her, one clear thought came to him like a breath of fresh, sunlit air, clear and perfectly formed. He could call to the Creator, and beg Her to heal Annaleah. He knew that the Goddess was not one who would engage in war Herself, leaving the trivialities of battle to those who fought within the darkness or the light. Though She had caused him the greatest pain he had ever endured, he was willing to risk Her refusal of him. She might not hear him, and even if She did, there was every chance She wouldn't answer. Why would She? He was a fallen one now, cast from the throne of Heaven to the hateful earth below, to suffer among the humans as if he were one of them.

Another perfectly formed thought entered his mind, as though sent to him with merciful intentions. He could call to the Goddess by Her sacred, holy name. It was forbidden to all to speak it, except under the most dire of circumstances. To speak Her true name in any way that She might deem unworthy was to risk immediate and irrevocable damnation.

Seraphael found the thought filled him with hope, and the prospect of an eternity in Hell as one of the damned did not faze him. To lose Annaleah was worse than the threat of Hell. To lose her was to lose everything.

He gathered as much strength as he could muster, and lifted Annaleah in his arms. As her head fell softly against his shoulder, his heart filled with adoration for her. Outstretching his wings, he began to pray for the first time since before his fall. "Forgive me, Oh Goddess, for calling your perfect and holy true name. I come to you out of love, and out of desperation. I hold in my arms a Halfling which I have come to love. I would sacrifice myself to the tortures of Hell itself should you choose to heal her. Forgive me, Goddess, if I incur your wrath.” He wept, his chest heaving as he struggled to speak. “I ask only that you save her." Seraphael trembled with the weakness of his injury, yet he still held his beloved up to the heavens, prepared to give his very soul should she be spared.

Lifting his head and opening his silver eyes, Seraphael readied himself. He treasured the feeling of Annaleah in his arms, knowing that he may never hold her again.

"My sweet Annaleah, forgive me if I fail you. If I do, I pray that Gabriel will let you know why I did what I felt I must do.”

He knew what death was to an angel, an absolute nothingness, a ceasing to be, unless the Illuminare happened to be close by to collect the last spark of her soul, in a hope of resurrecting her later.

With the last breath of strength in his lungs, Seraphael said the Goddess's name before collapsing into the grass, Annaleah still held tightly in his arms.