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The collision knocks the air out of my lungs, but my fall is padded by the softness of my feathers around me.
I lay disoriented on the hard stone floor. The air no longer has a stench of sulphur and urine, but smells of sea salt, sun and fruits. That’s how I always imagined holidays would smell.
Balmy light warms up my skin and a soft breeze caresses and moves my hair. I’m comfortable and warm, and don’t really want to get up, although my arm is bent at a weird angle under Rafe’s heavy body and a corner of my wing is trapped under him.
I carefully lift his leg, freeing my wings and lean over to him.
“Rafe”, I whisper above him. “Rafe, can you hear me?”
He is unconscious and unresponsive. Blood keeps trickling from the corner of his mouth, soaking into his shirt. His cheeks are stained with dried and crusted blood.
A sudden rush of approaching footsteps fills the hall, bouncing and echoing off the walls. They’re running at us. A male’s raspy voice is shouting commands in the language I heard at Baza’s place.
I roll to the side, trying to push Rafe’s body off my arm, so at least I can get up and meet the new problem head on. I’m on my knees, busy pushing at Rafe’s limp body, when footsteps break off around us, and the next instance my wings shoot out wide open around us, creating a purple canopy over our bodies. My wings seem to be living a life of their own.
I raise my head.
We’re surrounded, trapped in a tight dome by a crowd of angels. Most of them are on the ground, but a few hover on their wings above, obscuring the warm light.
I look up, waiting for their move, while calculating my options. An escape would be problematic, I would need to fight my way out of this tight circle first, and with this number of angels I don’t have much chance. I don’t even have a weapon.
Negotiations it is then.
The older looking male towers above me just a foot away, at the forefront of the group. The authoritative air around him and his military stance give away a warrior in charge.
His silver grey hair, cut short atop his head, is plaited into an intricate braid, which rests over his left shoulder. Dark, royal blue tunic and trousers peek from under his silvery white armour. The sleeves of his tunic are covered in intricate heavy silver embroidery, which looks like the tangled mess of some ancient hieroglyphs, symbols and images, some of which look strangely familiar. A short thick sword and double-faced axe hang heavily from the belt around his waist.
His arms are folded at me as his sharp iceberg blue eyes scrutinise me from under grey bushy eyebrows. Two stern deep wrinkles run from his nose to the corner of his mouth. The four icy blue wings behind him match his piercing blue eyes perfectly. An intelligent gaze bounces between me and Rafe, taking in every detail.
But I’m checking out the surrounding crowd as well.
There are mainly males in here but I spy a few female angels among the group. All the angels are breathtakingly beautiful. The female faces look fragile and innocent with full red lips, butterfly lashes and glowing skin, whilst the males look formidable with the handsome faces of marble statues of the Greek gods.
All of them are dressed in floating clothing of blue tones, ranging from the royal blue of the angel in charge to the subtle, almost white, of a few females. Intricate silver threaded embroidery spills over every angel’s clothing, covering the edges of their tunics and dresses, shoulders, or their entire sleeves. All the angels have long hair, which is either plaited or flowing freely in the breeze.
A few males among the group wear silvery-white armour over their clothing, which so scarily reminds me of my armour in my dreams, and against my will my eyes keep coming back to the polished, reflecting surface of their breastplates. These angels have swords and axes attached to their belts.
The angels are quiet around us, studying me with guarded and surprised expressions, as if they didn’t expect any guests, let alone me. Their eyes dart between me and Rafe’s bloodied body, barely visible under my wings. Silence hangs heavily around us.
My worn out mind miserably spins, looking for a solution out of my newly acquired mess, when the old warrior extends his arm to me, bowing slightly in, offering me assistance to get up.
And as if on a cue, one by one, they raise their right arm and touch their four fingers to the middle of their forehead and then bow, deeply, to me. The moment freezes, suspended in time, as they all stand, unmoving around me with their heads down. Only the general is no longer bowing, but stands straight and tall in front of me.
“Welcome home, Uriel”, he says with a little nod. “Or would you prefer me to use your human name?” he asks after a moment, drawing his brows.
“My name is Ariel. Not Uriel”, I bristle.
“Of course. As you wish.” He bows again, unfazed by my attack. “We are very happy to finally have you with us.”
The angels raise their heads. Their bright eyes gaze openly at me from every direction and I even spy a few delighted, awed smiles. I shift uncomfortably, shocked by such a merry reception.
Suddenly, I sense a commotion behind my back and spin in time to see angels swoop in on Rafe.
“Oi”, I yelp, rushing back to Rafe, but I’m blocked by a wall of bodies. “Let him go!”
As I try to push through the wall of angels, my wings shoot out wide open, and with that, the angels around me stumble and fall away, sneaking shocked glances at my wings as if they are poisonous.
Maybe they are?
“That’s all right”, a commanding baritone calls behind me. “They are going to take him to the revivification sanctorum. He needs help.”
I spin back to him, about to argue, when a strong gust from dozens of large wings pushes at my back and as I turn again, I see Rafe’s broken body being taken up to the sky by six angels.
My gaze follows them, as they take to the sky and, for the first time, I notice that this hall has no ceiling. Grey polished stone floor, white painted stone walls and no ceiling. The high and imperiously cloudless light blue sky is open high above us and I stare at the endless sky, speechless.
“I’m glad that Rafe has managed to bring you to us. We were all concerned whether you would choose to join us”, the commander says behind me.
“I want to go with Rafe”, I demand. “I need to be with him.”
As he is gone, I feel weirdly unsettled. Of course I feel scared of the unknown, but it’s more than that. I’m absolutely petrified for him and feel the growing distance between us, like a physical pain which increases with every minute. That new feeling disturbs me and it takes a lot out of me to pretend, to close off my expressions, pushing that feeling to the back of my ever so growing queue of shitty issues I have been dealing with lately.
“I understand and you will, but I can assure you that he is being taken care of, whereas we have more pressing issues to discuss”, he bows again. “If you would like to follow me.”
He takes a side step, gesturing with an open arm to the corridor behind him.
“As soon as you explain where I am”, I snap, folding my arms over my chest.
He bats his eyelids at me in confusion, as two deep wrinkles fold between his brows, matching the ones around his nose. But as I remain silent, he speaks.
“It’s Castle Uras in Sarukh. Your castle, Beyelai”, he bows again. For god’s sake, I wish he would stop bowing and just explain everything properly.
“Okay. And who are you?” I sigh, continuing my interrogation.
“I’m Chamuel, my Beyelai”, he bows again, deeper this time, placing his four right fingers to the middle of his forehead.
“And that is supposed to mean something to me?” I shrug my shoulders.
Confused and frustrated wrinkles cover his forehead for a moment longer, before his face relaxes, as if a thought has caught him.
“Of course”, he mumbles to himself, “Ophanims warned me that there will be relapses during the transfer and a lot of knowledge might be lost...”
“I’m Chamuel, my Beyelai”, he starts again. “I am in command of your Meh’ita, your apocalypse army of twelve thousand angels. I am here to protect Uras, you and to follow your orders”, he bows again, his fingers again touching his forehead, “and I would like to explain more to you, but right now we do have a more pressing issue that requires your attention.”
“What is it?”
“I had better show you, my Beyelai”, he says. “If you would please follow me.”
He sets off down the bright sunny corridor, which strangely tugs at my memory.
I don’t know why he doesn’t offer for us to fly, maybe he isn’t sure if I can use my wings, maybe some other reason, but we walk down the corridor and then up three flights of a wide spiral staircase, carved out of solid stone with wide stone banisters following it, before coming to an open ledge, suspended high over the emerald rolling hills.
Or what I know should be there. Somehow I remember that beautiful shade of green, stretching into the horizon like a plush carpet, and the joy I used to find in flying over it.
But right now, the greenery of the hills is swallowed by a living dark sea of moving bodies, covering the ground to the horizon.
The sinister sea breathes and ripples, and when I sweep my gaze over its beastly enormity, I childishly want to crawl under my blanket, tightly close my eyes and pretend that all of it isn’t real.
The morbid army is paraded in front of me, spread under my feet. Its enormous volume is divided into sharp segments of different forms and colours.
At the forefront stands a small group of angels, no more than a hundred, sealed in uniformed granite grey military modern hi-tech gear. Only the different muted colours of their wings break the solid grey segment. The sun fails to reflect off their grey breastplates and the pauldrons, and it feels as if the light has been absorbed by them. They stay in the perfect military formation, immobile, their arms folded behind, their wings shot up above them.
And scarier still is the fact they look faceless. All of them wear a grey mask which fits like a second skin, completely hiding their faces, leaving only their eyes visible. The silent power and motionless of their bodies scare me more than the rowdy crowd of torturous wasteland lizards behind them.
There are twenty, maybe forty times more lizards from the wasteland in here than warrior angels. Their gold spiky collars and bracelets wink in the sun with their swaying, shifting movements. Blood encrusted whips hang lifeless from the dirty, ragged pieces of fabric that are wrapped around their waists, serving as belts and loin cloths.
As one, their eyeless, scaly heads are directed to the sky, as if these blind creatures are trying to see the glorious sky above or to smell the sweet air.
Blood stains some of the lizards’ faces. Some blood has crusted over, while some is still wet, running thickly out of their razor teethed holes, down their chins, dripping to their slime-coated bare chests.
Now and again the lizards’ thick tongues escape their blind holes, searching for freedom and then it’s easy to spot the ones who recently fed, as their tongues are thickly covered in red sticky blood.
The lizards at the back are scruffier and not as nourished as the ones at the front. The scaly skin is strung tighter over their skeletons, the rags over their waists are dirtier, and they don’t have whips. Their necklaces and bracelets are made of dull, blackened, rough iron. The iron’s jagged edges cut into their skin and black blood trickles down their necks and wrists.
These lizards are not as organised as the ones with gold bands. They don’t stand upright and seem agitated, moving erratically on all fours, bumping blindly into each other, hissing, their tongues flying out.
Sometimes a high pitched shrill would slice the silence when one would bite another with its tongue. But somehow the wild herd keeps to its boundaries, propped tightly from each side by a few rows of organised lizards with golden accessories.
The largest division of this army is spread wide to the horizon and at first glance it looks like a slimy, moving brown mass. Only looking closer, am I able to see the tangled mess of millions and millions of brown worms, sliding, crawling over each other.
Dozens of stacked rings of secreted brown skin cover their bodies, flexing with each move. The worms’ tubular naked bodies are gigantic, not your average sized earthworm. These are five to six feet long and as large as small dolphins.
And just as I think they are just over inflated earthworms, a worm lifts its head up and a pair of aware and intelligent human eyes shines at me.
I clamp my hand over my mouth before I scream or throw up.
All these worms have human eyes.
My wings shoot open.
The legion below is paraded in front of me to demonstrate its strength and magnitude. And at the forefront of this circus of horrors is a familiar, round body with a neat crop of silver hair above the grey suit.
“What is this?” I whisper, stammering through the nausea, waving my hand at the army below, at the ‘worms’, and turn to Chamuel, but before he can answer, a familiar voice rises above the landscape.
“It’s nice to see you again, Ariel. You look truly glorious with your new wings, the archangel you were always meant to be”, Baza calls up to me and the wind carries his voice with ease. “And they suit you rather well, I couldn’t be prouder. But I have to confess, I’m a bit disappointed in you, to leave without saying goodbye after everything we’ve done for you...” He shakes his head at me, tutting softly, like a displeased grandpa.
“But it’s still not too late for you to return to us. Your battle is coming and with that small army behind you, you will never withstand the force of Mik’hael, but my army will. Look how vast and glorious my soldiers are!” He calls to me, spreading his arms wide. “And there will be many more!”
I am so bone tired.
I stand here and listen to more of his lies, but all that I want to do is to curl up in my bed, throw a blanket over my head, and pretend that the last few days were just a bad dream, a nightmare, from which I can wake up at any moment.
And I desperately want a shower and a change of clothes. My black sweatshirt and black jeans are no longer black, covered in a thick layer of caked-in dust from the wasteland and they reek of the ammonia of the magma ocean. I want to shower, to wash my hair and to brush my teeth, but instead I stand here, listening to more of Baza’s bullshit. I don’t have the energy for that little scheming tango that he wants me to dance with him.
I cut to the chase.
“I saw plenty, Baza, thanks”, I shout into the wind. “You used me! You lied to me at every turn and you forgot to mention so many important details. Like the wasteland for example, and who you are.” And Sam. My hands ball into fists. I wish I had a stone in my hand right now, to hurl it at Baza’s smug, lying face.
“And I can see my mistake”, Baza calls back, raising his arms towards me, like an over acting fat woman in opera. “I underestimated you. I thought you were weak but now I see that you’re strong and able. That’s why I am here and showing you my entire army. I’m sure that with this knowledge, you’ll be able to make the right decision.”
“And what decision is that?”
He takes a step forward, flashes his wings open and takes to the sky on his powerful big wings. He flies towards me and, instinctively, I take a step back on the ledge, while Chamuel takes a step forward, blocking me with his body.
In a silent gesture of warning, Chamuel draws his liquid-fire sword, but Baza ignores it, as he stops mid-air, floating leisurely, level to the ledge, his face close to mine. His beard is neatly trimmed, his hair is combed and soft wrinkles fold in the corners of his eyes, as if he is about to smile, but I know better, I have seen the calculated evil behind this gingerbread house.
“Your choice is very simple”, he says, floating in the air across from me. “Mik’hael is coming for you. Your army is weak and will never win against his. I probably would not be wrong in assuming that you are not in full control of your powers, so you either stand against Mik’hael and die for something that has nothing to do with you, for a battle you hadn’t begun, or you can join me, finally and fully. You now know everything. You know what I want and what I’m prepared to do for it. I’m offering you a partnership in changing the worlds.”
“At the cost of all humans”, I cut, taking a sidestep around Chamuel.
“What are these humans to you? When did any of them do anything good for you? I truly fail to see your compelling attachment to these creatures.” He shakes his head at me.
“For starters, I am one, my sister is one”, I start, but he raises his hand to interrupt me.
“You are no human, my dear child. Your glorious wings are the glaring proof of this. With regards to your sister, I would be honoured to have her living with us and, you have seen my place first hand, so you can be assured that we will have more than enough space for all of us and eventually...” He leans in closer dropping his voice as if sharing a secret, “we’ll have worlds and worlds to choose from. Mine, yours, this one, Mik’hael’s...” He laughs in the low musical baritone and his belly rumbles softly.
If I hadn’t heard him issuing the orders for Sam to use my sister as leverage, and hadn’t seen Hell with my own eyes, I would never have believed that this cosy grandpa is an evil mastermind.
“So, you promise me that nothing will happen to my sister and she’ll be able to stay with me forever, and she will be safe?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Can you promise me that?” I demand louder.
“Beyelai”, Chamuel’s confused voice interjects behind me, “maybe you should–”.
He is silenced the instant I turn to glare at him.
“Chamuel, this doesn’t concern you and it is not your decision to make”, I cut him off and turn back to Baza, who’s clearly pleased with that little exchange, smiling wider.
“And what will I get out of this little partnership?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest, starting my hard negotiations. Baza’s smile spreads wider, the Cheshire cat in front of a saucer of milk. He’s got me. From the point of a firm ‘no’, we are now settling the details. I can practically see him rubbing his hands in anticipation.
“The same as I promised earlier”, he says. “A place at my council’s table as my right hand and an equal share of all dividends that will come out of our cooperation.”
“And let me tell you, there will be plenty”, he adds quieter.
“I want to be in charge of the Earth”, I say, lifting my chin and straightening my back.
“After I’ve taken everything that my council needs for our progression, the Apkallu is yours”, he offers easily, outstretching his hand to me for a handshake.
I pointedly look at him, then at his hand, and back to him, “I need to think.”
“That would be very wise of you, Ariel. But please don’t take too long, the news about your return has already spread, and I can guarantee that Mik’hael will be here soon.”
With a last long look at Baza, taking him in with all his scheming and without a further word, I turn on the spot and head back to the stairs, taking the spiralling steps down.
The tips of my bottom wings brush over the smooth stone. I hear Chamuel’s heavy boots boom on the stone behind me and an unsettling fear nags at me, as I can practically feel his emotions ripple off him, pushing at my back, and I wonder if he’ll follow its call and push me down the stairs. But he is silent as he follows me downstairs, three flights of stairs to the hall where we started.
Once back in the hall, I turn to face him.
My stomach drops at the sight of Chamuel’s fierce scowl, and I have to push at my feet to stop myself from taking a step back. His piercing blue eyes are throwing lightning bolts, his jaw muscles rippling under his skin as he grinds his teeth at me.
Although I manage to keep my feet in place, my heart is less obedient and doing little skips. The heat colours my cheeks as I clear my throat. I just isolated the person whose job it is to keep me safe. Nice going!
“Chamuel”, I sound weak so I clear my throat again. “Can you please take me to Rafe?” I ask as evenly as my small voice lets me.
“Absolutely, Ariel.” He jerks his head in a most resentful bow I’ve ever seen. “If you’ll follow me”, he grunts and turns, about to lead me down the hall.
“Chamuel”, I grab his hand. Chamuel’s big rigid frame spins to me. His surprised eyes shuttle between my face and my hand over his wrist. I drop my hand, releasing him. Probably I’ve overstepped some angelic boundaries as Chamuel’s face relaxes the moment I release him.
“Sorry”, I mumble as I raise my eyes to his. “Is it true what Baza said about Mik’hael’s chances over us? Me?”
“He is right there”, he huffs, glaring at me. “Without your full control over your powers, and you are still lacking there, as far as I can see –”, he gives me a once over, “we don’t have a chance against Mik’hael. But I don’t see how that is of any importance to you now, if you have decided to join Baza. If you will excuse me, I need to go and prepare your kyriotes for a battle without their leader”, he snaps, as his angry gaze rakes over me. Only his spittle at my feet is missing, to convey his repugnance in full.
“I need to find a way to avoid the battle altogether. We need more time.”
“We?” he asks, hesitating, his gaze searching my face. “What for?”
“Let’s face it, I’m never going to join Baza”, I sigh. “I’m not that naïve. I know he’s going to screw me over, and that it’s only a matter of time. But if he and you are right, then we can’t take on Mik’hael right now either. I still don’t know what I’m doing with my powers most of the time, and to lead the army into an uneven battle is suicide, even I understand that. I need to buy us some time.”
With every word I utter, his face relaxes. His forehead soothes and a small careful smile starts on his lips.
“Those are very wise words, my Beyelai”, he gazes at me, and then bows, deep this time, holding his hand to his forehead longer than before.
“But what about Baza?” I ask, looking at Chamuel for guidance. At the end of the day, he said it is his job to keep me and the castle safe, and to lead my army, so he should be more knowledgeable in strategies and other warfare rubbish. “How long do you think I’ve got before he comes knocking on the door, demanding an answer?”
“Baza is not known for his patience, my Beyelai”, Chamuel replies, “maybe a day. Two at the most.”
“Okay. One day to find a solution. Great”, I huff out a long sigh.
“May I propose a possible resolution, Ariel”, Chamuel cautiously utters, taking another step closer to me. “If you were to disappear from here and leave the castle, there will be no need to engage with Mik’hael or give an answer to Baza. If you are gone, the earlier status quo will be restored by default. You could use this time to learn about your powers, learn how to control them, and come back on your conditions when you deem appropriate to do so.”
“Where will I go?” I’m taken aback by his suggestion.
“I feel that Apkallu might be the best place for you to retreat to. You’ll be able to hide among the humans, you know the way of life there, and with a bit of essence veiling, you’ll be able to conceal the Qal of your essence from other realms.”
Like a rag doll I have been dragged here, there and everywhere, without as much as asking my opinion on it, and now one of them suggests for me to go back where I started from? Go screwed logic!
I stand for a minute, chewing my lip, looking up at the endless sky, thinking on his proposal and on my options here, which are not that great.
I can join Baza and he will take care of Mik’hael for me, but I know for damn sure that he will stab me in the back. I can bet my last knickers that Baza is withholding something from me. I just know it!
And even without that knowledge, I’m not sure if I am comfortable to release a horde of lizards and human eyed worms on Earth. The thought of the horror army below roaming over my sleepy town sends a chill over me. “Apocalypse tomorrow” – today!
Or I can stay here, and when Mik’hael arrives, take my chances against him and fight. But to die for a squabble that I did not start and have not been party to, after everything I went through, is my least favourite option.
Of course, there is the option to have a heart to heart chat with Mik’hael, settle all of our differences, and let him do whatever he wants with the humans, but the main issue with that plan is my sister. Somehow, I doubt Mik’hael will let me keep her as she is disagreeable, strong minded and cheeky.
“Chamuel, can I please see Rafe?” I ask turning back to him.
“Oh. Sure”, he stumbles, not expecting this sudden change of the direction in our conversation. “If you can follow me”, he takes a step, but then as a thought hits him, he turns back to me, “unless you would prefer to fly there”, he offers with a serene face, and I can’t read behind his composed, military-trained face.
“That’s okay”, I mumble. “I’d rather walk”. I feel embarrassed and uncomfortable. What sort of angel, especially the one who holds the key to the apocalypse, is unsure of flying? Oh well, at least it’s not my first rodeo at failing expectations and providing high quality disappointments.
I follow Chamuel down the corridor, and then another one, and a forever winding set of stairs, and more corridors, and when I regret the decision to walk, he stops in front of an inconspicuous set of doors, opening one, letting me into a wide white room, which even smells sterile.
The ceiling high wide windows occupy the entire wall. Rafe’s black tactical gear, weapons and ammunition are thrown in a black heap on the floor under a window. A wide but flat bed with wheels, which looks like an expensive type of gurney, is parked in the middle of the room, mostly obstructed from my view by a female angel with amber wings.
She turns to us the moment I step into the room and smiles kindly at me, taking a few steps away from the gurney, giving me a side view of Rafe’s naked body, stretched out on the bed.
He lies on his front, his head turned to the side. His brown silky hair is pooling next to his head, his black long lashes casting shadows over his high cheeks, making his eye sockets look even more hollowed.
I can’t take my eyes away from his face and body as I take a few cautious steps closer to the gurney. Behind me, Chamuel says something to the female angel in a hushed voice and she goes to him, giving me and Rafe some space and privacy.
Rafe’s strong, muscular body lays relaxed on the bed. His silky skin is stretched over his taught muscles. His back rises and falls with his even breathing, but as I take another step closer, I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle the horrified cry.
Rafe’s beautiful, perfect body is broken.
The right side of his body is burned, from the buttocks all the way up to and over his shoulder. Charred black skin surrounds the huge wound on his back. His skin is seared right off and some muscles are missing as if slashed off by the flame. Or as if dissolved by acid. Raw bloodied meat is exposed over his back, with the white snowy peaks of the spinal bones extruding through it.
His two left wings hang lifelessly over the side of the gurney and there’s nothing left of his right wings, even the earlier charred stubs are now gone.
Shock and guilt claw at me as I stumble around the gurney, unable to take my eyes away from his ravaged back, in stark contrast to his glorious body.
I’m next to his head. His face is relaxed, his eyes are closed. I want to stroke his soft hair, to tell him how sorry I am, but I don’t want to wake him, so I stand there for another long minute, looking at his ruined back.
“Aren’t you going to say hi?”
I jump up, startled. Rafe’s croaky voice is barely audible.
“Hi”, I whisper, taking a small step closer to the gurney. I raise my hand and before I can stop myself, I stroke the silk of his hair, moving it out of his face as I kneel next to him.
“How are you feeling?” I whisper, looking at Rafe’s perfect face. The metal click of a shut door resonates in the empty room, and I lift my eyes to find that Chamuel and the female have left, leaving us alone.
“Hurts, but not as much as before”, he answers, lifting his eyelids. His eyes are liquid warm amber as he gazes at me. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ll be safe in here, and Chamuel will take care of you”, his content, small smile tugs at my heart. His warm gaze travels behind me. “Your wings shimmer. I like it.”
I turn my head over my shoulder to see the sun from the window lightening my wings with a gold hue, breaking it into a million facets, dusting a golden haze over me.
“Thank you, Rafe”, I reach and stroke his hair again, tucking it behind his ear. “Thank you for everything you have done for me. And I’m very sorry, more than I can express, for what happened to your wings. I am so, so sorry. I never meant for anything like that to happen”, I rush in a guilty whisper.
“Ariel, please”, Rafe’s anxious voice rustles quietly. “Please. Don’t cry.”
I didn’t realise I was crying. I lift my hand and quickly wipe at my eyes, pulling my lips into a forced smile.
“I came to say goodbye. I’ll have to go away for a bit. I don’t know for how long, but hopefully when I see you next time, you will wear more on your back.”
Shit!
I flinch as the last word of my stupid joke leaves my mouth. Not very sensitive. Sometimes I wish I had a better filter between my brain and my mouth.
“Wait”, he cuts in, raising his head and flinching in pain. “What do you mean, you are going away? Where? Does Chamuel know?” The words come out in a rush as his worried gaze searches my face.
“Chamuel knows. In fact, he suggested it. Baza’s already here and Mik’hael is on his way. Every choice in front of me is as bad as the next. I just need to take some time to regroup and come back to handle my business when I’m ready.” And before he can interrupt me I add, “And I’m okay with it. You know, it’s the first decision I’ve made myself and haven’t been forced into since this whole crap exploded”, I say with faked upbeat, inwardly wincing at my pathetic attempt to sell the bubonic plague to the masses as a planned population control measure.
“Where are you going?” he demands. His voice is firm as he glares at me.
“Chamuel suggested back home, to my sister”, I answer. “I wasn’t sure about that, but after my little stunt that I am planning today, I think whoever is guarding her isn’t going to be able to protect her. Everyone will be after her then, so I shall go back and try to keep her safe. Maybe we could both disappear, just as I’ve done before, and at least it will be more familiar than this”, I sweep my gaze over the room.
“Rafe, I’m sorry to ask you for another favour, especially after everything that you have done for me, and I will understand if you say no...” I mumble, but can’t seem to stop.
He doesn’t want to know any of it. He probably hates you for what you’ve done to him already. Just ask your question, take the ‘no’ on the chin and go!
I suck in a deep breath.
“Do you think you can show me how to dampen my essence? I’ll need a head start with Mik’hael and Baza”, I say, gazing at him.
“Sure, I will show you when I come with you”, he snaps.
“Wait, what? No”. What’s he talking about? Has he seen his back? Of course not, because he was comatose when we arrived. I take another deep breath, steadying myself.
“Rafe, you can’t come with me”, I say, trying to reason with him, like I was once with my little sister, when she was demanding to walk under November rain in her swimsuit. “You’re in pain, your back is a mess, and you need to heal, with the help of the gorgeous angel who was here before”.
“I know what I need”, he barks, cutting me off.
His jaw is set and sweat begins to bead on his forehead as he slowly, with long pauses, manoeuvres himself to his healthy side.
I practically feel his pain as mine and can hear his agonising cries in my head.
“Rafe, can you please stop it!”
I clap my hands over my ears, trying to stop the screams in my head.
But he ignores me as he finishes the slow turn to his side and now, laboriously, pushes himself up on his arms. As he rises, the sliced muscles of his wound twist. Blood beads over the wound and then, drip by drip begins to trickle like thawing spring brooks. Blood flows down his body, soaking his back and pooling on the gurney under him.
“Rafe, please!” I scream, but he is deaf to me.
“I’m going now, and by the time you are up, I will be gone!” I yell at him, pushing through the tears.
I storm out of the room, but my half opened wings hit the doorframe as I push through, sending sharp, blinding pain to my head. Tears are now freely flowing down my cheeks, brought on by the guilt from seeing Rafe’s raw back and the pain of jamming my wings.