From Heaven To Earth (The Faith of the Fallen) (7 page)

Gerald’s throat constricted and he coughed to clear it. Blood spattered
on his hands. He felt hazy. His body tingled, and his legs numbed. He steadied
himself on the bar and coughed up more blood.

He glanced at Drean as he cleaned himself and the bar up with a napkin.
Drean had not noticed. He coughed again.

“Are you ok?” Drean asked.

“Yeah. Just went down the wrong way.”

“You’ve been doing that all evening.”

“Coughing?”

Drean nodded.

“I’ll be fine.”

Gerald breathed in and out. His fit passed.

Greg gave them their drinks, walked to the end of the bar and spoke to a
man whose tan skin reflected no light. His eyes startled Drean. His irises were
as white as his well-kempt goatee: the only hair on his head.

Drean’s gaze attached to the man, and his face tightened with concern.

“What’s wrong?” He followed Drean’s eyes.

“That man that Greg is talking to. His spirit doesn’t feel like that of a
normal human. He could be a half-breed.”

“That’s just Keep! He’s a great guy.” Gerald lifted his mug in Keep’s
direction and frowned when he realized it was empty. “He owns this place and
bartends from time to time.”

Greg took his apron off and handed it to Keep.

“Then, why does he feel so different?”

“Don’t worry about it. He was a devout follower of God at one time and
blessed for his deeds. I think we were talking about God’s mistake?”

Drean’s attention drifted back to Gerald.

“I think you were meant to be down here, Drean,” Gerald said.

“I feel that way too, but I don’t understand all the bloodshed.”

“I think you can change that,” Gerald said. “That’s really all I want is
change. God can see that I guess.”

Drean nodded.

“Once the Faithstream is recovered, everything will be different. Humans
and angels alike can look forward to a golden age of peace and harmony!”

Drean smiled.

Perhaps I can trust him after all.

Riell picked up the angel’s trail in the slums, tracked it all the way to
The Circ and decided she would rest her wings.

She could see the other half of The Circ across the lake, Nuevas Cruces’
skyscrapers beyond and the haze of pollution that hung above them.

The humans’ blatant disrespect for life almost made her hope the angel
would prove malicious. Perhaps it was Earth that needed to be saved, not
humans.

She sighed. If Shrazz could have faith in them she would try to do the
same.

She reached the medieval section of The Circ, waded through a sea of
people to reach The Horse and entered the pub.

She pretended not to notice the six camouflaged skia that came in soon
after.

Riell saw an empty table and made her way to it.

After she sat down, a thin man in a barbarian costume approached her. His
apparel consisted of brown fur armor pieces that covered his groin and
backside, a cloak with a hood that was too small for his head and an authentic
looking short sword within a leather scabbard at his side. His dark brown color
motif brought out the paleness of his skin.

“Hey, sweetie, can I get a drink for you?” he asked.

There was a mug of beer in front of her face before she answered. Riell
glared at the man when he tried to sit.

“Thanks for the drink,” Riell said.

“Oh it’s no...”

“Now get lost.”

“What?”

Riell glared at the man until he took what was left of his pride and
departed.

Men. They think they can just get whatever they want these days
.
Men were the cause of this war in the first place.

Riell took a sip of her beer.

Of course if it weren’t for the belligerent hearts of men, I wouldn’t
be here.

Four skia scattered to the corners of the bar and watched her. The other
two scanned the patrons for the angel.

Riell feigned disinterest and drank.

* * *

After a few mugs of beer, Drean laughed at everything Gerald said. He
felt a strange energy in the air, or so he thought. He disregarded it as an
effect of the alcohol. Gerald had told him he would feel different.

He looked around the room. People had left the bar, but somehow Drean had
not noticed until then. Drean’s gaze rested on a young woman with long, black
hair at a table in the corner. She was slouched in her chair and stared at her
table.

He held his breath when he saw translucent wings shrouded her body. They
resembled a sheer, gray cloak, but intermittent color streaked within her
feathers: tiny chromatic lightning storms.

It’s the woman from the alleyway. The skia.

Drean could not help but admire her beauty; he stared at her unabashed:
her straight lustrous black hair complimented her sharp facial features.

He imagined her slightly tan, smooth skin would be soft to touch. When
she wet her thin but pouty lips with her tongue, he felt deep want for her that
shook him to his core: a feeling only comparable to his need for his Father.

Gerald’s hands shook, and he fought to maintain consciousness. Drean had
grown too drunk to notice, but Gerald was certain: his body was breaking down.
He needed a new host.

I need to distract him,
Gerald thought.

Gerald followed Drean’s eyes and saw his chance.

“Ah speaking of women... go talk to her!”

“No wait, you don’t understand.”

“I understand that you’re supposed to be experiencing human life!” Gerald
laughed. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“But...”

“Listen,” Gerald fought with every ounce of will he had to seem suave and
unnerved, but he knew he was running out of time, “I’m not going to help you
further until you exercise some of that freewill. If God had wanted it any
different he would have just sent you without it.”

Drean sighed and nodded.

“Hell, if he had wanted it any different he wouldn’t have agreed to let
me mentor you.”

I think I understand what he is talking about. I’m not an angel
anymore. I’m something a little more, and when I return the Faithstream to God,
my own life will be affected too, not just His. I need to know why I am doing
this. I need to know what I want to change in this world.

“See you later, kid,” Gerald said.

“Farewell for now,” Drean said.

“Damn that black leather jacket looks great on you. Are the docs comfy?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Gerald gave him a thumbs up and stumbled out of the bar.

Drean waited to see if he was gone before walking to Riell.

What should I say to her?

“Greetings,” Drean said and placed one of his drinks in front of her.
“Can I join you?”

“Look, I’m not interested in any of your sweet talking, you...” Riell
glanced up and looked Drean full in the face. “It’s you.”

She gripped the hilt of her short sword and stood up.

“Wait,” Drean said, “I just want to converse with you. That’s all.”

Riell eased into her chair and motioned for Drean to sit across from her.
They sipped their drinks nervously and stole glances at one another.

“Did you steal those clothes? You weren’t wearing them before.”

“No, my friend Gerald did. Do you like them? They’re comfortable.”

“
Leather and denim is not my style. It is against the law to
steal. Did you know that?”

“You looked sad earlier,” Drean said, hoping to change the subject.

“Angel, you have one minute to explain yourself,” she said. The skia
moved closer to Riell’s table when she said “angel,” and she cursed her
carelessness.

“Why are you acting so violent toward me? I came over here to talk to
you, that is all.”

“I simply cannot trust you.”

Riell finished her mug and set it on the table.

Drean blinked and looked downward.

“Your time is up by the way.”

She reached down again to unsheathe her sword.

“So there is nothing that I can do to change the way you feel about me?”
Drean asked.

He hasn’t even flinched,
she noticed.
I thought he was an idiot
not to run.
Riell sheathed her sword.
I would be an idiot to start a
fight here. Those skia would use the confusion to their advantage.

“Do you have any memories of your past that you can recall clearer than
others?” she asked.

“Yes, I have one in particular.” His face creased with anger and sadness
as he thought. “When I was imprisoned, I relived it every time I fell asleep
until I was released by my Father.”

Riell felt a mixture of wonder and dread as she studied Drean’s reaction.

He lived in Heaven before tonight. What memory could have possibly
caused him so much pain? Can I bear this memory? He was imprisoned?

“Would you like me to tell you about it?”

“No, we shouldn’t talk about it. Close your eyes. Try to recall each
event as slowly as possible. If you move too quickly between them it could
damage my brain,” Riell said and waited for Drean to comply.

He looked uncertain of the situation but closed his eyes. He felt
pressure beneath his forehead.

Just stay calm,
Riell spoke to him through their telepathic link.
His mind fought her entry. She was gentle though she knew the skia would make
their move soon, and slipped through the initial mental wall and into his
consciousness.

Warmth filled her. All of her reservations for Drean disappeared
immediately. Inside Drean’s innocence she felt: comfortable, content and
complete. It was beyond earthly happiness, beyond love. She let herself float
in his mind and bathed in the uncanny purity of Drean’s consciousness.

She remembered Shrazz: it brought her back to herself. She struggled to
concentrate, to recall what was important. Barriers would be required to
penetrate Drean’s memories. If she went any deeper without preparation she
would not want to leave; she would be lost forever.

She focused on Shrazz and in turn her mission. She thought of how he
needed her, how he needed her to fulfill the mission and how she needed to
fulfill it for him. With her mental barriers in place, Riell slid into the
recesses of Drean’s memory.

* * *

Angels’ wings could no longer be heard in Heaven.

Drean, within God’s sanctuary, turned to God’s throne: a towering
celestinite ziggurat. He looked upwards at its summit and waited for
instructions.

The Sanctuary was the largest of three colossal, floating domes at
Heaven’s center. Shimmering columns of white stone supported their roofs which
were constructed from celestinite, the god-metal and glowed with the warming
light of a sunrise.

Perpetual wind that blew from the throne ruffled Drean’s pale garments
and his feathery wings.

He tucked his wings back simultaneously: his smallest pair on the back of
his head, the pair on his back that could span three times the angel’s height
of six feet when fully extended and one small wing on each of his calves.
 

My place is here at God’s side
, Drean decided and turned from the
throne.
I’m sure archangels are already tending to it.
Drean flew to the
eastern side of The Sanctuary and looked to the Dome of Command.

As if in affirmation, Michael flew from the dome. He landed on its roof
and faced north. Archangels wore only white loincloths unless they felt
threatened or were commanded to do otherwise. Their wings of long, curved white
feathers rested in cape-like fashion on their backs.

Michael looked expectant in his full suit of celestinite plate armor and
fully extended wings.

He is going to consult the principalities,
Drean thought.

Principalities were emaciated compared to the rest of their kin. Blue
skin stretched over their hairless, bony frames. Wings of the same color were
folded at their sides. Since the beginning of creation they had notated all
incoming and outgoing spiritual energy: births, deaths, Heaven’s newcomers and
those damned to Hell. They hovered above the Dome of Command in ring formations.
Each angel sat next to another with their legs crossed in meditative states.
Ten of these rings, each comprised of seven angels, hovered above one another.
Energies emitted by the congregation created the semblance of a cylinder: a
tower that surrounded all of them.

Michael saluted the principalities and spoke to them. Drean could not
hear him, but when anger creased Michael’s face he knew the situation was dire.
Drean had never seen emotion affect any angel excluding Lucifer.

Gabriel flew in from the north, also armored. Michael darted to him. The
two archangels spoke briefly. Gabriel flew toward The Sanctuary while Michael
returned to the Dome of Command to organize the angels there.

After a few words from Michael, the virtues and dominations left their
posts.

Drean could hear the thunderous flapping of the dominations’ gigantic
wings as they flew north. Michael followed them. Drean shielded his eyes
against the light reflected by their polished, marble-like, featureless skin.
This angel choir was by far the largest of their kin: their massive bodies
stretched over three hundred feet into the air, with proportional wingspan.

Heaven’s sentries, virtues, armed with celestinite plate armor,
longswords and shields, flew ahead of the dominations. Their flaming wings left
ephemeral trails of orange fire in the air. They formed a defensive line some
distance away from The Sanctuary, facing northeast.

Michael shouted orders to the dominations. The giant angels flew over the
virtues and formed another line in front of them.

“Dominations!” Gabriel said from atop The Sanctuary. “Form a perimeter
around The Sanctuary. Let nothing through!”

Dominations dropped down from the roof and stretched their gargantuan
feathery wings out, standing wingtip to wingtip in an effort to blockade The
Sanctuary.

“Virtues! Join the ranks north of the Dome of Command and prepare for
battle!”

Why are they taking such precautions?
As Drean wondered, the
virtues flew northeast and joined the rest of their choir behind Michael and
the dominations. Gabriel followed them.

Drean peered at the black clouds far below The Sanctuary that marked the
barrier between Heaven and the surface of Hell and looked for any movement.

Asmodeus and his demons have not attacked for centuries... Who has infiltrated
these sacred grounds?

Then he heard it: the sound of thousands of wings from the northeast.
Like a flurry of snowflakes lit by the light of dawn they flew. Drean thought
it beautiful, until he could see the angels’ drawn weapons.

A line of dominations lead an opposing army of angels with virtues in
tow.

Michael and Gabriel flew along Heaven’s ranks to inspect them one last
time and waited. Swords clashed. War tolled throughout Heaven.

Defending dominations grappled with their attacking brothers and held
them at bay while the virtues fought. Though the defending angels were sorely
outnumbered, their line held.

Are the defenders withholding aggression?
The seraph thought.
Or
are the attackers losing their audacity?

An unexpected flap of wings within The Sanctuary pulled the angel from
his thoughts.

“Angel,” the warm voice of Gabriel called out above him.

Even when he heard the archangel land behind him Drean did not greet him.
His attention was on the battlefield. All of the fighting angels were calm
despite the chaos.

“Why did you abandon the field, Gabriel?” Drean asked.

“Has our Lord given any specific instruction or indication as to what
action you should take in this matter, seraph?” Gabriel asked as he willed his
full helmet away. It dissolved into the neck of his plate armor and exposed a
tan face, short wavy blond hair and sad blue eyes.

Drean turned to him with a puzzled expression. “You mean to tell me your
defensive measures were not dictated by Him?”