If all the characters were mine, I would still be posting stories on this site because I would be in better touch with my fans... and because I'm just twisted like that. I can only claim ownership of all the characters except for the obvious.
It is unclear as to why or how angels are able to change wing colors, hide their wings, or even reopen old wounds on the delicate limbs. However, most theorists have noted that the angels' wings, or possibly their entire bodies, respond and react to their owners' emotional state. Some changes are so subtle that they are virtually undetectable and still others may be interpreted as responses to various stimuli. This physical change however, seems to coincide with only strong emotions; that is, extreme fear, bitterness, or happiness. As most angels make a conscious effort to emotionally deaden themselves, the majority have pure white wings. Those that have any other color, mostly consisting of various shades of gray, though there have been some rare cases of brown, are usually avoided or dubbed as weak. It is widely believed however, that when an angel comes to terms with his emotions and accepts them, his wings revert back to their original white.
Fallen
Chapter 10
The Protector
By Illusion
"Gabriel was summoned?"
Michael nodded.
"And you tell me this fifty years after it happens?"
"Well," he had the decency to look sheepish, "technically it has only been forty-six years."
Israfel furrowed his brow. "Michael… when was the last summoned angel pardoned?"
"I do not know," he admitted, but at Israfel's worried reaction, he added, "I am sure it was in the past few centuries."
"Under what charges was he summoned?"
"I do not know."
Israfel dropped his eyes and the crease in his brow deepened.
Michael sighed and placed a hand under the other angel's chin and raised his face. "This is why I waited almost fifty years to tell you. I did not wish to see you so distressed."
"Gabriel protected me since I was a cherub," Israfel said, watching Michael's gaze evenly. "He hatched me. I have a right to know when he is in danger and you have no right to keep the information from me.
"Now that neither of you is a cherub, it does not matter whether one knows about the other's condition or whereabouts," Michael bit back icily.
Israfel's gaze hardened into a glare. "Remove your hand."
"Israfel…."
"Remove thy hand."
He immediate released the other angel's chin at the formal speech.
"It would be wise for you to return to the commanders' barracks," he said, adjusting the collar of his robes. "Those who still show connections to missionaries are not thought highly of."
"Neither are those who take orders from missionaries."
"Who is ordering whom?"
"At this point, I do not know," Michael said. "But I swore to Gabriel that I would stay by your side and from there, I intend to protect you, just as you intend to protect him."
Israfel refused to blink. When had Michael's face gotten so close? "Your vow interfered with mine."
"It is your vow against mine, and I choose to uphold mine at the expense of yours." He withdrew. "I wish you well on your next mission."
Israfel only glared as Michael turned and exited the missionary barracks.
He was one of the many that gathered at the viewing platform, anticipating the ship from Heaven. He also noticed that the ships had clumped closer together to better view the main ship's docking platform.
The fleet had been without a high commander for almost 200 years and angels of all levels were eager to see who would emerge from the ship. Missionaries and several commanders speculated and murmured to each other until the entire platform was filled with a low hum.
Israfel remained staring at the main ship. He had not advanced to a commander position like Michael and thus did not see the auburn-haired angel as often as before. While he remained assigned to the area humans called Arabia, Michael had taken control over the newly dubbed México. As a low-level commander his area was relatively small, but the recent moving of Europeans to the New World was sparking a clash between the natives an invaders, resulting in a growth of believers. His success had placed the new commander in charge of the incoming cherubs.
The buzz that filled the platform suddenly died out as the angels noticed a small ship making its way towards the fleet. It was cocked to one side at a weird angle and approached rapidly from below. As it neared, it adjusted itself so that its bottom faced the same as the fleet's and it began to rise instead, aiming for the main ship. Every angel's eyes were trained on the ship as one of its rear wings aligned with the fleet's main ship and a thick metal cylinder extended from the bottom of the larger ship to fully enclose the top opening of the passenger ship. Once secure, a hole opened within the inner platform of the main ship. The entire fleet held its breath, anticipating who would rise from the tube and eager to learn of the fleet's leadership status.
The first angel to emerge did so swiftly, quickly followed by another and another. Their blond hair flowed behind them as they rose and fell, landing on the smooth floor of the platform lightly and folding their wings. In rapid sequences of three to five angels at a time, the new and returning missionaries boarded the main ship until a small flock of about forty angels stood facing the awaiting commanders. The missionaries and commanders remained staring at the wide gaping hole, awaiting the most powerful angel in the fleet. No more angels appeared.
Michael continued to stare at the round void in the floor even as it began shrinking. His eyes flickered to Gabriel's and realized with a sinking feeling that the head commander was not returning. The other angel's bright green eyes were empty as usual, but for the brief moment in which he and Michael made eye contact, everything important passed between them. Israfel was well, Iblis was gone, and they would meet soon.
Gabriel made his way to his previous commander's side silently as did Pilate, leaving the passenger ship's pilots and cherubs standing in a loose clump, facing the commanders. Michael stepped forward with several other commanders and gathered about ten cherubs around him before turning and leading them to a connection duct to another ship. Once they had gathered on the main platform of the ship, he turned to address them and explain the basic regulations and punishments. Several cherubs looked appalled at the idea of avoiding unnecessary punishments while others simply held back sneers. As he spoke, his eyes narrowed and he observed that several of the newcomers did not possess the pure white wings characteristic of their race. Though it was very slight, he could detect various patterns in light gray on the feathers and his wariness increased. What is happening in Heaven?
As the cherubs departed to seek their own masters, he noticed one whose aura was considerably older and wings were a visible shade of gray. Marching up to the cherub, he waited until the other angel faced him. "Why is a fully adult angel among these cherubs?"
The angel's already narrow eyes became suspicious purple slits as he regarded the commander. "Provisions in Heaven are running low," he said. "Too many angels. Too little food. Too little space."
"You are a guardian."
"I was a guardian."
"Give up your status as guardian for the lowest missionary rank?" The other angel seemed power hungry and unlikely to willingly choose a lower position. His aura was the darkest Michael could recall and his behavior indicated he could be no older than Israfel.
He scowled slightly at the reminder of his drop in rank, but raised his head in slight defiance. "It seems it will be easier to advance here than in Heaven. Are missionaries as weak as your system of government?"
Michael's apprehension evolved into slight anger as he felt his chest get hot. "Weakness does not exist within this fleet," he bit out, glaring at the contaminated angel. "And if it does, it has always been crushed successfully."
"It seems it has been nurtured instead. Your retaliation says as much. I am still alive."
"There are no meliads here. A living angel, no matter how disobedient, is a necessity." Michael glared at the other angel. This angel was dangerous and he dared not lose sight of him. "As of today, you are my apprentice. Name."
"Raphael."
Lafayel trailed behind Michael silently as the commander led the way to the missionary barracks. "Each ship is an individual vessel," he explained as they walked along the near-empty corridors. "As you have probably noticed, they are all connected by flexible tubes with currents to allow angels to fly from one ship to the other. However, to conserve space and energy, the actual ships do not blow currents through ordinary corridors such as this one. They are only present in the tubes and during several hours a sun for the platforms."
"Hours?"
"Human terminology. It is the equivalent of one twenty-fourth of a blue planet sun."
Lafayel remained silent. Angels were not supposed to adopt human terms. Angels were superior. It should be the humans who obeyed and were influenced.
"Despite having a commander as your master, you will still have to go through the various missionary ranks before becoming a commander," Michael continued, oblivious to Lafayel's thoughts. "Of course, if you skip a rank you will not be penalized. In fact, you may even gain some degree of respect. It will just be highly unusual."
He stopped suddenly before whirling around to face his silent charge. "Last I heard guardians were forbidden to leave Heaven."
Lafayel merely continued to stare unseeingly ahead.
"Am I correct in assuming this decree is still in place?"
Still no answer.
"Raphael, I will not report you if your answer is satisfactory."
Lafayel hesitated briefly. "And if it is not?"
"Whether you are here or not does not concern me personally," Michael said. "The fleet is in dire need of more angels and as you were able to hold a position as a guardian, you must be strong enough to meet the survival requirements here." He looked over his charge, taking in the thin, braided hair, scrawny frame, and darkened wings. "However, you had no need to leave Heaven unless there is something you seek here or something you flee from there."
The other angel visibly flinched, though the cause remained a mystery to Michael. "I seek a particular angel," he said, choosing his words carefully. "He was the only cherub that could present a challenge for me."
"And yet he did not kill you in these challenges?" One auburn eyebrow rose delicately. Though the fleet had "softened" every angel, none forgot his harsh upbringing as a Heavenly cherub.
"The same nurse raised us," the other angel quickly said. "He forbid us to kill each other and instead focus our attentions on the other cherubs."
Michael regarded the former guardian, turning his story over inside his head several times. There were still some huge gaps that needed to be filled in and the information given to him hardly outweighed the punishment of being caught. Despite all this, the darkened wings and subtle desperate and haunted look in the deep purple irises compelled him to keep an eye on his new apprentice not only for the safety of the others, but also for his own.
He raised his hand and the other flinched again.
"Raphael."
The apprentice met Michael's stern gaze with his own challenging stare. His jaw tensed as he steeled himself against a blow. His eyes were narrower and darker, and the glare was slightly fiercer, but the stance, the expression, and the determined stubbornness all seemed rather familiar.
His hand fell away and wound around his fingers was a long white ribbon. He smiled ever so slightly as Lafayel ran his fingers through the blond tresses in curiosity, helping the braid unwind.
"In the fleet, we keep our hair unbound," Michael explained. "For some reason, humans in most regions seem to believe deities are not affected by typical things such as hair getting blown into our eyes." He was opening smiling now. "An angel with his hair bound is rather conspicuous; a braid is even more so. Though I must say," he paused, taking in Lafayel's appearance with several locks falling over his shoulders, "I have never seen an angel with wavy hair."
Lafayel's astonished expression dissipated, replaced by a scowl as he ground out, "And this is forbidden?" He looked pointedly at Michael's unusual hair color.
At this, the auburn-haired angel chuckled, his good mood only increasing when he saw his apprentice's scandalized reaction. "Not at all," he said, resisting the urge to tousle the other angel's hair, as he usually did with Israfel. Leaning in close, he whispered, "I like it. There is a certain lack of variety here."
And with that, he left his charge at the entrance of the missionary barracks and strode purposefully towards his own barracks. The grin was gone from his face, but his heart felt lighter than it had in decades.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Ew, gross. While I was re-reading the last half of this chapter it hit me. Really, really hard. I'm sorry that the quality of writing has gone done in this chapter; I really don't know why. I admit I was worried about the word count, but that wasn't entirely it. Ugh, I really don't like this section of the story because it's going to get rather nasty soon and that's all I can think about even during this relatively happy part.
Also, I'm usually not a stickler for reviews, but come on. One review, people? I got more hits for the last chapter than I did for chapter 7 and yet I got less reviews? I love writing for the sake of writing, so I'm not going to stop the story or delay my posts because of this, but it did affect my enthusiasm a bit. Of course, there could be a variety of factors such as lack of Internet access or such, but if you have the time to review, it would be much appreciated. It also gives me greater motivation and thus, greater spurts of inspiration. In fact, this story would never have revived if I hadn't received a review a year after I stopped working on it (I'm terribly sorry that I don't remember who re-motivated me).
Lots of love to RumorUnderOath!
Allusions and Explanations:
The odd way the passenger ship arrives is due to the nature of space. Remember, there is no gravity and therefore no set up, down, etc. If you're really curious about this, read Ender's Game, which does a beautiful job at explaining and drilling this idea into your head.
Contaminated angel: It means his aura, soul, whatever you want to call it, has been corrupted. By what, we don't know yet.
Hour: I'm not sure if this was being used at the time (right now, I'd say it's around the 1600s or so) but I don't really feel like looking up how certain cultures divided time.
Raphael: The archangel of healing in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. He is known as Raphael by Catholics and Orthodox and is called Israfel in Islam. There are several other names by which he is mentioned, but I don't know all of them. In this story, this is the name Lafayel goes by while in the fleet because in Japanese, there is no "la" or "ra" sound; it's more like a combination. After I remembered this, I thought that an alternative translation for Lafayel's name could be "Raphael", which made sense to me because Gabriel and Israfel are archangels as well, even if Israfel and Raphael are actually the same.
Wavy hair: Just to clarify, Lafayel does not have naturally wavy hair; it's as straight as all the others.
Posted: 13 August 2007
Next Post: 3 September 2007