Note: Thanks to Jovieve for looking up the names of the Edor brothers--a friend of mine had pinched my copy of "Jovah's Angel," and Jo was gracious enough to look them up for me. Thanks so much!
Absalom held his two ruby-studded bands in one hand, examining them in the half-light, hearing them chime faintly as they tapped each other. He'd had the jewels set in plain gold--he had no family pattern to lay claim to, by rights. The bracelets flashed as he turned them over in his palm. No family, no friends, no certain future: he was an outcast in every way possible, now that he'd denounced Lucifer; he couldn't go back to Windy Point now, not after what had happened. He had sent a petition to the angel Jonathan, asking for permission to live at Monteverde, but given the older angel's current troubles, it would be sometime before the request would be considered. Which left only one course of action, one which Absalom had, for many years, dreaded facing.
"So, you've left Lucifer at last."
Absalom turned, and looked into two familiar faces he wasn't sure he'd ever wanted to see again--his two half-brothers, Victor and Amos Edor. They were as dark as Absalom was--all three of them shared their father's brown color.
Victor smiled unpleasantly after his remark, but Amos, the pleasanter of the two, frowned and firmly pushed his brother aside. "We got your message," he said to Absalom, not unkindly. "It wasn't easy for us to get here to the Plain of Sharon, even with the Gloria crowds; we're none too popular, even with Monteverde's promise of safe passage--but you! You sound like you're in dire straits indeed."
"I don't know--I don't know what Lucifer will do now; even if he doesn't decide to come after me, I'm out of a home; it will be months before Jonathan even looks at my request."
Amos nodded--his half-brother had intimated this much in his letter. "You're always welcome among us--" He raised a hand to silence Victor's indignant exclamation. "It's been years since I've seen you, brother, but you are our brother still. You were Absalom Edor before you were ever the angel Absalom." The renegade's eyes searched the angel's. "We're not asking for your loyalty, or for your favor when you return to the angel hold. We're not asking anything of you. I say, you are always welcome among us, whether good or ill betide you."
The angel gripped his brother's hands fervently. "Thank you, Amos--I can't tell you what this means to me." His smile was crooked. "I honestly expected you to rebuff me--Jovah bless you for your kindness."
The slender man smiled in response, somewhat discomfited by this unusual display of emotion, but sympathetic nonetheless. "These are troubled times, brother--we and our supporters welcome with open arms anyone fleeing the oppression of this system the angels and oracles and priests have established."
"Come, we must be going," Victor growled from behind Amos. "Both Uriel and Lucifer are still encamped here--I cannot promise that we will be safe if we stay." The other Edor brother nodded, and beckoned for Absalom to follow. The angel caped his wings about his shoulders in the encroaching darkness, and thrust his bracelets into his pocket. As he made haste from the pavilions with his two half-brothers, the wind on his bare wrists was more wonderful then any sensation he had ever felt.
*****
Never before, in Jonathan's life, had a stiff drink ever seemed so enticing--he did not much care for wine or ale in general, but after today he would have accepted even the rudest beer with gratitude. The search for Reu had extended far into the night, without success; he hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but he strongly suspected that the disappearance was connected to Lucifer's visit. The boy Reu had a simple mind, but he was not in the habit of wandering away; in his condition, he was a highly suggestible person, vulnerable to an extreme to whatever idea Lucifer might choose to plant in his mind. That thought set every one of Jonathan's nerves to prickling--he was mortally afraid of the fact that he had no idea whatsoever what Lucifer's plans might be. He was usually good at deducing people scheme's and motives, but the abduction of Reu had left him entirely at a loss.
The angel's disturbing ruminations were interrupted by a soft step at the doorway of his study--ah, Deborah. Another matter which weighed heavily on his mind. He extended his arms to her, and she stumbled forward, haltingly, then fell to her knees, shoulders shuddering with inaudible sobs. I will kill Lucifer before I ever let him use my daughter so ill again, he thought savagely.
"What did he do?" he asked quietly, implacably. "Deborah, I swear I shall have his blood on my hands before he ever touches you again."
"Not what you think," she said after a moment, when her frantic weeping had subsided. "He didn't need to resort to that sort of thing--he is too cunning for that."
Jonathan touched a finger to her chin, and lifted up her flushed, salt-streaked face. "What did he say to you, then?"
She shook her head. "Very little that I would believe--only that I would be his angelica, and--" She stopped short.
"And...?"
Deborah looked pained. "He had been driven to madness by lies, father--but there is one thing I must ask you."
His eyes searched her own; he knew what she meant. "Ask it," he said in a low voice.
"Were you born a mortal boy?"
He had known what she would ask, but hearing the words themselves, hearing them articulated in sound and voice made him close his eyes and draw away. Not my daughter, he thought. I cannot lie to her, not as she is. "Yes," he said. "I was a mortal man who became an angel through artifice and cunning."
"Wingless?"
"Wingless, dearheart--like you."
Unexpectedly, she rose up, and embraced him. "Tell me: I must know--and I imagine that you must want to unburden yourself of this secret."
"Hardly a secret," he said with a sigh, and gestured for her to sit with him by the fire. "It was never concealed, really--only forgotten." He gave a small, ironic chuckle. "I only half-remember it, myself. I was as young as you--no, younger." He preened out a loose feather with his hand, then ran it between his thumb and forefinger; he had no wish to remember the gruesome details of the ordeal, and she did not deserve to have to listen to them. "I was born a mortal, but bred so that I could sire angel children," he said succinctly. "They grafted the wings to my back, so that I might do them service as they saw fit--that is the long and the short of it." He examined the dove-gray feather by candlelight. "I don't know much more than that. I cannot tell you anything about my father and mother, your grandparents. I doubt that any of the first angels could, even Uriel himself. And certainly not Lucifer."
Absalom held his two ruby-studded bands in one hand, examining them in the half-light, hearing them chime faintly as they tapped each other. He'd had the jewels set in plain gold--he had no family pattern to lay claim to, by rights. The bracelets flashed as he turned them over in his palm. No family, no friends, no certain future: he was an outcast in every way possible, now that he'd denounced Lucifer; he couldn't go back to Windy Point now, not after what had happened. He had sent a petition to the angel Jonathan, asking for permission to live at Monteverde, but given the older angel's current troubles, it would be sometime before the request would be considered. Which left only one course of action, one which Absalom had, for many years, dreaded facing.
"So, you've left Lucifer at last."
Absalom turned, and looked into two familiar faces he wasn't sure he'd ever wanted to see again--his two half-brothers, Victor and Amos Edor. They were as dark as Absalom was--all three of them shared their father's brown color.
Victor smiled unpleasantly after his remark, but Amos, the pleasanter of the two, frowned and firmly pushed his brother aside. "We got your message," he said to Absalom, not unkindly. "It wasn't easy for us to get here to the Plain of Sharon, even with the Gloria crowds; we're none too popular, even with Monteverde's promise of safe passage--but you! You sound like you're in dire straits indeed."
"I don't know--I don't know what Lucifer will do now; even if he doesn't decide to come after me, I'm out of a home; it will be months before Jonathan even looks at my request."
Amos nodded--his half-brother had intimated this much in his letter. "You're always welcome among us--" He raised a hand to silence Victor's indignant exclamation. "It's been years since I've seen you, brother, but you are our brother still. You were Absalom Edor before you were ever the angel Absalom." The renegade's eyes searched the angel's. "We're not asking for your loyalty, or for your favor when you return to the angel hold. We're not asking anything of you. I say, you are always welcome among us, whether good or ill betide you."
The angel gripped his brother's hands fervently. "Thank you, Amos--I can't tell you what this means to me." His smile was crooked. "I honestly expected you to rebuff me--Jovah bless you for your kindness."
The slender man smiled in response, somewhat discomfited by this unusual display of emotion, but sympathetic nonetheless. "These are troubled times, brother--we and our supporters welcome with open arms anyone fleeing the oppression of this system the angels and oracles and priests have established."
"Come, we must be going," Victor growled from behind Amos. "Both Uriel and Lucifer are still encamped here--I cannot promise that we will be safe if we stay." The other Edor brother nodded, and beckoned for Absalom to follow. The angel caped his wings about his shoulders in the encroaching darkness, and thrust his bracelets into his pocket. As he made haste from the pavilions with his two half-brothers, the wind on his bare wrists was more wonderful then any sensation he had ever felt.
*****
Never before, in Jonathan's life, had a stiff drink ever seemed so enticing--he did not much care for wine or ale in general, but after today he would have accepted even the rudest beer with gratitude. The search for Reu had extended far into the night, without success; he hadn't mentioned it to anyone, but he strongly suspected that the disappearance was connected to Lucifer's visit. The boy Reu had a simple mind, but he was not in the habit of wandering away; in his condition, he was a highly suggestible person, vulnerable to an extreme to whatever idea Lucifer might choose to plant in his mind. That thought set every one of Jonathan's nerves to prickling--he was mortally afraid of the fact that he had no idea whatsoever what Lucifer's plans might be. He was usually good at deducing people scheme's and motives, but the abduction of Reu had left him entirely at a loss.
The angel's disturbing ruminations were interrupted by a soft step at the doorway of his study--ah, Deborah. Another matter which weighed heavily on his mind. He extended his arms to her, and she stumbled forward, haltingly, then fell to her knees, shoulders shuddering with inaudible sobs. I will kill Lucifer before I ever let him use my daughter so ill again, he thought savagely.
"What did he do?" he asked quietly, implacably. "Deborah, I swear I shall have his blood on my hands before he ever touches you again."
"Not what you think," she said after a moment, when her frantic weeping had subsided. "He didn't need to resort to that sort of thing--he is too cunning for that."
Jonathan touched a finger to her chin, and lifted up her flushed, salt-streaked face. "What did he say to you, then?"
She shook her head. "Very little that I would believe--only that I would be his angelica, and--" She stopped short.
"And...?"
Deborah looked pained. "He had been driven to madness by lies, father--but there is one thing I must ask you."
His eyes searched her own; he knew what she meant. "Ask it," he said in a low voice.
"Were you born a mortal boy?"
He had known what she would ask, but hearing the words themselves, hearing them articulated in sound and voice made him close his eyes and draw away. Not my daughter, he thought. I cannot lie to her, not as she is. "Yes," he said. "I was a mortal man who became an angel through artifice and cunning."
"Wingless?"
"Wingless, dearheart--like you."
Unexpectedly, she rose up, and embraced him. "Tell me: I must know--and I imagine that you must want to unburden yourself of this secret."
"Hardly a secret," he said with a sigh, and gestured for her to sit with him by the fire. "It was never concealed, really--only forgotten." He gave a small, ironic chuckle. "I only half-remember it, myself. I was as young as you--no, younger." He preened out a loose feather with his hand, then ran it between his thumb and forefinger; he had no wish to remember the gruesome details of the ordeal, and she did not deserve to have to listen to them. "I was born a mortal, but bred so that I could sire angel children," he said succinctly. "They grafted the wings to my back, so that I might do them service as they saw fit--that is the long and the short of it." He examined the dove-gray feather by candlelight. "I don't know much more than that. I cannot tell you anything about my father and mother, your grandparents. I doubt that any of the first angels could, even Uriel himself. And certainly not Lucifer."
