Part II: No Going Back: Angel of Irrevocable Choice


Zeffar was unsure why he had been sent here. He looked around; it was cold down here, indescribably cold and damp, and cobwebs hung limply from the low ceilings. He was in a narrow stone corridor below ground; that much was obvious. He stood behind a plaster frieze of, ironically, an angel, dressed in pastel robes with outstretched wings. There was a tiny peephole in the painted angel's eye that allowed a single ray of light shine through in the dark passageway. He could sense that on the other side lay a chapel. He could hear the echoes of old prayers within the stone chamber.

Zeffar heard someone approaching. It was then that he knew why he was there. A young man moved quietly along the treacherous passage with the ease of long practise. He was clad in evening attire, resplendent with a long black cloak lined with silk to ward off the subterranean chill. His hair was also suspiciously black, and slicked back neatly. A shaped and designed piece of white leather covered the right side of his face. But the exposed left side was achingly familiar ...

It's him, Zeffar thought.

The masked man had almost passed the peephole when the angel abruptly shifted his wings. The mortal gave an uncharacteristic start, and there was a litle gasp from the other side of the wall. The angel wondered if he could have heard the rustling of his ruffled ivory feathers. Or was it the owner of the small voice on the other side that felt the unearthly presence?

"Papa?" asked the small voice tentatively. The man held his breath, and peered precariously through the tiny hole. Zeffar looked as well, through his eyes.

He saw a little girl of seven years with limp chestnut curls, dark doe eyes, and a pale face; she was dressed in a simple white nightshift and thick slippers. She padded softly over to the rack of candles and portraits. Very carefully, she lit the candle before the most recently-added portrait, pressed her little palms together, and bowed her curly head. There were several beats of terse silence. The masked man was about to turn away, when the child's voice rose in a trembling, tearful song:

Help me, Papa, I feel so lost:
Wandering and alone.
I miss you more each passing day,
And the times we have known.

Papa, can you hear me on this dark night,
Tell me, Papa, can you hear?
Now that you're gone, I've lost all my song,
And given in to my fear.

You promised me a new guardian, an angel;
You promised me ...

Angel of Music, where are you now?

The man in the mask closed his eyes. Gripping his cloak's edging with gloved hands, he drew several shallow breaths. Zeffar watched the rich black fabric shiver as the tightly-clenched hands shook. Did he know, could he recall those long-ago days?

"Beautiful child ... so lost, so helpless," he sang softly, "Yearning for my guidance."

The girl's brown eyes widened with shock and joy. Zeffar's did, as well. His voice was still divine. "Angel, I hear youspeak, I listen; stay by my side, guide me! Will you sing to me, Angel...?"

"Go to your bed, child, and I will sing you a lullaby tonight," he said gently, moving to take the hidden passage that led to the ballet dormitories.

His choice was made; and the angel would see to it that there was no going back now. Zeffar flew off, remembering the sound of his voice.


Note: Zeffar is the Angel of Irrevocable Choices.