Chapter 30: Camp Fire
The sky was dark blue with just a hint of pink peaking from the horizon. It faded into the night's darkness and the air rapidly grew crisp. An open flame was a welcome balm for those sitting near it in the middle of the desert. A caravan of assorted vehicles made a large circle around the bonfire, essentially creating a physical barrier to any that chose to stray too close. The mood was jovial with some playing dominos on a slab of wood precariously balanced on boxes near one of the big-rigs. Scattered across the clearing, the usual cats were hurling insults and jokes back and forth while cleaning their weapons. And dinner was already served to those in charge. They sat picking at the remnants on a long banquet table covered in candles and used plates.
Jackson was strumming his guitar while lounging on the hood of his pickup truck, ignoring the hushed discourse at the large table. His dark-brown wavy hair hung limply in his eyes as he concentrated on the strings. It had been a grueling few weeks of constant travel and he knew that pushing forward would eventually break them. He had advocated for the small respite in the clearing. They all needed a moment to sleep, think, and breathe without rushing off somewhere. Even the winged ones were exhausted.
He leaned his head back and stared up at the clear sky. The moon was a sliver of light and the stars were glinting in the darkness. It was a peaceful moment and he would relish it. The rest of their people would be arriving the next morning and then in another day or so they would be on their way again. The way of the nomadic people. Only this time, they had a destination.
Something moved among the stars, dark and fast.
Immediately, Jackson sat up, dropping the guitar and going for his rifle. "Incoming!" he yelled.
And before he could blink once more, Azrael landed in the middle of the clearing. Her dark blue wings immediately disappeared as she glanced around at the circle of weapons suddenly pointed at her. No one fired a shot, however, recognizing the angel who was fully decked out in battle gear. She scanned the crowd then lingered on Jackson, lifting an eyebrow in response to his shotgun. He didn't flinch, though; instead he slid off of his truck and slowly advanced toward her.
"I'm not here for you," she said, quietly. Turning away from him, she briskly walked over to the banquet table. Its occupants remained still as the others drew closer, guns still trained on the angel.
Jackson followed behind her. "You could have given us some warning."
Azrael ignored him and looked at the three people sitting at the table. One of them was formally known as the General of House Riesen. He looked paler than the last time she had seen him, but otherwise seemed no worse for wear. Perhaps life with the Camp agreed with him. The last time she had seen him, he had been at death's doorstep. Raguel had requested Raphael's presence in order to heal him. Of course, Raphael required something in return. Weapons and alcohol went a long way with the archangel. How far the Healer had fallen.
Across from him sat one of the Cradle's Rebel leaders, Dutch. He was a burly man with a smart mouth and a mean scar that ran down the left side of his face. He grinned at her as he precariously balanced his chair on its back two legs. "Well look what the cat dragged in… Hello, Angel of Death. Whose heart have you come to break this time?"
The woman sitting next to him smacked his arm. "Knock it off, Dutch."
Dutch teetered dangerously close to falling and righted himself at the last minute while giving her a scowl.
The wizened woman had a hard edge to her with her salt and pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail. She had both the look of an experienced military commander as well as the gentle wise Elder of her tribe. She looked at Azrael with a neutral expression. "Is Raguel expecting you?"
"No, she is not." A voice responded from behind the three of them.
Azrael looked past them to find someone emerging from the tented area behind the table.
A tall angel moved leisurely into the open, wiping her hands clean on a small hand towel. With light brown skin and wild curly red hair grazing just above her shoulders, Raguel had a harder time blending in with humans than her other archangel brethren. She towered over most of them and often had an eerily serene exterior, making most humans feel uncomfortable in her presence. It would seem that she was too placid, but the archangel could dole out her own brand of justice when needed.
Her oversized black eyes pierced Azrael as she approached the banquet table. "You're too early. What news are you bringing, Azrael? Has Raphael changed his mind?"
Lowering his shotgun, Jackson circled past the warrior angel and stood near his tall leader.
Azrael stared at the two of them. It wasn't that long ago that Jackson would have sided with her against Raguel. How times had changed. "The time has been moved up. Ready yourselves, and tell the others to hurry. By morning light, you need to move."
Jackson looked to Raguel as if he were waiting for her orders. The archangel stared at Azrael with that eerie stillness. "And you've confirmed the Chosen One's presence?"
"Would I deceive you?"
"Yes. Yes, you would." Raguel dropped her towel on to the table. "The chance that Gabriel will finally stop this madness, even the smallest chance that his anger can be quelled… it is the main reason that any of the higher angels will join the fight. They've had enough." She paused. "I do this only for Raphael and Michael. I do this to find peace. Can you say the same?"
Azrael smiled. "I wouldn't expect you to do it for me."
Jackson glared at her. "And why should she ever believe a word coming from your mouth?"
Azrael's smile faded as she visibly ignored him. "Ready them, Raguel. Do it for them." She glanced at Jackson. "Do it for him."
Raguel didn't stir as Azrael stepped back and released her wings, flapping them once, purposefully stirring up the sand. She stared at Jackson with a cold expression and then shifted focus, glancing around at the tense faces.
"It is time."
A moment later, she took to the air, speeding off into the sky, and leaving the Camp to ready themselves for war.