Aerie

CHAPTER FOUR

Belphegor pushed a wheelbarrow of dirt across the yard toward a row of blossoming rose bushes. A succession of summer rains had eroded some of the dirt at their base and he was eager to replace it before any of the plants’ more delicate regions were exposed to the elements.

He set the barrow down, careful not to tip its contents, and picked up the shovel that was lying beside a rake in the sparse, brown grass. Belphegor plunged the shovel into the center of the mound of dirt and carried it to the rosebushes, where he ladled it onto the ground beneath them. The wheelbarrow was nearly empty of its load before he felt that the bushes were properly protected.

The angel leaned upon his shovel and studied his work. The chemical pollutants that laced the rich, dark soil wafted up into the air, invisible to the human eye. With an angel’s vision, however, Belphegor watched the poisonous particles drift heavily upon the summer breeze before settling back down to the tainted ground.

He squatted, digging his fingers into the newly shoveled dirt, and withdrew the contaminants, taking them into his own body. Belphegor shuddered and began to cough. There had been a time when purifying a stretch of land four times this area would have been nothing more than a trifle. But now, after so many years upon Earth and so much poison, it was beginning to have its effects upon him.

Is it worth it? he wondered, stepping back to admire the beauty he had helped create from the corrupted ground, beautiful red buds opening to the warmth of the sun. In his mind he pictured other gardens he had sown and knew that there was no question.

Belphegor picked up the metal rake and began to spread the new soil evenly about the base of the roses. In these gardens, left untended, he saw a reflection of himself and those who had chosen to join his community. Outcasts, each and every one, tainted in some way, desperately wanting to grow toward the sun—toward Heaven—but hindered by the poison that impaired them all.

He tried to force the sudden images away, but they had been with him for countless millennia and would likely remain with him for countless more. He remembered the poison that drove him from the kingdom of God to the world of man—the poison of indecision. The angel saw the war as if for the first time, no detail forgotten or fuzzy with the passage of time. His brethren locked in furious combat as he watched, lacking the courage within himself to take a side.

Belphegor stopped raking, forcing aside the painful remembrances to concentrate on the beauty he had helped to set free. Someday he hoped that he and all of Aerie’s citizens would be as these roses: forgiven through penance and the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy, rising up out of the poisonous earth, reaching for the radiance of Heaven.

The sounds of voices, carried by the breeze, intruded on his thoughts, and reluctantly he turned from his roses to meet his visitors. He walked through the expanse of yard, and around to the front of the abandoned dwelling, its windows boarded up and covered with spray-painted graffiti. It had once been the home of a family of six, with hopes and dreams very much like many of the other families that had lived within the Ravenschild housing development. Belphegor could still feel their sadness radiating from the structures in the desolate neighborhood, the echoes of life silenced by a corporation’s greedy little secret. The ChemCord chemical company had buried its waste here, poisoning the land and those who lived in homes built upon it. It was a sad place, this Ravenschild housing development, but it was now their home, the latest Aerie for those who awaited forgiveness.

Belphegor glanced down the sidewalk to see his constables approaching with two others—and a dog. These must be the ones suspected of murder, he thought, recalling the sudden, violent increase in deaths of fallen angels scattered about the world. He would question these strangers, but he had already decided their fate. Earth was a dangerous place for the likes of the fallen, and he would do anything to keep his people and their community safe. With that in mind, he steeled himself to pass judgment, studying the captives as they approached.

Belphegor gasped as he suddenly realized that one of the strangers was not that at all. He knew the angel that walked with the boy. They had been friends once, before the war, before his own fall from grace.

“Camael,” Belphegor whispered, his thoughts drifting to the last time he had seen his heavenly brother. “Have you finally come to finish what you failed to do so very long ago?”

the garden of eden, soon after the great war

Camael drew back his arm and brought down his sword of fire with the same devastating results as during the heavenly conflict. The impossibly thick wall of vegetation that had grown between the gates of Paradise was no match for his blazing weapon, the seemingly impenetrable barrier of tangled plant life parting with the descent of his lethal blade. It had not been long since the eviction of humans from the Garden, yet already the once perfect habitat for God’s newest creations was falling prey to ruin.

Animals from every genus fled before him, sensing the murderous purpose that had brought him to this place. The war had finally been won by the armies of the Lord and the defeated—the legions of the Morningstar—had been driven from Heaven. As leader of the Powers host, it had fallen to him to track and destroy those who opposed the Almighty and brought the blight of war to the most sacred of places.

Camael had come to the Garden in search of one such criminal, one that had once served the glory of the Creator as devoutly as he—but that had been before the war, and things were no longer as they once were. Belphegor would pay for his crimes, as would all who took up arms against the Lord of Lords.

Camael stopped before another obstruction of root, tree, and vine, and with his patience on the wane, slashed out with his fiery blade, venting some of the rage that had been his constant companion since the war began. His fury poured forth in torrents as his sword cut a swath of flaming devastation through the Garden of Paradise, his roar of indignation mixing with the cries of panicked animals.

How could they have done this to the Lord God—the Creator of all there is? His thoughts raged as he lashed out at the thick vegetation, the vestiges of battles he had so recently fought still raw and bleeding upon his mind. His anger spent, Paradise burned around him and the barriers of growth fell away to smoldering ash. Camael beheld a clearing, void of life except for a single tree—and the one he was searching for.

Belphegor stood before what could only have been the Tree of Knowledge—large with golden bark, and carrying sparsely among its canopy of yellow leaves, a forbidden fruit that shone like a newly born star in the night sky.

“Belphegor,” Camael said, stepping through the burning brush and into the clearing. In his hand he still clutched his weapon of fire, and it sparked and licked at the air, eager to be used.

Hand pressed to the tree’s body, the angel Belphegor turned to glance at him and smiled sadly. “It’s dying,” he said, returning his attention to the tree. “And it will be only a matter of time before what is killing it spreads to the remainder of the Garden.”

Camael stopped and glared at his fallen brethren. His anger, though abated by the destructive tantrum, still thrummed inside.

“It’s His disappointment,” Belphegor said, again looking at Camael. “The Creator’s disappointment in the man and woman—it’s acting as a poison, gradually killing everything that He made especially for them. I’m doing my best to slow the process, but I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before it is all lost.”

Camael gripped his sword tighter and spoke the words that had been trapped in his throat. They spilled from his mouth, reeking of anger and despair. “I’ve come to kill you, Belphegor.” He wasn’t sure how he expected the fallen angel to react—perhaps to cower with fear, or suddenly flee deeper into the Garden—but it appeared that Belphegor had already accepted his lot.

“I’m glad it’s you who has come for me,” he said casually, moving away from the tree toward Camael.

Camael pointed his sword, halting the angelic fugitive’s progress.

Belphegor stared at him over the sputtering blade of fire. “If it is time for me to die, then I accept my fate.”

The Powers’ commander seethed. How dare such a sinner surrender without a fight. How dare he deny me the wrath of battle. “You will summon a weapon and fight me,” he snarled.

Belphegor slowly shook his head. “I did not fight in the war and I will not fight you, my friend,” he said sadly. “If you are to take my life, do it now, for I am ready.”

Camael wanted to strike the angel down, lift his fearsome blade above his head and cleave the traitor in two, but something stayed his hand—the question that had plagued his tortured thoughts since the war began. “Why, Belphegor?” he asked, his body trembling with repressed anger.

The fallen angel sighed and sat down in the shade of the Tree of Knowledge. Camael loomed above him, his blade of fire poised for attack.

“I did not want to fight,” Belphegor said, picking up a dry stalk of grass and twirling it between his fingers. “For either side.”

“He is your Creator, Belphegor,” Camael spat. “How could you not fight for Him?”

The fallen angel turned his gaze up to Camael and the look upon his face was one of resignation. “I could not even begin to think of raising a weapon against my brothers—or my Creator. If that makes me an enemy of Heaven, so be it.”

“It makes you a coward,” Camael said, tightening his grip upon his weapon’s hilt.

“Is that really how you feel, Camael?” Belphegor asked without a hint of fear. “Have you come for me not because of what I did not do—but for what you did not have the courage to do yourself?”

The words were like a savage attack, weapons of truth hacking away at Camael to reveal the painful reality. There had been so much death, and he could see no end to it.

Camael swung his blade and buried it mere inches from Belphegor. The ground around the weapon began to burn.

“Damn you,” he hissed, pulling the sword from the smoldering earth and stepping back, his steely stare still upon his foe. In his mind’s eye he saw them, the faces of all he had slain in the battle for Heaven, a seemingly endless parade of death marching through his memories, and it chilled him to his core. Once they had been like him, serving the one true God—and then came dissension, sides were chosen and a war begun.

“You must be made to answer for your crimes,” he said as Belphegor rose to his feet.

“Haven’t we been punished enough?” the fallen angel asked. “Rejected, forced to abandon all we have ever known to live amongst animals—most, I think, already suffer a fate far worse than what awaits at your hands.” Belphegor moved closer. “Death at your hands might even be considered an act of mercy.”

Camael placed the tip of his sword beneath Belphegor’s throat and the flesh there bubbled and burned—yet despite this, the fallen angel did not pull away.

“We were brothers once,” Camael whispered, staring at Belphegor’s face twisted in pain. “But no more,” he said as he pulled the blade away. “It will be as if you were destroyed by my hand.”

Belphegor gingerly touched the charred and oozing flesh beneath his chin. “Will this mercy be bestowed upon the others as well?” he asked, his voice a gentle whisper.

Camael turned and prepared to leave Eden.

“How many more will have to die?” Belphegor called after him as Camael reached the edge of the clearing. “When will it be enough, Camael?” the fallen angel asked. “And when will we finally be allowed to show our sorrow for what we have done?”

Camael left the Garden of Eden, never to look upon it again, Belphegor’s questions reverberating through his mind. He did not respond to his fallen brother, for he did not have the answers, and he had begun to wonder if ever he truly would.

aerie, present day

The sight of Belphegor stirred memories Camael had not experienced for millennia. Pictures of the past billowed and whirled, like desert sands agitated by the winds of storm. The angel warrior quickly suppressed them.

“Hello, Camael,” Belphegor said, standing on the sidewalk in front of a boarded-up home. “It’s been quite some time.”

Camael looked closely at the fallen angel before him; he appeared old, almost sickly. It was common for angels that had fled to Earth to allow themselves to age, to fit in with their new environment, but Belphegor’s look was more than that.

“I executed you,” Camael said, remembering the day he had stormed from the Garden of Eden without completing his assignment.

“Is that what you told your Powers’ comrades—did you actually tell them that I died at your hand?”

Camael recalled addressing his troops before their journey to Earth. He remembered telling them, the lie already beginning to eat at him, the doubts about their mission, seeded by Belphegor, already starting to sprout. “I was their leader, they would believe anything I told them.”

“And now?” Belphegor asked.

“Now they would like to see me as dead as they believe you to be.”

The old angel studied Camael’s face, obviously searching for signs of untruth. “I had heard that you left them, but was still saddened that it took as long as it did.”

“It was when I read the words of the prophecy that I realized it wasn’t the way,” Camael answered. “There had already been too much death. I began to believe that a new future for our kind rests in the hands of a half-breed—a Nephilim, chosen by God.”

Camael looked at Aaron, who shifted his feet nervously at the attention now placed upon him.

“That would be me, I guess,” he said.

The constables, who had been silent until that point, chuckled at the idea of this Nephilim boy being the Chosen One, but Camael waited to see how Belphegor would respond.

“You believe this one to be the Chosen?” he asked, pointing at Aaron with a long gnarled finger.

Camael noticed the dirt beneath his nails. “Yes, I believe it is so,” he answered.

“Have you ever heard anything so foolish, Belphegor?” Lehash asked, scratching the side of his grizzled face with the golden barrel of his gun. “Next they’ll be telling us that they ain’t had nothin’ to do with the rash a’ killin’s this last week.”

Silently Belphegor moved closer to Aaron. “Are you?” he asked as he began to sniff him from head to toe.

“I have no idea what they’re talking about,” Aaron explained. “We tried to tell them that before, but—”

“There’s quite a bit of violence locked up inside you,” Belphegor said, stepping back and wiping his nose with a finger. “Powerful stuff, wild—wouldn’t take much, I imagine, to set you on a killing spree.”

Camael stepped forward to defend the boy. “Aaron has accomplished much since the angelic nature has awakened. I’ve seen him use his power, on more than one occasion, to send a fallen angel home.”

Belphegor tilted his head to one side. “Home?” he questioned, deep crow’s feet forming at the corners of his squinting eyes. “What do you mean?”

Camael nodded slowly, allowing the meaning of his words to sink in. “Home,” he said, still nodding. “He sent them home to Heaven.”

Lehash began to laugh uproariously, looking to his fellow constables to join him. They smiled uneasily. Camael scowled, he did not care to have his motivations questioned and would have given everything to be free of the magickally augmented manacles.

The constable strode forward, puffing out his chest. “Go ahead, boy,” he said, holding his arms out. “I’m ready. Send me home to God.”

“It … it doesn’t work that way,” Aaron stammered. “I just can’t do it—something inside tells me when it’s time.”

Lehash laughed again, as if he’d never heard anything as funny, and Camael seethed.

“Silence, Lehash,” Belphegor ordered again, scrutinizing Aaron. “Is that true, boy?” he asked. “Have you sent fallen angels back to Heaven?”

Gabriel, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly padded toward Belphegor. “I saw him do it,” the dog said in all earnest.“And he made me better after I was hurt. Do you have anything to eat? I’m very hungry.”

Belphegor studied the animal, whose tail wagged eagerly. “This animal has been altered,” he said, looking first to Camael, and then to Aaron. “Who would do such a thing?”

“He was hurt very badly,” Aaron explained. “I … I didn’t even know what I was doing. I talked to the thing living inside me…I begged it to save Gabriel and—”

Belphegor raised a hand to silence Aaron. “I’ve heard enough,” he said. “The idea of such power in the hands of someone like you chills me to the bone.”

“What should we do with them?” Lehash asked. There was a cruel look in his eyes, and Camael was convinced that he would do whatever Belphegor told him, no matter how dire.

“Take them back to the house,” the old angel said, turning toward the fenced yard he had come from. “I need time to think.”

“Listen to me, Belphegor,” Camael again tried to explain. “No matter how wrong it may seem to you, Aaron is the one you’ve been waiting for. Even the Archangel Gabriel believed it to be so. You have to trust me on this.”

The fallen angel returned his attention to Camael. “God’s most holy messenger is not here to vouch for him, and I’m afraid trust is in very short supply here these days,” Belphegor said sadly. “There’s far too much at stake. I’m sorry.” He looked to his people. “Take them back to the house, and be sure to keep the restraints on them.”

Lehash grabbed hold of Aaron, but the boy fought against him.

“Listen,” he cried out, and Belphegor stopped to stare at the Nephilim. “I’m trying to find my little brother—he’s the only real family I have left.”

Belphegor looked away, seemingly uninterested in the boy’s plight.

“Please!” he yelled. “Verchiel has him and I have to get him back. Let us go, and we’ll leave you alone, we promise.”

The old fallen angel ignored the boy, continuing on his way. Lehash again gripped him by the arm and pulled. “C’mon, boy. He don’t want to hear any more of your nonsense.”

“Goddam it!” Aaron shouted. “If you’re not going to listen, I’ll make you listen!”

And then he did something he should not have been able to do with the magickal restraints in place.

Aaron Corbet began to change.