Страница 21 из 54
The eleven of his brethren stood as he drew closer, their solid black eyes shining in the firelight, faces distorted in such a way as to bare their teeth at him. A show of emotion, he knew, but was not sure which. Happiness? Sadness? Anger? There was still so much he did not know about this inhospitable place he had chosen above the kingdom of God.
So much still to learn.
"Welcome, brother," the obvious leader of the eleven proclaimed, his voice booming above the cries of the humans still in the throes of emotion. They all bowed to him, and Remiel returned the gesture, shedding his human guise to reveal his true form to those who addressed him.
"Greetings, my brethren," he stated, his wings of golden yellow unfurling majestically, their movement stirring the dust of the desert around his bare feet. "I am Remiel of the most holy host Seraphim."
"Of course you are," said the leader, his hands folded before him. "We've anxiously awaited your coming."
Remiel looked upon the eleven with curious eyes. None had assumed their true forms, as was the proper response to his own revelation.
"I am Sariel," the leader informed, motioning to the others who loomed attentively behind him. "And we are the host Grigori."
Remiel's wings spread wide, carrying him away, repelled by the accursed name of Sariel's host. "Pariahs!" he spat, drawing a sword from a sheath hidden beneath his robes. "Defilers of God's most holy trust!" He stared down the blade forged in the center of the sun, that glinted even in the darkness of night.
The Grigori were outcasts, defilers of the Almighty's holy word. They had been charged with the guardianship of the human species, to watch over God's flock and protect them from sin, but it was they — the Grigori — who had become seduced by the ways of mankind.
The human settlers began to scream at the sight of Remiel. The Grigori fell to their knees, bowing to an authority that he no longer possessed.
"Soldier of Heaven," Sariel said, lifting eyes his toward him. "We knew that it would be only a matter of time before you returned, that our prayers for forgiveness would be heard."
Assigned the task of protecting His prized creations from evil, it was, in fact, the Grigori that shared with the fledgling species secrets that God believed they were not yet ready to know. They were taught about the constellations and the resolving of enchantments, of agriculture and the refinement of metal, which led to the creation of weapons for war.
And for this wicked behavior they were banished to live among the young race, and to never lay eyes upon the glory that was Heaven again.
The humans had gathered around the Grigori, as if shielding the defilers of the Creator's wishes from His wrath.
"They remember the first time… When the Archangels came," the Grigori leader explained, the humans now surrounding the eleven, pawing at their robes, pulling them down to expose the angels' pale, almost translucent flesh.
"Our wings… our beautiful wings torn from our backs as punishment for our transgressions."
The Grigori turned, showing him how they had been defiled by God's wrath. The scars where wings had once sprung were red and angry, tears of yellow infection dribbling down their exposed backs. The humans swarmed around the Grigori's wounds, using their own garments to wipe away the ru
"Imprisoned in these fragile, human bodies of skin, blood, and bone." Sariel gazed over his shoulder."But now you have come. Our prayers have been answered, and we will at last be allowed to beg His forgiveness."
Remiel descended, furling his wings as he touched down upon the earth. "You are mistaken, watchers of humanity," the Seraphim said, sheathing his heavenly blade. "I have not the power to grant you absolution."
Sariel appeared startled by this revelation. "Have you not been sent by the Almighty?"
The other Grigori began to murmur among themselves, angrily pushing away the inhabitants of the settlement who now groveled about them.
"I no longer represent Heaven or my host," Remiel said sadly, feeling the distance between this world and the world that he had known before the war yawning ever wider. "I am alone now."
The Grigori leader looked to his brothers and then back to Remiel. "Then why are you here?"
The Seraphim looked to the sky, hoping to find an answer there. But the night and the multitude of twinkling stars remained silent, keeping their secrets to themselves.
"I once believed that serving Heaven was all I needed for fulfillment," Remiel said, his thoughts filled with the images of the Morningstar and those who followed him as they were cast down into the fires of the abyss. "But I learned that wasn't true."
Four human women clung to Sariel's legs, gazing up at the angelic being with adoration in their eyes, their hands stroking his legs through his flowing robes.
"And you have come to this place… to this world, seeking answers?" the Grigori asked, looking about in disbelief. He turned to his followers and began to laugh. "Shall we attempt to provide him with what he seeks, brothers?" Sariel asked.
The Grigori laughed, and Remiel could hear the madness there. Denied the light of Heaven and the glory of God, the angels had succumbed to insanity, he feared.
Sariel looked back to Remiel, eyes wild. "There are no answers here, brother Seraphim," he snarled. "This world of man is a cruel and harsh place, populated by beasts not much better than primates, but for some reason, they have been given the gift of His love."
The Grigori leader reached down to one of the women lying at his feet, holding her chin in his hand as he lifted her to stand beside him. Sariel gazed deeply into her eyes as if searching for something.
"He gave them something," Sariel purred. "A gift denied to us — His Heavenly servants — the first of His creations."
The woman squirmed in the leader's grasp, attempting to pull away, but it was for naught.
"Into each of them He put a bit of Himself… A divine spark that marked them as His chosen ones. Why, Seraphim? Why do you think He did that for them?"
Remiel knew not the answer to that question either.
"We thought we'd learn the answer — my brothers and I — by living amongst them… Living as them. But they can tell us nothing."
The woman began to cry as Sariel's grip on her face tightened. She struggled feverishly in his grasp as he pulled her face closer to his, and then she lashed out at him, clawing bloody furrows into the pale, delicate flesh of his wrists.
Sariel drew in a hissing breath, sounding like a serpent preparing to strike. Savagely, he twisted the female's head sharply to one side, breaking her neck with a muffled snap.
"So special, and yet so fragile," he said softly, letting the woman's broken body slump to the ground.
Immediately, it was picked up and carried away by others of the settlement.
"You come here seeking answers, Seraphim," the Grigori leader snarled again. "As you can see, we have none to give."
The cold drizzle turned into a downpour as Remy drove slowly down LaGrange Street in what was once lovingly known by the residents of Bean Town as the Combat Zone.
Centered on Washington Street between Boylston and Kneeland streets, extending up Stuart Street to Park Square, the Zone, so christened by a series of newspaper articles published in the 1960s, was once Boston's thriving adult-entertainment district. Of course they'd be here, Remy thought as he pulled into a metered space in front of an adult bookstore. The Grigori gravitated toward the old and abandoned — deconsecrated churches, closed-down movie palaces from days gone by, decrepit factory buildings.
He locked his car and headed up LaGrange in the hissing downpour. The streets were deserted, and he remembered a time when even the rain wouldn't have kept the perverts away.