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 begi

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 mille

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.”