Verchiel sent a final burst of energy through the metal of the cage. The prisoner thrashed like a fish pulled from a stream and tossed cruelly upon the land. Then he grew very still, the intensity of his injuries sending him into the embrace of unconsciousness.
The Powers’ leader released the bars and stepped back. He knew that his captive would live, it would take far more than he could conjure to destroy something so powerful, but the injuries would cause him to suffer, and that was acceptable for now.
Verchiel turned from the cage and walked toward the door. There was still much to be done; he had no more time to concern himself with prisoners of war.
“As does the Lord,” he said to himself, “I too work in mysterious ways.”
The power of Heaven, tainted by the poison of arrogance and insanity, flowed through his injured body, bringing with it the most debilitating pain—but also sweet oblivion.
The prisoner drifted in a cold sea of darkness and dreamed.
In his dreams he saw a boy, and somehow he knew that this was the Nephilim of prophecy. There was nothing special about the way he looked, or the way he carried himself, but the Powers captive knew that this was the One—this was Aaron Corbet. The boy was moving purposefully through a thicket of woods; and he wasn’t alone. Deep within the womb of unconsciousness the prisoner smiled as he saw an angel walking at the boy’s side.
Camael, he thought, remembering how he had long ago called the warrior “friend.” But that was before the jealousy, before the war, before the fall.
And then he saw the dog; it had gone ahead into the woods, but now returned to tell its master what it had found. It was a beautiful animal, its fur the color of the purest sunshine. It loved its master, he could tell by the way it moved around the boy, the way it cocked its head as it communicated, the way its tail wagged.
It would be easy to like this boy, the prisoner guessed as the sharp pain of his injuries began to intrude upon his insensate state. He pulled himself deeper into the healing embrace of the void. How could I not like someone who has caused Verchiel such distress? the prisoner wondered. And besides, Aaron Corbet had a dog.
I’ve always been a sucker for dogs.
CHAPTER TWO
Johiel was annoyed with Earth the moment he arrived over a millennium ago, but as the toe of his sneaker caught beneath an unearthed root, and he fell sprawling, face first to the forest floor, the fallen angel felt his simple antipathy ripen to bitter hatred. He hit the ground hard, the air punched from his lungs in a wheezing grunt, and slid halfway down a small embankment before regaining enough of his composure to struggle to his feet. Yes, Johiel hated living upon the Earth. However, the alternative—far more permanent—was even less appealing.
He chanced a look behind him to see if they were still following. What a foolish thought. They are soldiers of the Powers; of course they’re still following. The ground beneath his feet started to level off and in the distance he could hear the sounds of cars and trucks as they traveled along the highway. I can make it to the road, he thought, his mind abuzz. Perhaps I can hitch a ride and escape.
Stumbling through the darkness of the woods, Johiel chastised himself for his rabid stupidity. If he hadn’t tried to make contact with the Powers, he would not be in this predicament. How could he have been so foolish as to think that they could be convinced to show even the slightest leniency toward their enemies, no matter what was offered? But he had grown so tired of living in fear; a constant cloud of oppression hanging over his head, never knowing which moment would be his last.
The sounds of the road were closer now and he began to think that they had grown tired of the pursuit. Perhaps they decided he just wasn’t worth the effort, he thought, both relieved and a little insulted that the Powers wouldn’t even attempt to learn the information he wanted to trade for his life. Johiel was certain that his knowledge would prove valuable to their leader, and he would have given it freely for a chance to live without fear.
The ground before him suddenly exploded in a roiling ball of fire, and Johiel was thrown backward to the cool, moist forest floor.
“Is it something we said, little fallen brother?” said a cold, cruel voice behind him.
“Or something we didn’t say, perhaps?” asked another, equally malevolent.
Johiel scrambled to his feet and turned to see two immaculately dressed and smiling angels strolling through the woods toward him. He knew he had three choices, two of which would likely end in his own excruciating demise: He could run and be cut down like a lowly animal; he could fight and perish just the same; or he could carry through with his original plan. The notion of engaging the two Powers in conversation was terrifying, but he held his ground and summoned a sword of fire to defend himself if it proved necessary.
The warriors stopped in unison, the sparking flame of Johiel’s weapon reflecting off the inky blackness of their eyes.
“I do not understand, Bethmael,” said one to the other. “The criminal put word out that he wished to speak with us, yet flees when we approach. And now he brandishes a weapon?”
Bethmael sneered. “It is the world, brother Kyriel,” he said, continuing to stare at the fallen angel. “They know they do not belong here, and the knowledge drives them mad.”
Their wings gracefully expanded from their backs, reminding Johiel of king cobras unfurling their hoods before they strike.
“I wanted to speak with a representative of the Powers,” he built up the courage to say. “Someone who has Lord Verchiel’s ear. But instead I am attacked and forced to flee for my life.”
Kyriel’s wings languidly flapped and a sword sprang to life in his hand, lighting the darkened wood like dawn. “And what could a criminal possibly have to say that might interest Lord Verchiel?”
“I have information,” Johiel began, suddenly unsure. The idea of betraying those who had once welcomed him into their fold filled him with trepidation, but not enough to hold his tongue. “The location of the place that you have desperately sought, but still cannot find.”
“You wish an exchange of some kind?” Bethmael asked.
His large hands remained free of weapons and Johiel watched him with cautious eyes. He did not trust the Powers, but this was his last chance to be free of the fear that had plagued him since the war. He would either be free, or he would be dead.
“An exchange for my life,” he explained. “I will give you the location of the secret haven, and you will grant me freedom.”
“You’re asking for immunity from our righteous wrath?” Kyriel asked, lowering his own mighty sword of fire.
“For what I give you, the life of one fallen angel is a bargain,” Johiel answered.
The two Powers looked at each other, a communication passing between their gazes. Kyriel again raised his weapon. “Our fallen brother attempts to barter for his life,” he said to Bethmael, bemused. Bethmael nodded, a humorless smile appearing on his beatific features. “Protection in exchange for information.”
They were both smiling now, and Johiel began to believe that his gambit had actually paid off. He wished his weapon away as a sign of good faith, but he could not help thinking again of those who would die so that he could live. I’ll learn to live with that, he thought. “Your word is your bond,” he said aloud to Bethmael and Kyriel. “Do we have a deal?”
They laughed, a shrill, high-pitched sound that conjured images of a bird of prey as it dropped from the sky upon its kill. Johiel should have seen this for the warning that it was.