“Is there anyone here who could possibly threaten it? Is there anyone I should fear?”
They could not argue with him there, for all knew that the Prophet wielded powers unbelievable. He could defend himself far better than they could. Even the guards understood that they were for show, yet their devotion always made them hesitate to leave.
“Go with my blessings,” the ivory youth declared, adding a beatific smile to encourage them to depart. “Go, knowing that you are all in my heart…”
They flushed with pride even as they grudgingly obeyed. The Prophet did not watch them leave. He walked directly to the doors, which flung open by themselves to admit him and then swung tightly shut once he had passed through.
There was little in the way of furniture in the otherwise sumptuous chamber the robed figure entered.
A plush, down couch was where his followers assumed the Prophet slept…those who assumed that he slept at all. Beyond that stood several crested, marble stands atop which perched an enviable collection of the finest vases and glass sculptures from throughout the world of Sanctuary. Fresh garlands of flowers draped the walls and vast, tapered rugs with the most intricate, handcrafted patterns covered much of the shining marble floor. The walls also bore magnificent paintings of the natural beauty of every imaginable land, each personally dictated to the various artists by the golden-haired figure.
But above lay what most of those with the rare privilege of entering the Prophet’s private sanctum thought the true focus. An immense mural covered the ceiling from end to end, each portion of it filled with fantastical images. Creatures thought only myth, landscapes almost surreal, and most of all, a host of exquisitely rendered, ethereal beings flying about through the use of vast, feathered wings sprouting from near their shoulders. The figures were male and female and all clad in gossamer robes; each had features that would have been the envy of the most beauteous princess or dashing prince. To the careful onlooker, it was evident that they were not merely part of the scenery, but rather that they were the ones molding it.
They were angels, as humans portrayed them at least. The Prophet, more the wiser, acknowledged the artisan’s exceptional attempt, but an attempt was all it truly was. A mere mortal could not have grasped the true essence of such beings. A mere mortal could not conceive of creatures who were not exactly physical in nature, but instead harmonic resonances.
Yes, a mere mortal could not conceive of angels as they truly were, but the Prophet could.
After all, was he himself not among the greatest of angels?
It happened in a flash of brilliant light a thousand times quicker than a blink. The chamber shook and it was as if a violent wind current erupted from the very spot upon which the gold-tressed figure stood. Gone in an instant was the Prophet, who, for all his perfection, was a mere shadow of the awesome truth. In his place stood a looming, hooded figure with vast wings of flame. Within the hood there was no face, instead a radiance—formed from the blending of both light and sound—so wondrous that it would have been almost blinding to most humans. What appeared to be long, silver hair draping around it was also no more than pure light and sound mixing together.
He was clad in breastplate and robes, the former a shimmering copper, the latter as if sewn from the very rays of the sun. In mortal terms, what had been the prophet seemed now some divine warrior, and in truth, he had faced many a harsh battle against the demons of the Burning Hells.
So many, in fact, that the angel, Inarius, had finally spurned the eternal war between the High Heavens and their monstrous foes and set about finding a place for himself far from the struggle.
With him he had taken others of like mind, all weary of winning this victory and losing the next, over and over and over.
I SEARCHED FOR PEACE AND WAS GRANTED ITS ILLUSION…Inarius thought bitterly. I FOUND MY SANCTUARY AND NAMED IT THUS…
But his mistake had been, long before founding Sanctuary, to ever accept the entreaties of a pack of demons also no longer caring which side won. He had compounded that error by falling for the seductions of their leader, whose every words had mirrored his own resolution. It was because of the comingling between the two—and among their followers as well—that Sanctuary had become not only a refuge, but a necessity.
Because of her…all this had become…
WOULD THAT I HAD NEVER MET YOU, LILITH…WOULD THAT I HAD NEVER SEEN OR TOUCHED YOU…
But he had and all his regrets were simply that…regrets. Even he could not go back and alter the past.
The flight from the High Heavens and Burning Hells, the search for a place for the renegades to live, the creation of Sanctuary…they were all an indelible part of history.
As was Lilith’s betrayal.
Inarius gestured and a fiery line split the ceiling down the middle. The chamber shook as a gap opened in the center of the mural.
Without hesitation, the angel soared up into the air and out through the gap.
He had no fear of being noted. The mortals were naturally blind to his presence and his power shielded him from any others who might have been otherwise able to detect the celestial being.
Inarius no longer even had to worry about the High Heavens sensing either him or Sanctuary, for he felt at last that his powers were vast enough to keep even the Angiris Council oblivious, especially with the everlasting war to further distract their attention.
And so, for the first time in centuries, Inarius soared high into the sky. He let his wings spread wide as he soaked in the sensation of being utterly free. It had been foolish of him to wait so long to finally fly again. Certainly, it had not been due to fear. No, Inarius realized that Lilith’s betrayal of him—even more so than the heinous slaughter of the other angels and demons—had struck him to the very core. Only for that reason had he kept himself confined to such mortal cloaks as the Prophet and others.
NO MORE…NO MORE…AFTER THIS FARCE IS AT AN END, ALL HERE SHALL KNOW OF MY GLORY, AS IS RIGHT… After all, if not for him, none of this would have existed. It was his right, his duty, to keep Sanctuary on the course he had planned. Lilith would be punished, the demons would be ousted, and the troublesome mortal would become nothing but a fading memory. Sanctuary would be as he envisioned it…or he would destroy it and begin anew.
The angel arced suddenly, soaring past the gargantuan cathedral and within seconds over the capital.
Kehjan the city was vast enough to be a land unto itself and there were some who argued that the surrounding regions had been named for it, not the other way around. Such trivial matters were of no interest to Inarius, but he did find the lights from the capital interesting in a crude fashion. They vaguely reminded him of the brilliance of the High Heavens, a place of eternal illumination.
I WILL MAKE OVER SANCTUARY ONCE THIS INCIDENT IS AT AN END, he swore. I WILL MAKE MY OWN HIGH HEAVENS, ONE THAT WOULD BE ENVIED BY THE FIRST! It would require much sacrifice, especially by his mortals, but it would be done. He had too long suffered silently in squalor when, by rights, he could have lived as more befitting his role. He would create a paradise untroubled by petty feuds—
Without warning, a sensation of familiarity struck him so hard that, for a moment, the angel veered off course. Inarius corrected his flight instantly, then immediately turned about.
He had thought it her at first, but her presence was already known to him. No, this was another.
Inarius felt what to a human would have resembled a fast pounding of his heart. First Lilith…and now one once nearly as close to the angel as she had been.