The story of the FALLEN

3. Fall from Heaven

The noises of the battle raging around him are just white noise by now. He has gotten so used to hearing the clash of swords and armour, that it doesn't phase him any more. The pristine white landscape is bathed in blood and body parts. White and black feathers are soaked in blood and there is the smell of sulphur in the air. The rifts in the fabric of time and space are opening up and swallowing his fallen comrades. The hellfire is not picky; if you’re down, you burn. Doesn’t matter if you’re nephilim, angel or demon. Doesn’t matter what side you fight on. You go down, you burn. The fires are sprouting up everywhere he looks. He can’t distinguish his friends from foes, they are all covered in blood. 

He ducks a sword and meets the pointy end of an arrow. The bastard picked one up and stabbed him with it. Is there no honour in fighting? And they call themselves the righteous ones? His anger gets the best of him with this latest treachery of the heavenly soldiers. He slashes his adversary down and moves on to the next. It doesn’t matter any more who you know and who you barely remember, it all comes down to the crest on your armour. What ideology you represent and which side you fight on.

With the random cries of the fallen echoing around him, Zachariel starts to think this war is in vain. They will not change anything! Nobody is actually listening to anything. They are just hacking into each other and killing the so-called foes. They are not enemies! They all represent the same thing, the same person. Their creator is the same! Why are they fighting? This whole war is fought in the name of God. Both sides are fighting for God. They are all heavenly soldiers. Some of them just want to be heard. Some of them just want there to be a small change in things. 

Was he wrong to follow Lucifer? The idea is not wrong, just the representation of it. That sucks big time. All this death is unnecessary. He lost more than half of his men and it doesn’t seem to be ending. The war rages on for months now. It’s all just one huge, bloody battlefield. No matter where he looks, it’s just death. Has it come down to who kills more of the opposite side? Have they all just lost sight of what is really important? Should he just stand down and surrender? He’s so fed up with killing his own brethren, he just can’t take it anymore.

“Thoughts like that will get you killed!” Lailah shouts at him and blocks an incoming blow with her own sword. She just saved his life and he feels nothing.

“Don’t you think we have done enough killing? And for what? Nobody will win, we can all only lose. It’s pointless!” Zachariel asks her.

“Lose or win, what matters is your life. Stay alive!” She growls at him.

He gazes after her, as she throws herself at the enemy, but he can’t think of them like that any more. He reached his limit. He is only trying to stay alive. For her, for the others; his friends that might need him. Not for Lucifer. His brother initiated this war with his ideas, but he’s not fighting for him. He’s fighting for the idea itself. Freedom for the angels, just like the humans have. Equality for the heavenly races. Zachariel realized the fight is a diversion, he’s known it for a while now. Not even once has he seen Lucifer on the battlefield. Where is he? Are they fighting his fight and he is off somewhere doing something else?

A gold pommel from a very heavy sword hits him straight between the eyes. The last thing he sees, before he loses consciousness, is the hard smirk of the Archangel Gabriel. His own brother. The bastard is enjoying this way too much.

“Wake up! Dammit!” Tammy shakes him hard. He is convinced she even hit him a few times. Why else would his shoulder hurt so damn much?

“Mmm. I’m awake. Stop hitting me.” Zack mumbles. He covers his head with his arm to keep the light out of his eyes.

“You had that dream again.” She states. She doesn’t have to elaborate, they both know what she’s referring to. “You woke everyone and half of our neighbours.”

“I’m sorry. They just come randomly. I can’t control my dreams.” He tells her. In part that is true, he never knows what triggers his dream and where in time he will land.

“I know. I’m not a therapist, but you might want to let go of the past. These dreams will eat you up.” She shakes her head. “I’ll try to get some more sleep. You should too, we need it.”

“Thanks, Tammy.” He says to her back. At least she closed the door this time.

A glance to his clock tells him it’s half past four. Way too early to be up, since he went to bed after midnight. Nobody got any sleep in such a short time. He’ll have to apologize to them in the morning. Pancakes say I’m sorry better than anything he could actually say, he’ll just make those. But for now, he needs to clear his mind and get some sleep. Dealing with Father Simon won’t be easy, he needs to be well rested. Priests are a special breed, those who know even more so. Belief makes them good helpers, knowing that angels are real makes them dangerous. He doesn’t know yet in what category Father Simon belongs, but he intends to find out, soon.

Not sleeping makes Zack cranky, but a good breakfast can cure him of that. Since he decided to make pancakes, he knows it will be great. The special recipe he got from a friend a long time ago is just the thing to lift the spirits up after a sleepless night. Fluffy, spongy, soft pancakes with blueberry sauce and whipped cream. A dash of sugar and you have perfection. On days like this he misses Heaven. They never needed sleep there. It was a harsh awakening to realize that down here, on the Earthly plane, they would have to sleep just like the humans do.

“My favourite breakfast!” Nakir exclaims. The guy is barefoot and shirtless., at least he learned to wear pants around the house. “Maybe you should have a nightmare more often?”

“Don’t be a d**k, Nakir!” Tammy slaps the angel of death over his head. “You could learn to make pancakes.”

“So could you.” Nakir shoots back. “But I’m not sure we would have a kitchen afterwards.”

“Can you two please hold off on the barbs? I need sugar before I listen to this stupidity.” Layla glares at them. “Thanks for the breakfast, Zack.” 

Heading off to Oxford after breakfast is a nice escape. He’s going alone this time. He has the opportunity to clear his head and only concentrate on the road ahead. No distractions, no talking, just him and the road. A visit to Father Simon is in order. He supposedly found the book they needed. He was mumbling something about a weird language, but that has never stopped Zack before. Angels speak all languages once they come in contact with them.

He knocks on the door of the Jesuits house and waits. The weather is nice for a change, the grass is green, it’s quiet around him, because the house is a bit remote from the main part of the campus. And Zack is going crazy! He is usually aware of his surroundings without cataloging every single bird, bush or grass blade. The lack of sleep is getting to him and it’s not even lunch time. Maybe he should have left that second cup of coffee and drank a juice instead? Too late now.

“I’m sorry. Who are you?” The young guy from yesterday asks him.

“I’m Zack. I’m here to see Father Simon.” He answers. Irritation must be written all over his face, because the guy recoils like he was whipped.

“Oh, yes. Come in.” The boy says and shows him into a semblance of a living room. At least that’s what Zack thinks this place is. Chairs and side tables and a sofa. There is a bookcase, but that’s all. No TV, no radio, no home bar. Maybe this room is for guests? Like a formal parlor or something? In his long experience, Jesuits are a very open and modern order, not stuck up monks. Or did something change with Father Romano’s death? 

“Zack? May I call you Zack?” Father Simon asks him as he enters the room through another door.

“Yes. I do prefer the short version of my name.” He nods. “What is with the boy who answered the door?”

“He’s new. A novice, a student.” Simon answers. “Don’t know if he’ll stay. I think he has doubts about his calling.”

“I see.” Zack mumbles. Not everyone is cut out to be a Jesuit. The standards are high. “Do you have the book?”

“Yes. Do you have anyone who can read it? I admit I’m not well versed in Sumerian. I think this was transcribed sometime in the 16th century.” Simon tells him.

“Just give me that.” Zack beckons for the book. It looks old, but the cover is remarkably well preserved. The leather it’s bound in is dyed red, the graphics on the cover are amazing, but the script is not Sumerian. Not on the cover and not inside. Whoever transcribed this did a good job, but the one who catalogued it messed up.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Simon.” Zack chuckles. “This script is an early version of Aramaic. I never heard the language spoken, so I have difficulty reading it. But we are lucky, this is Nakir’s domain.”

“You know someone who speaks early Aramaic?” Simon looks surprised.

“Yes. Do you want to meet him? You can come with me to London.” Zack offers.

“Not flying, are we?” Simon looks at him with wide eyes, but he doesn’t say no.

“Close. My motorcycle is parked outside.” Zack laughs. “No flying during daytime.”

“Then, my answer is yes. I’m all for an adventure.” Simon smiles.

“That’s more like it.” Zack pulls him out to the bike. “Take my helmet, I barely use it.”

“Fine.” Simon draws out the i. The way he’s looking at the bike, makes Zack think he never touched one in his life. “About this Nakir person? What’s he like?”

“Hm? More like Tammy, but deadlier. Nakir is the angel of death. He’s associated with Aramaic and Zoroastrian concept of the angels Srōsh and Ātar. Obedience and fire. Unfortunately Nakir is only death now, without his brother Munkar to balance him.” Zack explains. “But don’t bring this up around him, you might get a first class ticket to Heaven. He’s a bit touchy about his origins.”

“Can’t you be his balance?” Simon inquires. “I thought archangels are pure light.”

“Uh… That one is hard to explain.” Zack grunts. “The simple version? Not all archangels are light. There is nothing really black and white, light and dark about angels.”

“I see. It will take me a lifetime to learn all this.” Simon nods.

“Good. Ambition is a good incentive to stay alive. Get on the bike, we’re wasting time.” Zack laughs.