Airel (23 page)

The itch was more powerful than I remembered; I wanted to tear my own hand off in order to make it stop. Tiny fingers of flesh reached out and grasped one another like old friends. A patch was made, then the skin closed over. What blood was left I wiped on a nearby fern. Michael stared at me with his mouth hanging open. 

“I am
so
showing that to all my friends,” he said with a look of utter amazement on his face.

“I don’t think so, mister. I’m not a party trick.”

“Duh, I was kidding. But you’ve gotta admit it: that’s the coolest thing ever!” His eyes sparkled as he looked at me with what I reckoned as newfound respect.

“Yeah,
cool.
But it’s also a
secret.
No spreading it around that your girlfriend can heal herself. All I need is a bunch of hormone-happy boys running around sticking me with knives and sticks just to see what will happen.”

He laughed in a manly way, making me giggle. “I won’t tell a soul.” He flashed me puppy dog eyes. “Scout’s honor!” He gave me the two fingered salute, making me laugh even more.

Chapter III

1250 B.C. Arabia

Kreios and Yamanu pulled up in midair, hovering high above the tree line. They conversed in thought. 

“There, west of the lake, in the trees.”
Kreios pointed to a thick stand of trees on the western edge of a long lake. It produced a tributary that wound down and around in the wide valley, finding its terminus in the sea, which was within sight at this altitude. Yellow flames of light danced within the darkness of the forest, and the sound of undisciplined voices could be heard bouncing across the still water. 

“How many?”
Yamanu pulled his hood up over his head and tied the leather thong under his chin. 

“Eight hundred, maybe a thousand. More would have come if they knew about Ke’elei. I am surprised the Seer allowed them to have campfires… he has grown arrogant and foolish in his old age.”
Kreios touched the Sword hilt and felt better at once.

Yamanu grunted audibly.
“Maybe. Or, he knows something we do not. Caution and a solid plan will go a long way toward keeping us alive long enough to see beautiful Eriel
grow up and marry.”
His thoughts made colors of blue and red in Kreios’s mind. He did not know the meanings of every color, but he knew that it was never good if black or dark purple surrounded a particular thought. 

“Find their weakness and exploit it.”
Kreios donned his hood.

“Yes.”

“We may need some fog…”
They cinched down their gear, double-checking that they would be silent, and turned toward the north side of the lake, downwind, to prepare their infiltration of the enemy camp.

They landed in knee-high grass silently, the enemy camp within sight. Kreios pulled a short dagger from its sheath, touching the grips of the Sword for comfort.
“We must move with speed. The longer we are in their midst, the weaker we will become. I will signal when I feel my strength failing—”
 

Yamanu nodded, unsheathing a dagger of similar size and shape.

There are moments to which men and angels have been brought throughout their destinies that have shaped the paths they have walked forever afterward. Some have been ready for it when it came to call. Some have not, and possibility shifted irrevocably from that point forward. Kreios knew El to be jealously intrepid in His pursuit of the created, however. He would roadblock, shunt, redirect, nudge, push, pull, convince, debate, and tirelessly chase down His children within the circle of the destiny He had created for them until they grasped it. 

Kreios knew that he could not ultimately miss his destiny—in a sense—but he knew that it was still possible to fail tonight. He determined, therefore, to rise to the occasion with his very life forfeit, if need be. 

Kreios felt Yamanu turn to a deeper place that he could not access; the color of his thoughts turned bright white. The ground slowly began to cover with thick fog, which spread from them outward and rose like the dead in the coming resurrection. 

Kreios was ready to deal in real justice now—and as the fog rose around them, enfolding them in concealment, he filled up his Sword with retribution, the wages of sin, the reward of judgment reserved for those wicked enough to ask for fairness. 

Kreios opened his eyes and beheld his hand. It was almost transparent, and the dagger in his hand could not be seen. His friends had always told him that he had no imagination. The sight of his own flesh disappearing right before his eyes, however, made him break into a fresh smile. 

Yamanu opened his eyes too, looking at Kreios with a hearty invisible smile.
“You must keep careful track of me. I will let you know if you are in danger of straying too far from my side and losing cover.”
He paused, then said aloud, “Not bad for an old man, eh?” He chuckled, slapping Kreios on the shoulder. 

“Careful I don’t kill you, boy.”

“You’d have to see me first, little girl.”

Kreios almost laughed out loud. Yamanu turned aside in his mind, Kreios opened up to him, and then they could see one another in the fog through their thoughts. It was an odd sensation to see with the mind and not with the eyes; it reminded Kreios of true faith.
“The evidence of things not seen…”
 

They moved through the fog into the dark wood, alert, the fog penetrating before them and trailing after them in the wind. The Seer was sleeping, truly—campfires.

Chapter IV

Somewhere in the Mountains of Idaho, present day

I dreamt the story of Kreios, the fight for his daughter Eriel, and the memory of his amazing love. I took great pleasure in fitting the pieces of the puzzle together. He was someone who had loved without fear of death. He was all-or-nothing. A little like me, really, which I liked—though I feared death like nothing else.
In that sense I’m still normal.
 

I read the entire book in two days. I loved to read stories that I could relate to. I could relate to the story of an angel—epic battles, soaring sonic booms, deep and meaningful friendships. I guess it’s true that the best stories are somehow universally true. I felt like I knew Kreios, that somehow I was linked to him in ways I could only dream and think of with the aid of
She
. 

Michael didn’t read the book for a couple reasons. One, because Kale insisted that it was for me and me alone, and two, because when Michael opened it all he saw were blank pages. No amount of focusing or magical wishing could bring the smooth script into focus for him. I, however, grew to love that handwriting and could recite every line. I cherished each letter as if written
to
me. 

Kale left me alone as I studied my ‘history.’ I spent most of my time by a tree, seated on the clump of green grass under its branches. I felt each day that passed drew me farther out away from the only home I had ever known. 

I missed my home fiercely. Thinking of Mom and Dad made my heart sick. I wished I could at least call them to let them know I was okay, though that probably wouldn’t help once they started asking me questions. Even so, I was growing apart from that home and into a kind of new life. Could a person forget so soon? 

Here in the heart of the woods, I began to like the quiet. It was the not-so-busy life; like how Jane Austen’s characters would just walk and talk their lives away. 

I had to admit, the difference between those stories and my own was that I was terribly alone. Though I had no homework, no chores, and no responsibilities, I ached for all of it because it was at least familiar to me. The hardest part was the inescapable feeling that things would only get harder. It was as if I had walked into a dream, and here everything was all about me. Lots of girls, and probably some guys, fantasize about that kind of thing, I bet. Now that it had happened to me, I realized the foolishness of such a thing, and how bad selfishness can truly be.

Michael had left me alone as well, and I had thanked him for it. I had told him, “I know I’ve been kinda out-of-it lately; sorry. I should get myself sorted out in a day or two, though.” He had smiled and hugged me, acting impressively mature, which had melted me to goo inside all over again. I felt so safe in his arms. I didn’t know what it was about this guy, but he was everything I wanted out of life. If I could just have him, honestly, nothing else mattered. It was all so crazy anyway that I was tempted to just throw it all away and start over. It might be easier.

“Take all the time you need, Airel,” he had said to me. “We just gotta play along here. I think over time he’ll get tired of us and let us go.” His statement had caught me off-guard. He hadn’t believed any of it; he thought Kale was crazy, that this had been just some psychopathic game, and that in the end the cops would show up to spring us. 

I returned to myself, wondering if that wasn’t what I had thought too. Or was that what I was supposed to think? I didn’t know anymore. The stories in the Book were so real. They were too impossible to have been made up. I knew in my heart that Kreios was a real person. I could sense that his life was as real as mine somehow. 

I wasn’t having bad dreams, but I wasn’t sleeping well. I guess I didn’t need it, because I wasn’t tired. It was as if knowing the story gave me an energy boost. I used the nights to think and to walk all through the great house. I spent some nights in the huge study with all the books, reading by the light of the fireplace that never, not once, went out. 

The house really was very beautiful. I explored every room but one. I couldn’t get into it because it was locked—even though I could have broken the door down, I guess. I didn’t do that. It would have been wrong. I imagined a great library of old books, or a hidden staircase leading to underground caves that held something unknown. It haunted me, and I thought about it often. 

As I fell into bed that night, I relived the adventures of Kreios and his beloved daughter Eriel. I was struck by how similar our names were. She seemed to have been so kind and beautiful. I wished I could know her, and in some weird way I felt like I did. I was falling deep into a dream when a firm hand shook me awake.

I bolted upright to find Kale standing over me. He wore a white robe, and he appeared monkish in a 21
^st
century sort of way. “Airel, come with me.”

My heart pounded in my chest from the shock. It was like I was ready to defend myself from an unexpected intruder at my bedside. Even though I secretly was beginning to like him, I still tried to fight against it with all of my will. “To where? Don’t you knock?” I looked out the windows and said something rude about how it was still in the middle of the night. I was angry, too, for even considering trusting him. 

Kale looked slightly dejected, but he left the room. “Be sure to dress in something that doesn’t inhibit your movements.” He left no doubt in his mannerisms about the expectation that I follow him immediately. I grumbled darkly as I dressed in a gray track suit and tennies. My hair was a mess, but I didn’t care—I just pulled it up in a pony. Men—they were all the same. So demanding, and no time for anything remotely sensitive. Well, except Michael, of course.

I left my room and closed the door behind me. Kale was waiting for me in the hallway. He led me out of the house to the shack I had seen on my first solo journey through the house. There outside the building, just as I had seen it before, was the large floating area where my imaginary gymnasts did their floor routines. My hands buzzed with the excitement of discovery.

The shack stood in the corner of the area, lit from the inside. Kale ascended a stair made of wood and opened the door. I followed him inside. The shack, shed, dojo, or whatever was constructed of wood and stone. The floor was covered thickly with a huge rough rug. It seemed impossibly large inside, seemed not to fit the dimensions of the shell that hemmed the space in which I now stood. Huge wood beams anchored the roof overhead, and a rustic chandelier, already lit, hung from the middle beam, lending a warm glow to the room. 

A perfect square, I could tell in looking around that it was indeed a dojo of sorts. No matter what, it was a place designed for sparring. Against the far wall stood a rack with swords, staves and other weapons I’d never seen before. Kale walked to the middle of the floor and stood in a dark red circle. Farther out from that circle was a faded blue ring, then another red one, and so on about every five feet, I guess. 

“The rings are the first stage of your training and schooling. I will train you in hand-to-hand combat and teach you to use your abilities. You will be able to control them at will soon.” He stood with his feet slightly apart, his hands in front of him at chest height in a kind of salute, grasping a long pointy stick. 

I was beyond flabbergasted. I responded coolly, cocking my head to one side as if appraising his sanity. “So. It’s hand-to-hand combat, then.” I inhaled, still trying to take it all in. “Did you not get the memo? I’m seventeen—” Before I could do anything else, he had stepped to one side, drawn back a spear, and hurled it at me with blinding speed. The end of it plunged into the shallow of my gut, shredding me right through, the leading edge exiting through the small of my back. The pain was so sharp that it was indescribable. I began to black out, and I fell to my knees.

Kale was upon me in a flash, standing before me like a warrior thirsting for the kill. I could feel him panting heavily. He grasped the weapon firmly and yanked it straight out from my body, my blood flowing. 

He brought the heel of the pike down with a shattering crack on the floor, the weapon standing vertically, a spray of blood showering me as it vibrated powerfully from the violence of his grip. He reared his head back as he towered over me, as I collapsed sideways, and released a blood curdling shout that seized me, head to toe, with icy fear. My head bounced off the matting of the floor and the room started to spin as my eyes involuntarily squeezed shut in pain.  

I saw blue pink and white stars floating across my vision, then an unbearable tingling itch grabbed at my gut in tiny fingers of intense pain. It itched so badly that I seriously considered death as a viable choice for a few seconds. I lifted my shirt cautiously, in horror, and watched in awe as the huge gash closed up and smoothed over as if it had never been there. The itching subsided gradually, but my track jacket was hopelessly shredded and bloody. I looked up at Kale, quite beside myself with shock and rage. 

He smiled down at me and laughed.