Confronting the Fallen (18 page)

With a shrug, Chris said “Had a
bad night. Not much sleep. And the test last night really, I dunno,
freaked me out.”

“Oh wow! You took the test? I
mean, of course you did,” Tyler slapped him on the shoulder.
“So, we can talk to you about all the stuff we couldn't before.
Um, that is, if you passed. Did you?”

Chris barked a laugh. “Yeah, you
could say that. Look guys, let's talk later. I have a lot to tell you
both. But the judge is waiting, so you know...”

Both of the guys looked understanding.
“Yeah, go. We've heard that he's all business, so go see him.
We'll talk later.”

Chris smiled gratefully, gave them a
little wave and hurried off.

He passed several of the staff as he
made his way to the judge's office. Each one had a smile and a
greeting for him and, by the time he reached his destination, Chris
felt more at home at the Hawkes Nest than he had since he'd first
arrived.

He knocked on the judge's door and
opened it when the judge called out.

For a change, the judge was alone.
Martin was nowhere to be seen and Judge Hawkes was sitting at his
desk reading a newspaper. He looked up and smiled at Chris. The judge
nodded at a chair, folded the paper and put it away.

Once Chris had sat down, the judge
looked at him inquiringly.

“Good day, Christopher. Is there
something wrong? I'm still waiting for all the material we have on
archangels. Your request sounded rather urgent.”

“Yes sir,” Chris replied.
He took a deep breath. “Before I start, I was wondering if Anna
is okay? I was worried after, you know, what happened.”

Judge Hawkes smiled widely. “Your
concern is laudable, young man,” he said warmly. “But not
to worry. Anna is a very tough woman. Her grandson told me that she
slept well last night and ate her breakfast this morning. They left
for home soon after. So, you can put that worry out of your mind.
Now,” the judge sat back, folded his hands and rested them on
the desk. “What's on your mind, Christopher?”

Chris was relieved that Anna was okay
and a little surprised that she had left so soon. He collected his
thoughts and swallowed nervously.

“Well sir, it like this. Last
night I woke up really late and decided to grab a snack from the
kitchen.” He glanced a bit apprehensively at the judge who
simply nodded and waved him to continue.

Chris told the whole unbelievable
story, from the moment he'd entered the kitchen until he found
himself back there after meeting Sariel. Even as he was telling it,
Chris thought it sounded more like a dream than reality. The judge
did not interrupt. He simply sat and absorbed the tale, his face calm
and nonjudgmental. When Chris was done, there was a long moment of
silence. Finally the judge leaned forward and stared at Chris, his
expression curious.

“Tell me, Christopher, do you
still have the ring?”

“The ring?” Chris said
blankly. “Oh right. The ring.” He dug into his pocket
carefully, trying to avoid any more cuts and gently worked the jagged
band out. He leaned across the desk and put it down in front of the
judge.

The ring seemed to gather light to
itself and sparkled silver but with an underlying reddish tinge.
Chris thought it looked even more dangerous and threatening lying in
plain sight than it had earlier. He noticed that the judge didn't try
to touch the ring. He simple studied it closely and then seemed to
sag.

“Ah,” the man said quietly.
“It's true then.” He slumped back in his chair. Chris
couldn't read the judge's expression. Fear? Concern? It was hard to
tell.

“What's true, your honor?”
he asked carefully.

Judge Hawkes stared at Chris for a
moment, then seemed to collect himself. “I apologize,
Christopher. I meant that Anna was right, about your soul being that
of an archangel.” He paused and looked out of the window.
“Sariel.
The
Sariel.
Could it be?”

“
Wait
a second, sir. You mean you've actually heard of Sariel? How is that
possible?”

The judge
paused for a moment, then got up and walked over to a bookshelf that
stood against the wall to his left. He ran his fingers along the
spines of several books and pulled out a large, leather-bound tome.
He sat back down and opened the book carefully. Chris could see that
it was very old and the pages sounded brittle as the judge turned
them slowly. After a minute, the judge looked at Chris.

“
Come
and see for yourself, Christopher,” he said and nodded at the
book. “I'd forgotten about this until you mentioned the
archangel's name.” Chris got up and walked around the desk. As
he leaned over the book, he could smell the scent of old parchment
and dust rising from it. The pages were yellowed and laced with
cracks across their surface.

“The language is Latin. It was
inscribed by my ancestor, the first Hawkes that built this house. He
spent his declining years documenting his journeys and discoveries,
copying out various pictures and inscriptions he'd seen in digs and
tombs around the world. This book contains details of a temple or
shrine that he found buried beneath the sand in the Middle East.”

The judge pushed back his chair and let
Chris examine the book.

On the left, tiny writing in a very
precise hand covered the entire page. On the right...Chris caught his
breath. There was an illustration, hand-draw but very detailed, of a
winged humanoid. The face was covered by a hood and Chris was
reminded of the teens he had seen patrolling at night wearing hoodies
and long leather jackets. The figure wasn't wearing armor; instead he
was clad in a long robe, plain and blue in color. But it was the
wings. One raised up and back from his right shoulder, gray, each
feather drawn in exquisite detail. But from his left shoulder, the
wing hung down to the ground, twisted and broken, like that of a dead
bird he'd seen once that had smashed into a window and lay below it,
sad and limp.

Chris felt an emotion like grief
welling up inside of him. He shook his head impatiently, turned and
went back to sit in his chair.

The judge pulled his own chair up to
the desk again, and stared intently at Chris. “You recognize
the picture?”

Chris nodded mutely. He stared at the
book for a long moment, not thinking of anything really. He was being
washed over by waves of emotion that were totally foreign to him. He
finally managed to push them aside. “I can't see the face but
the wings are the same,” he finally said.

“Yes,” the judge said as he
stared at the picture. “Sariel. They named him The Broken One
in this temple that my ancestor found. Small wonder, I suppose.”

“Sir, what does all that Latin
writing say? Is it all about Sariel? How could they know about him
anyway?”

“Well, Christopher, we don't
really know who 'they' were, but the original inscription on the
painting in the temple was written in ancient Sumerian, a language
used about five thousand years ago. The Latin is merely a description
of where my ancestor found the temple and how to enter it.” The
judge paused for a moment. “There may have been more artifacts
within the hidden shrine but he doesn't say. As to how humans learned
about Sariel, or indeed any of the angels, the method varies. For the
most part, hints have been given to mankind through revelation;
meaning that Heaven, for whatever reason, saw fit to pass the
knowledge on to us. Naturally much of this information is garbled,
often interpreted by zealots or prophets who take the knowledge and
tinge it with their own beliefs or values.”

“And someone had a revelation
about an archangel?” Chris asked skeptically.

“Probably. It certainly wouldn't
be the first time. That is how we've learned of other archangels,
such as Michael, Gabriel and, of course, the 'Angel of the Morning'
as Sariel named his brother. The Fallen One.”

“The Devil, you mean,”
Chris said flatly.

“Yes, precisely. The instigator
of all of this madness. We know enough not to mention his real name.
I'm rather pleased that Sariel warned you about that.” With a
sigh, the judge sat back and watched Chris carefully. “Tell me
something, Christopher. Do you trust him?”

“Trust him? You mean Sariel?”

The judge nodded.

“I...well, I mean...” Chris
became thoughtful. Do I trust him? Chris knew that he wasn't a very
trusting person, for good reason. The streets had taught him that
much, at least. He glanced at the judge who was patiently waiting for
an answer.

“No. Or, at least, not totally,”
Chris finally said.

“Ah, yes. I thought that might be
the case,” Judge Hawkes said. “You have seen and done
many things in the last few years, my young friend, and as a result,
have learned to be cautious. And in this case, it is very wise.”

“Wise? But, Sariel is an angel,
isn't he? And he said he was one of the first three ever created.”
Chris wondered what the judge knew that he didn't. “I know why
I don't trust him, sir. It's because I don't take things or people at
face value anymore. But why don't you trust him? Isn't finding people
with angelic souls the reason your group exists?”

The judge smiled. “Yes, of
course. But this situation is unique, Christopher. When others have
taken the test, as I mentioned before, they felt some discomfort or
aversion to the demonic artifact. But nothing like what you
experienced. And when they met their angelic souls, it was always in
a dream, never in the flesh.” Now his expression became grave.
“You were literally taken away to some other plane of
existence, met Sariel in person and then sent back here, all within
the space of a few hours. Do you realize how much power that takes?
This being is literally more powerful than anyone I have ever heard
of, except for God Himself.”

Chris was a bit stunned. Put that way,
he saw how unbelievably strong Sariel was. Had the creature been
telling him the truth, or at least a version of it? Or was there
something else going on here?

“Okay, your honor. What do you
think?” Chris asked, throwing the judge's question back at him.
The man nodded appreciatively with a small smile.

“What I think is that you have to
be very careful, young man. Except for a few vague hints and this one
image, we know nothing of this Sariel. The direct brother of both
Michael and Satan? Made from the essence of God? The idea is
frightening and exhilarating at the same time. We must find out
more.” He seemed to be considering Chris carefully. “You,
Christopher, are going to be the final arbiter in this. We obviously
have no control over this being. You are his body, he is your soul.
It is you who must take responsibility for him. I don't envy you, my
young friend.”

Chris got up abruptly and walked to the
window. He stared outside, not really seeing anything. “But how
do I do that?” he asked tensely. “I can't control him,
sir. Like you said, he's too powerful.”

“Christopher, you can control
him.” Chris looked over his shoulder at the judge, who watched
him sympathetically. “You
are
him,
don't you realize that? Your body, this mortal shell, was created in
the same way that Sariel was created by God, by using a piece of
himself. Yes, you are Christopher Wright, and your own person, but
you are also Sariel. So, you are in control. Please do not forget
that.”

Chris shook
his head in confusion. “I don't understand that at all. And
somehow I doubt if I ever will. But, if you are right, what do I do
now?”

“
Now?”
The judge stood up and walked over to stand beside Chris. He looked
out over the lawns and garden. “Now, you decide if you want to
take up that ring, knowing that it could mean a life of conflict and
struggle. Or you decide to walk away from what is, I'm afraid, an
overwhelming responsibility. As I've said, I don't envy you.”

The judge
sighed and continued to look out of the window. There was a quiet
knock on the door and he glanced over in surprise.

“
Come
in,” the judge called. Chris thought he sounded a bit
irritated.

The door
opened and Martin walked in. He appeared agitated.

Martin
looked at Chris and hesitated. The judge spoke up.

“
You
may speak freely, Martin.”

“”
Yes,
your honor. It seems that our...ceremony last night attracted some
unwanted attention.” He smiled slightly at Chris. “Or
perhaps it has something to do with our Mr. Wright and his missing
time early this morning.”

Ah, Chris
thought. He knows I wasn't in the house. I knew he was clever.

“
At
any rate, sir, we have a visitor at the front gates. They will not
pass without your permission, of course.” Martin sounded firm
on that point.

“
Indeed.
Hmm, this is a surprise. Who seeks entry?”

Another
hesitation. “Sir, it's Angelica,” Martin answered, his
expression neutral.

Judge Hawkes
turned back to look outside. “I see. Yes, I think our enemies
have been alerted to the presence of our young friend here. How does
she look, Martin?” he asked curiously.

“
The
same, sir. She has more, dare I say, self-assurance about her now
though.”

The judge
nodded. “Yes, she would, wouldn't she?” he murmured.
“Very well, Martin. Show her up. Full escort at all times, and
clear the hallways of all of our young charges.” His tone was
suddenly brisk. “Give us ten minutes, then bring her in.”

“
Yes
sir,” Martin said and left the room.

“
Who
is Angelica, sir?” Chris asked, burning with curiosity.

The judge
indicated to Chris that he sit down again, and the judge sat down
behind his desk. He sighed heavily. “Angelica was our first
recruit, Christopher. The first human that we identified as having an
angelic soul. She actually changed her name because of that. I found
her in downtown London, being chased by a gang quite similar to
Talon. We got her away safely and brought her back to the Nest. For
several years she trained with us, learned our methods and many of
our secrets. And then...she betrayed us.”