The Taking (3 page)

Archangel Michael spins around and looks at me. His eyes are an icy blue as he glares. “Aurora, please. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Actually, it does,” Archangel Gabriel says. Turning to Archangel Michael, the kind blue eyes are set. “You are going to explain it to them as you take them. I am certain that using the correct enticement; your request will not be denied.” The sexless archangel turns to Archangel Raphael for confirmation.

“No enticement is going to work on that being,” our leader protests.

“Yes, it will,” our healing archangel says. “All that you need to do is take our troublesome one,” he points to me, “and tell him who is after her.”

I feel the blood drain from my face.
Why am I always the one in the centre of unwanted attention?
 

Archangel Michael grumbles and turns to look at us, his face holds a look of resignation.
 

“Now remember Michael, use your words. They are the key to stop confusion.” Surprised at the tone used, I look at the liberal archangel in time to see a smirk.
 

- Chapter Two -

“Where are we going?” Cindy asks our leader. A strand of her blonde hair drifts across her face as she looks at him. Retrieving a gold hairpin from her bodysuit neckline, she pins it back.

Despite Archangel Gabriel’s suggestion, Archangel Michael has not said a word since we began our journey.
 

“Armenia.” His tone clearly expresses he does not want to talk about the voyage.
 

Her golden brown eyes open wide as a look of shock passes over her face. She ignores the tone and continues asking questions. “What, or rather who is there?”
 

Between the stroking of his wings, he gives Cindy a glare. “You will find out when we get there.”
 

She looks below and this time holds her tongue. When she lifts her vision, she looks at Ben then me. I shrug and smile hoping to wipe some of the worry off her face. It seems to work, and she strokes her wings silently.
 

Flying at the height of the clouds, we have passed vast bodies of ocean and are now travelling over a large mainland, descending after we pass over Europe. Our flight was quick even though we flew from the other side of the world.
 

After reaching Armenia, we continue to a secluded countryside and descend to land at a strange building perched on the edge of a cliff. The cliff face is built up with man-made walls of stone making it several storeys higher than its natural side. Windows and doors are built into these walls. On top of this cliff are beautifully grassed lawns centred with an old, vast building. In the middle of the neat structure is a large circular building with a pointed roof in the middle. The entire building is forged with stone.

I look at the direction the windows and doors are facing; away from the man-made wall. The view must be magnificent from this building through those strange holes in the walls of the cliff face. Despite being in the middle of nowhere, there is an accompanying building built into the mountainside, reinforced with another stone wall. The valley is a beautiful wasteland.

Archangel Michael lands on a patch of grass near a smaller entrance of the larger building with the three of us following suit.
 

My eyes travel over the buildings and marvel at the simplicity, yet the grandness of it all. “Where are we?” I ask.

“Tatev Monastery.” Archangel Michael’s voice remains emotionless.
 

Gazing around further, I relish the view of the mountains. “It is beautiful; so isolated and serene.”

A response comes in the form of a grumble.
 

Ben brushes against my arm sending tingles all over my body. As I look at him, he smiles a cheeky smile, and his eyes travel down to my lips. I hear a whisper;
I want to kiss you
. It sounds like his voice, yet I can’t help a little frown — his mouth didn’t move. Thinking I am reading too much into his grin, I look away.
 

On my other side, Cindy is facing the countryside and says, “I think it’s gorgeous.”
 

Archangel Michael huffs, “Yes, a perfect place to hide.” He marches toward the building. I notice that his body is not dim so he can’t be in his invisible form. This is unusual. I am sure the archangel would not be careless about being seen. When he is nearly in the entrance, he still hasn’t changed. I worry that he is too caught up in whatever has upset him to remember the simple rule.
 

After turning invisible I try to stay respectful as I say, “Archangel Michael, I don’t know if you realise but you are still in your visible form.”

He does not turn, but I see the muscles in his jaw pull tighter. I take that as a sign he is upset with his mistake, yet he continues to walk into the entrance visible. I notice that Ben and Cindy have dimmed and are both looking at our trainer with frowns on their faces.
 

Ben tries. “Respected leader, you need to turn invisible.”

Archangel Michael faces us. His face is the old unreadable expression that we knew during our training except it has an irritable streak. “We don’t need to be invisible here.” He strolls inside the small rear entrance.
 

I can see Ben and Cindy's expression mirror my feelings. I shrug my shoulders, and we follow him. Apprehensive, we stay invisible as we walk through the monastery corridors. The coolness from the combination of the solid structure and breeze flowing through the open doors catches us. Large rocks line the walls, and we hear the echo of our shoes on the stone floor bounce off the boundaries of the space.
 

Cindy whispers, “There is a strange angelic presence here. It feels light, like us, yet it is different.” She screws up her nose. “It feels kind of gluggy or sullied.”

“Any demons?” Ben asks.

She shakes her head.

“Good,” he says.

We walk to the door of a small room. Inside is a wooden table about the size of a sturdy homemade kitchen table. On both sides sit several men in unadorned, black clothing modestly covering their body. They are sitting on long wooden benches lined down the side of the table for seats. Their hair is cut in a similar fashion and length, only differing because of the curl or colour. In front of each one, is a bowl of plain, unappetising food, yet they ate, grateful for the meal quenching their hunger.
 

Archangel Michael stops at their door. His majestic white wings block the open entrance to the small dining room. The look on his face is different than before, he looks relaxed, wearing his gilded Roman warrior chest-plate and skirt that stops above his knees over his long boots. I can hear my heart beat in my ears as I watch. I am waiting for them to panic over the great archangel standing in front of them, but when they look up they simply smile. One younger man begins to bow deeply, but he is quickly stopped by the other monks.
 

The oldest out of the men stands facing our leader. His humble black gown flows to the floor with a black rope tied around his waist. He places both hands together and bows his head slightly out of respect. He says in Armenian, “Good day, great warrior, nice to see you here again. How may we be of service?”
 

Archangel Michael remains in the opening of the room. He places his feet shoulder width apart and clasps his hands in front of him. Responding in Armenian, he asks, “Has he remained to do his job?”

The monk moves his hands back down to his side, and he nods once. “Yes. He remains in his position of guard. I cannot say he is happy to be here, but he does remain.” He studies Archangel Michael’s face briefly. With apprehension he asks, “Would you like me to tell him you called in?”

Archangel Michael shakes his head then turns to look at us. “Fledglings, you should make yourselves visible.” His voice carries the annoyance from not having his instruction followed. Hearing the tone, I turn visible and see Ben and Cindy become brighter soon after.
 

The standing elderly monk looks as if he is about to fall. Archangel Michael reaches forward and supports the elbow of the standing monk. The sitting monks’ mouths open as they gaze at the three of us. We do not look like the angels they are used to in our tight fitting, modern clothes from the western culture. From the archangels we have met, they all wear long angelic gowns except for Archangel Michael and his warrior attire.
 

Our leader begins to explain. “These are a few of our select trainees, new angels born from several severe murders as humans. I have pressing matters to attend to, and I need him to train them.”

The elderly monk stumbles backward and reaches for the chair. With the aid of his colleagues, he sits facing us.
 

Once he recovers enough to speak, his eyes fill with sadness. “You know he will not train them.” His eyes continue to assess each one of us carefully. “Naturally, they are very welcome here, but he will not train them. We cannot even get him to speak to us, let alone give him any other companionship to teach. He is a very bitter soul.”

“Yes, I am aware,” our leader agrees. “But the other archangels suggested it as he may, for once, want to help.”

Hesitation and disbelief remain on the monk
’
s face, but he was not going to question the great warrior of archangels. “Would you like me to assist you to his quarters?”

Archangel Michael shakes his head. “Thank you, but no. I am reasonably sure that I remember the way. If not, then I have a natural angel sensor right here.” He places a hand on Cindy’s shoulder.
 

She smiles, seemingly happy that it was her gift that was pointed out above the others.
 

The monk’s eyes widen. “Such an extraordinary gift to be able to sense the spiritual.”

A puzzled look crosses Cindy’s face. “Thanks,” she squeaks.

The monk smiles and turns to Archangel Michael. “I believe he remains in the same room. We never see him venture out.”

“Then we can hope he is taking his job seriously.” The Archangel turns to leave and says over his shoulder, “Despite the past, his position is still important to us.”

We leave, and I can feel the monks’ eyes watch us from behind.
 

“Don’t we need to wipe their memories?” Cindy asks.

In a business tone, our leader says, “No, they are men of God. They have taken the vow of secrecy to us, especially these monks.” The hostility has left his voice.

“What does that mean?” she asks.

“You are about to find out.” He does not look at us as he walks.
 

I hear footsteps approaching, and I turn invisible just in case the person was not a monk.
 

“Aurora. I told you to stay visible.”
 

I look at the back of Archangel Michael.
How did he know? He wasn’t even looking at me.
 

“Yes, sir,” I say in resignation as I turn visible. It is going to take awhile for me to get used to being seen by humans in my angel form — monk or not.
 

A monk approaches us from the other direction, his black robe swishing around his ankles. He bows his head as he passes. I watch him retreat while we walk past, expecting him to turn around. He doesn’t. Instead, he acts as though it is typical to see four angels walking in the halls.

We saunter through the passageways. I gaze up to look at the ceiling and admire the skill in the arch made of stones. Each corridor we pass through at the lower levels resembles much the same. They are all clean, unadorned and cleverly built.
 

“It would have taken years to make this place,” I utter out loud.
 

“This part, no,” Archangel Michael says.
 

I look around at the skilled work around me then gaze at the back of his head. His hair seems to glimmer golden brown even without the sunlight. “What do you mean this part didn’t take long to build? There is so much detail and effort laid in this work.”
 

“Yes, there is. In the initial part where we entered, the people put a lot of effort into it in the ninth century. But from the part just before the monk’s small dining room, only a few people know about it, and you have seen them. From there, the building was forged by angels.”

My forehead crinkles. “But it looks just like the other part built by humans and where was the crossover line. We just seem to be walking down corridors and haven’t gone through any doors.”

“To the human eye there is a wall blocking this area. As you are an angel you would have seen straight through this wall,” our leader informs us.
 

We travel down several levels in silence. Each level becomes darker and colder with fewer windows or small holes to let in the light. There are a few burning torches placed at intervals, but the light they cast off is minimal. We can see clearly in the dark, so they are most likely placed there for the monks.
 

Cindy walks on one side of me, and Ben on the other as we follow our trainer to our destination. With each step, Ben moves that tiny bit closer to me, brushing his hand gently against mine. I long to reach out and hold it. If only relationships were not forbidden. Another Archangel rule I cannot understand. The soul feels so much more alive when it has someone to share with, someone who understands its profound nature. I turn to look at him, and his blue eyes greet me. There is a yearning lying in the mysterious ocean that I am sure resonates in mine. Since our vigorous training program started, we have not had any time alone. Archangel Michael has been training us relentlessly, day and night.