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Elijah Andreu
The Tainted Angel
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Bitter Truths This was impossible. Cyle was long gone. I looked around for some sign, some signal that this wasn't real.
"It's not impossible," Cyle told me as though he could read my thoughts. He probably didn't need to, my confusion was pretty clear. He told me there were two logical possibilities. The first was that he had already compiled enough strength and power to return as a god to Earth already. Sadly, he told me that was not the case, which meant that it had to be the second possibility. "...When was the last time you checked on your wounds," he asked in a delicate, soft tone. I checked. I reached around my back looking for the places of vital damage, reaching for those points of greatest pain. They were all gone. It was as if they had never been. "I am sorry," Cyle continued gently. "We usually allow you to realize it for yourself, but unfortunately, we no longer have time for that. You are in the land of the dead," he said with such finality that I knew it must be true. "...Shea...?" I asked, swallowing back my pain and directing the only question that I felt I had left. "Yes. The love he spoke of is true and deep. He became a demon for his double sin of man-love and suicide. His demon form was killed shortly after I was. I remember when I first spoke to him and realized we both knew you, he could not stop talking and waiting for you. You probably figured out that time is different here," my old friend told me. "But the reason I asked you here tonight is to give you a choice: to remain, or to return." Old Friends We rode into the village, signs of the festival emerging all around us. Torches lit the streets in a dull, blue light so as not to overpower the moon. Children ran through the streets, clearly excited to be up so late. The breeze was warmer here, a gift from the gentle seas that seemed to be doing their best to cooperate with the occasion, rising softly as the greatest tide in two decades rose up in the natural harbor. I was drawn through the town. A perfect country festival, late at night, under the moon's watchful eye. Such purity and such freedom warmed my heart even against the chill of the first minutes of winter. Shea led us toward the docks, dismounting outside a small shop with dull lights on in the window, but with numerous patrons streaming in and out. "You have to try this before we go," Shea said, leading us into what must've been the best cider house in the Isles. On emerging, we headed with the crowd closer to the coastline. The moon was already high in the sky, almost directly overhead, casting short shadows on the cold ground. Out in the water, there was but a single ship, emerging like a mirage out of the waves. "Good evening, sirs. He's expecting you," came a voice ahead of us. I had to check that he was actually talking to us, but he was gesturing us forward, through the crowd and toward a small boat inconspicuously tied up along the pier. "There isn't much time," the ferryman said before introducing himself as Flynn. I looked back toward Shea. He wore a soft expression, one of mild concern, but lacking any sort of alarm. He nodded gently, and it was only when the boat started to move away from the dock did I realize he wasn't nodding to me. He stayed behind with a pained expression in his eyes. "He want's to talk to you alone," Shea called out, a glimmer of a tear in his eyes. "I'll be here when you get back. I promise!" he called out, leaving me alone in the boat with the stranger, moving with surprising speed toward the ship in the harbor.
I barely had time to think or process anything before we were there, not the cool breeze, nor the beauty of the approaching ship that seemed to be both ancient and modern with high quality wooden decks and sleek design, nor the dolphins and orcas swimming alongside us. Flynn pulled us up beside the ship and nodded to me. "It's alright," he said. "He's waiting for you on deck." I climbed the rope ladder somewhat clumsily and pulled myself up onto the deck. It was moving less than I expected, which oddly seemed to give me a sense of queasiness and unease. I moved a couple steps forward, spying a lone figure on the far side of the ship. He was facing away from me, wearing what could only be a loose cloak, one of grayish-blue hue that seemed to sparkle and twinkle in the moonlight. It was mysterious and beautiful to behold the way it shimmered. "It is a rare thing for the moon to be at its brightest during a solstice. But that is when it provides us with the greatest power. It is our caretaker, our greatest blessing, literally, the breath of air into the seas," the man said in a quiet, familiar tone. Slowly, he turned around. The cloak's magnificence continued, staying open at the front to reveal a lean, swimmers cut body and lanky arms that seemed somehow to flow with a strength I had never seen before. But it was the face that provided the most shock, in particular, those storm-gray eyes. "Hello, Elijah," Cyle said in a soft voice.
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Elijah AndreuWhat are you to do when the world you know was a lie? That even in the purest form of holiness there is still hatred pitted within the heart? Categories |