Elias

As he headed off into the wilderness Elias didn't dare to think how large the warded area might be.

The terrain soon levelled out, which was a small consolation, but there were as many roots for Elias to stumble over as previously. He focused on keeping himself upright, until, after at least half an hour of walking, the trees ended and a sheer cliff emerged out of the darkness. The rock seemed solid, if weathered. Patches of moss grew throughout and an occasional weed eked out a precarious existence in the crevices worn out by millennia of rain.

Elias swore, but not knowing what else to do, he continued along the cliff's base, keeping one hand on the stone as he walked. Somewhere in the darkness, water churned. Shivering as a gust of wind tore through the valley floor, he picked up his pace. The longer he took, the longer Abigail was stuck with Ramiel, a creature they had no reason to trust.

Elias' hand ran over a deep crack. He paused and surveyed the wall again. The stone along this section looked more weathered and was crisscrossed with fractures. One caught his attention. It started well above his head and ran diagonally across the rock face. Elias followed it all the way down to the ground. The crack ended in a dark crevice about a metre high and no more than half a metre wide.

On either side were columns of strange, carmine-coloured symbols. They were too ornate and orderly to be anything natural, but they didn't resemble any alphabet Elias recognised. These sigils, or however one called them, were hardly ancient. Exposed as they were, one good shower would rinse all trace of them away.

Must be the wards keeping Ramiel out.

Elias searched the base of the cliff until he found a usable rock. One by one, he scraped the sigils away. The sooner Abigail and Ramiel could get inside the wards the better.

He waited for several minutes; there was no sign of them.

Elias swore. I bet there are more sigils somewhere.

Taking a deep breath, he squeezed himself through the opening. Inside was a passageway, thankfully, wider and with a higher ceiling, though Elias still had to crouch down. The passage meandered left and right, but always sloped down. It wasn't a natural structure or at least not wholly so. The walls were too regular, the floor too even.

After a sharp twist in the passageway, it opened onto a much larger space, which was easily a hundred metres wide. Water dripped down from a crack in the ceiling and pooled at the far side of the chamber before trickling across the floor in a narrow stream.

Elias took careful stock of the cavern trying to spot any further sigils, then laughed as he realised he was standing on them. Carefully, he scratched these off as well.

Moments later Ramiel emerged from the passageway and congratulated Elias on work well done. But the angel's words rang hollow until Elias saw Abigail step out of the tunnel just behind Ramiel. Elias let out a sigh of relief.

"You should've said something about your feet," he said. Abigail wasn't wearing shoes and her legs were scratched up to her knees. "It was so dark, I didn't realise."

She shrugged. "It'll be fine."

Elias resisted the urge to disagree; this wasn't the time for a family argument. Instead, he contented himself with a disapproving shake of his head and made a mental note to attend to the scratches the moment he got his hands on a first aid kit.

"Someone's been here recently," he said to Ramiel. "The sigils at the entrance were drawn after the last spell of rain around here."

Ramiel, whose three-piece suit looked more out of place with every passing minute, glanced about. "I am aware. The sigils at the entrance were a sloppy afterthought. You may have overlooked them, but you walked through two layers of destroyed protective sigils. They had been burned away and not by human means."

"That doesn't sound good," said Abigail.

"No, indeed."

Elias pursed his lips. "What do we do now?"

Ramiel gestured to the water pooling in the chamber. "The water must drain somewhere."

The stream didn't, in fact, drain anywhere. It became increasingly feeble as it meandered through the chamber and petered out completely at the foot of a doorway carved into the chamber's back wall. Though the doorway was low, too low for even Abigail to pass without ducking her head, the intricate sigils carved into the stone around it left no doubt that they were heading in the right direction. Ramiel trailed his hand across the intricate patchwork of sigils, his frown deepening with every line.

"What does it say?" Elias asked.

"Can you see the difference between these and those you saw earlier? These here are Sariel's work. He always had a distinct style." Ramiel tapped his fingers over the sigils and sighed in resignation. "What he created here is remarkable. Protective wards as finely woven together as those guarding the gates of Heaven itself. I strain to comprehend how Sariel could have created this on his own. And yet, the sigils have been made inactive. Crude work, yet effective."

He ducked down and stepped through the doorway. Elias followed with Abigail a step behind him.

The doorway led to another tunnel, but this one wasn't dank, bare stone. On the walls and on the floor were minuscule sigils carved into the rock. Ramiel was right, it was difficult to believe one person or even a single angel had carved all of it. Just stepping on them felt like a desecration.

This tunnel turned out to be far shorter than the one at the entrance. After ten metres, they found themselves in a small, octagonal room covered in the same lacework of sigils. Ramiel conjured a ball of light about the size of a basketball and sent it up to the ceiling.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Light illuminated every detail of the room. A sprawl of newer sigils, each more than a foot high and written in blood defiled Sariel's masterwork on the walls. Washes of dried blood stained much of the floor and in the centre, on the raised dais lay two low mounds of feathers. Elias glanced to Ramiel for an explanation, but the angel seemed even more taken aback than Abigail and Elias.

Abigail walked over to the dais and reached for the feathers.

"Stop!" Ramiel snapped.

She drew her hand back. "Are these angel wings?"

"Yes." Slowly, as if moving against his will, Ramiel approached the dais. "Elias, come here."

Elias' mouth went dry. Up close, it was impossible to deny that these were anything other than angel wings. A right and a left wing, both half furled. They looked about the size of Ramiel's lowest pair, but Elias supposed they could also be the wings of a smaller angel. That was if smaller angels did exist; he was no expert on the subject. He was sure, however, that the angel must have suffered. There were bloodstains all over and where the wings should have joined the angel's body, serrated bones protruded instead.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Who would do this?" he asked.

Ramiel nudged Abigail away from the dais, then turned to Elias. "Grasp one of the feathers. One of the bigger ones."

If there was anything Elias had ever been sure of in his life, it is that nothing good would follow from obeying Ramiel's instructions. But they were still in the middle of the bush and that meant Ramiel dictated the course of this night's events. Elias pulled at a feather from the tip of the right wing. To his surprise, it came away without resistance.

He held the feather up. It had been beautiful once, now it was dry and ready to crumble at a whisper of a breeze.

"Do you see any image?" Ramiel asked.

"I can't force myself to have a vision by touching something. Maybe other people can, not me."

Ramiel pulled up the sleeve of his jacket and shirt to expose his forearm. The angel took out a small, stout dagger out of his pocket and slid it across his wrist. As Elias watched blood well out of the resulting wound, he couldn't quite form the question he wanted answered.

"Drink."

Elias frowned. "What?"

"My blood will amplify your natural capabilities," Ramiel explained. He leant in so that only Elias could hear his words and added. "Drink, or I will mash your sister's head into the wall."

Elias jerked back, but Ramiel caught him before he managed to escape the angel's reach. He flipped Elias around, holding onto his' neck with one hand and pressed his bleeding wrist against Elias' mouth.

"I have no desire to injure her, but you must co-operate," the angel hissed. "Drink now. I can make you, but I would rather not discomfort you further than I already have."

Bastard. Elias tried to say as much, but it was impossible to speak with Ramiel crushing his throat and Ramiel's blood dripping into his mouth. It was a sour, metallic taste that made his lips burn. Struggling against the angel's grip, Elias tried to spit the blood out.

"Drink, Elias," said Ramiel softly.

Abigail was shouting. Elias was touched, she had to know as well as he did that she had no chance of stopping the angel.

Christ, I don't want to find out what he could do to her.

Elias sucked in a mouthful of Ramiel's blood and did his best to swallow.

Blue-tinted light floods the room. Sheets of rough canvas are spread out over the floor and a large wooden crate full of tools stands by the entrance.

Elias blinked and the light in the room changed. His head spun.

"What did you see?"

"Not much. He was working here. Alone, I think."

That isn't going to satisfy him. Before Ramiel forced more of his blood on him, Elias ran his fingers over the rows of smaller, blood-stained feathers that covered the bone. He guessed it wasn't the size of the feather that mattered here. They were so dry and fragile compared to the feathers Elias had touched on Ramiel's wing, it was hard to believe they were of the same substance. When Elias came to the edge of the wing, he took a deep breath and grasped the exposed shard of bone.

He screams, the sound reverberating in his ears. Pain radiates through every part of his body and all he can see is white.

"Father, give me strength to finish this task. Father, be merciful. Please."

He knows his voice is pitifully weak. He has never been brave or stoic when confronted with injury.

Wiping the tears out of his eyes, he attempts to focus. The wall carvings are fresh and unsullied; he is proud of them. The floor is now exposed too, there is no need any more for the protective canvas sheets. His blood drips onto the floor, but that is part of the plan — it will strengthen the spells.

Yet he doesn't dare to look down and face the damage he has inflicted upon himself. It hurts so much more than he imagined.

Muttering a litany of prayers he knows will be unanswered, he reaches for the blade again.

Elias sunk to his knees and bent forward as he threw up everything he had eaten that day. He could feel Abigail holding him upright. She was saying something he couldn't make out. He couldn't form the words to explain. It was the pain of it, searing, blinding. Why doesn't it stop?

He felt himself be wrenched up onto his feet and someone wiped the vomit off his chin.

"What did you see?" came Ramiel's low voice.

Elias tried to meet the angel's gaze, but he couldn't quite make out where the angel actually was. "It was part of the ritual. Sariel... he cut off his own wings."

There was a long pause. Or at least it seemed like a long pause for Elias. He rubbed the sides of his head, the pain was beginning to recede, but far too slowly.

"What did Sariel do after he completed the ritual?"

"I don't know."

Ramiel grumbled out something in what sounded like a foreign language, then he switched back to English. "We must know. You understand that."

"Let him be," Abigail pleaded. "Eli is not well."

Elias' vision began to solidify; he could now make out Ramiel's figure. The angel offered Elias his still-bleeding wrist. Elias shook his head.

"Drink," Ramiel said.

"I'm not a vampire."

Ramiel scoffed, then grabbed Abigail. A moment later he had his dagger pressed against the side of her neck. He had moved so swiftly neither Elias nor Abigail had the chance to react.

"I warned you about what would occur should you disobey me on this," the angel said. His cobalt-blue eyes shone unnaturally bright, as if lit up from within. "I will not have this evening wasted by your incompetence."

"Ok, all right! I'll do whatever you say, I promise, just don't hurt my sister." Elias swallowed bile rising in his throat once more. Pompous bastard. I hope you rot in Hell for this. He already felt as if he had been poisoned, more blood would only make him worse.

Ramiel slipped the dagger back into his pocket and ran his thumb over Abigail's cheek. "Good."

"I'm sorry," she said, as Elias lifted Ramiel's bloodied wrist up to his mouth.

"Not your fault."

A steep hill overlooks the burning remains of a city. The thick wooden walls intended to keep the inhabitants safe are a smouldering ruin. A familiar voice calls out in greeting. He turns to see Uriel and Jehudiel make their way down the winding path from the burning citadel to the barren outcrop where he stands watch.

"No survivors," Jehudiel says.

He had not expected any. The demons are merciless and they are thorough. Uriel and Jehudiel came too late. The angels usually are.

She looks in the mirror and sees nothing. The bathroom is dripping wet; she had been in the shower for too long. She wipes away the condensation on the mirror with her hand.

Her teeth need to be brushed, her hair needs to be dried and arranged into some passable hairstyle. It has been a bad week so far, but this morning she would do it. She has to.

The medication. She needs to take her medication as well. The tablets would help. She should call the shrink too. The new woman is helpful.

His fingers bleed. He has stabbed himself with the chisel too many times of late. He is working too long without a break, even angels need rest. But they might be coming soon, one can never predict when. They are searching for him.

"Father, enough." Yasara takes his hand into her own and pulls the chisel out of his reach. "We will start tomorrow at dawn again. "Come with me."

He has never been good at refusing her, so he follows her through the tunnel and out of the cave. She is no longer young, but is the oldest in her tribe by two dozen years. He is still not reconciled with that knowledge. Every wrinkle and every grey hair brings an ache of loss to his heart. When she passes, she will be lost to him forever.

He rubs his eyes as they step out into the fresh air. In the light of the full moon, he can make out the twin snow-capped peaks that loom over the valley. The wind roars and despite the multiple layers of clothing, Yasara shivers. For her sake, he should have chosen a different place. Below, in the lowlands, spring has come long ago, but at this elevation winter is slow to relinquish its grip.

Elias blinked and Abigail's face hovered above him. He didn't understand what she was saying to him. The angel. Where is the angel? The woman, Yasara, was important in some way. Elias needed to tell Ramiel that. That would satisfy him, wouldn't it? It had to.

He started to explain, but the visions pulled him back in.

"Maria, I forgot to say, the dishwasher is playing up again! I'll have a look at it when I get back, ok?" he says, as he walks through the house.

At the doorway to the bedroom, he frowns. He thought he had heard his wife pattering around on this side of the house.

"Maria, where are you?" he calls out. "Did you hear what I said about the dishwasher?"

Maria screams.

"Yasara, my dearest," he whispers. "Don't go, not yet."

"Elias Fitzpatrick. Elias," Ramiel's voice came from some unfathomable distance. "Hold on to me, I will carry you and your sister home. Do you hear me? All will be well."