Blasphemy
The bubble, black as night but rippling with sickly greens and purples like petrol on a wet tarmac road, floated gently downwards.
Downwards was the wrong way.
No memory, no concept of time, of space, of existence. No
thing.
Back the thoughts came, creeping like spiders into a skull that was no longer capable of holding them.
Fire, heat, burning. An end to it all. Darkness after
that. That was my death.
Tattered flesh reformed, skin creeping back over charcoal bones barely able to support it, turning charred black into bleached white into blood red into the soft creamy colour of skin.
Eight years of light and pain and suffering and the grinding passage of time. That was my life.
The glassy bubble, almost bigger than the girl herself, that sat over her heart shimmered like the entire sky was caught within it.
Timeless nothing, and the cold knowledge of where I was headed. This is my now.
After an eternity that lasted but a few seconds, the bubble burst. The naked girl and her precious sphere of time fell, her black hair whipping upwards in the raw heat of the smoky updrafts.
The girl was caught. The sphere was not.
I cried out as it fell to the ground, an eternity below me, and shattered. Strange, inhuman monsters made of the mangled leftovers of dead creatures scurried about, snatching at the glistening shards, fighting over the crystal sand it left behind.
“Don’t worry about that now. You wouldn’t have wanted it all, anyway.”
She glanced up, realising for the first time she was caught in a white blanket held by strong arms. A face leered out at her from under greasy strings of ashen hair, sickly pale skin marred by black pockmarks like cigarette burns, cracked lips encrusted with dark blood. None of that mattered. The eyes, the eyes half sunken into that hideous face, were as blue as the summer sky, and in those eyes she saw lonely kindness, sweet sad affection.
The tattered wings that held them aloft twisted in the sulphurous winds, carrying them downwards, towards a distant object by which a ragged line of people passed. Huge, bull headed creatures snapped many thronged whips, herding those newly emerged from the bursting bubbles towards it. Smaller creatures scrabbled for the fragments of tiny spheres of glittering time.
“Where are we going?” She dared whisper. The tragic figure, draped in black and grey rags, smiled slightly, an expression that looked contorted and wrong on his face.
“To get you processed.”
“And then?” She held her breath.
“And then you can come with me. And I’ll keep you safe.”
She rested her head against his chest as they floated lower, with great, slow beats of those ragged wings.
“Who are you?”
He kept silent for a long time. But just before they landed, he put his head close to hers and whispered.
“My name is Gabriel.”
* * * * *
The hoards of clamouring, naked humans, stained by the mud of the planes, fought over each other to reach wherever they were headed first, spurred on by the snapping of whips behind them. But all made way for the graceful, hideous figure of Gabriel. Some flung themselves on their knees, begging in a thousand languages, none of which she understood. Some cursed and swore, although none dared to come too close. Some simply stared in awe.
A figure, a bizarre, half-rotted cross between a warthog and a vulture with three eyes and seven claws on each birdlike hand, leant over a surprisingly well polished mahogany counter. It said something in a harsh, ugly sounding language that she didn’t understand.
“Now, Asagog, the girl only speaks Japanese.” Gabriel interrupted. It shrugged, a grotesque gesture of gangrenous flesh and exposed bones flashing in and out of view.
“Most folks speak English these days.” It rasped, in a voice that whined on the high notes like a dentists drill. “Was worth a try. What’s your name, girl?”
Gabriel nudged her when she didn’t answer.
“Keiko.”
“Keiko…?”
“Keiko Toranga.”
“Toranga…” the ugly creature dipped a pen into a pot of tar-like ink and climbed a stepladder that stood behind it. A huge book, nine feet tall, bound in dark, scaly leather with aged pages, was open behind him. Scribbling something in a language she didn’t understand, Asagog glanced over his shoulder.
“Age?”
“Eight.”
“Eight…?”
“Eight years, three months…” She tried to work it out in her head. “Fourteen days.”
“Eight years, huh?” Asagog chuckled. “What happened to your time, girl?”
“What?”
“She doesn’t understand, Asagog, and I doubt you’ll get a piece of it. Get on with it.”
The ugly creature looked like it was going to argue, but apparently Gabriel was accorded some sort of respect. He descended the stepladder with a squelching noise, rummaged around under the desk, and produced a small wooden tray. Sitting on top of it was a tiny mouse.
“What’s the mouse for?”
“Grave goods.” Asagog swung one hand across the tray. “Everything that went to the grave with you.”
“The mouse was trapped in the bonfire.” Gabriel whispered to her. “And died when it was set fire to. He’s yours now.”
The rest she had half expected to see. One white shoe. White socks. White knickers. A white petticoat. A red and white dress. Red and white hair ribbons. A little kitten doll called Nyan Nyan. Gabriel picked the things up and wrapped them in the blanket with her. The mouse settled in her hair.
And then they turned and walked on. Asagog turned to the next person (selected apparently at random) and started to gibber in some bizarre tongue. Gabriel spread his tattered wings and they took flight.
She glanced at the little mouse on her shoulder.
“Gabriel?”
“Yes?”
“I’m dead and in Hell, aren’t I?”
“Yes, Keiko. You are. But I’ll look after you.”
“Why?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you looking after me?” She glanced down, marvelling at the shantytowns below them. Huge stone monoliths, tombs and temples, dotted the landscape.
“Because you don’t belong here. I couldn’t bear to think what’d happen to a little girl like you if someone didn’t look after you.”
She leant her head against his shoulder and hugged Nyan Nyan, and let the winds take her where they would.
* * * * *
“This is my home.”
It was on the top of a hill, surrounded by a high stone fence with no gate. It was quaint and elegant, with paper screen walls and a pair of soapstone lion-dragons on either side of the door. There was a little gnarled cherry tree orchard, and something large and furry snoozing on the porch.
“This is Machi. He’s sort of a pet of mine.” Taking Keiko by the hand, Gabriel led her up to the door. Machi stretched and got to his feet, sticking his tongue out enthusiastically. He looked like a bizarre cross between a wombat and a dragon-lizard thing. Keiko patted his head hesitantly. Gabriel slid back the screen of the front door, Machi diving past him as he stepped inside the foyer and lifted Keiko inside, not letting her down until she was standing on the polished wooden floor, so she wouldn’t tread mud in. Slipping out of his shoes, he found them both a pair of slippers (The ones he gave to her were too big, but too small for his feet – she wondered why he had them) and began to show her around.
“It isn’t much.” He gestured towards the largest door. “That’s the main room, for eating and sitting, the kitchen’s through there, that’s the study… that’s where I sleep, and this’ll be your room.”
The two rooms were on opposite sides of the house. Almost as though, she thought, he didn’t want to be near her. But her room was pleasant – there was a beautiful piece of calligraphy on one wall, and a display of fans on another.
“The futons are airing… lets find you something to wear.” Gabriel opened a cupboard, sorting through folded clothes. “Ah, most of these are much too big… I’ll take some of them in if I have time. What colour do you want, Keiko?”
She sat down on the floor, a little awed. “I… I like red.”
“Auspicious colour.” He held out a beautifully embroidered kimono with golden phoenixes sprawling across the back and sleeves. “And there’s a pale gold that’ll go nicely under that…”
“G-Gabirieru-san…” She blinked, a little unsure of herself, then screwed up her courage. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.” His dusty, unkempt wings shifted slightly on his back as he sorted through the under kimono. Keiko watched his hands – the nails were long and the colour of iron, but the hands themselves were human enough, and once they must have been quite beautiful… but now they were in much the same condition as his face, painfully wasted and more like the claws of birds than the hands of men. “You may ask as many questions as you like. After all, this is your house too now… we’re going to be living together.”
“If you’re a western angel, why do you have a Japanese house?”
He paused, and for a moment she thought he was angry. But the tone in his reply, barely more than a whisper, was shockingly sad.
“Why do you think I’m an angel?”
“Momma read me the Bible once.” Keiko replied, softly, clutching the blanket and Nyan Nyan close. “An angel called Gabriel came to Mary…”
“Yes.” He whispered, sinking to the floor. It took Keiko a moment to realise he was crying.
It was horrible. His thin, clawed hands clutched over cracked lips and scarred cheeks and his huge blue eyes – the only part of him that retained his original beauty – were closed tightly, thick, inky tears squeezing out under heavy, girlish lashes and rolling down his face, the whole lot half hidden by curtains of ash grey hair and ash grey rags. And yet, at the same time, it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Gabirieru-kun, don’t cry…” stumbling forward, Keiko pressed herself against his chest again, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m so very sorry, I won’t ask any more questions like that if it’ll make you cry…” She tried to dab his tears away with a corner of the blanket, but he turned his face away.
“I… I’d h-hoped… that… you… so y-young, Japanese… w-wouldn’t know t-the story…” his voice caught on the last word, and the angel pulled away from her suddenly. Confused, Keiko started crying herself.
“G-Gabirielu-ku-u-un… p-please s-stop cry-ing!” The mouse in her hair started wriggling in distress. “I d-didn’t m-mean to…” the last word turned into a wail, and Gabriel turned around sharply.
She could only imagine what he saw – a tiny, undernourished eight year old girl with pale skin and long black hair, wrapped in a white blanket in the middle of a rush mat floor, every colour of the rainbow strewn around her and tears rolling down her face. But all of a sudden he had swept her up in his arms, was holding her close, holding her like she’d fall apart if he let go.
“Y-you… care… about me? How I feel? You do?”
“O-Of course!” She twisted her fingers in his hair, breathing in the slightly musty scent of old incense that hung around the rags he wore. “Y-you’re the first p-person who’s ever b-been nice to me! And y-you’re so k-kind and n-nice and p-pretty, I-I don’t want you t-to cry!”
There was a silence, and then he breathed:
“Pretty? You… think I’m pretty?”
“Y-Yes. Y-you’re an a-angel, of c-course you’re pretty.”
There was another brief, stunned silence, and then he squeezed her tight against his chest with a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Oh Keiko. Don’t ever leave me. And don’t ever change.”
If only it was that simple, she thought.
* * * * *
Gabriel’s favourite colours were gold and blue. His favourite food was miso soup with shrimps in it. He was a pretty terrible cook, but made reasonable tea. Gabriel could sew very well. He liked horses and peacocks. He liked gardening as well. He grew tulips and hellebores and anemones, dahlias and winter crocus in the garden. Gabriel liked Japanese things. The house. The kimono. The cherry blossoms. He even had a proper old-fashioned bath. But he had a western sword.
It was big, bigger than Keiko was, and it hung on the wall in the main room. It was all silver and gold, with a sapphire in the pommel, and it was immaculately clean.
It was for killing demons with.
“Is that what you did? Which was so bad?”
“Yes.” Gabriel replied sadly, lifting the sword down easily. Although he was all skin and bones, the angel was very strong. At first, Keiko had been apprehensive about asking such bold questions, but after his initial tears Gabriel had proved willing to speak calmly and rationally about almost anything.
“To take a life is the simplest and worst of sins.” He continued, weighing the heavy blade in his two bird-like hands. “Even the life of a demon. Gone are the days of the heavenly warlords and the jihad – now, to kill is to be damned for all eternity. Even for an angel.”
“I don’t understand.” There was a lot Keiko didn’t understand, but some more than others. “Then why did you do it?”
“Because I had to. The first duty of an angel – even an archangel – is to protect mortal life. If I hadn’t killed the demon, it would have destroyed hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. I had to protect them.”
“But you didn’t know them.”
“No.”
“And some of them might have been bad people?”
“Probably a good number.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because,” He’d replied simply, with a smile, as he placed the sword back in its place on the wall. “That’s what angels do.”
Returning to the centre of the room, Gabriel tucked his legs under the blanket of the kotatsu, a table over a pit with burning charcoal at the base and a blanket over the top to keep the body warm. Holding his sleeve out of the way (And out of reach of Machi, who was snuffling around and hoping for treats) he carefully poured them both some more tea. “I hope you’ll like it here, Keiko-chan.”
“I like it already, Gabriel-kun!” She replied with a smile, dishing herself some more prawns. “Although, so sorry, but your cooking is quite bad.”
“Well, I’ll work on that.” He replied, with a soft smile. “After all, I’m not a lonely bachelor anymore.”
“Don’t worry, Gabriel-kun. When I grow up, I’ll cook for you.” Keiko smiled, but Gabriel only looked a little puzzled.
“Keiko-chan… we are outside time now. You aren’t going to grow up anymore… at least, not unless you really want to.”
“But I do want to.” She answered, eyes wide. “I want to grow up big and strong so I can look after you, Gabriel-kun.”
Gabriel smiled, again with that little touch of sadness.
“Well… I’ll see what I can do.”
* * * * *
Although time didn’t pass, as such, something akin to days did go by. Gabriel’s cooking didn’t get any better, but Keiko learnt how to cook rice and a few other simple things and occasionally managed not to burn anything. Sometimes she would help in the garden, with the flowers or the vegetables, or sometimes Gabriel would teach her how to embroider little mandarin ducks or cherry blossoms on scraps of old kimono. They weren’t very good, but she enjoyed it anyway. Most evenings Gabriel would read or practice his calligraphy – he wasn’t particularly good, but he practiced a lot – while Keiko played with Machi or dozed under the blanket of the kotatsu. Sometimes they would play Go or Renju, but Gabriel was also teaching her chess and mah-jong. Gabriel made almost everything he needed within the walls of the garden – those walls without a door or gate. Occasionally he would venture out, and bring back the few things they couldn’t make or grow – metal knives and needles, meat more substantial than rabbit or bird, rice, and sometimes little pretty things to amuse her – beads and ribbons and suchlike. There was a little pond with fish and ducks, and a chicken coop, and birds and small animals lived in the trees and gardens. There were silkworms in some of the trees, and Keiko watched in fascination as over the course of many days he collected the little cocoons, unravelled them in hot water, spun the fibres into thread, dyed them using plants from the garden and eventually threaded the silk onto a small, Japanese style loom and wove it into bolts of cloth that would finally become kimono.
The kimono were an interesting sticking point.
The old fashioned bath was wonderful, and most nights after she went to bed Keiko could hear Gabriel in the bathhouse. He only ever bathed after he thought she was sleeping. At first, she couldn’t figure out why.
Then one day, when Gabriel was cutting back the bamboo (She had been standing at a safe distance, as he’d requested, because cutting into a tangle of well grown bamboo was not for the faint of heart and could be quite dangerous) he’d accidentally released several stems that had been growing under some tension, and they’d snapped free with fearful speed and a horrible cracking sound. One of them must have shattered, because although Gabriel got out of the way in time to avoid being hurt by the swinging stems shards of bamboo had shot outwards, a number of them hitting him in the arm and side.
And of course she had rushed to him with a cry and tried to push his sleeve up so she could see where he was hurt. Gabriel had pushed her away.
“Gabirieru-kun!” Keiko had cried, putting his name into katakana as she always did when she was upset, worried, or merely being playful. “Let me see! We need to make you better strait away!”
“It’s alright, Keiko, I can deal with it.” He had replied, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead, and he had gone strait to the bathhouse and locked the door, even though Keiko was stumbling on his heels all the way.
It had occurred to Keiko that he didn’t want her to see what he looked like without his robes on. And that had lead to another discovery:
Even though he bathed almost every day, he never once changed out of the dusty grey rags he’d been wearing on the day they’d met. And so, at dinner that night, she resolved to challenge him about it.
“Gabriel-kun… you make so many pretty kimono.”
“Thank you, Keiko.” He’d replied, frowning as he tried to find a slightly less burnt piece of pork.
“But you never wear any of them.” She’d continued, cautiously. Gabriel had paused for just a moment before answering.
“I’m fine as I am, Keiko. Just leave me be.”
“But Gabriel-kun…”
“Just leave me be, Keiko. Just leave me be.”
And so she had. For a while.
* * * * *
A bit more time, if you could call it that, passed. Gabriel’s cooking still didn’t improve, although he occasionally managed not to burn the rice. Machi hurt his foot on a sharp stone and had to be nursed for a while, although he loved the attention and all the titbits he got so it didn’t really seem like he was sick at all. Keiko could now embroider a leaf that looked at least vaguely like a leaf and make rice balls with only a few failures. She also, inexplicably, started to feel a little bit odd.
“I feel like I’m growing only not.” She had said over breakfast. Gabriel had just sighed.
“You get up, do a full day’s work, and go to sleep again. So, you feel like days are passing. But your body isn’t getting any bigger, and so your brain is more grown up than your body is.”
“How peculiar.” And that was all to be said on the subject, for now.
* * * * *
Some more non-days flew by. Gabriel tried some slightly more adventurous dishes that weren’t quite failures. Keiko actually managed to win a game of Renju. And the cherry blossoms were not quite in bloom, when they had a visitor.
It had been late at night, and Keiko had been drifting off to sleep in the warmth of the kotatsu, when all of a sudden Gabriel had blown out the lamp and got to his feet so quickly and so silently that she had been a little afraid. He had pulled the blanket all the way over her head, picked up his sword and stepped out into the hallway of the house.
“I know you’re there.” He called out. “I heard your wings. Show yourself!”
And there was a rustle of feathers and the sound of the screen door sliding back, and Keiko felt a little afraid. But a second later there was a voice – a voice that was rich and pure like Gabriel’s and that held no malice:
“Still as paranoid as ever, Gabriel?”
“You!” He had cried, but it was in joy, not in anger. “Why on earth were you sneaking up like that?”
“Just testing you, friend, just testing. I see you’ve made a fine little place for yourself!”
“Come in! Come have some tea! I haven’t seen you in God knows how long. Machi, down!”
Keiko flung the blanket back and scurried to the door quickly to find that Machi was snuffling at the hand of a stranger, who had crouched down to pet the wombat-lizard-thing. Glancing up, he caught her eye with his own – eyes that were clear silver grey, like they could see forever – and laughed in happy surprise.
“You didn’t tell me you had company, Gabriel! Who’s your little friend?”
“This is Keiko.” Gabriel turned as the stranger rose to his feet. Keiko shuffled across quickly and hid behind the angel, a little afraid. The stranger was almost as tall as Gabriel was, and his face and arms were streaked with strange black markings that made him look fierce, like a tiger.
“Relax, Keiko,” He continued, putting a gentle hand on her head. “This is a friend of mine. Keiko, I’d like you to meet Uriel. He’s an angel too.”
She peered around Gabriel’s bulk and surveyed the iridescent black-feathered wings folded on Uriel’s back.
And she wondered if he’d killed demons too.
* * * * *
That night, if you could call it that, was very odd, and haunted her for a long time afterwards. Keiko had drunk some tea while Uriel and Gabriel chatted about all sorts of things, mostly Gabriel talking about doing this in the garden or that in the house. And then, later on, when they’d both had probably a little bit too much rice wine, and when Keiko was in a haze close to sleep, curled up under the blanket of the kotatsu, the talk had turned to something dark and strange.
“He’s been hunting around.” Uriel blew gently on the over-warmed sake, his storm cloud eyes suddenly serious. “He’s been looking for you.”
“I’d like to see Him come get me here.” Gabriel growled, knocking back another cupful of wine and pouring himself more. The other angel shook his head.
“He won’t come get you. He just wants to know where you are. He wants to know where we all are. He’d probably want to talk to you.”
“And you know this because…?”
Chuckling softly, Uriel rolled his eyes. “Don’t panic, Gabriel, I’m not about to sell you out. We had a talk, that’s all.”
“A talk.” Gabriel’s voice had the sense of trying very hard to understand an impossible thing, but not quite managing it.
“Yes. A talk. He was surprisingly reasonable.”
“And what did He want?”
“Same as always. He wants to know where we all are. And if we’d just see our way to joining Him, that’d be good too. But He’s patient. He’ll wait for us to ‘come around’.”
“Not in a thousand thousand sunsets.” Gabriel snapped, looking surly and helping himself to more wine. Uriel shrugged, proffering his cup for a refill.
“I told him it wasn’t likely. He just laughed. All He ever does is laugh.” Sighing, the ferocious looking angel started to pick threads from the hem of his robe, looking mournful. “I thought you ought to be warned. He’s the one who pointed me in the right direction to find you. It took me a while, but if I can do it, He can, eventually. He knows He can find you; He just hasn’t done it yet. He’s biding his time.”
“For what?”
“If only I knew.”
After a few minutes long silence, Uriel tentatively continued.
“I wasn’t the only one there, either.”
“Oh?” Gabriel snorted, pouring himself more wine and spilling some in the process. “I’ve no interest in the machinations of devils and demons…”
“It was Sariel.”
“Sariel?” To Keiko’s surprise, Gabriel turned and spat, like the word was a bad taste in his mouth. “Grigori scum. Currying favour, I suppose?”
“Actually, no… Samyaza sent sar. He’s… well; he’s rounded up pretty much all of the Grigori he can find. They’re working for Him now.”
“Oh?” Gabriel paused, drinking deeply. “And… how many of the Grigori do you think he has found?”
“About a hundred and fifteen, and at least half the lieutenants.” Uriel replied matter-of-factly. Gabriel looked stunned, then growled softly to himself.
“Of course. I speculate, and you just ask, don’t you?”
“Well…” Uriel looked a little awkward, half turning his face away. “It seemed pointless not to. Sariel still can’t handle sir drink. Turel and Azkeel are dead, and they’ve no idea what happened to Zavabe, but the rumours are that Ertael and a handful of the Fallen are holding up in a keep in the mountains. They’ve been trying to find them.”
“Scum.” Gabriel repeated vehemently. Tentatively, the other angel continued.
“And Azazel is with Him now. I saw him roaming around the palace. He… ah… he killed Raguel, you know.”
“Damn it.” Proffering his glass for a refill, Gabriel glowered at the floor. “I thought he could take him. Of anyone, Raguel should have been able to…”
“He’s made Azazel stronger. Taught him things, I don’t know. The only one who can beat him now is Death himself.”
“I might just have to arrange that.” Gabriel snarled.
And thus the conversation continued, dozens and dozens of names that Keiko didn’t know and couldn’t understand, and every so often one that she did. Abdiel was dead. No one knew what had happened to Haniel. Zephon had killed Dumah, but where he’d fallen was uncertain. Pravuil was said to be haunting the coastline, but no one had seen him in a while. Iruel and Jegudiel were on ‘our’ side still; Selaphiel, Cassiel and Tariel were on ‘His’. Munkar was dead – Nakeer had fled to some distant corner of the wastes to mourn. Israfil and Barachiel hadn’t fallen – Michael had, which prompted an awkward, sad silence. Zadkiel was also around; rumour was that he was lurking not far south of here. Metatron, of course, had not fallen. Jibril had, and was apparently on good terms with ‘Him’, which made Gabriel swear and slam his cup down almost hard enough to break it.
“And Raziel?” Uriel asked, with a soft kind of hope, when they’d finally run out of names. Gabriel had hung his head suddenly, swaying a little from the effects of much too much rice wine.
“Raziel’s dead.”
And Uriel burst into tears, and cried for a very long time, long after the sun had risen the next morning.
* * * * *