6
Most of the celebrants had already gathered around the large tree in the center of City Hall’s great lawn. Infants were being hoisted onto father’s shoulders while mothers worked valiantly, but flutily, to maintain some control over the older, more ambulatory children. The commercial holiday music had stopped, replaced by the excited din of the people. Several city officials had gathered atop the stage, suited bureaucrats with uniformed representatives from the Fire and Police Departments. Even the hired Santa Claus had joined with this collection of esteemed local dignitaries.
Alongside Disanté’s leaders, Adam spotted Lilith Aubrey standing on the stage. The warrior was not surprised to see the local ruler of the Agarés Corporation and true overlord of Meropis County, but he was surprised at her appearance. She was dressed, as always, in an impeccably-fashionable, but practical, suit. Her pants and coat shielded her narrow frame from the deepening cold. Her mass of light brown hair was bound in a rigid bun at the back of her head. Her dark-framed glasses rested against her face as her gaze darted around the area. This, Adam realized, was the surprise. Aubrey was scared.
Nearly from the moment of his arrival in Meropis County, Adam had heard of the terror that was Aubrey’s wrath. Time and again, men were ruined, small businesses destroyed, and obstacles ruthlessly removed. As the regional vice president of Agarés, Lilith Aubrey was the most powerful person in Central Texas, owning both local politicians and law enforcers. She had a reputation for being all-powerful, all-seeing, and without mercy.
The woman standing atop the stage now was someone else entirely.
“What is it?” Candice asked, leaning closer so that her words needed only to float the tiny distance to embrace Adam’s ear.
The warrior narrowed his eyes, seeing past the flesh. “Something,” he muttered. Aubrey stood rigid, frozen and suspended. Her hands shook slightly, almost unnoticeably. Already fair-skinned, her face was even paler than normal. Normally, Agarés’ local leader was surrounded with security. These were present, Adam noted, but different. They did not move like protectors, with senses reaching out for potential dangers. Instead, these strongmen were oriented towards Aubrey herself, like jailors keeping watch over a prisoner.
With Aubrey stood two men. These, Adam did not know. They were tall and well-built, fair of face and hair. Their clothes were cut to enhance their arms and chests. Several women, and more than a few men, in the area kept glancing at the two men as though drawn to them. Even Holly and the Twins, normally almost ambitious to men, kept sneaking glances at the two men, an air of quiet lust drifting amidst the festive crowd. They were very similar, Adam noted, both in appearance and demeanor. Not quite as identical as the Twins, there was nonetheless an obvious familiar tie to these two men. Adam blinked, and finally saw the same similarity to Aubrey.
Her eyes, having been darting through the crowd, at last found Adam’s. Tears emerged for only a moment, and a brief flush of color appeared in her face. The warrior had spent countless centuries seeing the eyes the doomed eyes of his victims. He knew the look of someone confronted with their ill-fate. He saw that now in Aubrey. She looked to him for some escape from whatever her beautiful siblings had brought, but then that shadow of hope vanished when one last group stepped onto the stage.
“Look who’s here,” Holly muttered.
Adam looked and spotted Justin Cade, the something-or-other to the City Manager. The potato of a man waddled, as always, with puffed-up self-importance. He did little to hide his sneer at the assembled crowd, and even looked as though he had smelled something uncouth. Adm recalled seeing the same look, the same dismissive superiority, in princes throughout time. He stepped aside as another man took the stage, this one tall and utterly forgettable. “Who’s that?” Adam asked.
“That’s the mayor,” Marun replied.
“For one more year, at least,” Harun noted. The Twins glanced at each other, having another of their silent conversations. Harun kept glancing towards Adam as though she wanted to say something, but Marun pressed her lips together, demanding silence.
“Just spit it out,” Adam grumbled, trying to parse the source of Aubrey’s fear. She was glancing towards the Mayor’s small group, but her eyes were not on any of the men currently standing atop the stage. She looked back to Adam and made as though to lean forward. One of her beautiful siblings put a hand on her arm, pulling her back the fraction of a breath she had leaned forward. The other whispered something in her ear, and the feared vice president of Agarés lowered her gaze.
“We need to tell him,” Harun insisted.
“You know what he’ll do!” Marun almost hissed.
“But he’s here tonight!”
“He won’t get on the stage!”
“He’s right over there!”
“Will you two just stop!” Adam barked. “Spit it out or shut up.”
The Twins shared one more concerned look. They were about to speak, but Holly interrupted them. “Who’s that?” she asked, nodding back towards the stage.
Adam looked, and froze.
A man walked up to stand beside the Mayor. His body was unremarkable, as unremarkable as Adam’s. He had always managed to blend into the background, the warrior knew. He disappeared into the crowd, all the better to do his job. The man leaned slightly and whispered into the Mayor’s ear. The elected official made no move to acknowledge, instead letting the words slither into his soul. This was a fact of the Fallen, Adam understood. Their natures did not change, even after being imprisoned in Human flesh. The Twins had always been creatures of information, of questioning and debate. This remained true, even when they were condemned to the bodies of these women. So it was with Za’afiel; he was a warrior, a being of violence. This had not changed with the birth of Adam Kadmon. This had not changed with whatever the man on the stage called himself.
“Orobas,” Adam seethed.
The Twins moved to stand in front of Adam, trying to block his line of sight. “He’s been here a long time,” Harun said gently.
“A lot longer than you or us,” Marun said firmly.
“He’s been a part of this town for as long as it’s been here.”
“He helped build it.”
“We assumed you knew.”
Adam snapped his eyes to each of the Twins.
“No, we didn’t,” they conceded.
“Who is he?” Candice asked.
“What is he?” Holly amended.
“He’s a Fallen,” Adam said grimly. On the stage, Orobas looked at Adam. he did not search, he was not scanning the crowd. The meeting of their eyes was not a happenstance. Orobas looked to exactly where Adam stood with the women he had sworn to protect, and he smiled.
“He’s like you?” Candice asked.
“No,” Holly said almost absently. “He’s different.”
“He’s a Throne,” Harun replied. “One of the highest orders.”
“He was,” Marun amended. “He Fell, not long after the Rebellion. These days, he calls himself Jack Anwir. He’s the City Manager, the one who actually runs the local government.”
“Figures,” Adam growled.
Orobas left the stage and walked around the lawn and the assembled crowd. As he moved, the people absently got out of his way, making a path without needing to be excused or ordered. The Fallen kept his eyes locked with Adam’s as he moved, his gait easy and light. As he approached, Adam moved Holly, Candice, and the Twins back, away from the approaching Fallen and to dubious safety behind him.
The two Fallen stood before each other, more than an arm’s length separating them. The air warmed from the hatred seething from these former Celestials. The twinkling lights overhead and all around dimmed and many shorted. On the stage, the Mayor began making a speech, the words lost upon the two men who started centuries of hatred at one another.
“Hello, old friend.”
“It’s been a while, Orobas.”
“Thousands of years,” the insidious Fallen agreed. “Right at the end of the Rebellion.” The last hint of his good humor vanished. “You remember that, right? When you tried to purge me, to send me hurtling into the Pit?”
“Yeah,” Adam said with utter darkness coming from the depths of his unwanted soul. “I missed.”
Orobas leaned his head to the side, pulling at the collar of his winter coat and exposing a light scar that traced down the side of his neck. “Not by much.”
Adam glanced to the stage, where the Disanté Mayor was still droning on about a season of forgiveness and brotherhood. “Still whispering to the powerful, I see,” he noted.
Orobas shrugged. “We were all created to be what we are,” he said with venom. “That’s what you loyalists never understood. We could never be anything but what we were made to be.” He jerked a thumb to his chest. “The Chorus made me an advisor. I was MADE to be the voice that counseled the powerful!”
“And you ‘counseled’ them,” Harun said over Adam’s shoulder.
“You ‘advised’ all those chieftains to become warlords!” Marun snapped over the other shoulder.
“And you’re so different,’ Orobas sneered at the Twins. “You whisper in their ears the same as me!”
“We encourage questioning!” Harun insisted. “We help them explore their world!”
“You corrupt them!” Marun agreed. “You turn them against each other!”
“Their pests!” Orobas said through gritted teeth. “Vermin! They deserve to be exterminated!” The dark Fallen cast a baleful look around the crowd, almost sneering his contempt for the people and their holiday joy. “What makes them so damned special?” he demanded. “Why do they get Free Will? Why do they deserve it? We served the Chorus! We maintain the order of Creation!” Orobas shook his head. “And what’s our reward? Slavery! Entire Choirs get dedicated to serving these pests! We build them a paradise and all they do is ruin it, flinging their shit across this world!”
The dark Fallen jabbed a thumb as his chest. “All we did was ask a question!” this, he snorted in derision at the Twins. “For all your talk about encouraging questions, the moment some of your own siblings did it, you were the first to denounce us!”
“You didn’t question,” Marun objected. “You ‘whispered’ to Lucifer!”
“You incited a rebellion,” Harun agreed.
“You weren’t trying to redress some injustice.”
“You wanted to subvert the Chorus.”
“To make yourself the overlord.”
“I earned it!” Orobas nearly raged.
Adam narrowed his eyes at the barely-restrained outburst. Small details were beginning to assemble in his mind. Orobas was not just angry, he was almost shaking in rage mixed with something else. His eyes kept twitching, making an obvious effort not to look in a particular direction. The warrior saw this former councilor, this self-proclaimed master of Human desire and ambition, and decided to test a theory.
“What are you doing here, Orobas?” Adam asked. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” He stood straight. “This is my town, Za’afiel! You came here, to the settlement I’ve spent centuries building. You’re the intruder, the trespasser!”
“So, this is your town, huh?”
“I built it. It’s mine. Just as I helped build the Garden and it should’ve been mine. Just as I directed the building of Enoch, of Nineveh and Jericho and Babylon. Just as I directed the raising of Egypt and Persia and Rome and all the others! They were all mine, and they were all taken away!” He glanced around the assembled Humans and outward, to the buildings of Disanté. “This is mine!”
“And who’s taking it away?” Holly asked softly, stepping up beside Adam.
Orobas sneered at the girl, his eyes blazing hatred. Holly did not back away from the heat of that stare and its promise of obliteration. She stood her ground with a strange look of sadness, almost pity. “You built all those great places, and they were all taken away,” she noted. “Is that your curse? The Fallen all seem to have some cost to their power.” She glanced up at the Twins. “Trying to inspire curiosity and examination, but only building on conspiracy theories. “She looked up at Adam. “Trying to isolate, to escape the destruction you cause, only to be surrounded by people who need you.”
The warrior looked away, grumbling an objection that died on his lips.
Holly looked back at Orobas. “You spent all of human history buildings these great cities, great empires, only to have them taken away. Now, you’ve spent generations building Disanté. Who’s taking it away this time?”
Orobas’ eyes became like miniature nova, and he gathered himself as though to lash out at this upstart Human. Adam took a half-step forward, putting himself firmly between the raging Fallen and the tiny girl. His gaze locked with Orobas’ for several heartbeats. “You don’t have your blades anymore,” the dark Fallen pointed out. He gestured to the nearby police and private security. “I still have my full power. You can’t beat me, can’t stop me.”
“Try,” was all Adam said.
Another few heartbeats passed. Then, Orobas smiled. “I was never a warrior,” he admitted. “You were the killer, the bringer of Destruction. I was only ever a simple advisor a… what was it you called me that last time? A bureaucrat.” His voice had become mockingly small. “Of course, any good bureaucrat knows how to manage resources. Any good bureaucrat knows when to call in an expert.”
Orobas leaned in conspiratorially. “You’ve been here for months, Za’afiel. Did you really think I wouldn’t have a contingency ready? Did you really think I wouldn’t be ready to settle our business? Do you think it’s an accident that I reveal myself now?”
Adam’s eyes narrowed as he, only now, understood the implied threat. The warrior took a step back, motioning for the women to do the same.
“Too late, old friend,” Orobas mocked.
Golden light flooded the yard. The Mayor had finished his meaningless speech and signaled for the Christmas Tree to be lit. A thousand, thousand tiny, multi-colored lights blended together into a golden beacon. Perhaps it was a simple miscalculation by the engineers or the power supplies. Perhaps Adam’s senses were particularly sensitive, given the threat of Orobas. Perhaps, the proximity of several Fallen and their centuries-long hatred for each other caused some mystical feedback. In any event, the Christmas Tree blazed as though it was on fire, its light amplified a hundred times over and forcing many of the celebrants to look away with startled exclamations. Only Adam and Orobas maintained their gaze, eyes locked on each other.
Orobas’ smiled grew broader, more insidious and victorious. “I knew you couldn’t stay quiet, Za’afiel,” he gloated. “I knew, sooner or later, some Human would get hurt and you would come running. You and your idiot need to ‘do the right thing.’ You’re pathetic.
“I knew you’d start causing problems, start attracting attention. I knew you’d draw someone in. All it took was my dropping a few hints, some minor revelation in the right ears. And he would come for you.”
Orobas gestured towards the blazing tree, towards the miniature golden sun that had come into being. Adam looked, and for the first time in uncounted eons, he felt fear.
“You remember your brother, don’t you?” Orobas gloated. “The only other Angel of Destruction to ever Fall?” The dark Fallen glanced at the figure. Standing before the blazing tree, he was a point of darkness in a sun, a blemish of hatred amidst the city’s holiday cheer. “Chezef, you remember Za’afiel? The brother who betrayed you?”
Adam stepped forward, though only enough to put himself between the Fallen Angel of Destruction and the women. “Brother,” Adam tried to say, helplessly against the memory of their conflict and the centuries of hatred that had resulted.
Chezef said nothing. He stood tall, equal to Adam. He wore a leather duster similar to his hated brother’s, though his was dark, stained with countless miles of wandering. The Fallen Angel of Destruction stared at Adam, mirrors reflecting at one another, disappearing into each other amidst their shared history of violence. Chezef said nothing, he only pulled the edges of his long coat back, exposing the long blades holstered on each of his legs.
Adam said nothing, he could say nothing, for there was nothing to say.
Orobas smiled again and backed away. “Well,” he said happily. “I’ll leave ya’ll to it.”