Angel

Part One: Hell

Chapter Eight: Murio’s Gift

I waited silently for hours, awaiting the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Lucifer seemed to share my anxiety in his own way, picking out the food from the basket and nibbling at it. For hours, we waited in silent terror. What would the Master’s return bring? Death? Or, what if he never again returned...? I couldn’t eat anything, not with the knot in my stomach. Lucifer ate only because I insisted. He seemed paler now, his breathing irregular. The shadows all around us seemed deeper, more ominous. Even the firelight was dimmer. It seemed colder than ever now, as if the entire dark prison was awaiting my fate. I secretly imagined, somewhere off in the darkness... Satan, laughing at me, beckoning me to undergo his judgement. Nausea passed over me a thousand times, until I had to cover my mouth with my hands to keep from vomiting. Lucifer sat by my side after a while, curling against me. Fear radiated from him. I wonder if the case was the same with myself.

The sound of the first step made me jump. Lucifer’s grip around my waist tightened, until I feared it would stop my breathing. I closed my eyes, listening to the steps as they came closer... slowly... slowly... but something was wrong. These steps were too light, too slow, to belong to the Master. I opened my eyes, glancing at Lucifer. His expression was one of confusion - he had realized it, as well. We both stood, eyeing the stairs warily. As we watched, a figure appeared. I recognized him immediately.

“Murio,” I whispered, my heart aching. Murioslav - the Master’s own personal servant. The name itself meant ‘beautiful slave.’ He was beautiful, though he could never know that, and even if he could, he could never brag about it. Murio was blind and mute. He had been in the Master’s service for years, even before I had arrived. Though he was close to fourty years old, age had never touched him. His silvery-blond hair betrayed no trace of gray, and his pale blue eyes were untouched by lines. Losing two of his senses had only sharpened those that remained, making his senses of hearing and touch extremely acute. Murio could hear my voice as no one else could, and I could almost read his thoughts.

He paused when I whispered his name, then carefully took the next few steps until he stood on the flat ground. I watched as he turned slowly in our direction, taking a few cautious steps toward us. Lucifer was smiling, though I could tell he was just as afraid of what this could mean as I was. Surely, he had known Murio, as well... if he had been here for four years, and I had been serving the Master for three... He rose by my side, and took one of Murio’s hands as he drew close to us. I did the same. Recognition flashed over his features as he massaged Lucifer’s thin hand with his thumb.

“...It’s me, Murio... Lucifer,” Lucifer breathed, tears streaming down his face. Murio smiled, slipping his hand from mine and wrapping his arms around Lucifer. I noticed tears spilling from his blind eyes as he traced the boy’s thin, bony back with his hand. They pulled apart slowly, and Murio turned to me, embracing me in the same way. He kissed my temple gently, his soft lips resting against my head for a brief moment. I clung to him like a child, desperate to never let him go, to never release him. But gradually, he pulled himself away, though I reached for him like a drowning man reaching for a life raft.

“Murio... are you... please, tell me you’re not... he didn’t...” Lucifer stammered, unable to express the horrific conclusion we had both drawn from his arrival. Murio smiled at him calmly, then, to our relief, he shook his silvery head. I almost collapsed from the immense relief, and Lucifer laughed happily. Murio touched my face, his fingers sliding over the contours of it... feeling my eyelashes, my lips, my cheekbones. He then did the same to Lucifer. He stepped back, smiling, spreading his arms as if to hug us both at once. His meaning was clear: I wanted to see you again. No sooner had he done this, the Master appeared behind him.

“...You shouldn’t be here unless ordered to be, Murio.” His voice was cold, though I knew he would never, never strike Murioslav. As I had expected, Murio lowered his head shamefully, his eyes downcast, his arms at his sides. The Master passed him, setting the basket at my feet. He glared at me reproachfully. “...The Lady believes what happened to her mirror was an accident, nothing more. As such...” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “...as such, I cannot punish you.” With that, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs, gesturing with a slight pat on the wrist for Murio to follow. With one last unseeing glance in our direction, Murio followed him up the stairs. But just before he slipped out of view, I saw him drop something from his pocket. Lucifer noticed it, too, and nudged me. As the footsteps faded away, I took several careful, quiet steps toward the stairs. On the twelfth step sat Murio’s ‘gift.’

It was a tiny package, carefully wrapped in a white scrap of fabric and tied with a thin bit of twine. Simple in appearance, as everything was with Murio. He payed little or no attention to appearances, being unable to appreciate them himself. I picked it up delicately, carrying it down the stairs to Lucifer. It was light, yet oddly heavy. He took it, pulling at the twine. The white fabric fell away. Lucifer gasped, holding up a tiny statuette. I looked closely.

It was a kneeling angel, its tiny hands folded in a prayer. It glittered in the firelight, the light reflecting off its gold surface. The amount of detail was incredible, from the fold of its minuscule fingers to the feathers of its folded wings to its curled toes. Its hair was long, fairly curly... looking closely, I could see that this was the only part of it that wasn’t gold. Rather, the hair was silver. I studied its face. The eyes were open. I couldn’t tell what color they were in the dark, but it was obvious that they weren’t gold... or silver. They looked... green? Yes, perhaps they were green... emeralds, or perhaps even painted. Why had Murioslav decided to give us this tiny figurine? I turned it over, reading the inscription on the bottom.

Pray for the Fallen, the Lost, the Misguided. Forever, my love, You remain Sacrosanct.

Beautiful, yet strange... why would Murioslav give us this? I smiled, placing the tiny statuette back in Lucifer’s hand. “What do you think it means?” I asked, but he only shook his head.

“I don’t know... maybe it doesn’t mean anything... maybe Murio never knew about it?” he mused, setting it on the ledge above the woodpile. I nodded, though I disagreed. The inscription meant something. But what, though, I had no idea. And Murio had no way of telling me. Perhaps Lucifer was right, and it meant nothing... to us, anyway. Perhaps it held significance to Murio only... or maybe it symbolized something Lucifer and I were supposed to find out... maybe we would never know?

If only, if only.