Wings: The Challenge

Introduction:

This is the third installment of my angelic fiction series Wings. First new character since the second story. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: You better believe I own every word of this, buddy! And if you plagiarize, I will take legal action!

Now, without further ado, we return to our regularly scheduled story, not yet in progress...

Ezekijah and Miriam stood in the entry hall of the Messenger headquarters in heaven. The archangel Gabriel was before them, his face beaming with pride.

“Initiates” he said, in the almost-serious voice he only used for official functions, “Ezekijah and Miriam, it is my most grand honor to present to you, your promotion to Trainees.”

Ezekijah raised one eyebrow, and Gabriel laughed heartily. “Seriously,” he said, “This is mostly about having your own equipment.” “Oh?”, said Ezekijah. “Yeah,” replied Gabriel “,now that you’re Trainees, you get your own gear. It’s available in the North Section, from a blacksmith named Barak-Enoch. You can visit him in the morning, but for now, you should get some rest.”

Ezekijah and Miriam turned to go. They stepped out of the building onto the golden street, and walked a few minutes. Then they reached a crossroads. Ezekijah lived to the left, and Miriam’s dwelling was off to the right.

Ezekijah turned. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” “Yes.”, Miriam answered. “Where?” “Here’s good.” Ezekijah turned to go, and the two separated.

The next morning, Ezekijah awoke and went through an angel’s typical routine of breakfast, training, and study. Despite the connotations the word “routine” has for an average human, Ezekijah took great pleasure in his routine. He had a delicious breakfast of nectar, ambrosia, and the Fruit of Life, and he savored every minute of it. This was followed by an hour and a half of intensive training. Ezekijah trained in at least three different forms of unarmed combat, to say nothing of his practice with sword, spear, axe, and fireball. If angels could sweat, Ezekijah would have worked up a good one.

He also studied many academic subjects, mostly those relating to Messenger tasks, but also some general angelic knowledge. His favorites, of course, were those books and films chronicling the Great War. He particularly enjoyed watching and reading about the exploits of the Archangel Michael. He spent a few hours each day studying the theories and tactics of tempters, as well as those on his own side, and the history of Heaven. This was his routine, but it never got old or boring, never became the “daily grind”. It was pleasant and he took pride in his dedication to duty.

But soon the morning was nearly over, and he figured it was about time to go meet Miriam. So he went out the door, and onto the street. He saw the dwellings of several other angels, painted many colors. The young Power turned to the right, striding along the street. He was not alone, as there were always three or four angels in sight, but it was never crowded. Heaven was plenty large enough for everyone, and getting bigger.

As Ezekijah walked down the street, he had a feeling of contented pride at his promotion to Trainee. This was, after all, only one step below a full-blown Angel, or, in Malachin, the native tongue of angels, a Yehudar. The Yehudarim were choate Angels, second only to the Rabonim, Masters of the Angelic arts.

Ezekijah turned a corner, coming around to the same crossroads where he had parted with Miriam the day before. There she was, looking as if she had just arrived. “Now then,” she said, “Which way is it?” “That way,” Ezekijah replied, pointing forward, and started to walk in that direction.

As they walked, Ezekijah turned to Miriam. “How’s it going?” She turned back. “Oh, all right. No different than normal, you know.” “Nothing interesting happening?”, Ezekijah asked. “Well,” Miriam responded, “A friend of mine over in Intelligence thinks the demons are looking for something near the ruins of Atlantis.” Ezekijah looked slightly puzzled. “Really?” “My friend’s paranoid. She sees Satan’s plots to bring down thousands of humans everywhere. But that’s not typically his style, and it’s not like he’s low on tempters or something. He has no reason to try anything that dramatic.”

It was around this time that they arrived in the North Section. There were many buildings here, the largest of them a ruined Ivory Tower that had once belonged to Lucifer. In front of them was a smaller building constructed of bound silver light. At the top was a sign, reading: “Barak-Enoch, Hábiltat Kythryhek”, Malachin for “Dedicated Spark, Skilled Smith.”

Well, actually, it was Malachin for “Barak-Enoch, Skilled Smith”, but Barak-Enoch means Dedicated Spark or Dedicated Lightning.

Miriam started forward, then turned back. “Aren’t you coming in?” Ezekijah looked toward her. “You go ahead, I’ll be in in a minute.”

He stood and looked around for a few moments. Then, above him he saw a dark shape. It was an angel, a Throne, with a Throne Yehudar’s red wings, dressed in the trademark apparel of a biker.

The new arrival swooped to the ground, a menacing look on his face. Ezekijah stood his ground, waiting for the Yehudar to make the first move. “Hello.”, the Throne intoned contemptuously. “Hi.”, Ezekijah answered coolly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The Throne looked down at the younger angel, sizing him up. “I’m Azazel. Miriam’s father.” “Oh?”, answered Ezekijah, attempting to seem assertive and, for the most part, failing.

Azazel looked at him. “I’ll make this crystal clear. If your, er...friendship with my daughter is to continue, you’ll have to prove your mettle.” He withdrew his sword, and it burst into flame. “Have at thee.” Immediately, time seemed to slow down as the older angel charged, flaming sword lit. Ezekijah deftly leapt aside, and his training kicked in as he reached for the sword’s hilt. Azazel was too fast, however, and swung the sword back. It caught Ezekijah. Hard.

He fell back, struggling to remain conscious. That’s gonna leave a mark. It was around this moment that Miriam wandered out of the shop. She stared in horror as Ezekijah fell to the ground and her father rounded on him.

Ezekijah stared up as the Yehudar turned on his left foot, bringing his sword to bear. “Yimshil!”, Ezekijah cursed under his breath. He swung to the right, evading Azazel’s charge, and rushed for the Throne’s sword. Success! Ezekijah and the sword rolled out in front of Azazel, knocking him down.

Ezekijah rolled out and stepped back, bringing his sword to bear on the older angel beneath him. It seemed to burn with an unbridled ferocity, huge flames nearly licking Ezekijah’s face. Consumed by fury, he drew back the sword. Then he heard a scream from behind him. “No!” Instantly drawn out of his rage, he realized what he had been about to do and a look of horror spread across his face. Azazel smiled and began to laugh heartily, then, almost as an afterthought, added, “I yield.”

Ezekijah handed him back his sword and extended his hand to help the older angel up, but Azazel simply leapt back to his feet, nodded, turned, and flew off. Ezekijah turned back to Miriam, raising one eyebrow. Miriam looked back, shrugged, and said, “Don’t look at me.” “Hmmm.”, Ezekijah replied, then went into the store. Miriam stood outside, shaking her head. She would demand an explanation later.

Meanwhile, Ezekijah, somewhat shaken from his ordeal, entered the well-organized shop, and began to examine the many varieties of weapon. There were Greek spears, Roman short swords, medieval European longswords, and many more. He eventually settled on a Greek design, with a blade in the shape of a leaf, and a Hoplite shield, and stepped out of the shop.

An awkward silence fell between Ezekijah and Miriam. Surprisingly, she was the one who broke it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” “Yeah.”, Ezekijah replied.

The two parted, and went their separate ways. Ezekijah wondered exactly what it was that he had just experienced. Miriam, for her part, went away fuming. How could her father do this to her? And just when things were going so well. It seemed even angels have bad days. As for Ezekijah, he walked down the street in confusion. He didn’t know what to think. As he entered into his house, he reflected on his lack of a true family.

Both of his parents had disappeared soon after the Fifth Battle of N’Krar. They were believed to be trapped in Limbo, or tsadae’d, the closest an angel could come to death. No one knew where they were, though, and even Camael, the leader of the Recovery Squad, had been unable to find them. Ezekijah wondered if he would see them again before Judgment Day. On that painful note, Ezekijah laid down to sleep, wondering what Miriam was doing at that moment.

Around this time, Miriam stormed into the large house she shared with her parents, and slammed the door behind her. Immediately, she walked into the living room, where her father sat casually, sipping a shot glass of ambrosia beer. Miriam crossed her arms over her chest. “Well?” Her father glanced at her. “Well what?” “You know very well what. Why did you attack Ezekijah outside the Blacksmith’s?” “Oh, that.”, he responded. “Well, you see, it really was for your own good. He had to be tested.” “So Gabriel’s judgment wasn’t good enough for you? The fact that we were assigned to each other by him didn’t satisfy you? You...Uuuh.” Miriam stormed off, ignoring her father’s pleas to wait.

The next day, Ezekijah and Miriam met once again. This time, it was at the Training Hall. This was their day for group training, so they didn’t get much chance to talk until it was over. After group training had finished, Ezekijah approached Miriam in the entrance hall. “Look, Miriam. I don’t know how much you saw of what happened the other day, but--” “Stop,” Miriam interrupted. “Before you go on, I want you to know something. I don’t blame you for what happened there. My father can be very overprotective.”

Ezekijah stepped back a little and leaned against the wall. “All right, that’s good. I wanted to make sure you knew that whatever goes on between your father and I, I hope that won’t affect our relationship.” Miriam sighed and looked back at him. “I’m...sorry it came to this. I’m sure my father won’t approve, but I don’t care right now. I stand with you. You are my mission partner, my friend, and...well...” Ezekijah cocked his head to the left and added tentatively, “I hope we can be more than just friends, Miriam.” Miriam looked back. “Yeah. I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?” “All right.”

On that note, Ezekijah returned home. He was sure this was not the last encounter he would have with Azazel, but he figured he had probably earned at least a grudging respect from him. And at least he knew where Miriam stood on the subject.