Cassius
THE PAST WAS A painful reminder of my uncertain future, and exposing her to that, unsettled me completely, but if she wanted the truth.
I could not.
Would not, keep it from her.
“Watch,” I whispered, lying down with her near the fire, as her body relaxed against mine, I waited for her to fall into a deep sleep and prayed that she wouldn’t hate herself for what she was.
Because Dark Ones… were not the heroes.
But the villains.
I kissed her forehead and began my story as I walked into her dream, grasping her hand tightly. “Look, look at the ones who watch.”
Two hundred men stood on the edge of the mountain, each of them well over seven feet tall, their faces were perfectly shaped as if the person who had created them had special knowledge of just how far away eyes should be from the nose, and the nose from the lips.
To stare at them was to experience the fullest of contentment.
To be in their presence was absolute adoration.
A battle brewed in front of them, yet they were immobile.
“They were called the ones who do not sleep.” I pointed at the line of men as their gold armor glistened against the sun, a sword and shield was placed in each hand. They continued to stand, their hair tangled in the wind, a mixture of reds and black tendrils escaped out of their gold helmets.
One of the two hundred flinched as a man was decapitated.
He lowered his head for a fraction of a second, while one of the men next to him grunted.
And still, they stood.
“Why aren’t they helping?” Stephanie asked. “Humans are dying! Getting slaughtered by one another. Why don’t they intervene?”
“Because it’s not their job,” I answered. “Their job is to watch, their job is to never close their eyes. For when you close your eyes, even for a brief moment, you lose sight of what’s in front of you, and at times, you can lose sight of what’s inside.”
“That makes no sense.” Stephanie pointed back down at the humans. “Blood’s everywhere, it would take two of the men on the mountain to stop this.”
“One,” I corrected her. “It would only take one.”
The scene changed and suddenly the village in front of them was getting swallowed up in flames.
And again.
They watched.
Stephanie screamed at them. And yet they watched. “Cassius! Do something, there’s women…” She choked out a sob. “Children are dying!”
“Children die every day.” I spoke in a soft whisper. “They see it every day, they’ve been watching for hundreds of years, what makes this day different?”
Stephanie covered her eyes as a child was tossed into the fire—alive.
Screaming she tried to run toward the men watching, but I held her back. It shattered my heart, to see her reaction, to know that the men could have done something—but that they couldn’t.
“Stephanie.” I licked my lips. “To act is to go against every cell in their body, every reason they were created. You have to understand, they were not made to feel, they were made to act.”
“Then why don’t they act!”
“Because they have not been told to… yet.”
More children screamed.
And then suddenly a light shone down on the two hundred men, flickering against their gold shields. Each shield held the design of a tree, but every tree was different, as if its origin came from a differing country or region.
The shields swiftly moved to the front of the men, and with a roar the two hundred descended upon the crowd of humans getting slaughtered.
It was over in thirty seconds.
Less than that.
The humans thanked the men, the same men who had watched them suffer for days, weeks, years, not knowing that this wasn’t some army marching through as they had claimed, but actual beings, created to watch over humanity.
My mother stumbled out of her hut, then fell to her knees in loud choking sobs.
The man, the same one who had flinched while watching, stopped in front of her then knelt down. “Woman, why do you cry?”
His voice was so hollow, as if he didn’t understand emotion.
“My son.” She choked out a long horrendous sob. “He was thrown in the fire…” Even through tears stained cheeks, blood caked to her fingers, and her hair matted, she was beautiful. The man sucked in a sharp breath, admiring her for the first time. “He was only a year, sir.”
“A year,” he repeated. “To be so new…” He shook his head. “I cannot comprehend such a short amount of time.”
“It wasn’t enough.” My mother hung her head. “I’ll mourn him forever.”
As an angelic being, the man could feel the woman’s sadness as if it was his own. He pulled off his helmet, set down his armor, and helped her to her feet.
It was his first mistake.
For without his armor.
He’d forgotten his purpose.
And when he touched her.
He closed his eyes. For the first time in his existence.
And when he opened them—her.
Only her.
And nothing else existed.
How, he wondered, had he gone so long watching, but not truly seeing?
As his men walked back up the mountain, to regain their rightful place, to stay awake, to watch.
He hesitated.
He never hesitated.
He wasn’t aware of the meaning of it.
Until that moment.
So beautiful.
I.
Want.
His breath came out in a whoosh.
Want.
Want.
Want.
Heartbeat slowing, he pressed her hand to his cheek as his blood roared for something more—than watching.
Watching was no longer enough.
He closed his eyes again.
And again.
And again as she continued to touch his face.
“Why are you crying?” the woman asked.
“Name?” he whispered. “What do they call you?”
“Nephal,” she answered. “It means—”
“—fallen.” He jerked away, took one step, then two. As if his very life depended on it, he put distance between him and Nephal.
“And yours?” she asked.
Want.
Want.
Want.
He knew he shouldn’t tell her, something cried out inside of him, that it was wrong, the entire exchange, something told him it would not end well, but he only wanted seconds, minutes, hours, maybe he wanted days, and was it wrong to want time? When he was given so much of it? After all, he was still watching, he was just watching. Her.
“Sariel.” The minute his name was released into the atmosphere, the wind picked up, a warning, from nature, from the very earth that he’d sworn to protect.
Do not do this. The mountains trembled.
Do not do this. The wind hissed.
Do not do this. The ground shook.
“I will not do this.” Sariel repeated out loud as the wind died down.
The woman hung her head. “Thank you… for all you’ve done.”
She turned her back.
He didn’t want her to.
He wanted.
Want.
Want.
Want.
“Sariel!” One of his men barked out his name. “We return to the mountain.”
“To watch,” Sariel said, his tone bitter.
Azeel looked stricken. “Brother, of course we watch. It is our purpose.”
And for the first time, Sariel… wanted more.
The earth shifted that day, without his brother’s knowledge, for when he watched, he watched Nephal.
When he watched, he dreamed of her.
And when his brothers were doing their duty.
He was closing his eyes and remembering her hand on his face.
It was years before he would see her again.
And the opportunity arose as the village was yet again attacked. The men, disbursed from the mountain.
They went in all directions.
But Sariel went to Nephal.
Once he reached her hut, he knocked on the door then burst through when she did not answer. “Nephal? Are you hurt?”
“No.” She frowned, rising up from her bed, the fur fell from her naked body. Sariel had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.
Already he could sense that the battle was nearly over, his brothers, returning back to the mountain.
“I missed you.” Tears filled her eyes. “I do not know who you are… but I miss you. Why do I miss you?”
He didn’t know why.
He just knew he felt the same way.
“Why do you only come when we are in trouble?”
“I cannot answer that.”
“Why do I feel strongly for you? A man? A stranger I do not know?”
“I cannot answer that either.”
She nodded, covering herself with the fur and laid down.
Sariel was immobile, and then he found himself peeling his armor off, layer by layer.
He lay by her, pulling the woman in his arms as his body whispered mine.
But his heart.
His heart was in the most danger of all.
For when she sighed against him, it was as if time, did not slow, but picked up, reminding him, that it would run out. And his precious woman, would die.
Sariel returned to his men, to his spot on the mountain a different being that day.
And his brothers knew.
“What have you done, brother?” Ezaju whispered under his breath, rarely did he ever speak. “You smell of humanity,” He turned his head, taking his eyes off the village. “You stink of earth.”
Sariel looked down, in shame. “I love her.”
His brothers, all one hundred ninety-nine of them, seemed to gasp in unison, and then began talking all at once.
“Do you want to send us to hell?” One spoke above the rest. “Do you realize what will happen if one of us falls? All of us fall!”
Sariel sighed. “You think I don’t know that? You think I’m unaware of repercussions. I cannot help how I feel.”
“Try!” Ezaju yelled. “You must try. For the sake of all of us!”
Sariel nodded. “I will… try.”
“We watch,” Bannik replied. “We do not sleep. We do not close our eyes.” The brothers all returned to watching in one loud clap of thunder and repeated. “We are the ones who keep our eyes open. We are the awake.”
But Sariel… did not repeat it.
For his vow was long ago broken, the minute he closed his eyes and wanted.
Stephanie hid her face in my chest. “I’m not sure I want to see anymore.”
“The story ends soon.”
“But does it end well?” she asked.
“It ends the only way it can.” I licked my lips as the vision disintegrated in front of us.
Sariel was again at the village.
And Nephal was already waiting for him.
He knew his brothers were watching, but he kept thinking, if only they saw the joy, if only they saw what they could have.
He slept with her.
Not once.
Nor twice.
Many, many times, and each time he grew more and more attached to the woman who held his heart. The woman he would bind himself to forever.
She was lying across his naked body when she whispered, “I am with child.”
“Impossible.” Sariel shook his head. “We are not human.”
Already he’d told her too much, about the heavens, about the stars, about his race.
“It is possible. It must be.” She touched her belly. “Already I feel his movement.”
“And how do you know it is a boy?”
“Is it?” She smiled brightly and Sariel caught on to the excitement, pressing his hand against her stomach in joy until the destiny of the child played out in horrific visions of the future.
With a gasp, Sariel pulled his hand back. “He must… not be born.”
Nephal jerked away from Sariel. “How could you say that? This child was conceived in love?”
“This child.” Sariel shook his head. “Will be hated… scorned, constantly surrounded by darkness.”
“Darkness?”
“He will never experience true joy or contentment, constantly pulled between two planes, between immortals and mortals alike. He will know division and darkness, the darkness and cruelty of the human race will be his lover, his companion. I cannot allow him to be born. My love for him, for you, is what guides this.”
“Never!” She shouted, tears streaming down her face. “If you touch me I’ll kill you!”
“Nephal—”
“Go away!”
Sighing, Sariel did as she asked.
And didn’t return until the babe was born.
That night, with Bannik at his side, he entered the tent, ready to destroy the abomination, when his eyes locked on the child’s.
Bannik tensed next to him and then uttered, “I cannot kill our flesh.”
“He is…” Sariel swallowed down his emotions. “He is part of us.”
He joined Nephal on the bed as Bannik looked on.
And then a great thunder sounded.
Bannik sighed, his eyes heavy, his heart heavier. “They’re here.”
And as if the sun had descended to earth, a legion of Angels landed in the camp, shining bright with gold and silver armor. The Archangels joined the first part of the ranks, while the rest of the soldiers fanned out around the tent.
And one hundred and ninety-nine of his brothers, marched down the mountain, for the last time.
To their death.
Sariel wrapped Nephal in one arm protectively while hovering over the child.
“Cassius,” he whispered. “We will name him Cassius.”
Nephal nodded, tears streaming down her face.
The tent door was opened.
“Creation is forbidden,” the Angel said in a booming voice. “What, brother, have you done?”
Bannik stood next to Sariel’s side, hand on his sword.
The Angel held out his hand. “We did not come to fight. We refuse to fight our own blood. We came to pass judgment, but what are we to do with a young child? Innocent in ways of the world? Innocent in ways of humanity and immortals alike?”
Sariel stood to his full height. “I could not…” He lost his voice and tried again. “This is my sin, but I cannot punish him for it. I could not.”
“Nor would it be asked of you,” the Angel fired back, his eyes blazing like fire. “Children will always be protected…” He sighed. “But this child or any born in this way, will forever be cursed.” The Angel’s eyes went black. “He will carry a darkness, and every day it will try to consume him. If he gives in, he will be killed. We will have no choice, for he has the knowledge of the heavens and the power to command at will. If he gives in to the darkness, there will be no saving him from himself, for he will be pure evil.”
Cassius, the child, cried.
Sariel nodded. “I will train him.”
“Your punishment.” The Angel spoke low in his throat. “Your curse… is that you will always carry the weight of his decisions. Sariel, we leave you twelve brothers, to help you keep the immortals and humans in balance. Now that you have mixed the blood, we are no longer at peace.” The wind swirled, nasty and angry. “But, brother, a lifetime of war. Between the races. Between each other, for you have created, and that is beyond our realm. It is forbidden.”
Lightning flashed as Sariel made his way out of the tent.
Two thousand Angels stood, ready to fight as fire struck down from the sky, destroying the mountain where the brothers had watched.
A deep sadness ripped through Sariel as most of his brothers, the ones who were awake, were commanded to sleep, and fell to the ground.
“They will slumber,” the Angel commanded, “until their penance is paid. As for the rest of you.” He pointed at the twelve remaining brothers and spread his hands wide. “Do not fail again.”
In another loud clap, the Angels returned to heaven.
All but one.
He was small.
Like a child.
Slowly, he took a step forward and held out his hands to Sariel.
“We give second chances.” He nodded. “To our creation.”
The child smiled brightly like that of a star shining in the sky, sucking the breath from the very air Sariel breathed.
And then wings grew out of Sariel’s back. “Your brothers will not slumber forever. And you will need the strength and knowledge of the heavens for the darkness that is coming.” He spread his hands again. “Remember, where there is darkness…” His voice lowered to a whisper. “There is also great light.”
The dream ended.
Stephanie woke up sobbing against Cassius, he held her while his mother returned from her own sleep.
In one final gift, Sariel’s human was given immortality.
So he would never see her age.
But they were to never lie together again.
Or he’d be cursed to roam the earth for an eternity.