Fallen

Chapter Five

Never had there been such a strong sense of formality in this room. Despite its official uses, and the assumed air of authority one would equate with it, the sense of decorum had never been so strong. Unlike with most meetings held here, where the numbers could ebb and flow based on requirement, this gathering was quite small. No more than seven stood, almost strategically placed, all with the same nervous tension across their features.

Jonathan stood closest to the head of the room, his wife, Anne, a pace behind his flank. Hands clasped behind his back, his eyes staring straight ahead, one would assume he was completely at ease. But that would not be the case, as no one in this room was calm. Everyone felt the air of anticipation, heavy and weighted.

Not even a week ago, the Angel Yerachmiel had appeared on the spot where Jonathan now stood. As he cast his eyes down, he swore he could still feel the energy, as though the cold, gray brick floor had absorbed part of the Angels being. It was untrue, of course. And yet, he couldn't deny the slight warmth beneath him.

Without warning, a light appeared only paces ahead of him. Bright, white and blinding, it surged for several moments, blocking out the fireplace that was the only main fixture in the Summit hall other than the meeting table. As the light ebbed, in its place remained three figures, their features still obscured by the intensity. They were silhouettes against the brightness, and as the light faded, slowly they came in to view.

Jonathan wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but this was not it. When he had been told three Angels would be sent to him, to work together to better the chance of the Fallen's return to grace, never did he consider that they would appear as human. Or be so young.

There were three of them, all standing forward, the central figure a pace ahead of the others. Hands clasped at their backs, a typical stance of relaxed authority; one that Jonathan and the Fallen representatives were also trying to emulate, but even now, not with the same effect as the newcomers. Each was dressed in a crisp white suit. But as Jonathan had somehow, unconsciously, expected wings to be protruding from their backs, these three were distinctly human in appearance. If it hadn't been for their ethereal air, he would have assumed them mortal.

Their youth was also surprising, as they appeared to be no more than twenty. Of course, Angels did not age, as age itself was a mortal fate. The messengers aged, although at a slower rate than mere humans. Fallen, along with their damnation, aged as though entirely of the human race. When anticipating knowledgeable and just beings from heaven, Jonathan had expected them to appear at his own age. Not barely older than his daughter.

The central figure, immediately taken as the Lead, inclined his head in greeting. He was of average height and build, his hair such a pale blonde Jonathan felt it could be considered white.

"Jonathan Caison," the Angel spoke, the voice so calming, so musical in its tone, it only intensified the reminder that these beings were not of Earth.

"I am," Jonathan responded, in turn with a nod of his head. "I welcome you to Los Angeles."

"We thank you for your acceptance, and for your welcome, Lead." The Angel praised. "Let me introduce my colleagues. This is Miles, an apprentice to Azbogah, who will oversee fair judgment. And Michael, serving under Rahmiel, ensuring mercy." Opening his hands in greeting, the Angel smiled. "I am Ariel, first assistant to Yerachmiel, Angel of Earth. It is he who has summoned us here, on his behalf."

"And we thank him for his faith," Jonathan responded. Stepping back, he gestured towards the council table. "Please, sit."

With a silent grace, the three Angels stepped forward in sync. It was a hypnotic sight to behold, they way they moved. They made no sound on the stone, no movement of their fabrics. Each stood with the perfect poise and posture of Royalty, as they slowly slid into the chairs provided on the messenger side of the table.