Despite the intensity of the purple light washing away the colours of the garden, Michael was becoming accustomed to its brilliance. Looking around, he could not see the owner of the voice calling him.
"I must apologize for the mess," the voice said.
The shattered and fallen pillars littering the overgrown and the now entirely purple garden trembled. Slow at first, their bulk shifted before flying into the air. Spinning round and round, every piece of stone and ruin sprang from the ground, becoming an immense funnel cloud.
Michael stepped back from the flying whirlwind of cracked marble. His initial expression of awe faded. The phantom voice and its shifting stones were initially a surprise, but since dying, he had seen more astonishing sights than this. He was surprised to discover how desensitized he had become to such theatrics.
One by one the pieces joined together, melding with sand and dust. Broken slivers of stone and pebbles filled the cracks and gouges in the faces of the worn pillars. Segments mated with each other until what had once been destroyed was renewed. With thundering crashes, each newly reformed pillar planted itself back down on the grassy floor of the garden. Standing before Michael was an Acropolis reborn, backlit by the brilliant purple light.
"A new beginning, born of a broken past," The voice said.
Michael drifted above the grass, gazing at the new roofless temple that had been thrown together. The curling bands of the distant Aurora celestialis became dim and obscured by the mists above. Their shifting green and blue lights were unable to penetrate the violet light spreading through the garden. Michael reached out his hand, sliding it across the pristine marble. There were no signs of cracks or age on the smooth pillar.
"Anything is possible here." The voice said.
"I know." He said, turning away from the pillar. "Who are you? Where are you?"
"I am everywhere and I am nowhere. I am everything and nothing. I am every question and every answer. I fill the unknown places in between."
"And you speak only in riddles?"
"It depends on the questions I am asked." The disembodied voice replied.
"Are you going to show yourself or keep hiding?"
"Have I not shown myself to you already? Is this temple not proof enough of my presence? The light? My voice?"
"The temple is a parlour trick." Michael said, crossing his arms. "It may prove your presence but it's no more than that. If you want to speak with me, show yourself."
"Brave words for a soul with half its memories," The voice said.
"Insightful words for a spirit who hides from view." He rebutted.
A pale smoke rose from the grass near Michael. At first it was very thin, much like a cigarette smouldering in the grass. As Michael watched it blossomed into a thick plume. The smoke hung in the air, moulding into a vaguely humanoid silhouette with a pair of bright crimson eyes. The eyes narrowed as they focused. With the exception of the bright red eyes, the wisp reminded Michael of Raziel's shade, Whistlow. He wondered where his new companion was. He hadn't seen Whistlow since their introduction in Raziel's study. Michael looked into the dark eyes bobbing inside the translucent body of purple smoke. "You're still hiding."
"Correct."
"Why's that?"
"My identity is unimportant at this time. What you can do and become is of greater importance."
Michael cocked his head and regarded the smoky figure. "Let's just get on with it. Who are you, why am I here and what do you want? Answer me."
The smoke of the banshee figure roiled, folding in on itself. With a brilliant flash of purple light, the shade vanished. In its place hovered the looming figure of a powerful Angel. Ruffling its broad white wings caused the pure white robes of white silk that hung from its defined, powerful shoulders to ripple. A broad golden cincture was tied about his waist and its three tassels dangled below his feet, which did not touch the ground. Kind, gentle eyes of gold matched the flowing curls of the Angel's hair. The eyes spoke to Michael of truth, compassion and responsibility. The calm within the eyes gave off a pervading sense of clarity and serenity.
With a subtle beat of its wings the angel propelled itself forwards. Weaving around the restored pillars of the temple, the Angel said. "I AM Sandalphon and this is my garden. You have left the Source and travelled back into the fog of the spirit. We hover very close to the river of life, but are blessedly separate from it."
"Not possible. I didn't choose to leave the Source. I have choice in all things."
"That's really very interesting Michael. Tell me, is that a personal belief or what you've been told since losing your memories?"
"Trusted friends restored my memory. What I have seen is true."
"You are free to believe what you must." The Angel replied. His eyebrow arched when Michael did not answer. "Floating here as I do, one hears many things. Does that surprise you?"
"Not really." Michael answered.
"I have heard talk about a strong young soul who died and lost his memories. That very same soul is also a regular companion of the once Archangel of Death." Drifting closer, Sandalphon's unblinking eyes bored into Michael. "This soul has been to Hell and back. It threw a Daemon Lord into a wall, no less, while in Dumah's own province. Your exploits have captured my attention.I wanted to ask for your help."
"Help, with what?"
"I want you to help Azrael."
"How so?"
"She is in grave danger and I believe you are the only one who can help." Sandalphon said.
"How could I possibly help her?"
"Don't marginalize yourself because you are a soul. You are capable. It was proven in Gehenna. She must have seen it too. Beyond the love and happiness you give her, now you can save her too."
"How do you know that? Is she in trouble?"
"Michael, you're the last one Shade and his agents will expect to rescue her. They know you were hidden for safety. They hunt Watchers and Outcasts. You could slip into the world undetected." Sandalphon continued, eyes unwavering, unblinking. "Shade is using Dagan to help his endeavours, why shouldn't we use you?"
Michael felt a sudden competitive urge, as though he couldn't let Dagan be involved and unchecked, Michael asked, "What's happened?"
"Azrael goes to recruit a Black Angel's aid. Beside the very real danger of seeking out Adimus, the mysterious Shade knows about her meeting and has laid a trap."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"The Outcasts are spread thin trying to prepare for the balancing. They spend half their time looking over their shoulders for hunters while attending to their responsibilities, not to mention trying to recruit new members. They are swamped and you are available. This challenge will unlock the remainder of your memories, showing your true potential. Aside from you, Azrael is alone on the world."
"Surely you could save her?" Michael observed.
"Would that I could," Sandalphon said, holding out his open arms. "I am not meant to become directly involved in the affairs of the world."
"I don't understand." Michael said.
"Of course you don't, you're not an Angel. I, however, am. Since I no longer reside in the Silver City or the Heavens below, I promised not to participate directly in the course of human events. I must remain true to my pledge."
"Then how can you tell me about Azrael being in danger?"
"I promised not to become directly involved. If one can help point the way in troubled times, they should. So, I am. Giving direction without becoming directly active."
Michael shook his head. "That makes no sense. You're not picking a side."
"You do float in the realm of the undecided."
"That doesn't mean you must." Michael protested.
"I have been detached for too long to be anything else."
Michael, suddenly found his anger rising at Sandalphon's indifference. "You can help her!"
"I choose not to. I choose to warn you. You care for her more than any other. As I see it, who better to save her? You have the ability, the desire and the will. All you must do is decide to act."
"I promised her I'd stay at the Source."
"You have already left the Source." Sandalphon looked down on Michael. "Did she promise to return for you?"
Ashamed of his hesitance, Michael averted his eyes from the angelic stare.
"Of course she did." Sandalphon's voice softened, "However she never expected to be ambushed. The true aspects of life cannot be predicted, no matter who or what makes the auguries. You can obey Azrael, return to the Source and do nothing, of course. There's a price to that inactivity. You will lose her forever." Sandalphon said matter of factly, before turning his wings on Michael. He floated into the great temple.
She would understand, wouldn't she? If he saved her she couldn't be angry with him. He'd be justified, for once. Setting his jaw firm and square, Michael looked to the retreating Angel, "Where is she?"
Sandalphon turned, his face set with a wide grin. An iridescent flash of imperial purple flame flared bright across his eyes. "Deep in a black forest of the old world is a ruined cathedral, the lair of Adimus. It is a forgotten place, one that sees few visitors, living or otherwise. That is where the agents of the Shade lay in wait for her."
"Who are they?"
"Haroth, Maroth and their new master, Azazel."
"You really think I'll be able to surprise them?"
"I'm certain they'll be very surprised to see you." The Angel said. Holding out one of its massive hands, the Angel offered Michael a violet crystal.
The crystal had appeared tiny in the Angel's hand, but now, as Michael held it in his own hands, the crystal seemed to be the size of an altar candle. Cut into the shape of an obelisk, it shone with dull pulsing light. It was weightless and even felt warm in Michael's hand.
Sandalphon told him, "This will show you the way to Adimus and Azrael. It will tell you when you are close and when Daemons are close to you. Listen to it and follow. It will not steer you wrong."
"What do I do when I find the Daemons?" Michael asked.
"Deal with them, of course." Sandalphon said. "As you dealt with Dumah, they threaten your love, your friends and life itself. Think on that and you should have no problem." The Angel said and was gone.
As the purple light drained from the foggy island's garden, Michael replayed the conversation over in his head. Daemons meant to take Azrael away and he couldn't let that happen. Sandalphon's casual disregard for the Daemon's abilities worried him. If these three could take Azrael, how could he hope to stop them? He had thrown Dumah around by surprising the Daemonlord, but as Michael remembered, he couldn't do much after the surprise wore off. If not for the arrival of Azrael, he was certain he would have been filleted like a helpless trout. Perhaps all he needed to do was surprise the Daemons before springing their trap. If he could expose them, perhaps Azrael could escape or defeat them.
When the garden began shaking Michael's worries fled like mist under the rising sun of a summer's morning. The newly formed temple shuddered, its pillars creasing with the lines of age. Cracks appeared and the marble splintered and crumbled. The temple toppled quickly, pillars and shards of stone thudding into the mossy ground of the lush garden. Flowers and stones vanished, as the fog rolling across the garden consumed everything.
Michael gripped the crystal tight, thinking of the silence and peace of the Source. He vanished from the garden moments before the last tufts of grass were enveloped by the fathomless grey of the in between place.