Dark Origins

“Everything,” I said back. “I shall take.”

“Nephal?” I hear his voice jolting me out of my memory and open the flap of my tent. He is walking toward me. People are trying to ignore him, knowing full well he’s coming to my tent to both talk to me and make love to me.

“Here.” I smile at him.

His smile is wider now—huge, actually. Perfectly straight white teeth appear against his olive skin and dark hair; his eyes go from blue to white and back again before he pulls me into his arms and kisses me.

I ignore the fact that people are watching. I don’t really care anymore as this giant of a man holds me midair kissing me senseless.

Let them see. What can they do to this sort of being?

Throw rocks at him?

They worship him anyway, though I agree they shouldn’t; it is hard not to when you look upon his face.

I would one day understand the reason.

I would one day understand his curse.

He carries me into my tent. His helmet is already thrown off with one of his hands as his mouth continues to devour mine, and then he pulls back and sits, holding me in his lap. “Are you well today, my Nephal?”

I smile; he could easily make love to me every hour of the day. Instead, he chooses to always talk to me first.

I love him more for it.

With a smile, I cup his cheeks. “Busy, and yours?”

“Oh.” He rolls his eyes. “Positively bristling with excitement.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh really?”

“Yes.” He adjusts me on his lap. “I counted the clouds, then got bored and decided to count how many birds flew by, and then, I decided to watch you and your day; it was a better decision, I think.”

“Me?” I laugh. “I’m boring.”

“Never.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips. “You do so well with your healing, and you treat the village children so carefully. I’m so proud of you.”

Tears well in my eyes at the mention of children. I touch my stomach on instinct; he looks down, then back up, then back down.

Carefully he rests his hand against mine, slowly I slip them away, so it’s his palm against my stomach, feeling his child.

His eyes blaze white as he touches then recoils.

It wasn’t what I expected.

I didn’t imagine an angel would go into shock discovering he was a father. I quickly try to move off his lap, only to have him pull me against his chest so hard it’s almost painful. “Is this true? Do I feel my son’s heartbeat? Impossible, I am not human!”

“Son?” I ask with tears in my eyes. “It’s a boy?”

With a gasp, he pulls his hand back. “He must… not be born.”

I jerk away from him. “How could you say that? This child was conceived in love?”

“This child”— he shakes his head in sadness, in rage, confusion—“will be hated… scorned, constantly surrounded by darkness.”

“Darkness?”

“I see it! 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!” I shout, tears streaming down my face. “If you touch me, I’ll, I’ll kill you!”

“Nephal—”

“Go away!”

He sighs, tears streaming down his cheeks. I want to reach out, but how could he say such things about an innocent child?

Sighing, Sariel does just as I ask. He picks up his armor and looks over his shoulder, expression heartbroken.

But what about me?

What about a mother raising her son alone all because the man who claims to love her doesn’t want the child? Or thinks he will be born in darkness. How can children be dark when born out of light?

I cry myself to sleep, heart breaking, and vow to never look at the mountain again.

ELEVEN

Sariel

I cry.

I don’t remember ever truly crying like this, where my cheeks are constantly wet, my lips constantly trembling as I see his face in my mind’s eye as I know the future he has… all because I looked away from my purpose.

All because I fell in love with his mother.

I love her still. I watch her still. I watch over them the best way I know how—after all, that is my purpose, is it not? To be still and watch?

After reprimanding me, my brothers don’t speak to me often, but I know they sense my despair as a few tears run down their cheeks every so often, only to turn to the very ice we stand on and break.

Is this truly our destiny?

I am now questioning everything about my existence to the point of wanting to fall, which is not a thought that should ever occur!

Months go by. She rubs her stomach often as she grows heavy with child; she feeds the babe well as she eats and drinks. But she never looks up at the mountain—at me.