Jadalan had come close to the edge of the angel’s kingdom. Ahead of him, a golden gate hung in the sky, flanked by winged sentinels holding drawn swords. The gate was so vast that he felt he could touch it, but it was some leagues off yet. Jadalan put down his bag of meagre belongings and stared back up the road for a moment. He could no longer see any of the shining dwellings of the angels, only a strange, flat plain of sparkling stones. Here the dominion of Earth crept over the threshhold and the magical stuff of angelic creation drew back its toes in distaste. Jadalan allowed himself to shed a few last tears of farewell. His vision was blurred by them, to the extent that it seemed a shimmering vortex spun along the road towards him. Jadalan blinked and the rushing spiral was still there. He made a sound of distress and picked up his bag to run and run. He was sure it was Lailahel coming after him and he feared for his life. All misery was forgotten in that moment of stark desire for survival. He began to run, but the sparkling stones of the road had become slippery beneath his feet so it seemed that, as if in a dream, he could not go forward at all. The rushing wind was nearly upon him and, uttering one last despairing, defiant wail, Jadalan fell to his knees, covering his face, letting the vortex engulf him. But then there was no cold, furious embrace but only a sudden stillness and a voice he knew saying, ‘Jadalan, Jadalan, get up. Get up quickly.’ The voice was almost unrecognisable because of its hollow ring of fear but he could tell it was Variel.
The instant relief and joy that recognition gave him soon subsided to a more bitter, spiteful human reaction. ‘You should not follow me, Variel,’ Jadalan said. ‘I am returning to the land of my fathers as Lailahel wants, and, if you were truly honest with me, you’d say you wanted too.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Jadalan!’ Variel said, surprised.
‘I won’t return! I can’t!’
‘I know that. Neither can I. Look.’ Variel held out his hand and uncurled the long, pale fingers. In his palm rested a single, enormous, perfect pearl in which the colours of the universe shifted and writhed. Variel looked at the light of it reflected in Jadalan’s face.
‘The pearl. You took it.’ He looked at Variel. ‘Why?’
‘I’m not sure. It seems senseless, I know. When Sabbalom comes cursing over the wall, Lailahel will know that it was me who took it. I’ve exiled myself. For you. It’s senseless. I don’t know why. I thought I could sneak in and steal it and bring you back. We could have said you’d taken it yourself and everything would have been alright. I must have been out of my mind. The place was crawling with sentinels who kicked up such a cacophany when they saw me that Sabbalom himself came out onto the lawn. He saw me and was furious. He will know who I was. I can’t go back. You must take me with you.’
Jadalan looked wretched. ‘No, Variel, I can’t do that,’ he said. ‘You’d hate it and then you would hate me. Say, I bewitched you, anything, only go back to your father’s palace. I beg you.’ He had clenched his fists helplessly in front of him.
‘How strange you are Jadalan. You don’t want me to go back at all,’ Variel said. ‘Neither am I going to.’
‘I’m human, you’re an angel. You’d pine for your home. Please. Go back. Let me go.’
‘No. I don’t want to live here without you. I can change. I can live in the world of men. Others have done it. I want to be with you, Jadalan.’ He held out his arms and wrapped Jadalan in them. Then Jadalan was lost and could not have sent Variel back for all the freedom in the world. They clung to each other, tiny as pins on the wide, glittering road, with the great gate of creation hanging over them.
‘Come,’ Variel said. ‘Lailahel will follow, I’m sure of it. We must go.’
Jadalan kissed him one last time and picked up his bag. Together they walked towards the gate, swiftly, not looking back. After a few steps Jadalan said, ‘What is that odd noise, Variel?’ He made to turn and look behind them, but Variel hissed.
‘No, don’t look, don’t look! It is just a breeze passing over the stones, nothing more.’ They increased their pace.
‘Variel,’ Jadalan said in a low, tense voice. ‘I am filled with fear - filled with it! What is that noise?’
Variel clutched his arm, bringing pain. His face was almost translucent, his eyes wide and completely black. ‘Don’t look back, don’t say what you think it is. There are just soul birds flying above us, that’s all. Quick! Quick!’ They were almost running. Hot air blew the hair up on their heads and a whistling scream penetrated through the wind; a scream of fury and potency.
‘Variel, it’s him! It’s Lailahel!’ Jadalan screamed, unable to keep the name inside him any longer.
‘Then run! Then run! Then run!’ Variel replied, and half swooping, half running, he dragged Jadalan along the road, which roiled like smoke beneath them, a writhing black shadow between them and the gate.
Jadalan felt tears of sheer terror sting his face. He could hardly see the Gate now and swore he could feel the hot breath of the avenging angel on the back of his neck.
Suddenly, Variel pulled him to a halt. ‘Keep going, Jadalan,’ he said, ‘I shall distract Lailahel in some way. I will come to you. Keep going.’
‘No,’ Jadalan craoked. ‘You won’t. Lailahel will kill you. Let’s keep going - together...’
‘Hush, no time for that, no time at all. Run. I love you. Run.’ And Variel let out one shuddering gasp of breath and blew Jadalan up the road.
Jadalan wailed and waved his arms, calling out, until Variel disappeared into the black smoke. His voice came faintly to Jadalan’s ears or maybe into his mind. ‘I’ll come to you, I promise. But you’ll only know me if nobody else touches you in love before I come. Otherwise your memory of me will fade completely. Take care, Jadalan, and wait for me!’
Then the black mist enclosed Variel completely. The Gates of Creation creaked open and Jadalan was sucked, head over heels into the world of men.
Variel stood small and straight upon the road, facing the approach of Lailahel, with Jadalan’s wails fading behind him. All he had as protection was the pearl from the Tree, and his knowledge of such things was far from all-encompassing. Lailahel appeared as a black storm, eyed with golden orbs of anger. The raging column paused in front of Variel, its spinning decreasing until the tall, slim form of the angel could be seen hovering within it.’What are you doing?’ he asked in a reasonable voice.
‘I am following Jadalan to the world of men,’ Variel replied. ‘You cannot stop me Lailahel. I have made up my mind.’
Lailahel uttered an indulgent laugh. ‘A pretty show of loyalty, dear child, but woefully misplaced! Do you realise what will happen to you in that place?’
‘Nothing worse than the emptiness I’ll feel should Jadalan go from my life.’
‘Such loneliness would be a boon in comparison! Foolish child! If you turn from our world and live upon the Earth, you will become mortal as they are, doomed to age and die. But neither will you become one of them. You can’t. Neither man nor woman can you be, and they will fear you because of that. They will cast you out and pelt your body with stones, a body that will be an abomination to them, because they will not understand it.They will desire you and loathe you. And as for your beloved Jadalan, well, under the light of his own sun you will appear as a demon to him, a creature of darkness. What is translucent and holy here in our lands will become freakish clay beneath the sun. Follow him, Variel, and you condemn yourself to a misery as eternal as mortal life can be.’
Variel hesitated. Then he said, ‘You lie,’ in a small, uncertain voice.
Lailahel laughed.’Lie do I? In your heart you know that I do not. Come home with me. If you desire closeness then I can give it to you, but do not turn to mortal beings for that - ever. They will destroy you, as they destroy all things they do not understand. And, it must be said, he could never give you pleasure, Variel. It is beyond his capabilities. Stay with your own kind. Come home.’
Variel still hesitated. He stared hard at Lailahel, whose golden eyes were impenetrable
as the metal itself. ‘I shall have to see this for myself,’ he said at last.
‘You won’t be able to return if everything goes black. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘I gave him my word I’d follow.’
‘They expect us to break promises. We are angels, unpredictable and contrary. Forget him, Variel. Come home.’
‘In my mind, I see the sense in your words, Lailahel, but my heart is telling my mind to be silent. I love Jadalan. I must follow him, for good or bad. I have no choice.’
Then Lailahel grew in stature until the image of him filled the whole, glowing sky. He turned the sky livid violet with his fury. ‘I will not let you go, Variel. You are my son.’ And poisonous tendrils of semi-solid fume snaked towards him.
Variel screamed, unsure of what to do. He found that he had tossed the pearl from the crown of the Tree of Life high into the air, where it spun and spun, a single bright mote against the shadows of the angel’s rage. The pearl contained the sum of all knowledge, a blinding ache that burst into the air of the land of angels, a thousand thousand sharp thrusts of light and meaning. In an instant, Lailahel was given the vision of Variel, bound and helpless, chained in the palace of light and the light was gone from him. He was given the vision of himself suffering the pain of love unrequited as Variel watched the windows for a Jadalan who could never return. All life would be sterile should Lailahel force Variel to return home. With a wail that equalled Jadalan’s in despair and wretchedness, Lailahel was sucked inside the vortex of his own ire and disappeared with an eery hiss in the direction of the palace of light.
Variel was left upon the road, alone. He turned around. Above him the giant sentinels spread their wings and drew back the Gates that he should pass. He flew towards them. They did not look at him directly. Variel followed Jadalan into the world of men.
Jadalan meanwhile had emerged from the realm of angels in the land of Cos and, as fortune was with him, very close to the city of Ashbrilim, the home of his parents. It was early morning there and Jadalan found himself walking along a wide, dusty road with fields on either side. He stared at the marvels of the mortal world; the jewel colours of the trees and grasses and flowers, the impossible hue of the morning sky as the sun rose in the east. Horses galloped through the dew, mad with the joy of simply being alive. He walked and walked, and, as the the hour drew on, came across other people setting out for their day’s work in the fields, the markets, the villages. At noon, he paused by a well to drink and a pretty girl with green eyes and a brown dress offered him a cup of milk instead. She took him to her cottage and fed him and then offered him more than food or drink. ‘Kiss me,’ she said, pouting prettily. ‘I’ve never seen a lad more handsome than you.’
‘I can’t,’ he replied, smiling.
‘And why’s that? Spoken for, are you?’
‘In a way. I’m waiting for an angel.’
The girl laughed good-humouredly and pestered him no more. Jadalan could tell she thought him strange, perhaps mad. He left the village, still heading west. By late afternoon, the spires and turrets of Ashbrilim could be seen like a mirage in the sky. Jadalan asked an old man scything grass by the road, ‘Is that the city of King Ashalan?’
‘It is,’ the old man replied.
‘My parents live there. I’m going home,’ Jadalan said and the man nodded and smiled; perhaps he too saw a madness there.
Jadalan wandered the streets of Ashbrilim, eyes wide, steps dragging with fatigue brought on by the assault of stimuli to mind and senses. A thousand brutish odours filled his nose, far removed from the vague perfumes of the land of angels. Everywhere colour and noise whirled around him, indecipherable to his alienated condition. He was almost blind, shaking and nauseous by the time he reached the gates of the palace. The reason for his being there was fading fast in his memory; his body was unable to cope with the drastic differences. Out in the country, those differences had been pleasant, challenging, new. Here in the city, they were cruel and overwhelming. The close proximity of thousands of human souls and human bodies oppressed him; he could sense all their petty cruelties and jealousies, all their dark secrets. Jadalan sank wearily to the ground, leaning upon the closed gates. Never had he felt so ill.
Then, with a shattering burst of noise, the gates were thrown wide open, causing the wilting Jadalan to cringe further towards the dirt, hands to ears, his stomach churning. Loud shouting and laughter, and the sound of horses’ hooves sounded from within the courtyard. Jadalan crawled to the side, just in time to avoid being trampled by a group of riders trotting smartly out into the city. Jadalan squinted. Shapes blurred before his eyes. He did not know it was Ashalan himself, setting off for an evening’s hunting in the forests and fields beyond Ashbrilim’s walls. Dogs swarmed around the horse’s feet and it happened that one of them was the puppy with which Jadalan used to play, in those days before the angel came. Time moves in a strange way between the worlds. Though Jadalan had been away for many years in angelic terms, only eight seasons had passed in the land of Cos. If Jadalan had returned a different way, or on a different day, it might have been that he’d come back to a place where his family had been dead for years. It might have been that the city itself had fallen to dust. There was no way of knowing. He’d been lucky and the dog that he had petted as a baby recognised his scent, broke away from the pack and bounded up to him, tail wagging wildly. Before Jadalan could move, the animal had covered his mouth with affectionate licks, the touch of love that Variel had warned against, thus effectively destroying any vestiges of memory that Jadalan had retained of the recent past. He lay back in the dust with the dog nuzzling his face, eyes staring vacantly at the sky. Ashalan noticed the commotion and sent one of his aides to see what the dog was doing.
‘Why sire, it is a lad,’ the man said.
Ashalan dismounted and went to see for himself. It was as if Jadrin himself lay there, stupidly gazing, but a Jadrin of even finer aspect and ambience.
‘The boy is ill,’ someone said. ‘Perhaps diseased.’
‘Have someone take him into the palace,’ Ashalan said.
‘Is that wise, sire?’
‘Have someone take him into the palace.’ The king’s tone was not to be argued with.
In this way, Jadalan returned home, but without the capacity to say who he was or what had happened to him.
Because of his beauty, he was taken to the royal apartments, bathed and laid in a soft bed. Ashalan had even considered that this was some relative of Jadrin’s come to seek him out, but Jadrin claimed no recollection of such kin. He watched the boy coolly as the servants tended to his body. He felt he ought to be angry at the way Ashalan had brought him in; it was obvious why, and yet, some part of him, deep within, was drawn to the pale stranger. ‘Perhaps I find him attractive myself,’ Jadrin thought and yet, it did not feel that way.When the servants had finished, Jadrin sent them away. He stood and stared at the boy lying there. ‘Yes, he looks like me,’ he thought. ‘How odd.’ A vague memory stirred, of a moonlit bathroom and blood, black in the moonlight, pooling on the floor. Jadrin shuddered and the boy opened his eyes. They were the colour of violets.
‘Who are you?’ Jadrin asked and the boy struggled to speak. ‘Who are you? Who are you?’ Jadrin had leaned right over him, his voice filled with a tremor that could have been fear. Then a whisper: ‘Who are you?’
The boy sighed. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I am no-one. I am nothing.’
Jadrin found himself pressed against the far wall, one hand to his mouth. He dared not think. He dared not hope. Nothing.
Jadalan recovered slowly, but his mind seemed almost empty. He wandered, pale and lovely, through the corridors of his parent’s palace, sat with them to eat, smiled and nodded at their friends, walked in the gardens with his arm through Jadrin’s, became beloved to them. Jadrin suspected who he might be, but never voiced his thoughts. Perhaps Ashalan too had some intimation of the boy’s identity, but a weird kind of fear kept the king and h
is consort from discussing the matter. Jadalan simply was. He was with them and they were fond of him. People seemed afraid of the boy so Jadrin named him Ailacumar, which was a deity name, seldom used by the populace, but which represented the god in his aspect of wandering youth. Ailacumar hardly ever answered to his name. There seemed within him a deep and secret sadness. He slept for most of every day and though he smiled, would never laugh.
Variel came to earth in the middle of a forest. He crouched shuddering, beneath the branches of a giant oak, his gossamer angelic robes torn to shreds, his amber skin bruised and scratched. For a while, he could not remember who or what he was, why he was there or where he had come from. The earth claimed him. Stupid with terror, senseless to a degree even more than Jadalan had been, he was unaware of urine pooling beneath him, melting the last of his clothing. He had come to earth and its coarseness claimed him instantly, as if resentful of his aetheric origins. Learn reality, She said. Feel pain and fear; piss yourself. By nightfall, under the softer caress of the moon, Variel stumbled painfully along a forest track. The ground beneath his feet tore his flesh, even the light of the moon burned him. He was unprepared for a visit to Earth. Lailahel was experienced and knew what precautions to take, how to modify his form. Variel was virgin and ingenuous and the Earth mocked him.
Eventually, he found shelter in a byre at the edge of the forest. Lights burned in a farmer’s cottage nearby, but he was too terror-stricken to seek aid there. Animals moved patiently in the musty darkness and he lay down in the hay, shivering himself to sleep. There were no thoughts of Jadalan, not even any thoughts of home, just a bewildered and helpless vacuum in his mind. All he desired was rest and warmth.