The Peacock Angel: Rise of the Decarchs

  * * *

  "Did you say four hundred million?" Thane asked with a touch of skepticism. "Because that's a lot of angels."

  Armaros smiled and seemed somewhat amused by the interruption. "I had wondered how long you could listen to my story without respite," he countered. "I understand it must be difficult to digest or even hard to believe all that I tell you. To your credit, you sat there and listened longer than I thought you would before stopping me. And yes . . . at one time the angels numbered four hundred million. Of course many things have changed since then."

  "No Armaros," Thane said, "I don't find it at all difficult to believe what you say. From the first words that came out of your mouth, I knew that whatever you told me would be the absolute truth. I can't explain why, but I'm certain that you're telling me the story just as it happened."

  Thane had noticed an open pack of discount cigarettes while he was talking. The smokes were resting atop an end table next to the recliner he was sitting in. He didn't smoke very often-card games, nights on the town-but the pack was right there and the circumstances seemed to warrant a drag or two. He reached into his pants and pulled out a silver Zippo that he took with him anytime he wore pockets. It had been a gift from his Dad.

  "I'm pleased that you feel that way Thane. I had hoped that you would. One of the most daunting things I've ever had to do was confront you, tell you my story, and convince you that I am who I say I am."

  "I don't know who you are," Thane replied. "I had never heard the names Armaros or Semjaza before today. All I know about you is only what you've told me up to this moment, but I have heard of Mikhael, Gabriel, Raphael, God, and heaven. I do believe you Armaros . . . I mean . . . you're doing some pretty heavy name dropping here. It has an affect you know."

  Thane leaned back slightly in the big chair and crossed his legs. He took a long, deliberate pull on his cigarette, switched it over to his left hand, and dropped it into one of a half dozen empty beer cans that littered the end table. His eyes fixed on the big angel as they left the can.

  Armaros was watching. He seemed to sense that Thane had more to say, and he was giving him that opportunity. A quiet ensued, but neither seemed bothered by it. In fact, Armaros looked as if he rather enjoyed the silence.

  "You're not snappish or impetuous," Armaros said, "I'll give you that. But you must have countless questions in your head. It's okay."

  After almost a full minute, Thane found his voice again.

  "After my parents were killed I prayed all the time," he began. "Not just lying in bed at night or at church on Sundays, but all the time. I suppose I could have questioned God and turned away right then and there, but I didn't. I never thought to do such a thing. My faith was strong, and I accepted the deaths of the two people that I loved most in this world as part of His plan."

  "I noticed the first chink in your cool demeanor just now when you mentioned your parents," Armaros admitted. "It was a barely audible crack in your voice, but I caught it. I've been scouring you for some show of emotion ever since we first met. I've gotten very little for my efforts. It hasn't been long ago that I laid myself down to sleep in a little cemetery-a month or two perhaps-but I was beginning to fear that you were damaged in my absence; you seem so detached, even when presented with a story such as my own. But now I know better. You still hold a tremendous capacity to love. You're just guarded, and seemingly unflappable."

  "There was no pretend in my faith either," Thane continued. He could not respond to the words of Armaros. Not now. "I was steadfast in my beliefs no matter the situation. I focused on my work and my church, and I felt like I made it through that time in my life pretty well considering."

  He paused once more and began anew. "But as time passed my hurt lessened as is the natural course of things. Without even realizing why, I was praying less and less. My faith began to dissipate, and other things seemed to become more important. Eventually I came to understand that I had been using my faith as a crutch, and I was not nearly as devout as I believed myself to be. Nowadays, I pray rarely if at all. I'm lukewarm at best."

  A final pause and Thane concluded his confession to Armaros. "I tell you this because I realize there's a reason why you're here. Something is expected of me, and I don't think I'm up to task, whatever it may be. You've only just begun your story Armaros, and already I'm ashamed by my faithlessness. The moment I truly understood what you were and the consequences of what that really meant, I wanted to hideaway and never be seen again."

  "I have hidden away Thane. I've tried to escape the attention of the Uncreated for thousands of years at a time . . . always believing that he thought me destroyed or imprisoned and that it would be the end of me if he found out otherwise. As you just said, I have only just begun my story. I'm far from being a normal angel, the kind that you would feel ashamed in front of. I'm no messenger of God, or happy cherub; my story is unique Thane, and I think you need to hear it all before you judge yourself too harshly."

  Thane had just begun to nod his head in agreement when a knock on the thin trailer door startled him immensely. This was beyond unexpected. He looked at Armaros pleadingly for direction.

  "Answer the door Thane. It seems we have company."