Developments in photographic technology, especially multilayered color film, gave us hope that we
would achieve great accuracy, perhaps even capture the color of the eyes—too blue to be real, as if
someone had ground lapis in oil and brushed it over a sun-filled windowpane. These attributes would
be documented in our field notes and duly added to the appropriate accounts of the journey, but
photographic evidence was essential.
After we had completed the first series of photographs, Dr. Seraphina removed a measuring tape
from a burlap camera bag and squatted at the creature’s side. Placing the tape along the body, she
took its measurements and converted the results to cubits, to better compare them with ancient
documentation of the giants. As she calculated the measurement into cubits, she shouted the numbers
aloud so that I might record them. The measurements were as follows:
Arms = 2.01 cubits
Legs = 2.88 cubits
Head Circumference = 1.85 cubits
Chest Circumference = 2.81 cubits
Feet = 0.76 cubits
Hands = 0.68 cubits
My own hands shook as I jotted the findings in a notebook, leaving a track of nearly illegible
markings that I retraced, reading the numbers back to Dr. Seraphina to make certain each measurement
was correct. From the numbers, I estimated the creature to be 30 percent larger than the average
human being. Seven feet was an impressive height, awe-inspiring even in our modern era, but in
ancient times such height would have seemed nothing short of miraculous. Such extreme height
explained the terror that ancient cultures associated with the Giants and the dread that had surrounded
such Nephilim as Goliath, one of the most famous of their race.
A sound rose from the cavern, but when I turned to Dr. Seraphina, she didn’t seem to notice
anything except me. She was observing me as I executed the field notes, perhaps worried that the task
had overwhelmed me. My distress had grown more visible. I had started to shake and could only
imagine how I must appear to her. I began to wonder if perhaps I had taken ill on the journey through
the mountains—the ride had been cold and damp, and none of us were dressed well enough to protect
us from the mountain winds. My pencil trembled in my hand, and my teeth chattered. Occasionally I
stopped writing and turned to the darkness that stretched in a seemingly endless cavity beyond. Again
I heard something in the distance. A terrifying sound echoed from the depths.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her gaze falling upon my shaking hands.
“Don’t you hear it?” I asked.
Dr. Seraphina halted her work and walked away from the body, to the edge of the river. After
listening for some minutes, she returned to me and said, “It’s nothing but the sound of water.”
“There is something else,” I said. “They are here, waiting. They expect us to free them.”
“They have been waiting for thousands of years, Celestine,” she said. “And if we are successful,
they will wait for thousands more.”
Dr. Seraphina turned back to the angel and commanded me to do the same. Despite my fear I was
drawn in by the angel’s strange beauty—its translucent skin, its soft and continual light, the sculptural
poise of its repose. There was much speculation about angelic luminosity, the predominant theory
being that angelic bodies contained a radioactive material that accounted for their endless brightness.
Our protective clothing only minimized exposure. Radioactivity also explained the horrid death
suffered by Brother Francis during the First Angelological Expedition and the sickness that claimed
Clematis.
I knew that I should have as little contact with the body as possible—it was one of the first things
one learned when preparing for the expedition—and yet I could not restrain myself from drawing
nearer to the creature’s body. I peeled away my gloves and knelt at its side, placing my hands upon its
forehead. I felt the skin, cold and wet against my palm, retaining the elasticity of living cells. It was
like touching the smooth, iridescent skin of a serpent. Although it had been submerged in the depths of
the cavern for over a thousand years, the white-blond hair shone. The shocking blue eyes, so
disconcerting at first glace, now had the opposite effect upon me. Looking into them, I felt that the
angel sat by my side, calming me with its presence, lifting all my fears away, and granting me an eerie
opiate comfort.
“Come here,” I said to Dr. Seraphina. “Quickly.”
My teacher’s eyes widened at the sight of my hands on the creature—even an angelologist as young
and inexperienced as I should have known that physical contact broke our safety protocol. Yet,