Angelology(96)

casting a light so thick over the bewildered man that he appeared to have been dipped in

bronze. Gasping, Francis fell to the ground, covering his eyes as the intense light burned his

flesh. To my horror, I watched as his garments dissolved from his body and his flesh melted

away, leaving charred muscle and bone. Brother Francis, who minutes before had clutched my

arm, beseeching me to return to the boat, had died of the angel’s poisoned light.16

XII

The minutes after Brother Francis’ death are all confusion. I recall the sound of the angels

hissing from their cells. I remember Francis’ horrid corpse, blackened and misshapen before

me. But all else is lost in darkness. Somehow the angel’s lyre, the very treasure that had

brought me to the pit, was within my grasp. With all haste, I collected the treasure from the

fallen creature, cradling the object in my charred hands and placing it in my satchel, safe from

harm.

I found myself sitting at the prow of the wooden boat, my robes ripped and tattered. My

entire being pained me. The flesh peeled from my arms, curling away in bloody, blackened

sheets. Clumps of hair from my beard had burned to the roots. It was then I realized that I, like

Brother Francis, had fallen under the horrid light of the angel.

As had the other brothers. Two stood together in the boat, pushing desperately against the

current with the pole, their robes singed, their skin badly burned. The remaining member of

our party lay dead at my feet, his hands pressed over his face, as if he had died of terror. As

the boat came to the opposite bank of the river, we blessed our martyred brother and

disembarked, leaving the boat to spin down the river.

XIII

To our dismay, the murderous angel stood at the riverbank awaiting our arrival. Its beautiful

face was serene, as if it had just woken from a restful slumber. Upon seeing the creature, my

brothers fell to the earth in prayer and supplication, undone by terror, for the angel was

formed of gold. Their fear was justified. The angel turned its poisonous light upon them,

killing them just as it had killed Francis. I fell to my knees, praying for their salvation,

knowing they had died in worthy service. Looking about me, I saw that there was no hope of

assistance. The shepherd had abandoned his post, deserting us in the gorge, leaving only his

woven satchel and the ladder, a betrayal I felt bitterly. We had required his assistance.

The angel examined me, its expression one of vapidity, as if it were little more than a

medium of the wind. With a voice more lovely than any music, it spoke. Although I could not

make out the language, somehow I understood its message clearly. The angel said: Our

freedom has come at great cost. For this, your reward will be great in heaven and earth.

The sacrilege of the angel’s words affected me more than I would have imagined. I could

not fathom that such a fiend would dare promise a heavenly reward. In a terrible burst of fury,

I lurched at the angel, wrestling it to the ground. The celestial creature was taken off guard by

my anger, lending me a superiority I used to my advantage. Despite its brilliance, it was a

physical being composed of substance not unlike my own, and in an instant I tore at its mighty

wings, grasping for the naked, delicate flesh where the appendages met the creature’s back.

Clutching the warm bone at the base of the wings, I threw the luminous creature to the cold,

hard rock. Passion overwhelmed me, for I do not recall the exact measures I took to achieve

my ends. I know only that in my struggle to keep hold of the creature and my desperation to

escape the pit, the Lord blessed me with an unnatural strength against the beast. Wrenching the

wings with a ferocity I could scarce believe came from my own aged hands, I felled the

creature. I felt a crack under my hands, as if I had broken the thin glass of an ampoule. A

sudden exhalation of air escaped the angel’s body, a soft sigh that left the creature helpless at

my feet.

I assessed the broken body before me. I had torn a wing from its mooring, ripping the pink

flesh so that the pure white feathers folded at an asymmetric angle against the body. The angel

writhed in agony, and a pale blue fluid poured from the wounds I had opened on its back. A

disquieting sound emanated from its chest, as if the humors, once released from their internal

vessels, had mixed in a disastrous alchemy. I soon understood that the wretched creature was

choking to death, and that its horrid suffocating had resulted from the injury to its wing.17 It is

thus that the breath dies. The violence of my actions against a celestial creature tormented me

beyond all fathoming, and at last I fell to my knees and begged the Lord’s mercy and

forgiveness, for I had laid waste to one of heaven’s most sublime creations.