“As you ever have been since my birth, my father,” Rathma replied, his generally bland tone with a hint of an edge in it.
The newcomer looked away from the pair, instead seeming more interested in the general landscape. “And have you seen your mother of late?”
“No. I have been fortunate in that regard. I wish I could say the same concerning you.”
Now Rathma had his attention again. “Your insolence is unbecoming. Be grateful that I have not deigned to punish you for your past sins.”
Mendeln watched the pair, still uncertain, despite what he had heard, that this was indeed Inarius. He knew that the angel was master of the Cathedral of Light and had heard of the Prophet’s general description, but to actually see the young figure was disconcerting, to say the least.
As if sensing this, Inarius turned his gaze to the human. Suddenly, Mendeln had no more doubts. The eyes were enough to stop him in his tracks. He could not even say what color they were, just that to have them look his way made Mendeln almost wish to drop down on his knees in worship. That made him again wonder just how much help he would actually be, should Rathma truly need him. If he was this weak merely because of a look…
To his surprise, a slight chuckle escaped Rathma. “Not so insignificant, are they?”
“And that may be their downfall,” returned the angel coldly. “You and your kind had no place here. Nor do these. If they cannot be contained, they must be removed…” He turned from them as if they were nothing to him. His sandaled feet left no impressions in the snow. “Sanctuary must be purified…”
Rathma was uncharacteristically emotional. “For who, Inarius? For who? All there would be then is you! Must all else in this world bend to your will or be expunged for their defiance?”
“They exist by my will, therefore, yes…” The Prophet turned to them again. As he did, Mendeln noticed that he momentarily left the edge of the mountaintop, yet did not fall. “This is a debate we have had before, Linarian…”
Rathma pulled his cloak tight around him. “That name I have rejected, as I have you and my mother.”
The Prophet shrugged. He glanced briefly at Mendeln, then again at his son. Without warning, Inarius suddenly said, “You know why I am here.”
“Of course.”
“You were forbidden.”
“Fate decreed otherwise,” Rathma returned.
The angel spread his arms and his face contorted. His hair stood on edge and he grew larger and larger. Fire radiated around him. “I am Fate here. I am the yea or nay for all that exists in Sanctuary—”
“Beware!” Mendeln’s companion warned, not that Uldyssian’s brother needed to be alerted. The son of Diomedes drew his own dagger, a thing seemingly so insignificant in the sight of Inarius’s abrupt and staggering transformation.
I AM THE ULTIMATE JUDGE OF WHAT IS AND WHAT SHALL BE! declared the angel, his mouth no longer moving. The words struck Mendeln much as Trag’Oul’s had, but without the dragon’s consideration for their effect on a mortal body and mind. It was a struggle to maintain his stance, but Mendeln knew he dared not falter.
From the angel’s back burst what at first Mendeln took for magnificent, fiery wings. Yet as they spread wide, he saw that they were more astounding than even that. The wings—so different from the feathered ones that Mendeln had most of his life imagined on angels—were actually strands of light that moved almost as if with animation of their own. They writhed and shifted like serpents or tentacles, a very contrary suggestion to what the angel represented. Inarius’s body and face contorted. A breastplate formed over his torso. The handsome, youthful visage sank into darkness beneath an immaculate hood, once within, finally transforming completely into shadow. It was as if there was no true physical substance to him. All vestiges of Humanity vanished as a heavenly warrior suddenly hovered beyond the mountain’s edge, one gleaming, gauntleted hand pointing accusingly at the angel’s rebellious offspring.
I SPOKE WITH YOU OUT OF MEMORY, BUT THAT TIME IS PAST FOREVER NOW! YOU WISH LINARIAN DEAD, THEN SO BE IT! THERE IS NO TIE BETWEEN US!
“Was there ever ?” Rathma shouted back, ivory dagger held before him like the strongest of shields. Mendeln followed suit, hoping that it was not a futile gesture.
THE STONE AWAITS ME…Inarius gestured. AND I AM DONE WITH YOU!
The mountaintop exploded.
The force unleashed by the angel ripped up snow, ice, and rock in great chunks. Mendeln expected to be tossed away with them, but for the moment, the area around him and Rathma remained intact. Not much else did, however. Dirt and snow flew everywhere and Mendeln likely would have been crushed if his own weapon had not suddenly emitted a pale light that now enveloped him. He glanced at his companion and saw that Rathma was likewise protected.
But with rock and snow crashing about him, Mendeln did not know how much longer the two would be safe. Above them, Inarius pointed with his other hand—and Mendeln felt the ground beneath him collapse.
“Remember what you have been shown!” shouted Rathma.
But all Mendeln could think about was that he no longer had any footing. His fear of falling had at last become a reality. Rathma vanished from his sight, the other’s footing also torn out from under him.
As he fell, Mendeln caught sight of Inarius, the angel watching the destruction with what could only be called detachment. Even his own offspring was of no consequence to the winged being. After all, Rathma had committed the ultimate sin; he had defied his father.
Clutching the dagger tight, Mendeln sought some way to save himself. Then, a hand clutched his collar, slowing his descent. He knew instantly that it was Rathma.
As the avalanche continued, Rathma set him down on a small outcropping still holding. The shrouded figure then alighted next to him.
“This is not over!” he called.
Not at all surprised, Mendeln prepared himself for the worst. Inarius would not leave this task incomplete.
And sure enough, the winged warrior fluttered into sight. Inarius—his face more of a brilliant armored mask—inspected the two.
Mendeln felt the angel focus on him. He prepared for the end—
WHAT HAS HE DONE? demanded Inarius. WHAT HAS HE DONE…AND HOW?
Only after a moment did Mendeln realize that Inarius spoke of Uldyssian. He had no idea just what about his sibling so concerned the angel, but suddenly feared anew for Uldyssian’s life.
WHAT HAS HE DONE? Inarius repeated. WHAT HAS HE DONE TO THE STONE?
From behind Mendeln, Rathma shouted, “He has done the undoable, Inarius! He has done the undoable!”
The angel hovered in silence for a moment. He started to gesture at the pair, then lowered his hand. THEN…HE MAY HAVE CONDEMNED YOU ALL…
And with that, the winged being soared high into the sky, dwindling to a dot in less time than Mendeln could count to the number one. Then, in a flash of light so brilliant it momentarily blinded the human…Inarius disappeared.
The devastation wrought by Rathma’s father—so easily, Mendeln dourly thought—began to settle around them. The entire top of the peak had been radically altered. Now, it looked as if the mountain had grown a giant, three-fingered paw with jagged claws on two of the digits. He and Rathma stood on the outer edge of the third, a drop of well over a thousand feet merely one step away.
One question burned to be spoken by Mendeln. “Why do we live? We were clearly nothing to him, whatever your beliefs before we came here! Why do we live?”
“We were not nothing to him, son of Diomedes,” the ancient figure responded, dusting off bits of dirt and snow. “If we had been, we would have been dead without ever knowing he had arrived. It is because of what we—and your brother most of all—represent, that my dear father paused to speak at all. Certainly not for me alone, as we have spoken all we can, lo, these many centuries past. He also came in part out of curiosity surrounding you, Mendeln ul-Diomed, and what a jest it was when he found that he could not bend your knee to him…”