Forbidden Fruit
by Damien Hunt

They had taken rest in a small clearing Sofiel had found for them, a parting of the seemingly endless expanse of damp woodlands their flight took them over. There was a sense of excitement within the fellowship as they gathered in the soft long grass of the small field and quickly started talking amongst themselves, not surprising really as this was to be the first mission on their own. Only Sofiel was absent from the smiling and chatty group of Engel, the tireless Urielite taking once more to the sky moments after the fellowship touched down. It was a dark sky, overcast with billowing clouds ready to unleash more of the steady rain upon the land. Sofiel had faded from sight within moments.

While the others continued to talk cheerfully amongst themselves, Zathrael stood and walked slowly away from them. He shifted the weight of the holy relic of his order, the flaming sword, so that it might be less bothersome to him while walking upon the earth and continued towards the edge of the wood bordering their temporary sanctuary. Troubled brown eyes searched absently through the shifting skies as his mind wandered in contemplation of the scouting Urielite.

Sofiel was a silent Engel, keeping to himself even among his fellowship. This was not his first fellowship, that much was clear. Many intricate lines of scribed signum and sigil across his flesh proclaimed his experience and time since the ordination. The rest of the fellowship was young, like Zathrael himself, and newly ordained. Although Sofiel wore many votive-cloths proclaiming the praise of the Holy Angelic Church for his many services to the Lord above, he did not walk with the sin of pride in his heart. The young Michaelite, Imriel, wisely listened to his counsel, but the orders she gave to her fellowship were never directly challenged by the elder Engel. Quiet, strong and dutiful, Sofiel was an exemplar messenger of the Lord above. Yet, whenever the Urielite was around, Zathrael found himself uncomfortable.

“Hungry?” the soft voice came from close by, snapping the Gabrielite’s attention from the sky and the unsettling thoughts of his mind. Before him stood Sofiel, holding aloft a fruit in offering. Zathrael forced himself to blink a couple of times, the form of the Urielite before him seemed half merged with the edge of the foliage. Slowly the Engel retained his normal form as if the wood itself was reluctant to release the divine messenger from their protective embrace. He still held out the fruit for Zathrael, no outward sign of amusement or concern for the stunned silence and inaction of the Gabrielite and he quickly moved past Zathrael once the fruit was accepted. Sofiel brought more of the food to the rest of the fellowship before moving off to the other side of the clearing by himself as he so often did.

A moment later Zathrael turned to follow, but his return to the fellowship was cut off by the presence of Imriel. She held a piece of fruit in her small hands, a bite taken out of it and a smile on her face. Blue, like the rare moment a break in the clouds cast a glimpse of the bright open sky, were her eyes and Zathrael could never keep a frown long when they cast their light upon him.

“Its good, you should eat before we return to the clouds,” her voice said simply without the weight of command, yet moving him to comply none the less.

He nodded quietly and ate, sitting down to take a last bit of rest before continuing their long journey. She joined him a moment later, sitting beside them to finish her own piece as they faced the fellowship a short distance away, also enjoying what Sofiel had provided. Zathrael looked down at the ground beneath him as the image of Sofiel flashed through his mind once more. The Urielite’s arm extended in offering, a fruit grasped in his hand and a smile on his face as the rain poured down over him, beading and falling off of those magnificent wings that seemed to stretch out from his back forever. Hungry? Zathrael looked back up suddenly and glanced around him. It had yet to begin to rain. His questioning stare was ensnared by Imriel’s curious eyes, but confusion was slow to leave and he could only look away towards the fellowship once more, in silence.

“Sofiel is sad, I think, whenever your presence is near,” again her voice washed over him and he looked back towards her, “you should find out why, before we reach our destination.”

She rose and once more her simple comment held within it a subtle authority and he nodded, rising to his feet with her. As they headed back to the others, Zathrael finally released the confusion from his mind as he made up his mind to soon seek answers from the enigmatic Urielite. Moments later they lifted from the field of soft damp grass just as the first droplets of rain splashed down from the heavy clouds above.

Zathrael never had his chance.

Smoke, ruin and rain fell upon the blood stained earth and upon what remained of the fellowship. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes that he had come to rely upon, they stared skyward, but they no longer held any life within them. Imriel’s shattered body lie broken and still, yet the light smile that had always stirred confidence within the young fellowship remained upon her lips. The others were gone as well, leaving only Zathrael and Sofiel behind as their spirits no doubt soured back into the welcoming arms of the Lord above. He kept telling himself over and over again that they had gone on to a better place. A better place, a better place, a better place. The rain hid his tears, though the rains would stop for a time, they always did. Zathrael did not know if his tears ever would.

“Avery?” the voice, always so quiet, now struggled to maintain even a choking whisper as the Urielite somehow held onto the last spark of life within him. Zathrael looked down upon Sofiel and said nothing. He could say nothing, his tears spilling along with the rains down upon the torn open body. Yet Sofiel’s eyes where clear and for the first time since Zathrael had met the Engel, his eyes were not burdened by some sadness.

“That... is... your name... Avery... remember it...” the dying Engel coughed out slowly, painfully, but Zathrael could only shake his head in confusion, “...re... member... it!”

Finally Zathrael’s voice found its release from the clutches of his overwhelming sorrow, “I don’t understand Sofiel.”

A smile crept onto Sofiel’s face, a sad smile, “you will... some... day... I’m... sorry... Avery... my fault.”

Somehow Sofiel’s arm moved though it was almost completely severed from his body. His hand opened, placing a piece of bloodstained votive-cloth into Zathrael’s hand. Zathrael looked, questioning, upon his dying friend who only smiled sadly back, but managed to impart a few last words, “You are... so... so much... like... yo... your father.”

Zathrael was left then, the only surviving member of his young fellowship. Alone, lost and wounded upon a battle torn field amid the victims of the Dreamseed. Zathrael sat for a long time among his dead fellowship. The rains stopped from time to time. The tears continued, relentless. Finally he opened his hand, the scrap of votive-cloth wrapped around a small piece of familiar fruit. Zathrael left then, lifting into the sky and leaving his fallen fellowship behind. Leaving his name behind, his understanding behind, his church behind and leaving perhaps even what he thought was his faith behind. Zathrael left, searching for answers. Searching for a piece of fruit.

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