The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 22: The Warmth Of A Snake

Chapter 22: The Warmth Of A Snake

It was, in fact, one of many mirrors. The angel's eyes flitted to another reflection, and another. Within a small space of less than twenty feet. He spun around in the frigid air, mesmerized by them. 

But as he moved closer to the center, his eyes picked up the strange light once more. He had to turn again but there in the middle was a small fire. It gave no warmth. It gave no comfort.

And there, glinting by its soulless light, were two green eyes the size of grapefruits.

Aziraphale found the demon's names, all of them, trying to reach his lips.  But his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.  All he could do was let himself be drawn closer to the globes that were set on him.

Slowly details emerged. Coils as thick as a man, endless it seemed, rolled tightly near the fire. A sea of slate black diamonds, edged in scarlet, curved along its own landscape. The scales looked like failing embers on a winter's morning. Gathering with the behemoth's slinking muscles, they slowed their precipitous march along the snake's spine until at last there was no movement at all except the struggling breath of the creature.  The snake was freezing solid.

Aziraphale collapsed within a hair of the poor beast, his outstretched hand reaching through the useless flames just inches from its muzzle. It seemed the closer he tried to reach, the heavier his limbs got, the numbness ladening his muscles. There was no heat at all, and the gigantic serpent seemed a statue but for the rise and fall of its pulsing body as it labored to inhale.

A tongue flickered at him. The angel moaned.

Then, light sparked on the edges of his vision. He looked up. He looked around. Like fireworks, the mirrors woke up, reflecting not only the darkness of the cavern.... but the light of the past.

Aziraphale's head spun around, his eyes spellbound. "Oh no. No, no, no!"

The great wonders of the past emerged in all their light and glory. Aziraphale forced himself to look away, locking his eyes on the statue snake. "What have you done, Crowley! Have you made your own personal hell?"

An echo came back, far far away, so far back that it seemed to be but a tickle against the back of his brain. "I didn't mean to, angel. It rather built itself."

"I'm not leaving," the angel hollered back. "Not until I've seen everything!"

He let the images drag away his eyes.

One by one they revealed themselves, all moments in time, all the demon in his glory and majestic beauty before the Fall. The angel stood up and followed the course of events, and was caught up in the awe of his demon as he once was. His smile, his eyes, the little turn of the chin when he was proud of something, his crimson hair falling in loose waves along his back to the center of his mother-of-pearl wings as he worked the building blocks of the stars and heavens.

Then, shadows appeared. Aziraphale drew closer.

Overlapping the happy images now came...the other ones. The sorted deeds of the demon Crowley/Crawley, the vileness he reluctantly performed, or happily subverted.  All on display for the imprisoned snake to be objected to, over and over, without warmth, without comfort, just like the fire.

Aziraphale had had enough. Once more he bolted to the snake, and found himself held back. He tried again. Then he forced himself to step into the flames.

The fire swept up him. It didn't burn, but it set him alight. He held out his arms to the snake.

It shuttered.

It began to slither, at last.

It coiled around his feet. Then it gathered, and slowly ascended his awaiting body and all the warmth he could provide.