After-Life

Chapter 20. A Fight for Survival

Even at the start of Summertime, the Welsh wilderness had a chill to the air. Kristoph shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly wishing he'd grabbed a hoodie before they had ventured out. It would come as no surprise to anyone, that a vest top and pyjama bottoms lacked a great deal of comfort and security from the raw Welsh elements.
Eric, too, was chilly; however, the adrenaline of seeing the ghostly form of his nephew seemed to have eradicated any sense of discomfort. He looked around them, desperately, his ears straining for any sign or sound of trouble. All seemed unnaturally serene and peaceful, however. It almost felt as though someone had anticipated their appearance and had hastily put on a display of calm to mask the chaos that resided beneath.

The group of men stood tensely and silently for a while, listening. The chatter of a couple of territorial squirrels cut through the air sharply, but the normality of the sound didn't deter the gathering. There was a soft breeze, rippling through the leaves, gently caressing the bare skin on each member.
Finally, Eric turned to Thet and asked, "how do you normally do this?"
Thet frowned, questioningly, "do what, Eric?"
"Find the dead, of course!" Eric snapped. He had it in his mind that if he were to locate the body of Tom and his friends, Pan wouldn't be too far away.
Thet frowned, "I am truly sorry for your nephew, Eric; however, I was not there to move him along. It must have been one of my many siblings. As such, with their soul not emitting a lost aura, I'm just as in the dark as you, I'm afraid," he sighed and rested a comforting hand on the broad shoulder of the Welshman.
"That said..." Thet mused, "I recall Tom mentioning a cliff? Perhaps we could start looking out toward the sharper precipices, as opposed to in the middle of a woodland, Azrael?" He turned to the angel, who appeared to be surprisingly at peace with their current setting.

Azrael turned his attention from admiring the intricate veins in an oak tree leaf, and nodded his head, "yes Reap... uh... I mean, Thet?" He blustered, apologetically.
Thet sighed, quietly; "could you take to the skies and follow the cliff lines? Keep an eye out for the prone forms of a few young men," he cast a quick glance over at Eric who sniffed loudly, "once you have found them, send one of your signs."
Azrael opened his mouth to argue that as an angel, it was his job to issue orders; however, a stern glance from Asmodeus shut him up, immediately. With a curt nod of his head, the angel turned his back and with a flex of his shoulders, the most magnificent display of wings shimmered down his back.

Even Eric, who was still struggling with crippling grief, could not ignore the majesty of the display. They were like no wings he or Kristoph had ever imagined. They looked like delicate silken swathes of fibrous lights. They certainly didn't look strong enough to carry the weight of a fully grown man, yet when Azrael fanned them out, they stood firm and assured, glistening almost transparently, like the wings of an insect. Azrael caught the wide eyed, impressed look on Kristoph's face and smiled smugly.
"It's rare we angels reveal our identity to humans. When we do however, they seem to think our wings should appear feathery and downier, like a swan's. Just imagine the cumbersome weight, however!" He beamed proudly, as his wings glistened in the weak moonlight.
"If they've always looked like that, where did we get downy impressions from?" Kristoph asked, as Azrael took flight with one heavy beat of his resplendent wings.

Asmodeus scoffed, "that would be down to good ol' Gabriel."
At Kristoph's puzzled expression, he elaborated further. "When our father impregnated the human vessel with his sunspot, they had a right ol' time trying to secure a place in which she could give birth. I suppose you know the story?" Kristoph nodded, conscious of Eric's teeth grinding with disinterest; Asmodeus continued regardless. "Well, Gabriel was sent to oversee the birth. Y'know, what with our father being a somewhat absentee dad. So, down goes ol' Gabriel, not too familiar with the more gruesome aspects of human life. He tried to assist with knocking on the inn doors too, only to have one woman upturn her toilet bowl on him, from an upstairs window. Suffice it to say, his wings got rather sticky and gathered up no end of dust, feathers and down from the stable they eventually had to settle for. Hence, feathery wings. Apparently, feathery faecal covered primaries and secondaries are all it took for a bunch of shepherds to think angels flew with glorious swan like feathers. Suffice it to say, Gabriel returned up top, quite literally stinking to high heaven!" He chuckled maliciously at the memory.