The Forsaken(2)

“Leave them. This is my crime.” Isabella’s fear for her sisters caused her courage to slip. The guilt that she had been the one to set this drama into motion weighed heavily on her. She didn’t bother speaking in the formal tongue of scripture, and went straight to pleb. A transgression, adding to her list of Cherub faults that made her different in the eyes of the Council. Her voice, steady, pleased her. Everything else about what had happened to her and the fellow Cherubs who had followed her movement of independence left bile in her throat. I beg of thee: spare them.

“Judgment has been written. Disobeying Cherub law merits penance. Disobeying the Mistress, who sits on the right hand of the Almighty, merits exile. You are being sentenced.”

Isabella caught the holy glow from the polished Kita—the sword ordained to extract punishment. Cold sweat broke out everywhere, and her eyes widened as she choked on the acrid taste of fear, knowing it showed plainly on her face.

Raphael pulled her right wing hard, making it taut.

“Exile! I will take exile!” Her screaming plea met deaf ears.

Raphael moved the sword in a fast arc. Isabella caught the reflected horror mirrored on her sisters’ faces. The sword had only been used one other time. Isabella did not want to be the second.

“It is too late for thee, Isabella. Thy Mistress did grant a small reprieve as she will bless you an audience. Bow thy head to acknowledge thanks.”

Isabella did so swiftly, not that her body was capable of much else. She had been ceremoniously draped in the starchy white robe Cherubs wore while undergoing penance but that robe was now shredded from the whip. Her shoulders hunched, and for once Isabella kept her head and eyes downcast as was befitting someone of her age when brought before the powerful Council.

Isabella didn’t see the Kita arch down to sever her wing. Instead she felt the hot loss of her appendage as the nerve roots were hacked through. Soaring soul pain flew like a high, off-pitched note through her body. Frozen with the lash of excruciating awareness, she crumpled forward, falling with her arms outstretched as her back bent demonically upward, attempting to escape what came next. Raphael grasped her by the neck. He forced her head down with the sole of his foot to anchor her shuddering body firmly in place.

Isabella screamed until her voice no longer worked. I have been thrown into the pits of Hell.

Golden rivers of her blood, oozed around her shaking body. The sticky substance smelled of dewy, blooming flowers, and the liquid soaked itself into her gown.

When each of Isabella’s sisters were forced to kneel next to her, Isabella felt her heartbeat triple. She never expected this. A reprimand, yes. But this, it was too much. This was all her fault. Her obsession with the Almighty’s children had caused her fall. Her fascination with their culture, their women’s independence, and sense of freewill had been a seed fermenting in her, creating a longing for more than a Cherub life. Worse, she had led a crusade to entice her fellow sisters to join her in arms when the consequences had been clearly outlined. A Cherub’s duty is one of service to a Seraphim and nothing more. It had been the nothing more that angered Isabella. Knowing they would all pay the price for her desire for freedom sat like a fiery cross in her heart.

The shocked gasps of her sisters stoked that fire, and Isabella prayed with her heavenly heart for their eventual forgiveness. They do not deserve this. One day, I will make this right.

That conviction enabled her to endure what came next.

Forcing her head up, she leveled a steady gaze at the Mistress, also known as Mother. Cold and hot, her emotions were as volatile as her moods. The Mistress’s neck straightened and for a second, Isabella let herself hope she would relent in the punishment.

The Mistress, veiled in a royal purple robe that notched at the wrists, wore black gloves to cover her hands, and a veil covered her face. Not one speck of flesh was visible.

Isabella felt like a youngling being brought before her mother, who wore the obvious look of displeasure on her face which was clearly evident in her piercing swirling gold flecked eyes. Shivering, Isabella forced the churning feeling of nausea down as bile rose steadily up. Panic slurred her carefully chosen words. “I accept the punishment, penance, and plead with my heavenly heart, Mistress, for you to accept my pain and suffering and not to punish my Cherub sisters.” She prayed for the Mistress’s compassion.

The Mistress moved closer to Isabella and the scent of rose incense billowed through the somber Council. A heavy gold circle hung loosely around the Mistress’s neck. Another smaller necklace with an onyx circle hung even closer to her heart, the black a not-so-subtle reminder of the first fallen angel. Its dark color gleamed at Isabella.

“My child, what penance do thee willingly sacrifice for thy fellow sisters?”

Everything in heaven is about sacrifices.

With her blood no longer streaming from the stubs of her wings, a traitorous thought roared through her mind. Isn’t this enough?

“Spare them and I will grant you anything you ask.” Isabella’s shaky, pain-filled voice didn’t sound like her own. Then again, her body was protesting the loss of her wings, which she had cherished. Part and parcel of why they’d been severed from her. Pride. Disobedience. Identity. Traits not warranted in a Cherub.

“This is a lesson thou must learn the hard way, my child. Thy sacrifice is duly noted and that pleases the Almighty greatly. Thy fellow sisters I bless whole, but thou wilt all be exiled to Earth.”