The Fallen 3: Aerie by Thomas E. Sniegoski

Author:Thomas E. Sniegoski [Thomas E. Sniegoski]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy fiction, Fiction, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Angels, Orphans
ISBN: 9780613940139
Publisher: Turtleback Books
Published: 2006-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

chapter eight

Belphegor walked among his crops and in theprimitive language of the bug, kindly askedthem to leave his vegetables. Purging his gardens of toxic residue was like placing neon signsin front of all his plants, welcoming the variousinsects. But he hadn't forgotten them. There wasan area of garden he had grown especially forthe primitive life forms, and he invited them topartake of that particular bounty. The insects did as he asked, some flying into the air in a buzzingcloud, while others tumbled to the rich earth,heading for a more appropriate place to dine.The bugs did not care where they ate, as long as they were allowed to feed.

The angel thanked the simple creatures andturned his attention to a pitcher of iced tea that was waiting for him atop a rusted patio table in the center of the yard. He strolled casually through thegrass, his bare feet enjoying the sensation of thenew, healthy plant life. Removing the poisons fromthe backyards of Ravenschild brought him greatpleasure, although those same toxins were beginning to wear upon his own body. The angel pouredhimself a glass from the pitcher of brown liquidand gazed out over his own little piece of paradiseas he drank. This yard, of all the yards in Aerie, wasone of his favorites. He had made it his own and itwas good again. If only it was as simple for those who had fallen from God's grace.

And then came that odd feeling of excitement he'd experienced since first viewing the manifestation of Aaron Corbet's angelic self. Is it possible? Could he dare to believe that afterall this time, after so many false hopes, theprophecy might actually come true?

Belphegor sipped his bitter brew, enjoyingthe sensation of the cold fluid as it traveleddown his throat. He would not allow himself tobe tricked; there was too much—too many—relying upon him, to be caught up in a wave of religious fervor. But he had to admit, there wassomething about this Nephilim, something wild, untamed, that inspired both excitement and fear.

The teaching had been going reasonablywell. The boy was eager to learn, but his angelicnature was rough, rebellious, and if they werenot careful, a deadly force could be unleashedupon them—upon the world. But that was aworry for another time.The air in a far corner of the yard began toshimmer, a dark patch forming at the center ofthe distress. There was sound, very much likethe inhalation of breath, and the darkness blossomed to reveal its identity. Wings that seemedto be made from swaths of solid night unfurled,the shape of the boy nestled between them. Helooked exhausted, yet exhilarated, a cocky smile on his young face.

"That took longer than I expected," Belphegorsaid, feigning disinterest as he reached for the pitcher of iced tea and refilled his glass. "Wasthere a problem?"

Aaron suppressed his angelic nature, thesigils fading, the wings shrinking to nothingupon his back. In his hand he held a rolled newspaper and whacked it against the palm ofhis other hand as he walked toward the oldangel. "No problems," he said, tossing thepaper onto the patio table where it unrolled toreveal the Chinese typesetting.

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