SueEllen Holmes

Copyright 2011

Thank you for downloading this eBook. If you enjoyed the writing, other books written by

SueEllen Holmes can be obtained through the author's official website:

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Your ongoing support is much appreciated.

Urban Fantasy and Sci-Fi titles available so far:

The Crone's Stone (First Sacred Trinity Trilogy)

Dominion (First SOS series)

Brink (First Maverick Trilogy)

A Darker Shade of Grey (Free Short Story)

Sleek Comes the Night (Free Novella)

Trouble with Angels (Free Novella)

Coming Soon:

The Warriors’ Pledge (Second Sacred Trinity Trilogy)

Silver Mage (Second SOS series)

Bain’s Creed (Second Maverick Trilogy)

Feathered (Free)

Kaleidoscopic (Free)

My commitment to teen fiction is made possible by my enduringly supportive husband,

skilled co-editor daughters and son's brave honesty. For once, words cannot express my love and

gratitude

Chapter One

Nimbus’s Problem

Nimbus lined up his arrow, a faultless trajectory to pierce the girl’s heart clean through. He

pulled the golden bow taut, carefully weighing the decision to let fly. She sauntered along the

street, oblivious of the angel sighting her from his perch on the edge of a nearby rooftop.

Humans were inevitably unaware: they never paid attention.

“Nimbus!” Came a banshee screech from his left shoulder. “What are you doing?”

His fingers jerked in surprise and he accidentally let go. He watched in horror as the

missile hurtled to collide with its target, the first time ever his aim was accurate. Typical! The

girl gasped, hands to her chest, as a glorious starburst of colour and light shattered about her. She

blinked myopically at the nearest telegraph pole. Where moments before she wore the snide

expression of a modern tween, a dopey leer now resided, the hint of drool shining her lips.

“Nimbus,” Celestial groaned, luminous white-haired head cupped in her palms. He

considered the pose a vast improvement on her accusing features drilling his guilt. “What have

you done?”

“I was practising! Until you showed up, I had no intention of shooting her!”

“Eternal damnation, Nimbus!” Celestial huffed and directed a glare at him. “You’re not

even supposed to be down here. We’re not ready for this world. We’re not trained. The

Archangels will have your halo!”

“They should have yours for spying,” he muttered. “Is it my fault my aim is off lately?”

This was an understatement. His aim was, and always had been, hideous. And the

admission provided Celestial with another cue to lecture. It was one of her favourite activities

among many, none of which Nimbus, who was usually on the receiving end, considered pleasant.

“Your aim is not the problem! It’s your inability to keep an arrow in your quiver! Look at

the poor girl. She’s besotted with a post. Out in the open for all to see, stroking timbre and asking

if it thinks she’s pretty. I have real concerns about splinters. She’s a laughing stock if anyone

happens by. What do you intend to do about it?” she challenged.

“Let’s not be hasty, Essie.” Nimbus couldn’t hide the desperation and nervously fluttered

his feathers. “You can fix it, can’t you?”

She narrowed to inspect his robe, eyes shimmering from indigo to ice blue. It was not a

good sign. She reached over and plucked a crumb of chocolate cake, holding it aloft for his

inspection, as if flour and powdered sugar were responsible for the Apocalypse.

“You’ve been pilfering food,” she hissed. “Again!” Others on the Ethereal Realm raved

about her dazzling beauty, but Nimbus only saw her face contorted by a variety of disapproving

facades. He’d labelled them: the grumpy troll, the critical Gorgon, the mean Harpy and her

current look, the enraged Medusa.

“It was just a little snack.” The only good thing about this woeful place, now symbolic of

one more failure, was the food. He didn’t need to eat, but considered himself a connoisseur.

Essie considered the habit shameful and beneath one of his supposed stature.

“If you were not in such trouble already, I’d tell Bacchus,” she said. “Stealing from those

we’re eventually meant to protect is not included in the manual of appropriate Fledgling Angel

behaviour. Or any manual, for that matter. And, as the first Chosen on the Ethereal Realm since

time unremembered, the standard is even higher for us. At this rate, you couldn’t get accepted to

goat-herd school, let alone Seraph training.”

The truth stabbed Nimbus. So far, he’d proven the only inaccurate prediction the Delphic

Oracle had made, and she’d been at it longer than Methuselah wheezed breaths. Great things

were expected of the Chosen. Celestial, his birth sister in time, lived up to every one with ease.

Essie flew, fought, churned out long passages of whatever script was given and worked spells

beyond her grade. Her spectacularness defined his incompetence. Not that she meant to; Celestial

bent over backwards trying to help him. Occasionally, she even covered for him. But his lack

was beyond even her capacity to repair. He lived in constant fear of having his wings stripped,

tossed from the Ethereal Realm to this hellish sewer for eternity.

Celestial gazed at him, her fierce demeanour softening. “I will go up and speak to Bacchus,

see if there’s anything in the Book of Lore to reverse this catastrophe. And while I’m gone keep

out of the humans’ kitchens!”

Before Nimbus could plead for further help, Celestial disappeared without so much as a

goodbye wisp of vapour and he was abandoned to silent misery. Her shrill voice echoed. She was

enough to give even the Highest Divine a migraine. But it was chocolate cake! Even the Stoics

couldn’t resist.

He morosely watched the outcome of his latest mistake. The silly girl wailed at the

unresponsive pole. “What have I done? Why won’t you speak to me?”

Nimbus rolled his eyes. They glittered and changed, shifting from the shade of a pristine

glacier in the remotest Arctic, to the aquamarine of the Mediterranean Sea to the deepest cobalt

of a Morpho butterfly and myriad hues in between, depending on mood. He knew this, because

he often gazed at himself in the Pool of Narcissus.

He grudgingly conceded these humans were charming creatures, especially the females,

and confessed an urge to whip out his biggest arrow whenever one walked by (never to Celestial,

of course). But surely the Most High could find a better use for a Cherub’s Godly powers than

babysitting a race who were more than a few pillars short of a temple? Certainly, anyone who’d

witnessed a Star Trek convention or ‘professional’ wrestling would agree there might be serious

design faults.

Not that Nimbus would ever speak his belief out loud, or there would be Hell to pay. He

took a big risk even thinking it. No-one questioned the Architect. Ever! Nimbus was familiar

with stories of the Fallen, whose punishment for such impertinence was exile to the Nadir of

Eternal Flame. Were they a rough crowd!

His mope was interrupted by a gang of jeering youths, who’d turned the corner onto the

street. He glanced at the young girl slumped in the gutter, sobbing pathetically. Celestial would

make the Fallen look like Fairies if Nimbus didn’t save the girl from embarrassment. But how?

Just as panic set in and exile down here seemed favourable to her wrath, a brilliant idea erupted

like Vulcan’s fireworks.

Shaking off his Angel-in-Training robe, he pulled his glorious white wings tight to his

body, mentally shrinking them, and imagined the normal street clothes of a modern boy. In a

blink, Nimbus materialised as close as he dared to the girl. Unfortunately, distracted by the need

to stay hidden until the right moment, he overshot the cover of the low brick wall he was hoping

for and landed painfully in a thick hedge of hydrangeas. Branches rudely poked unmentionable

bits and a thick shower of petals covered his platinum curls in a ridiculous mauve toupee.

He barely had time to notch an arrow, step from the bushes and whisper a loud “Psst!” like

some garden-variety pervert, then send his new hope home. The girl looked up unseeing, as a

second sparkling shower of rainbow stars dissolved about her. She squeezed her eyes shut and

opened them slowly, love blossoming for the oddly dressed and mildly creepy boy, who’d

apparently been stalking her from the foliage.

Relieved and proud of his genius, Nimbus tried unsuccessfully to coax her behind the

fence, when disaster struck and the pack of teenagers arrived. Lucky for the girl, whose longing

was now firmly focused on Nimbus, he also had the newcomers’ undivided attention. They

screamed in laughter, pointed and grasped at stitches in their sides. Nimbus peered down at

himself and sighed in disbelief. Not only had he misjudged his landing, advertised by the

scratches on his bare arms and legs, he had decked himself out in a hot-pink pair of leather

shorts.

“What’s that on his head?” shrieked one of the humans. He giggled so madly, Nimbus

wondered briefly if Pluto’s jester, Yoric, had sprinkled him with laugh-til-you-die powder.

“Biker Barbie’s wearing my Gran’s church hat! Such a pretty shade of purple.” The

comment drew another round of hysterics. Could it get much worse?

“Stop it!” the girl squealed. “Leave him alone!”

“Oooh, little girls in love. How sweet!”

His limited patience ran drier than the Sahara at midday and Nimbus fantasised unleashing

the Biblical plague in downtown suburbia. Maybe he’d smote a few butts? This was all

Celestial’s fault! She knew he had trouble with his powers and should never have left him alone

down here. He’d learn nothing, practicing mistakes.

Come to think of it, Nimbus was mighty hungry. What to do that would not provoke a spell

in the fiery depths, visiting vicious fiends as a reward? He could simply dematerialise and write

the fiasco off as a botched learning exercise, let their tutor, Bacchus, sort it out. This would also

conveniently offer quiet time to heal the emotional scars of public humiliation in a hat that

resembled a Nereids’ swim-cap. Lavender really wasn’t his colour. It was best to repress the fact

he wore an outfit worthy of Mars, who enjoyed cross-dressing. If the Nymphs found out, he’d be

the object of more degrading jokes. That sealed it; the humans were on their own.

Just as Nimbus was poised to break the repeated warnings of Bacchus, “Above all else,

leave things better than when they were found”, probably gaining a millennium on the time-out

cloud, Celestial returned.

“What in the Lord’s creation is this horrific nightmare?” She hovered as a dust mote by his

ear. She may have been teeny, but her voice was a blaring trumpet and he grimaced. “Honestly, I

leave you for one iota --”

Nimbus cut her off, affecting his best Cupid’s face. “Could we please move passed the

sermon to the part where you make it better, Celestial? I pledge the next one hundred years,

during which, you can shout yourself hoarse and I will listen enthusiastically.”

“He’s talking to himself,” said one of the aggravating humans. “Maybe, he’s a nutter.” The

group nodded avidly in agreement.

“Stop wheedling, Nimbus. That cutesy rot might work on harem girls, but I find it an

unbecoming waste of your abilities. And --” Blaspheme! Nimbus regretted coming down here

more with each passing second. “-- a pledge from you is not worth the spit of the Devil’s three-

headed dog. Gabriel says it’s important not to enable you.”

Things were poorly when even the Archangels deferred to such hair-brained waffle, he

fumed. “I should make you clean this up, but there’s something strange going on upstairs and we

need to sort it out.” She gave the impression that a good skewering on Lucifer’s pitchfork, to be

slow roasted over the barbeques of the Underworld, was the only penalty she’d be happy with.

“You get to wriggle out of strife again.”

Celestial merely had to think it and the youths continued along the path as though

uninterrupted, a minute gap in their memories the only sign of their brush with Angels. The girl,

enraptured by Nimbus despite his fashion sense, would be far harder to heal.

Cherub’s arrows were formed from the Breath of the Blessed, who fused stardust and

moonbeams, a pinch of time from the beginning and the glorious source that flowed through all

the mysteries and the astral bodies; the suns and the planets, and every living being. For Celestial

to undo its bond, she too must wield this awesome and majestic power.

It was a lot to expect of a Cherub, who regardless of her abilities was still only an Angel-

in-Training. She took her physical form. Cherubs mostly wore a proper body to interface with

others on their Realm and on Earth, which was visible when they wanted it to be. She screwed-

up her face in concentration.

Unnoticed, the girl crept over to Nimbus while he’d been ‘negotiating’, and was currently

wrapped so tightly about him, she mimicked an octopus sucking the life from a mollusc. Petals

decorated the ground as she seductively ran her fingers through his hair. When did they come of

age? This one was clearly far riper than she appeared.

“When you’re ready!” Nimbus gasped from his choke-hold, regretting writing-off

professional wrestling and thinking a couple of the moves might come in handy.

He had to unglue the girl’s other hand as it snaked down his back towards unexplored

territory. Bacchus was right (another point Nimbus would never mention aloud); he had learned

his lesson. If he came out of this with his windpipe intact, he would confine himself in future to

observing from afar.

“Shhh! You broke my concentration! It’s not like I’m baking muffins!” Celestial looked at

the girl with saintly sympathy. “You stole her dignity, Nimbus. You should be ashamed!”

“Mmm, anchovy muffins.” He stared wistfully off into space.

Celestial renewed her focus, her face red and tense with effort. She looked about ready to

lay a Brachiosaur egg, but Nimbus decided commenting was most unwise. Suddenly, she burst

into radiant white light, shining brighter than the all the stars combined. Nimbus staggered

backwards and the girl crumpled to the ground, a blast of supernatural energy drawing an arc

around them. As quickly as it had erupted, the blinding glow was gone. Once again, Celestial

was a speck at Nimbus’s shoulder.

The girl jumped to her feet, staring wildly about. She caught sight of Nimbus, and frowned

in confusion, inspecting his clothing. He smiled faintly and gave her an encouraging little wave,

ruining any possibility of respect. The girl sniggered.

“Nice outfit! It’s refreshing to see a boy who’s not afraid to promote his love of Mardi

Gras.”

She made an ‘L’ on her forehead and flounced off, the only trace of her ordeal an

exaggerated attachment to wood. She went on to become the worst enemy of tree-loggers

everywhere.

Nimbus shook his head sadly. “Love is fickle.”

“I’d call that an improvement. Wouldn’t you?” Celestial asked with a satisfied nod.

“Depends whose side you’re on,” Nimbus murmured. “So, what’s going on upstairs?” He

inquired as much out of curiosity as the need to prevent extra telling off.

“The place is completely deserted. I can’t even find Bacchus.”

“Did you check Zeus’s footstool? He often likes to curl up there after…” he trailed off. But

it was too late.

Bacchus’ less-than-respectable habits never failed to encourage long, boring speeches from

Celestial, this time on their Guide’s disappointing fondness for ambrosia, the nectar of the Gods.

In her view such excess was not behaviour befitting their rank. Instead, to Nimbus’s immense

surprise, Celestial looked mildly offended he thought her capable of missing the obvious.

“That’s the first place I searched! This has never happened before. I’m worried,” she said

almost to herself, blonde spirals jittering in concern. “Come on! If there’s something wrong we

have to help.”

Nimbus followed doubtfully in her wake. If there was trouble, what on the Ethereal Realm

could they possibly do that all the fully-fledged Angels and Gods could not?

***

Chapter Two

Trouble on the Ethereal Realm

Nimbus often wished Celestial was wrong (which hardly ever happened), because it meant

that he was never right, which got tiresome fast. But he had never wished it more so than in this

instance. They had searched their inspirational home high in the clouds twice over and not found

so much as a feather from their Brethrens’ wings. They brooded in the Chamber of Greats,

slouched on luxurious silk-covered day beds, usually occupied by the Most High as they held

council. Celestial was clearly on the verge of panic.

“Oh, where can they be?” She picked-up a golden pillow and peered hopefully underneath.

“Well unless they have suddenly become pea-sized, they won’t be under there,” Nimbus

said helpfully. Celestial threw him a glare to sizzle a lesser being. “You know, there is one place

we haven’t been…”

She stared expectantly, her brow furrowed. “Where?”

“Huitaca’s.”

“Of course! How could I be so stupid?”

Nimbus wondered if he should supply an answer, but opted for dignified silence. Celestial

was on the edge right now and he did not want to push her over. Huitaca was the South

American Goddess of Drunkenness; equivalent to an embarrassing distant relative, who told off-

colour stories at parties, and usually ended up doing a jig on the table with a lampshade on their

head. She was not favoured by the Elders.

Nimbus however, liked her very much. She was always laughing and dancing and could do

excellent tricks with rainbows and moonbeams. She lived high on a hilltop at the outer edges of

their Realm. Bacchus visited her often and they could be heard some nights singing together

loudly and very badly. Zeus often sent a quelling lightening bolt their way to stop the awful

racket.

“What are we waiting for?” Celestial asked with a renewed sense of purpose. In a blink

they arrived on the porch of Huitaca’s home.

Sure enough, evidence of a particularly rowdy night on the cocktails was scattered about:

half-eaten fruits from the Horn of Plenty, delicacies from the Land of Milk and Honey, and dirty

glasses with dregs of ambrosia covered every patch of marble. Celestial was clearly horrified by

the mess, but Nimbus sulked.

“If they had a party, why not invite me? I can mingle.”

“Because you’re underage. And I think the better question is, why have we been given

such an irresponsible bum for a Guardian? Look at this spectacle! It’s like the Four Horsemen

galloped through. Let’s find Bacchus, I’m looking forward to aggravating his headache.”

“As if,” Nimbus grumbled. “The Four Horsemen are far too trendy for our Realm. And if

they did show-up, I’d be the last to know.”

They entered and were immediately greeted with a chorus of snores punctuated by the odd

hiccough. Huitaca was nowhere in sight, but Bacchus was spread-eagled on his back on the

litter-strewn floor. A full wine glass on his large, hairy belly rose and fell in unison with his

snorts. He resembled a slovenly walrus. Celestial was about to empty the contents of the cup

over his bald head, when Nimbus grabbed her arm.

“Listen!” he urged in a whisper.

A high-pitched cackle echoed up the hill, and with it footsteps coming their way. Nimbus

risked a peek out the window and groaned.

“It’s Jomjael and Ramiel!”

“How in the names of all Saints did they get in here?” Celestial’s eyes went wide in alarm.

“Gabriel banned the Black Angels from ever setting foot on the Ethereal Plane! Oh, what are we

going to do?”

“Don’t get your halo in a pretzel, Celestial. I have an idea. Help me move Bacchus, will

you?”

This proved an ordeal. Bacchus was very heavy and stubbornly limp, and much bigger than

the Cherubs. They pulled and pushed, grunting with exertion and painfully aware of the passing

seconds. Nimbus briefly lost his grip and Celestial’s face was pressed into Bacchus’s sweat-

ridden armpit. She eventually surfaced coughing and spluttering, her nausea-filled face a shade

of puce. Nimbus mouthed ‘sorry’ and received a look to make his blood boil (if he actually had

any).

Finally, after much un-Angel-like language and uncomplimentary mutterings about the

need for Bacchus to embrace personal hygiene and go on a strict diet, they succeeded in

propping him against a back wall. Nimbus snapped his fingers and Bacchus became the most

unattractive statue ever carved. Celestial draped crumpled robes over his shoulders in the hopes

he’d be mistaken for a coat rack.

“Strike a pose!”

She looked warily at him. “Will I ever recover from this?”

“Thanks for the faith. It’s more a parlour trick anyway.” Nimbus prayed this was true.

Celestial did as she was told, holding both hands out, palms face up, and he was grateful

for the trust. He clicked again, making her a convincing book-stand. He laid the book Bacchus

had slept on across her hands, and then shrunk to take the guise of an artfully placed Cupid on a

side table. He finished the ruse just in time.

Jam and Ram, as they were known to their ruffian gang of Fallen Angels, entered, scanning

the room with distasteful expressions. Ram wore only a loin cloth, his counterpart tight black

leather pants. Their bodies were toned and powerful, their faces misleadingly beautiful. Unlike

the Cherubs, their eyes were ebony and hair dark.

“What a dump! Who’s the decorator, Chaos?” Ram let out a mighty burp and Jam giggled

manically, his huge grey wings jiggling.

“My thoughts precisely.” Jam lifted a leg to fart long and forcefully.

Nimbus was flabbergasted he didn’t blow his own leg off. A foul reek filled the room and

it was all they could do not to vomit. The stench made Bacchus’s underarm odour rose-water by

comparison.

“Get a load of this grotesque thing!” Ram moved over to inspect the stone-bound Bacchus.

“Make’s the boss’s gargoyle collection look like Helen of Troy!”

Nimbus thought his assessment a bit harsh, but did not have time to dwell on it as he was

hoisted into the air.

“Mmm, Helen of Troy,” Jam said with a smarmy grin, turning his attention to Nimbus.

“Ugh! This is worse.”

Now, Nimbus was truly offended. He thought he made a lovely Cupid and resented an

insult from such a ponce, who obviously spent too much time smooching himself in the mirror.

Jam used Nimbus’s extended foot to pick his nose, slime oozing his leg. Nimbus mentally

shuddered, working very hard not to lash out and kick Jam in the eye.

“I think it would look better without its head.” Ram reached over his back to extract an

evil-looking curved sword from between glossy brown wings.

This was an unfortunate development. Maybe now was the time to go against his own

advice and panic. Jam dropped him to the table and hopped excitedly from foot to foot in

anticipation of wanton destruction. Ram raised the sword and Nimbus knew he had no choice but

to reveal himself, and probably his friends, by re-materialising. Then the hunt would be on. Just

as the sword began its downward sweep, a quiet voice issued from the door.

“What are you doing?”

The blade stopped a millimetre from Nimbus’s neck and Ram fumbled guiltily to hide the

sword at his rear like a child playing pick-a-hand.

“Y-you know.” He trembled with fear. “We’re searching for the Book.”

Jam nodded madly, his alarm obvious. It was one of the leaders of the Fallen. Known as

Azazel, he was a creature of immeasurable spite. He wore a black gossamer tunic and a crown of

black opals and pearls, massive pitch wings shining.

“It seems to me, you were indulging a spot of vandalism. Perhaps, I should inform the

Great One and he can provide you with a more appropriate outlet for your games.” He spoke

softly, yet menace radiated in his tone. Nimbus could only imagine fearfully what punishment in

Hell consisted of.

Ram went white. “No, no, no. That won’t be necessary, Master. We have scoured this

place! The Book is not here,” he grovelled untruthfully. Jam shook his head energetically,

stressing the point.

“I want the Book of Lore, no excuses. You are not to return without it. We can hold the

Elders for three days, no more. That is the time you have and I warn you not to fail me.” He

vanished, a hint of sulphur on the air.

Jam and Ram were invigorated by his departure and started searching in earnest. They

overturned chairs, upended bookcases to examine the books and toss them onto a pile in the

middle of the floor, ripped upholstery and rifled drawers. Celestial was bumped in the process

and the book in her hands fell unnoticed to join the others heaped on the ground.

“It’s no use! It’s not here,” Ram said, his shoulders slumping dismally.

“But we have searched everywhere,” Jam whined. “I hate it here. It’s too … clean.” He

moved to Celestial, viewing her up close for the first time. Reaching out, he lightly touched her

cheek. “Wow, this one’s stunning!”

“Will you focus? I do not fancy an eternal journey through Beelzebub’s intestine as a

tapeworm, which is probably the best we can expect if we don’t find that Book! We have to start

over. We’ve missed it somewhere along the way.”

Jam grumbled under-breath, agreeing half-heartedly. He picked Celestial up in a bear-hug,

carrying her towards the door. Nimbus was torn between stopping him and rescuing her later,

after an extended period free from lectures.

“What are you doing?” screeched Ram.

“I like this. I’m taking it with me.”

“How in Satan’s boils do you propose to carry it and search at the same time? Unlike

some, you only have two arms! Leave it. You can come back for it when we’re done.”

Jam saw sense in the suggestion and gently placed Celestial on the divan. He licked her

long and sloppily on the cheek. And then they were gone. Celestial and Nimbus re-animated in

parallel states of agitation.

“Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom!” She gagged convulsively and flapped her hand at her

spit-stained cheek.

“You got off easy!” Nimbus hopped gracelessly on one foot with his snot-soiled leg

extended. They made the doorway in a tangled wedge of feathers and limbs.

“Don’t let it touch me!” Celestial shouted, attempting to distance herself from further

contamination. “I got Bacchus-germs as well.” After much shoving and cursing they burst

through, to soak themselves in every last drop of Huitaca’s disinfectant.

“Wake up! You worthless dung beetle,” Celestial yelled a short while later. She amplified

the message by crashing a large pair of cymbals next to Bacchus’s head.

Nimbus stuck his fingers in his ears. Bacchus’ eyes flew open in shock, his face ruddy. He

favoured the monk style of hairdo and had a thin circle of ginger hair ringing his head.

Apparently, that was not the only thing ringing as he blearily rubbed his assaulted ears. He sat in

a messy slouch on the lounge, his grubby robes leaving nothing to the imagination and looking

almost as worse for wear as he did.

“Really, there’s no need to shout my dear.” He gestured for her to tone it down and primly

adjusted his clothing.

“Too little, too late,” Nimbus griped, the lingering and most unsavoury image of Bacchus’s

man-boobs floating in his head. Celestial clapped the cymbals again and Bacchus winced

theatrically. Unprepared for the clash this time, Nimbus lost his patience.

“Give me those!”

He tossed them into the air where they evaporated. Celestial crossed her arms and looked

crabby. Bacchus glanced around.

“Things must have got a tad unmanageable last night. Although I do not recall making

such a mess. I had the most disconcerting vision,” he said, as he massaged his sweat-shined

cranium. “I feel a bit stiffer than usual.”

“With the barrels you put away, it’s astonishing you have any memory cells left at all!”

Celestial retorted waspishly. “And it was not a vision!”

Bacchus sniffed indignantly. “There is nothing the least bit wrong with a civilised sup

between friends. Purely medicinal, you understand. It’s good for the constitution.” He patted his

rotund belly as if this proved the point. It sounded to Nimbus like the sloshing of a wine-filled

gourd. He interjected before Celestial’s pious streak kicked-in.

“Quit quibbling. This is an emergency! The Fallen have the Elders imprisoned somewhere

and some of them are on our plane, searching for the Book of Lore as we speak, or argue as the

case may be. We have three days in which to locate the Book and… I don’t know… Stop the

Fallen in their task… Whatever it is!”

Nimbus shuddered as an unpleasant vision of being shoved up a giant nose to drown in

mucus came unbidden to consciousness. He vowed to be prepared at all times and materialised a

snorkel for just in case.

Celestial eyed him suspiciously. “What is that you’re holding?”

“Security,” he muttered, hiding it in his robe.

“Back-up, Nimbus!” Bacchus spluttered. “The Elders and the Book are lost?”

“So it seems,” Celestial answered sullenly, still smarting from the premature loss of her

cymbals.

“But I had the Book with me last night. Here, in this very room!”

Celestial and Nimbus looked at each other. With a potent waft of pine-scent, they

simultaneously dropped to their knees and scrambled through the mess on the floor, seeking the

book bumped out of Celestial’s hands.

“Got it!” Nimbus triumphantly held up a plain, red, leather-bound specimen.

“I knew there was a good reason the Elders did not RSVP. Confinement against one’s will

is a suitable excuse for non-attendance.” Bacchus rambled to himself, seemingly unperturbed by

the growing calamity.

“Now what?” Celestial ignored Bacchus’s infuriating diversion from the point.

“Well, considering your oaf of a boyfriend will return soon to whisk you away on a

romantic date at the zombie carnival, probably complete with maggots and body parts, I’m in

favour of leaving here as soon as possible.”

“Ahh, young love.” Bacchus stared off, paying the barest attention to Nimbus’s words. “I

must tell you about the time I developed a soft spot for Medusa. She’s really not a bad as they

say. Such prejudice over a few asps! To avoid being turned into stone one simply needs to focus

on her feet…” And, like so many occasions before, he launched into one of his lengthy

meandering stories as the Cherubs readied to flee their beloved sanctuary.

***

Chapter Three

A Visit to Jinx

“I do not travel well! Unfamiliar climates disagree with my bunions,” Bacchus maintained

stubbornly.

“Wow, Bacchus! I had no idea you were so brave! Giving us that daft bunion story, when

actually you want to stay and protect our home from the Hordes of the Doomed. They will

definitely return to help find the Book. Staying behind alone, even though you will be incredibly

out-numbered. Your courage is just so admirable!”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” Nimbus whispered in Celestial’s ear.

“This is not the time for subtlety,” she replied, as Bacchus fidgeted nervously and

mumbled to himself.

“Yes, well in my day of course. Bit of a warrior, heroic deeds and all that.” He waved an

airy hand. “But now… Age has taken its toll –”

“And senility!” Nimbus couldn’t help himself and received the swift jab of an arrow in his

rear-end.

“Hush!” Celestial murmured, as Nimbus grouchily rubbed his pin-cushioned butt. “He’s

coming around.”

“-- reflexes not what they were… Not up to rash actions … And I have my charges to

consider. Can’t leave the innocent babes to fend for themselves in the big cruel world. No... No,

it would be better if I accompanied them on this sojourn, provided words of wisdom and fulfilled

my role as counsellor. Yes, the decision’s made then. I’m coming!” He announced the last

loudly.

“I just require a moment to gather essentials.” And Bacchus vanished, only to reappear

burdened with numerous packages and bundled sacks strapped across his body. A wooden yoke

draped with flagons, bunches of drying herbs, strings of berries, an assortment of spare sashes to

decorate his robes and one large dead peacock, protruded from both shoulders.

“What in the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World are you carrying?” raged Celestial.

“Supplies,” he said defensively. “I don’t think ambrosia is available on Earth. Just in case

that’s where we end up. And they really do a lousy deep-fried peacock!”

Nimbus snickered, thinking their guardian looked like a comical scarecrow overloaded

with hanging fruit bats. There was, however, nothing comical about Celestial’s reaction.

“Unbelievable! Well if you pack it, you carry it! And if you slow us down, we will leave

you behind! So--”

“Err,” Nimbus thwarted what would undoubtedly prove an extended tirade. “Now seems

like a great time to inquire as to destination?”

“Yes!” Celestial said. “Where do you recommend we go, Bacchus? That is if you’re not

too loaded to move!”

“I wish I was loaded,” he grumbled resentfully. “As you know, only the Most High can

read the Book of Lore in its entirety. They alone are worthy of all its knowledge. The Book

shows to others precisely what’s required for each rank. Cherubs, for instance, are privy to the

Rules for Fledgling Angels. I can access Rules for Fledging Angels and Their Guardians, and

some other chapters on catering for large functions and party decoration for community

gatherings. The Book may shed light on what is happening, because even the Fallen are

somewhat bound by its laws.” Bacchus looked relieved to exercise his usefulness for once. “So, I

suggest we visit the only other translator of tongues available in the Elders’ absence. Jinx!”

Nimbus let out an agonised groan, but Celestial was clearly pleased. “That’s brilliant! I

love the highlands of Papua New Guinea at this time of year. I have just the hat!”

“Please, please! Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine!” Nimbus laid on the melodrama. “Does

anybody remember I’m not immune to Jinx’s bad luck? How could we forget the treasured

occasion, without unleashing an arrow mind you, I had to fend off an extended family of love-

crazed porcupines! I was pulling out quills for a month. Can someone please inform me of the

purpose of such prickly animals?”

“Yes, but --”

“No, please allow me to continue, Celestial. Then, there was the time I came back from her

house with a severe speech impediment. I swore like a demon every time I blinked for five whole

days!” Nimbus’s voice was tinged with hysteria. “As penance for my potty-mouth I had to clean

out Jupiter’s spittoon with a cotton bud and no powers. And he did not stop using it in the

process! Have you seen how big that thing is? I almost drowned in phlegm! Or the facial fungus;

I sprouted blue fur and had to shave six times a day! Or, and I’m leaving the best for last --”

“Enough already!” Celestial thundered. “I’m sorry for your woes, Nimbus, I really am. But

this is more important than you, or I, or Bacchus. Besides, I have heard some Angels grow into

their immunity and it has been a while since we’ve seen Jinx. Maybe, you’ll be fine this time.”

“Celestial’s right my boy. We must face our fears in order to overcome them.”

Nimbus rolled his eyes at this trite lesson from Good Angelling 101. Clearly, Bacchus had

never confronted a rabid gang of porcupines obsessed with obtaining a particular Cherub for a

mate!

“Okay. I hope you’re right about this, Celestial.” Nimbus secretly thought that knowing his

luck around Jinx, this would be a rare case of her getting it wrong. “Let’s go then,” he said

grudgingly.

Just as they were poised to leave, the Cherubs taking the lead, there was a gigantic crash.

They spun to see Bacchus sprawled face first on the ground, his big backside in the air and his

arms flailing, his head stuck in the peacock carcass. One of his sashes -- a fluorescent pink and

yellow polka-dotted number -- had tangled about his knobbly knees with disastrous effect.

Muffled yells could be heard through bird flesh.

“Quick! He’ll suffocate in there!” Celestial rushed to his aid.

She yanked and pulled, one foot jammed on his shoulder, until Bacchus’s head re-emerged

with a loud pop! Nimbus remained on the side-lines, stifling amusement. He received a mutinous

grimace from a hassled-looking Bacchus.

“Most generous, Celestial. Many thanks.”

Nimbus feigned innocence. “I just thought facing the inside of a peacock’s butt might

resemble facing your fears.”

After Celestial stripped Bacchus of considerable baggage -- he was left with only one

flagon of ambrosia and a plain spare sash for his robe (with many objections and grumbles like,

“I do hope we don’t dine out. I’ll be underdressed!”) -- they were finally off in the tiny twinkle

of a baby’s eye.

The trio arrived at the bottom of a steep hill, faced with a narrow path that carved

windingly up through dense rainforest. The sounds of exotic birds whooping high in the trees

met their ears. The air was laden with the mingled scents of tropical flowers. Nimbus became

increasingly jittery.

“Maybe I can stay down here and you two can get the information?”

Celestial stared pointedly at him through a gauzy screen. “Stop being such a coward. We

all need to hear this. Now, come on!”

Admittedly, Nimbus thought it impossible to take her usual unyielding tone seriously,

given Celestial balanced what appeared to be a humongous tortoise shell on her head, complete

with dangling corks and camouflaged mosquito netting draped to her shoulders. He refrained

from laughing with great difficulty. Her attempts at haute couture fashion were a somewhat hit

and miss affair.

Half a slowly trudged hour later with much complaining from a sweaty and breathless

Bacchus, forced to endure unceasing “I told-you-so’s” on the merits of lighter packing from

Celestial, Jinx’s heavily fortified stone compound came into view. She chose such isolation as

much to protect others, as for the unbelievable views over a vast unspoilt wilderness. Jinx

favoured the Corporeal Realm and lived on Earth. Although, Nimbus had heard unconfirmed

rumours the Greek deity of war, Athena, politely suggested relocation on account of the fact

many more of her soldiers tripped and mortally fell on their swords when Jinx was nearby.

She welcomed them enthusiastically at the door. Cleopatra stole her look off the wall from

a shrine in Egypt: pitch beaded hair, wrapped layers of sheer material covering her body and

numerous articles of chunky gold jewellery. “Come in, come in! It’s been so long since I’ve had

visitors!”

“I wonder why,” Nimbus grouched unkindly.

He lagged behind Celestial as a safeguard when they entered. He noticed Jinx no longer

jingled, unencumbered in her own home by the bells that usually cautioned the unwary of her

approach.

“Bacchus too! Wonderful! Oh, and thank you for the you know-what’s you sent.” She

winked at him confidentially, her black eyes sparkling.

“Not at all, any time!” he beamed.

Distrust ruled Celestial’s features. Bacchus was known to trade in suspect relics, some of

which were outright illegal. He once foolishly attempted to sell Poseidon’s storm-trident,

believing it to be a replica, and received two weeks in the watery depths supervising the God of

the Seas’ pet Kraken for his troubles. Bacchus still broke out in nervous hives at the merest

mention of the word ‘squid’.

“Please, have a seat. Nice hat, Celestial!”

Celestial flushed. “Do you think so?” she said, pulling the netting to the top of the curve so

that she now resembled a Bedouin with the world’s largest turban.

Nimbus was too busy fretting to notice. Bacchus very considerately averted his gaze and

cleared his throat behind a hand. They seated themselves on benches surrounding a long table,

with Nimbus positioned as far as possible from Jinx at the other end.

She peered at him apologetically. “I’m so sorry about the noses, Nimbus!”

On their last trip, Nimbus sprouted noses all over his body giving him an unpleasantly

acute sense of smell. “There are some odours that should never be sniffed,” he muttered darkly.

Without permitting him further scope to elaborate, Celestial launched straight into their

reason for coming. “We need you to interpret the Book of Lore for us. There’s something terrible

happening upstairs. The Elders have disappeared!”

“Blessed me!” Jinx exclaimed.

“It is a rather long and stirring story,” Bacchus interrupted. “May I suggest some fortifying

nutrition to ease the telling? Possibly some honeyed wine?”

Nimbus leaped to his feet. Several of his feathers dislodged and floated breezily about. “I’ll

get it! I haven’t cooked for a while.”

He left for the kitchen with only a minor stumble, one rebound off the wall and a single

shattered pottery vase, which Jinx put right in a flash. He returned relatively unscathed with

several minor burns and an eye-patch covering a watering left eye (Jinx’s extra hot chilli powder

had toppled from an overhead shelf), to place a large terrine and ladle on the table.

“Tortellini and chocolate sauce!”

Everybody except Celestial busied themselves sorting napkins and cutlery and filling

bowls. She leaned out from the table, avidly inspecting something on the ground that trailed from

the kitchen.

“Do you think it needs shredded coconut?” Nimbus queried, more feathers hovering

around his head. “Oh, and I think I made the eternal pilot flame go out on your oven, Jinx.”

There was sudden silence and Nimbus looked up to a circle of faces frozen in alarm.

“Umm, you’re shedding dear boy,” Bacchus said, pointing uncertainly at Nimbus’s right

wing.

Jinx appeared truly distressed. Slowly, Nimbus spread the indicated wing out to its full

extension, staring straight ahead as a deluge of feathers invaded the room. Every individual

feather avalanched to the floor. Jinx gasped.

“Don’t look, Nimbus!” Celestial advised, readjusting her features in a cheerful, if not

entirely convincing, smile. “It’s normal to moult… Now and then… For some… On one

wing…”

“How bad is it?” he asked dully, receiving the less than positive news in their expressions.

He visibly steeled himself and turned to his wing.

“Agghh!” What had been densely covered in lustrous, startlingly white, downy feathers

now resembled a plucked turkey wing. “Not feather-rot!” He collapsed pathetically to his chair

and put his head in his hands. “Cover me, I’m hideous,” he wailed, sounding not unlike the girl

he’d accidentally shot with his arrow the day before.

Celestial sighed at Nimbus’s histrionics. “If the past is anything to go by, this will be

temporary, Nimbus. Here have some tortellini.”

She eyed the contents of the bowl doubtfully but refrained from making matters worse by

crushing his deluded faith in his own cooking ability. Dislodging her unwieldy hat to place it on

a sideboard, she flickered next to Nimbus, producing a white cotton sheet and gently wrapping

the offending limb in a sling. She patted him bracingly.

He snuffled and commenced eating glumly while the others spoke. Bacchus quietly

prevented Jinx from apologising again to avoid traumatising Nimbus further, and encouraged her

to start on the Book by pushing it her way. She placed a hand on the cover and it grew

enormously from a slim diary-sized volume to a huge fat version covering almost a third of the

table.

“I’m not allowed to share knowledge with you that you don’t have access to, but I can

place you on the road that will move you from ignorance to illumination.” Jinx closed her eyes,

scanning to and fro beneath their lids. They snapped open. “The answers lie in the Cave of

Unknowns. You are granted three questions each over a lifetime, so you must choose them

carefully.”

“Excellent!” Celestial exclaimed. “Surely with nine questions between us we can sort the

Sacred from the Heathens and discover what’s going on!” Bacchus cleared his throat and looked

decidedly shifty. Celestial paid no attention. “Where is the Cave?” she asked.

“That is unknown,” Jinx replied mystically.

Celestial snorted in frustration and started to vent her feelings when Bacchus cleared his

throat again. “I know where the Cave of Unknowns is located,” he said miserably.

Celestial glared at him suspiciously. “I imagine I’m going to regret this. Have you been

there, Bacchus?”

“Three times,” said Bacchus guiltily. “It’s a bit of a story, actually --”

“We’ll have the express version, please!” Celestial snapped.

He continued in a monotone. “Hermes and I had a wager on what remains in Pandora’s

Box, after all her evils are expelled. I thought that my guess of a double-cheese pizza might not

be quite correct. So I did a bit of research. Turns out it’s hope, of course. Made a tidy sum, too,”

he reminisced, clearly please with himself.

“You cheated, and you wasted a question.” Celestial glowered dangerously at him.

“And!?”

“I desired to know how to get a date with a very attractive Valkyrie. She had the most

magnificent jerkins! That was a bit of an ordeal really. Turns out you need to be a Viking slain in

battle.”

Jinx shifted uncomfortably in the background. Celestial’s eyes faded to a threatening

storm-cloud grey, her temper seriously close to igniting.

“Please inform me, of all the infinite grand and important questions available, which would

an undeserving wretch waste his final privileged gift on?”

Her teeth ground together. Bacchus winced.

“Tantalus refused to give me his recipe for deep-fried peacock.”

Nimbus spoke. “I’ve had a thought.”

“So that makes just the one then? Good for you, it’s critical to begin somewhere.”

Celestial tried for levity to boost Nimbus’s flattened self-esteem, while hurling spears at

Bacchus with every glance. Nimbus smiled faintly, almost tempted to make fun of her hat but

maturely rising above his petty urges. “Jam and Ram will go back to Huitaca’s and we won’t be

there. They’ll put ‘Holy’ and ‘Grail’ together and come after us like King Arthur on the

Crusades.”

“You’re right, Nimbus.” Celestial was crestfallen. “We’ve put Jinx in deadly peril!”

Jinx laughed heartily. “Thanks for the concern, Celestial. They have more to fear from me

than me from them. Those black-hearted puppets have never been here. They won’t have a scrap

of immunity at all. Now hurry away before they arrive and remember, choose your questions

well.”

Nimbus experienced fleeting sympathy for Jam and Ram, despite their attempt to behead

him. His eye throbbed painfully, competing with an assortment of bruises, and his wing hung

limp and featherless by his side, naked for the world to see.

***

Chapter Four

Three Questions

“Well, places of ancient mystery are not supposed to be easy to locate!” Bacchus said, after

taking a wrong turn for the second time. “It starts with a ‘V’, I think,” he mumbled.

Nimbus stood forlornly on the volcanic rim of Kilauea by a very antagonised Celestial. He

was too depressed to enjoy the spectacular lava flows, or help as she went through all the ‘V’s’

on the map.

“We are wasting what little time we have! Venezuela, Victoria, Vancouver!” she listed

desperately. “Vladivostok, Volsk, Venice!”

“Galapagos!” Bacchus exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “It’s an undersea cliff-cave,

off the Island of Marchena.”

Celestial’s jaw clenched. Nimbus worried she might push her teeth back into her gums,

what with all the grinding. “What happened to ‘V’?” she hissed perilously.

“Clearly,” Bacchus said patiently, “‘V’ rhymes with ‘G’.”

“Clearly! Come along, Nimbus.”

Guiding him gently by the elbow, they disappeared and made the underwater cavity of the

tiny island a moment later. They stood in a huge dim antechamber, with ancient urns, scattered

mounds of treasure and flickering wall-mounted torches lighting the area. Iguanas teemed over

the cave floor, sidling away in an alarmed wall of bodies like the parting of the Red Sea, as the

Angels entered.

Celestial balanced precariously on tiptoe looking anxious. “Not reptiles. I hate reptiles!”

“At least they’re not porcupines,” Nimbus said robustly.

Relief not to be the one suffering for a change competed with guilt over such selfishness.

As well as the lizards, the Cherubs were surprised to note, they were not alone. In the middle

stood chairs and a table with the remnants of a recent meal.

“Oh, no,” groaned Bacchus. “How could I forget?” He slapped his forehead -- a tad

forcefully -- compelled to rub it better.

“Bacchus! My good man! Finally come to pay your debt?” rumbled the huge Minotaur

advancing from a gloomed recess towards them.

He lumbered forward, his hand outstretched in readiness to favour Bacchus with a bone-

crunching grip. Nimbus suspected there could be a smile spread across the bovine face, but it

was difficult to be sure.

“Is he happy to see us, or preparing to feast?” Celestial nervously echoed his thoughts.

It could just as easily be a scowl. “Get ready to fly,” he whispered. The creature’s

hugeness, long sharp horns, large golden nose-ring and swishing cow’s tail on a bulkily muscled

human form were more than a tad intimidating.

“Major Bull, wonderful to see you again.” Bacchus flinched, gingerly extracting his

crushed hand. “May I present my charges, Celestial and Nimbus.”

“Marvellous to meet you both at last. Bacchus has told me much about you! Please, while

you are here, make yourselves at home,” he said, stretching his arms wide in welcome. Nimbus

was extremely relieved not to have to shake his hand. The bruises sustained at Jinx’s still ached

and he did not fancy adding to his collection.

“The Birds will be thrilled to have company. It’s been a while! I will go fetch them and we

can catch up. After we’ve completed our business transaction, of course.”

The Major threw what might have been a shrewd glance in Bacchus’s direction -- it was

hard to tell. Bacchus nodded and returned an edgy, tight little grin as the Minotaur exited via a

side tunnel.

“Well, he seems like a lovely chap,” Nimbus said.

Celestial pressed her lips together reprovingly. “Yes, he does. Although, labelling females

‘birds’ is borderline offensive! What did you do to him, Bacchus? The Major seems a bit

unhappy with you. Did you steal the Sacred Brahma? We really do not have time for trouble.”

“How could you insinuate such a thing? Nothing at all to be concerned about, my dear!

Just a little wager between pals.”

Celestial sighed, her lack of conviction obvious. “Excellent! Pay him and we can get on

with the task at wing.” Nimbus gave her an aggrieved look. “Oops, sorry Nimbus. I did not mean

to remind you of your feather-rot. It’s just a figure of speech. Besides, I don’t think you’re as

bald as you were. Your feathers are coming back!”

There was no time to celebrate, as odd chattering echoed from the Minotaur’s tunnel.

Bacchus shifted uneasily as Celestial rounded on him, eyes wide, finger jabbing in accusation.

She whispered harshly, “Is that who I think it is?!”

Nimbus blinked dumbly in the direction of the sounds. Maybe he should pay more

attention. It was frustrating to barely gain a participation ribbon in the knowledge race with

Celestial. For once he’d like to come first or even achieve a placing. At least be competitive and

not stretchered off the field before making the starting blocks.

“Harpies?” Celestial turned a grim shade of purple. “You’ve been fraternising with

criminal elements again, haven’t you?”

“I do not fraternise! And that’s rather judgemental, Celestial. The accusations were

groundless, the punishment of exile extreme,” Bacchus huffed.

Celestial wound-up, glowing like a firefly. Nimbus was unpleasantly reminded of an air-

raid siren. He intervened, before either could mount a prolonged defensive.

“Hello, I’m Nimbus. Lovely to meet you.”

His outstretched hand dangled awkwardly as one of the bird-like creatures politely

attempted to shake it with her wing tip, offering a toothy grin. Nimbus hoped she was not

hungry, her teeth and talons looked sharp and past experience with pointy things had given him a

justifiable phobia. He repeated the process with the other two. They were really quiet sweet, with

the bodies of colourful little wrens and tiny human faces. Major Bull made the introductions

given that he was the only one available to translate their cheeps.

“People call them Storm, Blackness and Rapid,” he snorted disdainfully. “But to those who

know better, they are Wren, Robin and Sparrow. They would like me to inform you that they are

delighted to make your acquaintance. Even that of the rude girl Cherub.”

Celestial turned scarlet. It was one thing to slander them out of earshot, but totally another

to get caught at it. Nimbus was surprised by the fact they’d nailed his sister so quickly, before

tamping the shameful satisfaction deep inside. She stuttered out an abashed apology.

“They won’t hold your unfortunate misconceptions against you by resisting the impulse to

peck your eyes out.”

“Thank you,” she stammered, to an ongoing chorus of chirps.

Major Bull nodded, necessitating a hasty retreat before someone lost an eye on his horns.

“The whole spectacle was a nasty misunderstanding. The Harpies no longer hang out with the

Furies, returned every human ever stolen in practically brand new condition, except for a couple

that were genuinely misplaced, and have embraced vegetarianism. In my own defence, I have

always been an herbivore and could not possibly have eaten all those villagers. Would not agree

with my digestion!” The Harpies embellished the telling with animated twittering.

“People simply have terrible navigational skills. I tried to guide them out of the labyrinth,

but they fled screaming in the opposite direction. Surely, I should not be held responsible for

their refusal of my assistance and loss in the crevices of the maze? After all, it was I left to clean

up the mess, rotting bodies oozing all over my nice marble floors. And the smell!”

Celestial’s mouth hung open. “Err, of course not. That all seems reasonable. Well done,”

she babbled. “I am deeply sorry for causing offence and promise to consider all sides before

forming opinions in future.”

Nimbus admired her restraint. Celestial felt dishonoured enough not to point-out, if she so

desired, she could incinerate them in a breath.

They were invited to sit and without delay, Major Bull asked, “Well, Bacchus. Where are

my arrows?”

It seemed Nimbus’s view that Celestial would reduce beings to ashes today was premature

in regard to Bacchus. She was positively incandescent with rage.

“You’ve been betting with our arrows!” she howled incredulously. “If the Most High hear

about this you will be relegated to purgatory for infinity!”

“Speaking of the most high,” Nimbus shouted her down. “Can we concentrate on the

situation? Jam and Ram may be useless gibbons, but we’re sure going out of our way to help

them along with all these delays. And what if they send someone higher up? We’re really stuck

in the nectar jar then.”

Celestial immediately saw the sense in this. “Bacchus stay here and sort something out. If

we are minus even a single fletch from an arrow by the time I return, I shall inform the Egypt

Quarter you’re the one who’s been thieving Ra’s Sunrays and trading them for Pearls of

Wisdom. Which, it’s plain you have failed to apply!”

Bacchus inhaled sharply. “You would never!”

“Try me!” Celestial dared.

“Pardon me, speaking of trades. What have you brought in offering for the Cave of

Unknowns?” Major Bull asked, with a curious tilt of his massive head.

“Offering?” Nimbus sighed and exchanged a bleak expression with Celestial. “What in

Saturn’s breakfast have we got to exchange? We can’t risk materialising anything from under the

noses of those above. Then they’ll know for sure someone’s escaped their clutches!”

“Is nothing straight forward?” Celestial visibly wilted.

Bacchus braved combustion in Celestial’s fury. “It’s a shame I’m not equipped with my

original luggage, plenty to donate from that.”

“And none of it yours, no doubt!” Celestial took a moment to gather composure,

smoothing her tunic. “Major Bull can you suggest anything we are in possession of that may

work as a gift?”

“Well, the Voice of Unknowns has been stroppy of late. Keeps rambling on about not

getting out enough, no news getting through from the wide world. So possibly, you could offer

information…” He thought for a moment. “Or better still. Gossip!”

Celestial began to object. Nimbus perceived the rave in his head, as clear as Zeus’s

Welcome Bells, before she’d even opened her mouth. She proceeded in a sing-song voice with a

nasal inflection (maybe he added that). “We are Fledging Angels, not entertainment reporters.

None of the Elders tell us anything of interest, proclaiming we are too young and inexperienced

to understand. Surely, Bacchus is the rumour-monger for the job, if only he had not already

exhausted his chances!”

Nimbus leaped to his feet, hauling a startled Celestial upright. “That’s a miraculous idea!

Thank you, Major Bull. Celestial, come on!” He grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the

furthest opening at the back of the cave, nudging lizards out of the way as he went.

“What are you doing? We don’t have anything worthwhile to share!” Celestial warily

picked her way through the scaly handbags with legs.

“You know your problem, Celestial?”

“I was unaware I had one,” she answered snippily.

“You’re too anchored in reality. The Voice of Unknowns has not been out for centuries.

How will it know the difference between fact and fiction? We can make up anything and it’ll be

good enough!”

“You mean lie?”

“Technically, yes. Surely a minor infringement is acceptable in gaining major advantage

over evil? You have to admit, it’s a bit of a grey area. Besides, we’ve got no choice. Unless

you’d like to trade your arrows?”

This last was thrown in to reinitiate Celestial’s outrage at Bacchus and divert her attention

from the untruths they were about to fabricate. Nimbus mentally gave himself a pat on the back

for his cleverly manipulative skills; Gabriel could seek psychological know-how from him in

future.

“Oh, very sophisticated, Nimbus. Dishonesty it is!” she said primly, as they entered a large,

eerily luminous-green cavern. “I have no intention of forgetting our ‘Guardian’s’,” she layered

the word with scepticism, “latest sin, but I am after all a professional. I am perfectly capable of

getting the job done. No matter how unpleasant.” Nimbus curtly farewelled his self-

congratulation. “Be very careful what you say, Nimbus. We cannot afford to loose a question.”

A high, argumentative voice emanated about the close space. The Cherubs squinted in its

direction and made out a light twitching across the back wall.

“Who in Anubis’s toilet is it this time? Always asking stupid questions: ‘How do I remove

the scorch marks left by Thor’s hammer from my toga?’, ‘Where did I leave my abacus?’,

‘Who’s going to win in the ninth at the chariot races tomorrow?’ it mimicked nastily. “Does it

look like I’m bothered? Does it look like gifts of incense and aromatic oils are going to do me

any good in here? Does anyone at all give a Gorgon’s wart how I smell?”

Nimbus doubted it (although the smell of lotus-blossom was rather pleasant). The Voice

was highly obnoxious; ranting about not caring how the villagers discouraged their Hydra

without sacrificing more maidens, because he wasn’t a pest-exterminator. Nimbus also found it

hard to sympathise because they addressed what was essentially disco lights bouncing off rock.

He challenged anyone to try!

He cleared his throat. “Oh grand Voice of the Cave of Unknowns, we come offering news

of outside events in return for your wise and splendid counsel!”

“Well speak up then boy!” it demanded churlishly. “I like to hear it when you grovel.”

Nimbus thought it best to start with something simple and close to the truth, so he told of

the famous starlet Aphrodite and her feud with the cougar Persephone over Adonis. They’d had a

number of public and highly unseemly cat-fights at various fashionable night shrines, ending in

an unfortunate incident involving Adonis, a wild boar and of one of Aphrodite’s jealous previous

boyfriends. Nimbus’s story was punctuated by “really” and “you don’t say” from the Voice,

while Celestial rolled her eyes at the sordid tale. She had no time for the pampered elite who

were worshipped for their appearance and not much else.

Nimbus finished. “May I ask my question now?”

“Yes,” intoned the Voice. “You have two questions remaining.”

“NO! That’s not fair. It was a rhetorical question!” Nimbus objected hotly.

“Clause 219 of the Oracles Handbook states I am at liberty to decipher which is a question

and which is not. If you have a complaint, refer it to the Grievances Department of your local

division of the Divine and Supernatural Council!”

Nimbus was about to protest further by punching the incredibly irritating wall in what he

estimated was its nose, but Celestial prevented him by clamping a hand over his mouth for good

measure. “Why have the Gods and Seraphim vanished from the Ethereal Realm?” she blurted.

“Oooh, that’s a hard one!” the Voice exclaimed in its fruity accent. “I can conceive of only

one explanation for the absence of the Most High. Every one thousand millennia a meeting of

truce can be called by either of the warring upper and lower factions. All are required to attend

and the gathering is held at the home of the one who made the request. It is my guess the Elders

are present at said meeting and as it is obviously not taking place in the Heavens, it must be held

in the Underworld. Ergo, empty Ethereal Realm!”

Meanwhile, Nimbus turned blue from lack of air, forced to stomp on Celestial’s foot for

release. “What did you do that for?” She hopped on the spot.

“Even Divine Beings need oxygen on the Material Realm. For when wearing their bodies

they take on the base requirements of that form. You now have one question.”

“NO!” Celestial piercingly echoed Nimbus’s previous denial. “That question was not

directed at you!”

Before the Voice could repeat its maddening Clause 219 mantra, Nimbus shouted, “Why is

it important for the Fallen to steal the Book of Lore before the passing of three days?”

This time there was long period of silence, during which the Cherubs did not move or utter

the slightest squeak. Finally the Voice responded.

“The knowledge in the Book of Lore includes the power of universal creation. And of

ultimate annihilation. This information is strictly accessible to those who claim the Book.

Ownership is granted to the one who reads the opening words of the Book as it stands on the

Pedestal of Omniscience in the Chamber of Greats.” If the message wasn’t disconcerting enough,

the Voice’s quietening attitude forced it home.

“The good seek from it only enlightenment. But there are those who would use the

information as an instruction manual. To undo. The Most High must remain in negotiations for

three days before their return to the Ethereal Realm. The Fallen have three days in which to steal

the Book and read the correct passage while it rests on the Pedestal, thus gaining the means of

cosmic destruction to reign without end over chaos.”

Celestial lost all colour and Nimbus felt as though he’d been trampled by Titans. It simply

could not happen! His overwhelmed brain spewed forth questions; how could the Elders have

been caught so unawares? If the Fallen were also obliged to be at the meeting how were Azazel,

Jam and Ram slipping in and out? Most importantly of all -- how could he, Celestial and

Bacchus fix it?

Yes, that was the crucial question! How to stop it? Nimbus’s lips parted to form the pivotal

words, when hysterical bird screeches, a thunderous bull’s roar and desperate shouts came from

the outer cave, accompanied by crashes, shattering terracotta and most disturbingly, rushing

wind. Their friends were under attack and by the sound of it, were not on the winning side.

***

Chapter Five

Release the Hornets

“Wait! I was only kidding about the other questions. You each have two left! Don’t you

want to ask them? Come back! Don’t leave me…”

The pleading Voice faded behind, as the Cherubs pelted towards the mayhem. Nimbus

worried frantically that he would not be capable of assisting. His aim had been haphazard with

an intact wing, what would his powers be like with the shrunken travesty he was hobbled by at

the moment? He still suffered the ill-effects of Jinx’s: his balance was off kilter and he was

extraordinarily clumsy.

Sure enough, just as Celestial cleared the opening back into the Minotaur’s lair and into

definite danger, Nimbus tripped over an iguana and tumbled to the floor in a graceless heap. He

struggled to gain purchase on the sandy ground, and hurl himself upright, as a stunningly bright

flash of light temporarily blinded him.

An unearthly wail followed soon after, along with a cataclysmic tremor, which threatened

to splinter the solid rock surrounding him. Rubble and dust hailed from the ceiling. The tunnel

collapsed at his rear, huge boulders plummeting downward to form an impenetrable wall

blocking access to the Cave of Unknowns. Then all was still. Compared to the furious calamity

of a moment previous, the silence disturbed more. Nimbus, pushed by fear for his friends,

eventually stood and hurried into the cave.

He was met with a sight of unimaginable weirdness. Hapless lizards, pot shards, gold

coins, and more disconcertingly, many coloured feathers floated lazily about just below the cave

roof. One of the Harpies attempted to pull an unconscious hovering Bacchus to a place on the

ground more consistent with gravity. The other huddled miserably over her fallen sister.

The ruin and debris of the fight lay all around. The air smelt of charring and brimstone.

Major Bull lolled weakly on a chair, tended by Celestial, who glowed and flickered like a

thousand watt candle, tiny sparkles dancing into multiple deep and freely bleeding gashes as she

healed his wounds. These would surely have been fatal had she not been present. Nimbus felt

consuming shame creep through his veins like acid; what had he been doing during the battle?

Grovelling on the floor like some worthless coward. Self-pity set-in as he wondered bitterly why

he had divine powers without the capacity to use them.

He stumbled over to Celestial. She looked up, her countenance one of absolute despair.

“Azazel has the Book. We’ve failed.” Shock mingled with his shame, and it was all he could do

to remain on his feet and not crumple to the ground for a therapeutic sob. “At least you have your

feathers back,” Celestial noted without joy, tears flooding.

Nimbus shook off the now inadequate pillow case and there was his wing, as whole and

magnificent as it had been before Jinx’s. He shook off his ridiculous self-pity too; it was an

indulgence he could ill afford. The sight of his twin in such pain galvanised his inner strength --

they must formulate a new plan.

“No tears, Celestial. You’re better than that. We need to wake Bacchus and make another

strategy,” Nimbus stated firmly. “Don’t you remember? Good always triumphs in the end

because it never gives up!”

Celestial gave a pitiful sniff and nodded faintly. “I’ll finish up here. You check on

Bacchus.”

Nimbus moved towards Bacchus and the struggling bird-woman some distance away,

startled to hear a soft groan. It came from a mound of pebbles, which vibrated slightly. He

cautiously went to investigate. All of their friends were accounted for. White feathers protruded

in patches, along with expanses of skin. Suddenly the figure beneath sat, spitting and retching

and vigorously shaking his head. Litanies of foul swear words stained the air and Nimbus knew

immediately who this was.

The black eyes snapped open and instantly registered Nimbus’s proximity. An evil leer

stretched its features. Electricity crackled up Nimbus’s spine and without thinking he spread his

arms and opened his mouth wide. A deep rumbling wail from the very core of the world sounded

and from between his lips came a savage swarm of buzzing blue wasps that rose in a twirling

spiral, hung swelling in numbers and then plunged to encase Jomjael in a living prison.

“Hornets can sting repeatedly and have extremely bad tempers. The smallest thing can set

them off causing a long and frenzied attack. You so much as move the wrong way and I can’t be

responsible for their actions.”

Nimbus took in Jam’s appearance: his hair, brows and wings were bleached starkest white,

only his ebony eyes maintained their original form.

“Jinx, huh?” Nimbus chuckled. “I bet your mates aren’t pleased. You look too much like

us now and they won’t relish having a constant reminder of the punishment their betrayal

wrought. They left you behind!” The spiteful expression on Jam’s face confirmed Nimbus’s

suspicion.

“Don’t gloat, idiot! By the time my Brothers are through with you and your lot, you’ll wish

you were me!” The hornets hummed ominously louder, swirling faster and tighter around Jam,

who blithely chuckled. “You don’t know how to inflict pain. Bugs?” he scoffed. “We eat them

for brunch with a little horseradish and crackers!”

“Your poor taste in cuisine aside, mine are special bugs, fool! When they sting, they inject

love; something we know you cannot abide. And as an added incentive, you will hear the

heavenly choir singing ‘Praise to the Lord and Hallelujah’, over and over in your marshmallow-

filled skull! Enjoy!”

Jam was notably appalled. Nimbus clicked his fingers and heavy manacles snaked about

his prisoner’s ankles and wrists, with a gag to stop the torrent of vile curses.

“Oh, and by the way,” Nimbus declared over the din. “You no longer have any Brothers.”

“Nice job.” Celestial smiled feebly, still occupied by the Major’s injuries.

Nimbus had finally dragged Bacchus to her side, after a gargantuan struggle to wrest him

to the ground. He would not have succeeded without Wren, who despite mourning the loss of her

sister, Robin, jumped up and down on their Guardian’s stomach until he fell unceremoniously on

his head. There would be a painful bump and possibly the further loss of brain cells, which

Bacchus could ill afford, but it couldn’t be helped. Nimbus blushed at the praise (a new

experience for him) and shrugged modestly, although on the inside he was strutting.

Bacchus stirred and slowly came to, coughing and spluttering. Celestial slapped his cheeks

to speed the process (and possibly vent her spleen that he’d yet again let her down).

“Really m’dear, tha’s noh necessessarary! Wha’ happn?”

“Wake up! We have a catastrophe on our hands and you’re napping!”

“Wouldn’t ’xactly call concussion and recuperating from the wounds of war ‘napping’.”

His voice became stronger and clearer as he gained full consciousness, along with an offended

tone.

“Your head’s sore because we dropped you on it,” Nimbus provided helpfully.

“You were out cold for the entire thing. Major Bull’s hurt and he’s lost one of his Birds

and it’s our fault. We brought this scourge here! So sit up and help us find a way to make

amends. Oh, and the Book of Lore has been taken. Azazel has it, and we have to get it back

immediately!”

Bacchus bowed his head. “I am truly sorry for Bull’s loss,” he murmured and then began to

laugh quietly.

Nimbus was baffled by Bacchus’s reaction. Perhaps he’d sustained worse brain damage

than predicted? Nimbus prayed it wasn’t permanent, and if it was, it didn’t make a noticeable

difference to their Guardian’s usual impulsive behaviour. Regardless, he was nonetheless

relieved to note Celestial was back to her usual severe self. He hastily recounted for Bacchus the

results of their discussion with the insufferable Voice, and then turned to her.

“What happened, Essie?”

She eyed Bacchus warily, her fingertips glowing in readiness to mend him further, if

required. “We’ll need to ask Major Bull for a full account. I was only present for the last bit.

Azazel was wreaking havoc with a tornado that slashed and tore at anything its winds touched.

Yet still the brave Major, I think protected by his thick hide, was fighting to reach the demon.

The Harpies were tossed on the gusts but managed to corner Ram, who was huddled over in

agony. One of the little Birds lost the effort and was blasted against the wall.” Celestial’s face

clouded with grief.

“It seems Ram copped a double dose from Jinx. He had noses and ears all over his body.

For him, the noise and the frenzied screams of the birds must have been torture.”

She stopped to take pleasure in the thought with an expression of dour satisfaction. Nimbus

nodded, thinking that with Ram’s exaggerated hearing the sound would have indeed been like

knives slicing through his mind. Celestial continued, her voice dripping sarcasm.

“Courageous Bacchus was already on the floor, having lost an encounter with ceramics.”

Bacchus sat sheepishly, peering up at them. “Azazel successfully summoned the Book and

extricated Ram with a flick of his wrist.”

Celestial drooped to a chair by the comatose Bull. “What are we to do?” she implored.

Bacchus chortled. “Have I told you about the time the Elders first approached me to act as

your Guardian?”

Celestial was instantly irate. “This is no time for one of your stories!”

“Please my dear, humour me? It is very relevant to our current predicament.” She

acquiesced with a begrudging nod. “The Most High called me to a meeting at the Chamber of

Greats. Naturally, having been down on my luck and involved in suspect dealings, I believed the

worst.”

Both Celestial and Nimbus were paying full attention. Bacchus rarely admitted fault in his

own bad deeds and his narrative got to the point in an unexpectedly brisk manner.

“I was taken aback by their offer. Me, protect and teach the first young on the Ethereal

Realm since time immemorial. The most precious Cherubim! To say I was puzzled by their

choice is an understatement. I respectfully articulated the opinion my qualifications were, how

shall we say, ‘highly specialised’, possibly inadequate for the appointed task. Frankly, I

questioned their faith in my ability to be appropriately responsible for their cherished Fledgling

Angels. It was one thing to exploit my own time in the universe, but quite another to jeopardise

yours.” He flourished a hand at Celestial and Nimbus.

“But Gabriel himself explained that there was no one more uniquely suited to the job. My

skills at deception, thieving disposition and capacity to slip through even the tightest spots and

more importantly, my capriciousness and lack of reliability would make it difficult to track our

movements and anticipate our whereabouts at any given moment. In essence, my flawed

character and less than reputable habits provide you not only with an ideal training ground for

transcending the weaknesses of human action, but also a priceless form of security.”

“Bacchus this is a wonderful tale and I’m thrilled the Elders view your shady tactics

constructively.” Celestial frowned resentfully, displaying that she was anything but thrilled. The

disclosure one of the topmost Archangels had approved his appointment meant Bacchus would

now be intolerable to live with, and worse still impossible to argue against. “But one of our own

has been slain, the Book is gone, we have a Dark Angel in our midst and… Well need I go on?

What has any of what you’re saying got to do with now?”

“Hermes, Silenus and I have been selling bogus antiquities to the gullible Earth-bound, it’s

an absolute bonanza! Included amongst my list of goods are counterfeits of the Book of Lore,”

he announced triumphantly. He rushed on before Celestial could spark-up. “Azazel stole one of

my fakes. I knew an ambush was on the Tarot cards and decided not to risk bringing the real

version along as a precaution.

“The little detours we made prior to arrival were a deliberate ploy to conceal the Book

elsewhere and bamboozle our pursuers. I do not imagine the deception will last for long, but we

have merely to retrieve the Book and find a quiet hidey-hole in which to plan our next moves.”

He had a naughty glint in his eye. “Oh, and I forewarned Major Bull of our intentions and he

agreed without hesitation, as did the Harpies. They feel any sacrifice is worthwhile in the fight

against all-consuming evil.”

Nimbus was ecstatic, and not just a little awed. “You sneaky old goat! It’s Brilliant!” He

was also jealous. Bacchus had effectively been granted sweeping permission to misbehave! “We

could get the Book and hide under the Fallens’ noses on the Ethereal Realm? They’d never

expect us to do that.”

“That is the stupidest idea in the history of humanity. A species that gave us the solar-

powered flashlight, the helicopter ejector seat and the glass hammer!” Celestial said. “You’d

deliver the Book straight to those Underworld ingrates if we were discovered. For once, I agree

with Bacchus. According to the Voice of Unknowns all we need do is conceal the Book for three

days and take it home when the Most High have returned.”

“You know, Celestial? It’s been my experience if a thing sounds way too easy, it usually

isn’t!” Nimbus responded sulkily, stung by her insult. “Not to mention that your plan is precisely

the one they’ll expect.”

“Be that as it may, are there any other options?”

“I believe so.” Major Bull strived to achieve the vertical.

“My comrade! It is a truly joyous relief to have you back,” Bacchus said, as he

ineffectually tried to hoist the Major up under the arms. “Sincere condolences for our dear

friend’s passing.”

“Thank you, my good man. It would take more than a couple of loathsome coffin-haunters

to subdue this old steer! We must determine the best way forward and then I need to tend to my

Birds. Robin’s departure is an unbearable blow.” He swayed gently on his chair, his head

momentarily lowered, before rallying. “Bacchus, are your Book forgeries upstairs?”

“Heavens no! If they were discovered I would be food for the dragons. Why St George

persists at domesticating them, I will never know. Unruly beasts! I keep my supply secreted

away in Thutmosis the Fourth’s tomb in Egypt.” He tapped the side of his nose like a common

crook. Celestial’s mouth pressed together razor-thin, and Nimbus could tell she was expending

considerable energy on self-restraint.

“Split-up and distribute copies around the globe, then rendezvous at a place of sanctuary

and wait it out. Retrieve the Book at the very last minute. Confuse the blighters with a well

planned subterfuge, I say!”

“Excellent gambit! And I offer you my last flagon of vintage ambrosia. Raise a glass in

Robin’s honour for me. When our task is complete, I shall return poste haste to reimburse my

debt and we shall celebrate her colourful and praiseworthy life in fitting style.”

Bacchus sadly surrendered his only water-skin, releasing it reluctantly after gripping it for

an overlong minute. Major Bull was clearly moved.

“I deem your liability repaid, as I know how much it costs you to cede such treasured

bounty. May Divine Providence light your path,” he said with a hand over his heart and then

hobbled off to help the two remaining Harpies. Bacchus stared wistfully after his departing

intoxicant.

“Bacchus fetch your books and we shall see to our unwelcome guest.” Nimbus was pleased

with this new plan and wasted no time putting it into action.

“Curse it!” Celestial exclaimed, as they headed towards Jam.

Nimbus halted in alarm. “What?”

“I left my travelling hat back at Jinx’s!”

“Yes, that is hugely upsetting.” Nimbus was genuinely sympathetic. “I could really do with

the comedy right now. You know, a good belly laugh always breaks the tension!” They were

squabbling rowdily as they positioned to tackle Jam.

“You two could give the bad-tempered kitchen crones down below a race for their

doubloons.” Jam’s scorn was evident, despite the gag.

He stared morosely at his feet and appeared to have given up all fight, until he made an

explosive effort to escape, leaping upright to shuffle chain-bound towards the exit. The hornets

were instantly upon him, dragging him down and stinging without mercy. He cried out in

torment. Nimbus lent against the cave-wall and picked at his fingernails, observing the writhing,

clamorous display with cool detachment.

“They’re killing him!” Celestial ran to the twisting, screaming Jam.

“NO!” Nimbus moved too late to intercept her. “Celestial stop!”

But he could only stare helplessly. Celestial reached down through the biting mass, which

parted for her hands and turned to sand on contact, the whole swarm collapsing harmlessly in

seconds. She tore the choke from Jam’s mouth and grasped him about the upper arms, shaking

roughly.

“Jam! Jam! Come back to us,” she called.

Nimbus sighed deeply and rolled his eyes in anticipation of the inevitable. Jam’s lids

parted sleepily and he gazed up at her with a mounting expression of total adoration.

“It’s you! The beautiful statue living and breathing,” Jam whispered, totally smitten. He

opened his arms for a hug. “Cuddle me!” he begged sappily.

Celestial dropped him to the floor as though handling Bacchus’s contraband, where the

Dark Angel lay with a dreamily contented smile. Celestial stood quickly, rueful awareness

spreading her face. She went slightly pasty.

Nimbus stepped to Celestial’s side. “You thought my insects were going to kill him?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, staring vacantly ahead.

“Do you know what you’ve done?”

“M-Mmm.”

“Join me my pretty toad and we can conquer the spineless mortals together.” Jam winked

coyly up at Celestial and beckoned her to a place lying beside him.

“I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from comment until his malady wears off. I made a

mistake and it seems I will pay heavily for it.”

Jam growled seductively like a big feline, patting a spot nearby. Celestial shrunk in on

herself with humiliation.

“Let’s just get on with our jobs and meet at Skylar’s Spire in two hours.”

“Agreed. Think of it this way, Celestial. At least now I’ve got something other than your

hat to laugh about!” Oddly, she did not appear to gain consolation from Nimbus’s kind

sentiment. “I’ll go north and take Casanova’s homicidal cousin with me to spare you. You and

Bacchus cover the rest.”

Nimbus sensed Celestial’s gratitude, but knew she was too traumatised to speak it aloud.

***

Chapter Six

Skylar’s Spire

“You genuinely think such a childish plan will stop my Master in his mighty purpose? I

pity your ilk and your infernal optimism,” Jam taunted.

“And I pity your ilk for having to endure your relentless gibberish!” Nimbus said half-

heartedly. “I can see why they abandoned you. They’ve probably been waiting for an excuse to

dump you since you first learned to talk!”

After two hours of Jam’s unceasing attitude and yap, Nimbus was fed-up. He might have

preferred to combat ongoing bids for freedom or displays of sorcery instead of all the complaint.

But, Jam seemed determined to reunite with Celestial and out of devotion to her had not lifted a

hostile finger in revenge for his imprisonment.

He had in fact dogged Nimbus like some psychotic, wordy shadow as they deposited

phoney versions of the Book throughout the northern reaches of Europe. There had only been a

couple of minor incidents on their journey, one of which had nothing to do with Jam. Rather, it

involved Nimbus and a close encounter with a spiny anteater. He was still jittery as a result. Jam

amused himself for a while afterwards ridiculing Nimbus’s fear of spiky animals, until

accidentally letting slip that he was pathologically afraid of camels, which thereafter had a

neutralising effect on any nature-inspired bullying.

The other event occurred early in the piece when Jam melodramatically sat at the point of

the Eiffel Tower. He refused to budge and raved about missed opportunities in the City of

Romance, his inability to continue without Celestial by his side, and other, more luridly

descriptive topics. Nimbus vowed these would remain forever unmentioned, no threat capable of

scaring the acts Jam described from his lips. Nimbus had no idea a body could accomplish such

feats and shamefully resorted to promising an evening out with Celestial, if only Jam would

move! Celestial would be less than delighted, Nimbus forced to swear an oath on his date pledge

that would be difficult to weasel out of.

It was not just the constant stream of abuse either. Jam was a genius at grotesque body

functions, which he indulged abundantly. Nimbus though it likely the black angel had befouled

every location they’d visited, hacking and urinating his way across the globe. He resembled an

obsessive-compulsive mongrel, marking its territory.

“I give you due warning. If you contaminate our final destination in any way, the creatures

that live there will rip you apart and that’s the best of it!”

“There is no threat you can make that will frighten me. I reside in the bowels of the Nether-

World with beings so evil, you could not possibly conceive of them in your very worst

nightmares. And then there’s Azazel! When he catches you, he will make you pop and crackle

like a grub on the griddle as a mere appetiser.”

“Enough of this sword measuring contest. Mine’s the longest by far! Grubs? That’s truly

gross,” Nimbus said distastefully.

“No, that’s dinner! And your sword’s a plastic cafeteria-knife by comparison, not even

sharp!”

“You eat grubs?” Nimbus asked, curiosity piqued. “What do they taste like?”

They appeared on a massive glacier in the midst of an isolated frozen wilderness. A

towering obelisk, delicately wrought in ice loomed over them. It glistened in shades of palest

blue, shimmering as if a barely perceived oasis in the thin sunlight.

“Azazel says that eating worms reminds us of our lowly rank. They taste kind of like salty

chicken. I wish I could be more specific. Apparently everything tastes like chicken. Where in the

Devil’s gall-bladder are we? I come from an arid climate. The temperature here is not good for

my complexion. I do not want my beloved ferret to see me looking peaky!”

“Mark my words, you call Celestial a ‘ferret’ to her face and a patchy epidermis will be the

least of your concerns.”

“I like ‘em feisty!”

Nimbus had to hand it to him, Jam certainly was persistent. “We are at Ellesmere Island in

Canada, close to the North Pole. We’re visiting some very dear friends. Queen Skylar of the Ice

Nymphs and their Polar Bear Spirits.”

Jam nodded knowingly. “I have heard of this snow witch. They say she is very powerful

and commands the Aurora Borealis and all things winter. Her ghostly bears are fierce indeed!

Her warrior’s spears are made from Orca Ivory and have magical properties.”

“Yes and if you label Skylar a witch again she will know it and freeze off the valued

articles you so vividly referred to back in Paris. After she’s done, if you have a sword left at all,

it will resemble a thumb-tack.”

A portly figure rambled out to greet them, a raised glass filled with a clear liquid in hand.

“Nimbush my son, well met! Come join th’ partayy. Eshel, eshelnt … great liqueurs! Skylar

brews them with her very own two hands!” Hiccough. “All welcome! Although... Shhh!”

Bacchus raised a stray finger, aimed for his mouth and achieved his cheek instead. “Don’t sing

them folk songs. Seems to bring on bladder problems, all vacate for the lavatory at once! Bring

your pal Lam.” Bacchus screwed his face in bemused concentration. “No, no… Pram! Yesh, thas

it! He can join the fun!”

Nimbus sighed stoically. “It appears you are the fun!”

Bacchus giggled and patted him affectionately. “That I am lad. That I am!”

Jam viewed Nimbus sympathetically. “Many of the imps in my world are often drunk and

disruptive.”

Bacchus wobblingly ushered them inside where they were greeted by Ice Maidens bearing

beautifully wrought wreathes of crystal snow. They were clad in diamond and silver, with

sparklingly frosted eyelashes and hair, their blue-tinged skin so pale as to be almost translucent.

Every surface within the amazing castle twinkled and dazzled.

Two Nymphs stepped up to bestow Nimbus with a garland of intricate icicles, when Jam

peeked timidly out from behind his back. On catching sight of Jam they let out long eerie

screeches -- the sound of wind whistling over barren peaks. They dropped the ceremonial

necklaces, which smashed in a tinkling crescendo, and then the entire court floated swiftly away,

deserting their guests in the impressively ornate foyer.

Bacchus seemed instantly sober. “Bit of a wet blanket. Aren’t you, Flan?”

“You didn’t inform the Queen I was bringing Jam? Does Skylar even know what’s going

on or does she believe this to be a social call?” Nimbus addressed Bacchus as though a wayward,

hard-of-hearing toddler, every word over-emphasised.

He received a mumbled response that could have included the words “wearied from

travels”, “welcoming hospitality”, and “remarkable smorgasbord”, but Nimbus did not require

further elaboration. He wished Celestial was available to deliver a scathing rebuke. “Has

Celestial made it back yet?” Jam was immediately attentive.

“Er, not as such,” their Guardian said evasively. “But she cannot be far away. She did not

have too many more books than I.”

Before Nimbus could comment (it would not have been favourable), he noticed Skylar

hovering at the top of the winding staircase. The majestic Queen soared serenely down to them,

her shining filmy robes trailing her wake, her waist length silvery hair wafting about her radiant

face. She stopped briefly in front of Nimbus to reverently kiss his forehead and proceeded passed

him to Jam.

From within the folds of her gown she produced a frozen crystal ball, known as the Sphere

of the Oracle, balancing it between them as she faced him. She cupped it in one hand and circled

the other above it where a swirling mist became visible. The vapours increased, sinuous tendrils

wrapping about Jam as he stood rooted apprehensively to the spot. Skylar entered a trance-like

state, humming softly. Nimbus raised a cautioning finger, indicating that if Jam knew what was

good for him, he would defy his natural urge to make trouble, stand still, and take his potion.

After a moment the Queen stirred, staring intently at Jam, and then slowly she gave him a

saintly smile and bowed respectfully. She announced prophetically in a soft, lilting voice.

“Darkness exists only in the absence of light, Jomjael of the Fallen. Be the moth to illumination

and you shall be saved. Come most sacred youth, Nimbus. There is much to ponder. I entrust

Jam’s well-being to you, Bacchus, he is welcome in our halls.”

“Don’t forget to show him where the amenities are!” Nimbus hastily advised. “And carry

napkins at all times!”

Jam wore a confused frown, his calls fading as Bacchus led him away. “Do I have to be the

moth? How about Mont, the hawk-headed god of war? A death-raptor maybe? Can’t I at least be

the bald eagle or something a little more lethal? We eat moths for breakfast…”

Skylar turned her saintly visage to Nimbus and offered him her arm as they ascended the

stairs to the highest glass-walled chamber with a panoramic view of the glacial tundra. Once they

were seated and the attendants had left food and beverages, Nimbus impolitely breached

formalities as his swelling worry burst free.

“Celestial has not returned! She’s more efficient than Bacchus and I combined. She should

have been here by now. Something bad has happened to her, I can feel it!”

“We shall see. Allow me to scry for her.” The Queen retrieved her orb and set it on the

table in front of them.

She lent down and a dainty diamond and filigreed pendant about her neck dangled over the

softly glowing sphere. The jewel oscillated gently and Skylar closed her eyes to interpret the

signals. A troubled expression crept over her face and her brows knitted with renewed focus.

Eventually she sat back.

“All is obscured. The Ethereal Realm is shrouded by an impenetrable mist. I cannot

distinguish Celestial. She is deliberately hidden, but I read grave danger coming nearer --” A

loud boom broke her discourse.

“What was that?” Nimbus glanced around uncertainly.

“Something forbidden has forced its way onto our lands. Our defences have been

penetrated.”

Nimbus was too desolate to care; his Other was missing and in peril. He did not know

where his dearest Celestial was; let alone how to help her. This felt far worse than the loss of his

wing due to feather-rot. Their efforts to throw Azazel off would come to nought if Celestial had

been taken. She would make a most effective ransom, as she was worth so much more than the

Book. The Queen issued psychic commands to her troops, but Nimbus grieved, oblivious of the

turmoil of activity about him.

“It comes!” Skylar announced.

She grasped Nimbus about the elbow and teleported him to a wide balcony, overlooking

the entrance to the ice palace. They positioned at the balustrade in front of a line of Snow

Warriors standing at rigid attention. Bacchus typically loitered at the opposite end of the terrace,

next to the laden banquet tables, as though preparing to resist any challenges to his culinary

children.

A hyper-vigilant Jam fidgeted next to him. Beneath them two black figures could be

detected approaching across the wide white expanse. They stopped at a distance in front of the

castle and Nimbus could now make them out by squinting through the frigid haze. It was a Dark

Angel accompanied by some huge monstrosity straining on its lead and clawing the air. Mad

snarls echoed over the valley and a gag-inducing stink assailed their nostrils.

“I come for my brother!” a supernaturally amplified voice rumbled forth. “Release him and

we will return to our kingdom.”

This would not be ideal: Jam knew too much about their intentions. He stepped to the edge.

It was clear to Nimbus he was torn between staying for Celestial (he did not know she was lost)

or leaving with Ram, for that’s who had brazenly entered Skylar’s dominion uninvited. He was

no longer disadvantaged by extra ears and noses. To add to his menace, Ram erupted into blood-

red flame. The snow at his feet hissed and released plumes of steam, which hung about him in an

ill-omened cloud. He caught sight of Jam staring down at him, as did the hideous beast which

whined in acknowledgment and began a deformed dance, its back end and long barbed stinger

writhing from side to side. Ram struggled to keep it under control.

Nimbus was struck by sudden recognition; it was the slavering three-headed Hell Hound.

The beast guarded the gates of the Underworld against convicted shades trying to get out and

mortals that did not yet belong (not that anyone alive ever tried to break-in of their free-will).

Nimbus could not believe it; the thing was happily wagging its tail for Jam.

“Go home, Ram! The rest will not have me like this! They’ll kill me if I come back with

you,” Jam shouted.

Ram’s face lit up. “I searched the inner circles of Dis and found a Hollywood stylist to dye

your hair and feathers until the curse wears off. Don’t worry! He’s really good at what he does.

He’s only down with us because he sowed discord. Too much cruel gossip. Besides, we’re

winning, Jam! Azazel has the statue girl and we can trade her for the Book!”

Nimbus gasped; his worst fears were true! His stomach constricted for Celestial. At Ram’s

admission a change came over Jam. He immediately made to leap over the balcony and join his

rescuer, wings spread wide in readiness to flee. At the same time, Ram’s great black dog broke

free, galloping towards Skylar’s home. Many events crashed together at once.

A low gong sounded from somewhere deep within and the ice structure groaned

alarmingly. Twelve massive snow white Bears materialised in an impassable ring below them at

the foot of the palace walls. They roared deafeningly and Nimbus covered his ears. The Bears

marched shoulder-to-shoulder making an unstoppable beeline for the recklessly charging dog,

which was too ferocious or too stupid to halt its course. Ram’s hands blazed and he launched

huge fireballs at the oncoming bears. Pyrotechnics glanced harmlessly off dense fur to fizzle in

puddles of rising fog.

“Buttercup here! Here dog, here!” Ram called urgently.

Bacchus lunged for Jam just as he was airborne, grabbing a handful of feathers to haul him

from the railing back onto the tiles, where he pinned the escapee with a foot. As their Guardian

completed this highly coordinated manoeuvre, moving faster than Nimbus imagined possible, he

used his free hand to grapple with a large platter of meat, tossing it as though a discus back over

the dog and over Ram’s head. The spinning plate dropped roast beef as it hurtled through the

atmosphere and the dog spun to follow the delicious treats, running by its still shouting owner

and gobbling the edible trail as it went.

The Polar Bears halted their progression, facing down a now magnificently outclassed

Ram, who had no choice but to admit defeat and pursue his rebellious pet, running pell-mell. As

the risk declined, the Bears faded slowly into the snow and all went silent. Bacchus could be

heard scuffling with Jam, who fought violently to break out of his grip.

“A little help!” The spear carrying soldiers encircled Bacchus to subdue Jam, who panted

like his giant dog. The enchanted spears prevented him from activating his powers.

“LEMME GO!” he thundered.

Puffing heartily, red-faced and sweating, Bacchus disentangled himself with difficulty.

“Throw the heathen in the brig for necessitating that appalling waste of splendid nosh!”

“After I’m done with him!” Nimbus propelled himself into the circle and pounced on Jam,

who was caught unawares. His fist connected wrenchingly with Jam’s chin, making an audible

‘crack’. He achieved another nose-blooding blow before Skylar’s disapproval could be heard

above the commotion.

“Enough! Brawling like some common street urchin in the gutters is not befitting one of

your stature, Nimbus! Rise at once and collect your dignity. There is much to do! We must save

Celestial.”

The Queen flicked her head, instructing her company and they jumped, separating to carry

out her bidding. Quivering with suppressed rage, Nimbus rose slowly, glaring mutinously down

at Jam. Jam glowered contemptuously back, wiping his bleeding nose and adjusting his displaced

jaw.

“You will pay for that,” he whispered venomously.

“Not as much as you, if anything happens to Celestial!” Nimbus warned darkly.

Jam crumpled. “She is my beloved too,” he cried pathetically. “I am doomed in her

absence and suffer torture worse than punishment for the Seven Dire Virtues!”

Nimbus felt like booting him hard in exasperation while no one was watching, but pity

won the day and he thrust out his hand to grudgingly pull his hopeless adversary to his feet. The

satisfaction he felt at generating his hornets had well and truly dissipated and he wondered when

their infatuating effects would wear off. Not soon enough!

“Well then, that makes you on our side. We shall need your help,” he said tersely through

gritted teeth. He reached out to Jam’s smashed face. Jam recoiled and stepped backwards.

“Hold still, idiot! My aim is not the best and I can’t be blamed if you move and I explode

an eyeball!” Nimbus touched Jam’s broken, streaming nose, his fingertips alight, and fixed the

damage he had inflicted to the underlying bones.

Jam smiled placidly. “That is most soothing! I have not experienced such a pleasant

sensation before.”

“Yeah, well don’t get too used to it!” Nimbus muttered.

Skylar and Bacchus (who’d managed to find replacements for the food he’d lost and was

chomping on a banana sized prawn, dripped mayonnaise staining his robes), observed

approvingly.

Bacchus’s voice was muffled by a mouthful of seafood. “I think finesse is called for, my

good son. There will be time for vengeance when the Most High return.”

***

Chapter Seven

The Plan

“Well, at least we know they haven’t found the Book. There would be no need to take

Celestial otherwise,” Bacchus said grimly.

Nimbus paced Skylar’s parlour, paying little heed to the brilliant vista below, nor the

discussions of those around him. He stopped suddenly and addressed Jam, who was squeezed

glumly between two severe-looking soldiers.

“How did Azazel find Celestial? How did you locate us at the Cave of Unknowns?”

“It is one of my gifts. I can track anything, supernatural or otherwise. Without me they

would have used Buttercup, although she is not ideal as she is in the habit of eating the target and

can be easily distracted. We do not let her out much as she is very hard to control, except by

Azazel. Although she wanders Vulcan’s Forge at night.”

Bacchus shot upright. “And how can we be sure this wretched fiend has not made a meal

of our precious Celestial? Hercules should have killed the brute when he had the chance!”

“Celestial’s alive; I would feel it otherwise,” Nimbus said dully.

Jam added, “Azazel is not so foolish as to be frivolous with the life of a Sacred. Your

Archangels would perceive such an act of bloodshed, even while inhabiting the Chasm of Doom,

and his plans would be revealed. Above all, he would not want this to happen and so will keep

her safe while she is needed.”

“The Ethereal Realm is heavily cloaked against the Sphere of the Oracle. It would seem

they do not wish us to pierce their veil of secrecy. Therefore, Celestial is imprisoned on our own

plane,” Skylar said. “The balance rests with the Fallen. We need to tip it back in our favour and

in so doing, alert the Elders of our plight.”

The seed of a plan sprouted in Nimbus’s mind. “What does Azazel cherish most?”

“He has a priceless gargoyle collection. But stealing this for ransom would be impossible,”

Jam replied astutely. “It is heavily guarded as there have been many attempts to burglarise it.

Azazel has bewitched the statues themselves to shriek loudly if they are moved from his vault,

which is protected by many enchantments. Also, if successful in capturing a single gargoyle,

each is encumbered by a vile and unique curse.

“When he was younger and too ignorant to know better, Ram tried to take the tiniest, jade

scorpion figurine, which is what he became as his hand touched it. Azazel left him trapped in

green stone for a whole month as penalty for his heedless curiosity. He was regularly stung by

his own stinger as a convincing prevention. In this he was considered blessed, in comparison to

the host of other possible afflictions. There is one thing only that Azazel prizes more.

“Buttercup!” Bacchus sighed loudly in disbelief. “Talk about your Morton’s Fork.”

“I am unfamiliar with this Fork,” Jam said. “Is it like Lucifer’s infernal prodding stick?”

Skylar’s attendants hissed at the mention of the Supreme Fallen’s name.

“The choice between unpalatable alternatives. In summary, we can voluntarily enter the

Underworld to pilfer a bunch of unpinchable, grotesque statuettes that are likely at the very least

to bestow the flesh-eating pox. Or, nick a savage Hell-Hound with lion's feet, a mane of serpents

and the tail of a viper, not to mention a vicious jaw full of dagger-sharp teeth! Sounds like my

sort of plan!”

“You forgot Buttercup’s deadly-poisonous spit,” Jam supplied helpfully. “And the fact that

Azazel must be acting on the orders of those more superior to him. He will not dare trade

Celestial against their wishes, regardless of whether you have his pet, his gargoyles, and his

accursed opal crown that steals youth if you handle it and his horrid girlfriend, Ekidna,

combined!”

Jam shuddered in repulsion at this half female with a long slithery tail in the place of legs.

“The woman is high-maintenance and deranged at best. She breathes fire and noxious fumes at

the drop of a loin cloth, would slice you into cutlets with her talons in the flash of a ghoul’s

temper and don’t bother going near her around egg-laying time or your life is cinders!

Nimbus mirrored Jam’s shivered reaction at the mention of Ekidna’s name. But not for the

same reason. An echidna was very much like a hedgehog, although he knew that Jam was

referring to a monstrous female dragon (in Nimbus’s opinion, less scary than the yucky little

mammal christened after her). She was responsible for generating many of the hideous beasts

that plagued both Gods and mortals alike and was probably the one that gave Azazel Buttercup.

Jam really did hang with a nasty crowd.

“We only need to hold them off for one more day!”

Suddenly a deep sinister voice resonated throughout the spire. “I Azazel, have your

hallowed Cherub!”

Skylar rose in outrage. That Azazel would dare endanger Celestial was unacceptable, as

was his corruption of her pristine world. An unsettling breeze whipped about her as she sought in

vain to direct her magic against his wicked source. The Queen’s attendants glanced fearfully

from between fingers shielding their frightened faces.

“You will present the Book within two hours or I will strip the Cherished of her wings and

hurl her from the Heavens! If you disobey me in any way, our pretty is taking a dive without

feathers! Send only the other Most Sacred.”

The warriors were forced to restrain Jam, who’d leaped to his feet. “You won’t. You can’t!

The Overlord of the Dead will have your gizzards to tie his girdle!”

But Azazel was in no mood for debate and had vanished. Nimbus stood affixed to the spot,

his countenance harsh, fists balled tightly. Bacchus anxiously blotted his brow with his spare

sash, all thoughts of feasting banished from his mind. He very much looked as if he could use a

stiff drink. Nimbus, desperate and frantic, considered asking for himself. He couldn’t think

straight with a whirling miasma of fear clouding his mind.

“Do something!” Jam thrashed against his captors. “There is no time and I don’t believe

Azazel is acting on any authority!”

“You just said he was. What’s changed?” Nimbus squinted suspiciously. “How do you

know he’s not bluffing?”

Jam answered reluctantly, apparently breaking a vow of secrecy. “Because… Even where I

come from there are ordained rules or we face absolute obliteration. Our existence maintains the

cosmic balance and the Great Hades would never overtly jeopardise our position or our safety.

We can indulge in mischief and rightfully gain power only by abiding by these laws. Wilfully

murdering a Sacred without provocation is the worst offence and would curse my Brethren to

certain death without mercy in the meanest Halls of Tartarus. It is not an idle threat to make!”

Bacchus nodded in the background. “Jam is correct.” He quoted a memorised verse from

the Book of Lore. “All shall abide the Holy Order as dictated by the Essential Tapestry of

Existence or endure annihilation in the Eternal Fires of Divine Fury.”

Nimbus had never heard of this Essential Tapestry, but his curiosity was tempered by their

need to find a suitable strategy of attack. He would ask about embroidery later, preferably when

no one else listened.

“All right. So the universal playground has regulations and it looks as though the

wonderfully crackers Azazel is being very disobedient and could use a few hundred years in the

naughty chair! How can we use this information to…?” Nimbus paced while he listed their goals.

“Rescue Celestial, alert the Elders in the bowels of Hell, who I must say have sorely let us down

up to this juncture, keep the Book from Mr Cuckoo. And that should do for the current roster of

impossible jobs! How does one even get into the Shadowlands?”

Bacchus took a steadying breath. “I was a restless sort in my youth and travelled widely,

both the known and unknown kingdoms.” Nimbus rolled his eyes; this was no time for a long-

winded story. Bacchus ignored him. “I have been to the Pits of Despair and I remember the path

well. I will go and rouse the Gods from their ignorance of our plight. If I succeed in the first, my

last shall be to bring back Buttercup as added insurance.”

Nimbus’ mouth dropped in awe. The admission Bacchus had been to the Underworld

placed their Guardian on a level with the legendary Hercules, who had flouted his own mortality

in Hades to battle Buttercup bare-handed, as part of his Twelve Labours.

“But I cannot go unprepared. I will need to gather certain supplies that in themselves may

prove tricky to acquire, especially given we have a scant period in which to do so. My usual

supplier, Osanyin the African God of herbs and plants is obviously not available. We need to

split up. Nimbus you will go and see the witch Circe --”

“What! I heard she turned Odysseus’s men into swine! Cronus knows what she’ll do to me

if I get on the wrong side of her!”

Jam observed this exchange with mute interest. “If I dared challenge a superior,

transformation into a pig would be the least of my worries.”

Nimbus ignored him. “You know I’m not good at networking! I’m not a people-person

Angel.”

Bacchus stared blandly at Nimbus. “While I visit Hermes’s cousin Mercury. He has a

particular item which will prove invaluable.”

“Why can’t I go and get this… Thing?”

“Because,” Bacchus explained patiently, “Circe and I had a little falling out a few centuries

back and she has a very long memory. It’s a funny story actually. Remind me to tell you about it

when this all ends for the best. Since, if the outcome is not positive we won’t exist, of course!

Best not to let slip you’re associated with me.”

He winked reassuringly. It didn’t work: Nimbus remained utterly un-reassured.

“Besides, Mercury will have precautions against infiltrators and only I will be cunning

enough to disable them. Meet me at Vulcan’s Forge in an hour with these provisions.”

Bacchus magicked a list and handed it to Nimbus, who snatched it irritably to survey the

contents. Fern seed, Crowquill, Antimony, Essence of Void. Many of the other words on it were

long and complex and Nimbus was quite sure he could not pronounce them, let alone understand

their purpose.

“And what will we be doing while you’re gallivanting through the Abyss of Despair?”

Nimbus asked testily.

“Gallivanting?” Bacchus puffed up. “You know not what you speak of, impudent whelp!”

Of course Bacchus was right. A descent to the pit was cause for dread, even for the Most

Divine. But stressful situations brought out the worst in Nimbus. Celestial always lectured him to

‘stop behaving in such a self-absorbed manner’ (she felt it best to condemn the action not the

person). What Nimbus would not give for one of those sermons face-to-face right now.

“Sorry.”

“Are you not the Chosen?” Bacchus retorted. “Feel free to use your imagination and offer

suggestions at any point! Truly, Nimbus, it is time you stepped from your sister’s shadow. This

is an opportunity to reveal the greatness hidden within.” It had been so well hidden to this point,

Nimbus had never been able to find it. He held slim hope of it appearing.

Skylar spoke, “I will make offerings to the Polar Star for your safe passage. I have

bequests to assist you in your trials.”

She gave a regal wave and three of the same ladies-in-waiting from the foyer at their

arrival swept into the room. Each was endowed with a silver cushion.

“First, for you, Nimbus.” The Snow Queen indicated to collect his gift as the courtesan

presented it-- a soft velvety grey glove (didn’t he warrant a pair?). “This glove will allow you to

touch that which is untouchable.”

Then Skylar herself produced a small vial on a chain filled with beautiful ice crystals,

which she placed around Nimbus’s neck. He was not one for jewellery and felt foolish wearing

it.

“Rub the glass, Nimbus, and feel the cool breeze from my lands wherever you are.”

Nimbus made an inadequate effort at gratitude, bowing wordlessly, which would have

earned him a swift arrow-poke from Celestial. He missed her sorely, although admittedly it had

given his butt time to recuperate.

The next was Jam who received an unwieldy hat, fussily adorned with sparkly dancing

pixies and flowers that went from bud to bloom and back again repeatedly. He hesitantly

arranged it on his head, appearing as though he’d tipped the contents of a young girl’s toy box

over himself. The hat began to snow; dainty intricately geometric flakes settling on Jam’s bare

shoulders, while he sat blushing and bashful. In Nimbus’s opinion he looked utterly ridiculous

and although he would never admit it aloud, this was the stupidest gift he’d ever seen -- even

worse than a single useless glove! Nimbus refrained from guffawing with great difficulty.

Skylar laughed softly, a sound not unlike trickling water. “It is for you to give, Jomjael, not

keep for yourself. It will help you with your heart’s desire. It compresses when not in use and

you merely have to wish for it and it will reappear. For the rest you are ably equipped, even if

you know it not.”

She turned to Bacchus. “My dearest friend, for you the Horn of the Host. Blow it once

when you reach your destination and only the Most High will take note. Blow it thrice and my

bears are at your command. And for your perils in the Shadowlands, I give you a bottle of my

best liqueur to fire your courage and ease your angst.”

“These are most worthy gifts!” Bacchus beamed. “Infinite gratitude, Your Magnificence!”

Nimbus secretly thought that Bacchus was happiest about the booze, but again he

prudently held back comment. Skylar smiled tranquilly and waved from the balcony as the three

headed out onto the gleaming plain.

“Where does Circe live?” Nimbus asked.

“An island called Aiaia near Italy, which is quite handy as our final meeting place is on Mt

Etna.”

Jam nodded. “Vulcan’s Forge is the passageway into my realm. But it is heavily fortified

against those who do not belong and will be difficult to breach.”

“Leave it to me lad, I have my ways!” Bacchus said.

“The more immediate issue is getting into Mercury’s room on the Ethereal Realm. How are

you going to do that with Azazel there? He’ll be waiting for me and watching,” said Nimbus, as

they progressed to the furthest reaches of Skylar’s lands.

“I’m going to disregard protocol on this occasion and materialise directly onto Mercury’s

front porch. Azazel is not Argus of One Hundred Eyes and will not be able to watch every single

portal. With a bit of luck I can slip in and out before he even realises I’m there. Should be as

easy as Zeus deceiving his jealous wife Hera!” Bacchus clicked his fingers and grinned

confidently.

Nimbus experienced a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. Echoes of his previous

words to Celestial, “when things seemed easy they usually aren’t” rocketed to consciousness. He

had been right last time and they now found themselves in this mess. It was not a good point to

finally get correct!

***

Chapter Eight

Acquiring the Herbs

Nimbus miscalculated his landing and rematerialised on the edge of a small pebbly hill. He

promptly lost balance and toppled over the side, causing a minor landslide that brought shale and

grit down on his head, when he finally landed in a dirty disgruntled heap at the bottom.

Jam glanced over the side. “Are you injured?”

“You mean aside from wounded pride,” Nimbus grumbled as he slowly got to his feet. He

patted his robe, sending dust clouds to the sky. “No, I’m not hurt. Thanks for the concern!” he

replied loudly.

“I was not asking out of sympathy, just checking to ensure you are alive to hear me

laughing hysterically! Would you like me to make you a chart next time?”

“I had no idea the Underworld could produce such comic genius!”

“Laughter is the single leisure we are allowed. And it must be rationed. Such freedom to

express it at will is a gift beyond measure.”

The reminder of how many things he took for granted, did not improve his mood. Nimbus

scrambled crab-like up the gritty mound. Eventually he joined a smirking Jam at the top and they

picked their way through the arid scrubland, avoiding scraggy bushes with long noxious-looking

thorns that dripped an awful smelling substance. They were making for the centre of the island,

where Circe lived, according to Bacchus.

“That is the paralysis plant. If you prick yourself on its spines you will become immobile

for two days. Beneath its roots lives a colony of carnivorous ants that respond to the vibrations

on the ground as you fall, and come looking for dinner. They take nutrients from the dead below

to feed the living of their kind and nourish the roots of the shrub. It is a perfect symbiotic

relationship … and a very agonising way to die! We have fields of those at home.”

“Charming!” Nimbus muttered, giving the horrid trees an even wider berth. “It’s not so

symbiotic for the one eaten alive.”

“It is a lesson in vigilance.”

The place was creepy. At regular intervals, bleached animal skeletons dotted the landscape

with strange runes and symbols etched onto the bone, their vacant eye sockets and wasted sneers

a grim warning to stay away. Leathery skins from a large scaly reptile Nimbus did not recognise

were draped over some of the gaunt leafless trees, offering scant shade in a hideous imitation of

umbrellas. The unrelenting sun beat upon them and even though, technically, Nimbus didn’t

need to drink, he felt parched in the merciless heat. A ramshackle hut came into view and did

nothing to ease his anxiety.

“Nice!” Jam commented, glancing around appreciatively.

Chained to four crooked posts supporting the rickety veranda were animated versions of

the skins they’d seen. Nimbus shuddered; they belonged to large Monitors with two stubby legs

where only one should have been, making a total of eight to heighten its lightening burst of speed

on the hunt. Two forked tongues slipped in and out of its crushing jaw and tasted the air for new

prey. Each reptilian head had three beady eyes, one sat higher on its forehead, which stared

greedily in Nimbus and Jam’s direction, as they cautiously approached.

“Assault lizards, how cute,” Jam exclaimed.

Nimbus gave Jam a wary sideways glance -- he was clearly mentally unhinged. The door

of the shack flew open and a screaming harridan propelled herself at them, wild grey hair flying

about her head, grimy robes askew. “Get out of here! You are trespassing on private property!

Don’t force me to release my pets!”

Nimbus raised his hands in surrender. “We come in peace!” he called lamely.

“That’s what they said to the Indians and look what happened to them!” Circe moved over

to the lizard closest to them. It enthusiastically strained against its tether, growling and hissing in

anticipation of flesh-yielding sport.

“You can jump in at any point!” Nimbus irritably urged Jam.

“Don’t worry, it will be quick if it gets you!” Jam seemed to enjoy himself.

“Is that supposed to be encouraging? You obviously failed supportive counselling for those

about to be torn to shreds and digested in the belly of a monster!”

“Stay still you stupid worm!” The Witch struggled to free the writhing beast. “It’s too hot

in the middle of the day to be exercising! I’m working up a powerful sweat!” It was true. Nimbus

could smell her from where he stood and wrinkled his nose.

Jam abruptly presented by her side. “Please, allow me to assist you.”

She stopped trying to undo the lead and gaped at Jam. Nimbus knew it! The Devil’s Spawn

was not to be trusted. How could he have been so gullible? He readied to flee, herbs or no herbs.

Jam succeeded in untying the leash and the abomination of a lizard sprang loose. But instead of

charging at Nimbus it spun and jumped up onto Jam, placing its claws on his chest and

feathering his face with its tongues. It spasmed strangely and Nimbus realised, that like

Buttercup, the thing was gleefully wagging its tail. Jam laughed and patted the scaly beast’s

armour-plated head. He apparently had a special way with gruesome creatures.

“Who are you?” Circe demanded.

“Down!” Jam commanded and the monitor dropped to its stomach and grovelled

pathetically on the ground at his feet. “I am Jomjael of the Fallen. At your service, Madam.” He

gallantly kissed her hand and her cheeks flushed girlishly. “My friends call me Jam.”

“You sure do have a way about you, Jam.” She smiled coyly and batted her eyelashes. Jam

beamed smugly over her shoulder at Nimbus and winked. Jam apparently had a special way with

temperamental elderly hags too!

Nimbus sighed in disbelief. Jam would be impossible now. He tramped over to them. The

lizard rumbled menacingly, raising its head in the hope of a meal.

“Watch it, sonny! Undoubtedly you don’t have Jam here’s talent.”

“Yes, he sure is full of ‘talent’!” Nimbus mocked. “I’m Nimbus and we’d like to make a

purchase please, if possible.”

“Not so fast, sonny.” She paid no more than bare attention to Nimbus. She was all for Jam.

“Don’t have visitors too often and I’ll be expecting you to take tea with me ‘afore we barter.

Come and sit a spell, while I pretty up.”

Nimbus thought miserably this would definitely take quite some time. She gazed

seductively at Jam.

“You are as pretty as a fresh young maiden, my exquisite Circe!” he said.

Nimbus felt instantly nauseous and discreetly searched for a vessel to vomit in. He didn’t

know how, but it was the sentiment that counted. They entered her home and seated themselves

on the moth-eaten couch. Nimbus looked around the grungy room with all manner of gross

shrivelled rodents and pungent branches hanging from the ceiling to cure. He pleaded with the

Fates he was not required to eat anything, possibly facing a Monitor the better option. It appeared

tame enough, with its ugly head resting on Jam’s lap like a travesty of a puppy, but Nimbus was

not willing to risk a finger to test his theory.

“So, we’ve dumped Celestial already, huh?” Nimbus goaded in a whisper, thinking perhaps

his hex had finally worn off.

“It’s an act, you moron! I have only one true beloved and am loyal to her for as long as I

live!” Jam snapped. Nimbus was sorely disappointed.

A tantalising scent assailed their nostrils and both inhaled deeply. At the doorway Circe

emerged, a vision of perfection with waist-length silken black tresses, smooth shining olive skin

and an amply endowed figure, clothed in a filmy, flowing gown. Her face was the most beautiful

Nimbus had ever seen, not counting his own. Both he and Jam were instantly lovesick.

She floated over and demurely perched between them, an immaculate porcelain tea set

materialising on the table in front. Circe reached over and poured each a tiny cupful of the

aromatic brew. In her enchanting company, Nimbus’s worries faded away. He wanted to stay

here always with this intoxicating goddess. His dreamy expression was reflected on Jam’s face,

who gazed reverently at their host. She flourished a hand gracefully, indicating they should

retrieve their drinks. As Nimbus bent over to do so, Skylar’s pendant fell into view.

Circe caught sight of it in her peripheral vision and lost interest in Jam, who slumped over

in a neglected coma. Less competition, Nimbus reflected contentedly. The Witch focused on

Nimbus.

“That is a beautiful charm you wear,” she said, pressing herself closer.

Nimbus got goose bumps. “Look what it does!” he gushed like a flattered schoolboy,

trying to impress.

He grasped Skylar’s gift, its chilly smoothness beneath his touch. Nimbus awoke as though

slapped, but Circe was too entranced by the trinket to notice. Their vital mission came flooding

back to his mind. He blinked and the fawning, glamorous nymphette next to him returned to her

true form: a hideous and conniving ancient crone with missing teeth and steel wool hair, whose

intentions were less than savoury.

Nimbus pretended he was still under her spell. He gave Circe his broadest smile and

rubbed the amulet. A cool refreshing wind rustled softly through the room, like Nirvana in the

claustrophobic heat of the island. Circe turned her face to the breeze and closed her eyes in relief.

He paused, noting Circe’s increasing disappointment as his weather transformation grew fainter

and cloying warmth dominated, once again.

“Bring it back!” she ordered.

“Do not be upset attractive lady,” he soothed. “It is simply a matter of rubbing the vial.”

“Do it! Do it!” she shrieked. In the periphery, Jam twitched violently and roused from his

enthralled slumber to gaze around in confusion.

“I offer you the amulet in exchange for the goods on this list,” Nimbus said loudly, hoping

Jam would not blow their only advantage. The Dark Angel radiated outrage, whether at being

duped by this impostor or mortified that he could so easily stray from his beloved, Nimbus could

not guess.

“Give it to me.” She gestured impatiently, nails as yellow as ram’s horn.

Circe checked the list and left the room, as did the hypnotic fragrance and any lingering

vestige of her allure. In front of them on the table, replacing the false version of the petite

crockery, sat a bubbling cauldron, its fetid contents plopping and spitting. Bile rose in Nimbus’

throat at the realisation were it not for Skylar, they might have drunk the gloop. Maybe she’d

hang them from the roof to desiccate over centuries, plucking their eyeballs to flavour her stew.

He vowed never to criticise the Queen’s gifts again.

“‘Loyal to her for as long as I live,’ I believe were the words!” Nimbus murmured in Jam’s

ear. The lizard hissed dangerously and he had a most satisfying image of tipping the boiling

sludge over the beast.

Jam looked desperately ashamed. “It was a minor lapse! I cannot be held accountable for

that old Witch’s wiles! Please, do not tell Celestial of my dishonour. I beseech you!”

“Holy scroll. Get a grip. I was only joking.”

Jam had no chance to answer. Circe returned toting many small satchels fastened with

string. She plonked them into his lap and Nimbus gathered them together and secreted them

securely in the folds of his robe.

“Thank you! Stories of your legendary skill in the botanical arts are not inflated!”

Nimbus stalled, while he tried to figure out how to leave without invoking her ire. The

witch resituated between them, indicating with a toothless grin it was time to drink their ‘tea’ -- a

highly unappetising proposal. She held out her hand to collect Nimbus’s pendant in payment for

the herbs.

“I wonder if you might check the list once more. The pleasure of your company will be so

much sweeter when I am assured our business is complete.” Nimbus rubbed the cooling vial to

allay her temper. She reluctantly complied, squinting to inspect the list closely. Suddenly,

Circe’s interest heightened.

“I know the undeserving hand that tracked this ink across parchment!” Blotches of florid

colour marred her cheeks as her voice gained volume. “That scabrous leech. That devious

double-dealing parasite!”

Uh-oh! Bacchus and his skulduggery, always blowing back on others.

“May he rot in the bowels of the colossal crab that scavenges the cess pits of the lowest

dungeons!” He couldn’t agree more. “You dare come here on an errand for Bacchus?” she

screeched.

“The very one who stole my father Helios’s golden chariot to drunkenly joy ride the skies,

running into a comet and dinting the fender!” Circe raved hysterically. “I was blamed for the

damage and grounded for an entire season. I missed the summer solstice ball! I had to pay the

Smith-God Hephaestus a small fortune in repair bills. And Bacchus took my sister to the

celebrations!”

The Monitors outside could be heard howling and pulling frantically at their bonds as her

shouts amplified, unstable posts creaking against the strain. It was definitely time for the Angels

to make their leave. Nimbus rose inconspicuously, while the Witch was busy ranting and inched

bit by careful bit towards the door.

“As if that was not sufficiently rotten! That leprous bilge-rat sold me a batch of bad newts

at an exorbitantly inflated price during the universal shortage.”

Circe seemed to be lost in furious recollection, yelling more to herself than those present. It

was the opportune time to exit and Nimbus made a ‘move it’ face at Jam, who was furthest from

the door, blanketed by a lizard. Jam grimaced back ‘how?’ to which Nimbus shrugged ‘be

creative’. Jam hoisted the Monitor under his arm and edged around the low-lying table.

Circe added waving arms to her rant. The lounge creaked under the onslaught, springs

popping, as she ventured into the past.

“Bac-arse blamed the solar eclipse for the scarcity. Didn’t appease my father though, when

I told him spoiled newt was the problem, after accidentally turning his prized Ebony Sphinx into

a mewling white house cat! Was it my fault my Centipede Python was hungry and swallowed the

dumb kitten? Who likes cats anyway? Except for those fickle Egyptians? AND NOW I’M

EXILED ON THIS WRETCHED SPIT OF SAND!”

Her head snapped up and she glowered wickedly at the sight of Nimbus and Jam tiptoeing

out the door. She stood and raised her hands. They grew to huge proportions, arced lightening

crackling and fizzing about the room from her elongated talons. Circe’s voice crashed behind

them.

“Bacchus the goat will receive his penance when I turn his friends into toejam and send

them to reside in suffocatingly intolerable foot odour under the nails of Magog the Giant!”

“Fly!” Nimbus yelled, not wasting a backwards glance as he spread his wings and hurled

himself airborne from Circe’s home.

He soared rapidly skyward, concentrating on listening for the whoosh of Jam following,

perceiving no evidence of flapped pursuit. He risked a glimpse over his shoulder. Beneath was

utter mayhem. Jam sprinted across the clearing in front of Circe’s home, the façade of which

disintegrated, as her brutes tore the supporting beams down and ran after the fleeing Angel.

When Jam cleared the turmoil, just as the first of the lizards snapped at his heels, he jumped and

shot into the air, leaving them rabidly circling and baying in his wake.

Circe could be heard roaring from under the ruins of her hut. After a mighty bellow she

broke through the debris, her contorted face evident. Lightening bolts started spot fires in the

wood of her destroyed shack, setting fire to her hair so that it flamed like a match, extinguishing

to leave her scalp with alternate clumps of smouldering melted hair and charred bald patches.

She spat and swore at them as they fled. It would be quite a while before she could again

convincingly play the attractive vamp to trap the unsuspecting.

Jam triumphantly whooped up to Nimbus. “You really know how to have fun! That was

great!”

“What is that under your arm?” They made for a suitable place to disappear. He felt as

though he was turning into a less effective copy of Celestial with all the nagging he was forced to

do in her absence. Nimbus was glad they were finally on the way to getting her back. His

appreciation for her particular talents grew by the second. “Well?”

“Maybe I was over generous with the fun tag,” Jam commented. “The female humans are

in the silly habit of carrying animals in their designer handbags. Ugly hairless guinea pigs. I

think I have a much better option!” he said, proudly exhibiting the lizard he had carried with him

from Circe’s. “It would make a great accessory to her range of stylish hats.”

Nimbus took a deep, quelling breath. “Oh for Gaia’s sake! You have pomegranate syrup

for brains if you think Celestial will embrace carting Godzilla around in her purse! Drop it now.

Or I’ll describe in detail how you flirted with the ungorgeous Circe!”

The fact Jam referred to Celestial’s hats as stylish, confirmed beyond all doubt he was

intellectually unbalanced. Wait on, Nimbus puzzled. How did he know so much about her hats?

Jam frowned sulkily, releasing the reptile to watch sadly as it somersaulted towards the

earth. “Goodbye Fifi! I hope your landing is a soft one!” Turning back to Nimbus he said primly,

“It is the thought that counts!” He refused to utter another word until they reunited with Bacchus

at Vulcan’s Forge.

***

Chapter Nine

Cockroach Flambe

Meanwhile, Bacchus covertly materialised on the Ethereal Realm, concealing himself

inside a huge golden statue of Athena, situated in the main forecourt before the Chamber of

Greats. He vainly scrutinised his new physique -- it was the slimmest he’d been since Jupiter was

a boy! He’d neglected to mention to Nimbus an intention to check on Celestial. The lad would

have declared such an act too hazardous, giving many well-reasoned objections. “Can’t argue

with what you don’t know about,” Bacchus silently chanted his own trusty motto.

He scoped the plaza. Jam’s Other was idly seated between columns at the top of the stairs

to the entrance, dredging his ear with a finger, balling the wax and flicking it at the patio roof. As

well as being utterly unhygienic, he appeared somewhat depressed and less than vigilant. The

place had obviously been looted during the search for the Book, providing the opportunity for

needless destruction with torn parchment, chunks of marble sculpture, shattered urns and

overturned garden settings strewn about. The central fountain was soiled in a way Bacchus

thought best not examined too closely, the surrounding lush gardens scythed, uprooted and

discarded to wither and die.

He could not locate Celestial anywhere, figuring she must be held inside, which was not

ideal as Azazel was probably there as well. Bacchus pondered his options. He could forgo

checking on Celestial and put his faith in Jam’s assertion nothing untoward would happen while

she was a useful bargaining tool, or he could do what he usually did and rely on his own

judgement. It had saved his skin on numerous occasions (he neglected to note it was normally his

own judgement that got him into scrapes in the first place). He decided now was not the time to

revise his methods and rashly chose the latter.

Bacchus could not pierce the dense psychic shield Azazel had in place around the

Chamber, and so would materialise inside without forewarning of any changes, and therefore no

clear flight plan. This was extremely dicey and often resulted in regrettable circumstances.

Bacchus once teleported into the bathing house as Uranus cleaned out his chamber pot and it

took him months to eradicate the lingering odour from his finest toga! He would have to be

quick, lest Azazel detect his presence. He braced himself and aimed to materialise on one of the

chandeliers at the back of the hall. His luck held and Bacchus was able to gain a full appraisal of

the situation in a brief glimpse.

The dark renegade arrogantly seated on Zeus’s Throne, idly exploding golden pillows with

a flick of his wrist. A thin layer of downy feathers littered the floor and floated about. Celestial

sprawled on a large stone chair -- a new addition to the hall -- her head lolling and eyes glazed.

She appeared uninjured. Bacchus recognised the new furniture: it was the Seat of Forgetfulness

and it explained something that bothered him. Why Celestial had not fought or managed to get

them a message. She was almost invincible when angry and even Azazel should have

experienced difficulty keeping her subdued.

His questions answered, Bacchus withdrew and rematerialised at the door to Mercury’s

room on the outer reaches of their realm. He could move about unrestricted here because it was

closer to the Material Realm to aid Mercury’s job as the Divine Messenger. All that human

energy created interference across the airwaves.

Naturally, the door was locked, but Bacchus was unfazed; he had exaggerated Mercury’s

security measures so Nimbus would be forced to cooperate with the plan and go to Circe’s more

willingly. Mercury was in fact very lax about protecting the contents of his home and kept a

spare key under one of the reclining Cupids by the door. This job would be as simple as Cyclops

junior.

Bacchus let himself in and closed the door, locking it firmly against the uninvited. He

almost collapsed in the reek of abandoned sports socks and dirty sweatshirts. The guy clearly

didn’t go in for regular washing! Nor cleaning -- the place was a Satyr’s communal sauna, with

piles of grubby linen and towels tossed over every available surface. Teetering towers of stacked

greasy dishes, bowls and cups transformed the room into a cityscape.

Bacchus would never have believed the usually immaculate Mercury was such a grot. You

think you know a person. He gingerly edged his way through the mess heading for the office,

carelessly crossing the threshold to his friend’s inner sanctum. The article he desired projected

from a decorous pen-pot on the highest shelf. A shrill whirring buzz filled the small room,

spreading rapidly to the rest of the apartment. The acute whine was all around and Bacchus could

not trace its source. He spun on the spot analysing every nook and cranny and discovered

belatedly how sly Mercury truly was.

“Not bad, old man!”

From everywhere poured a vast sea of cockroaches, moving over the floors, the walls and

the ceiling. Very soon, the isolated clear patch Bacchus occupied would teem with insects. Still,

he was optimistic. They were only bugs and he could reach his goal even if it required wearing

them as a living coat!

He strode towards the shelf, immediately beset by blasts of mustard spatter. His robe

disintegrated on contact, spewing plumes of acrid smoke. Bacchus coughed and gagged. These

were no ordinary roaches! But he’d come up against worse and resolutely barrelled onwards,

clothing diminishing shreds. Glutinous blobs of green slime joined the acid and he trod in a large

puddle of it. Bacchus’s foot refused to come free as he tried to lift it. The green stuff was

incredibly sticky and one leg was immovably glued.

“Oh, very good indeed! Sorry I underestimated you, Mercury old pal. You do know a thing

or two about protection! I guess that makes me the naïve one!” he chuckled to himself.

Backed into a corner, he had no choice but to draw on his full power, which would

instantly alert Azazel. Like all supernatural beings he was attuned to its use. Creeping about as a

statue was one thing, wielding the heaven’s awesome influence quite another. Azazel and his

crew did not tolerate infringements of their instructions. Bacchus jeopardised Celestial further by

showing his presence (they enjoyed sending body parts as a warning and there were no

anatomical bits Bacchus thought Celestial could do without). He wrenched his foot free,

deserting his favourite sandal upright in muck. Poised in a shrinking discus-sized space, it was

now or never!

He closed his eyes in readiness, when a bottle dropped to the ground as acid ate the last of

his bag, scattering his flint and other supplies. He was damned if he would loose Skylar’s

liqueur! He bent to retrieve it and a cockroach boldly ran up his now bare leg and bit him on the

rump. It stung and he swore crankily and squashed it flat. He jerked upright with the alcohol and

his flint in hand, pulled the cork with his teeth and took a bracing gulp as bug feelers tickled his

floor-bound skin. He knew it would not merely tickle for long. As the pressure to act reached a

climax, Skylar’s words floated back to him, “to fire your courage and ease your angst”. Maybe

there was a way without revealing he was here!

He took a huge mouthful, wastefully spraying it over the vermin and activating a hail of

sparks from his flint. The carpet of cockroaches burst into flame, those in proximity retreating

hastily. Bacchus fixed the masses closest to him, barbequing them (and hoping that any

remaining would get the idea and recede without him having to squander his entire supply of

booze. He’d already donated a sandal!). He repeated the process until his refusal to part with any

more of the precious beverage superseded safety issues.

Mercury’s hovel looked much the worse for the clash with knee-deep fried carcasses and a

sooty film of smelly ash coating everything. Bacchus’ special sandal smouldered limply,

crumbling to a carbon mound when he tried to reclaim it. He saluted his lost shoe and climbed

the lower shelves to pluck the jar from its lofty perch. He waved a cautious hand over the quills

and pencils contained within, having learned his lesson not to get smug about the apparently

weak fortifications of other’s sacred objects.

Reassuring himself that there were no further hurdles, he carefully extracted the thin,

ornately carved tube. It was Mercury’s hypnotic wand and had the power to put the highest Gods

to sleep. Bacchus simply had to blow through it and even Sisyphus, doomed forever to push his

boulder to the top of the hill and repeat the procedure after it frustratingly rolled back down,

would take a well-deserved nap.

He could hear the dastardly cockroaches scuttling in a call to arms for replacement troops

and he left for Vulcan’s Forge without delay. He would fabricate an excuse for the sorry state his

friend’s house was in when they finished the task at hand and saved the universe! It may even

give him some leverage if he returned a hero.

At that precise moment, Nimbus was involved in a heated argument with Jam, as they

waited on the boundary of Vulcan’s Forge.

“We could have stolen some of her shape-shifting herbs, if you had not got yourself pinned

down under that appalling excuse for a pet!”

“For the final time, Circe does not use her herbs to shape-shift! It is a talent one is born

with! And I see why you are petless. Small animals and babies probably run from your sunshiny

personality!”

“Whoa! I am not the Dark Angel here. Me, side of good, saviour! Harmony and glory for

all concerned! You, side of evil, plague, pestilence and devastation, no-one spared!”

Jam was about to provide a cutting retort when Nimbus raised his hand. “Wait a minute.

How do you know so much about shape-shifting?”

“Because I have the gift.” Jam eyed Nimbus warily.

“Show me!” Nimbus demanded, before realising the insolence of his tone. He added,

“Please.”

“It is a skill which matures with age and I am not quite adept at it yet, but I will try.” He

screwed up his face not unlike a weight-lifter at the Mt Olympus games.

There was a miniscule pop! And a horrid Pomeranian -- the type those silly human females

lugged in designer bags -- appeared at Nimbus’s feet. “Eek!” he squealed, thinking it a porcupine

at first.

A sheepish looking Jam reappeared. “You see what I mean? I was attempting a Siberian

tiger.”

Nimbus nodded sympathetically. “Still… Clever!”

“And,” said Jam, features shifty, “I will not tell anyone you shrieked like a Fairy at the

sight of that sorry example from the animal kingdom, if you forget what you saw at Circe’s.”

“Deal.” Nimbus had no choice but to sullenly agree. It was another embarrassing fact the

Nymphs would value highly, should they ever find out! Nimbus thought he saw a way to proceed

on the Ethereal Realm, but could not elaborate as his Guardian arrived.

Bacchus apparated stark naked, the Horn of the Host slung over his shoulder, wearing a

single scorched sandal. Scraps of his robe clung in places to ginger chest hair. His bushy orange

eyebrows were singed, giving off the burnt smell of dragon’s breath. There was also a faint

alcoholic undertone.

“So, it went well then?” Nimbus inquired.

Bacchus held up Mercury’s wand in response and smiled wryly. “Lost one of my lucky

sandals!” he said, clearly discouraged by the failure.

“Seems you lost a little more than that.” Nimbus signalled his state of undress.

“Hope you did not break a nail,” Jam muttered sarcastically. “Your current dress is

precisely the uniform of some of our lower ranked administrative officials, only their trumpets

are bigger.” He snickered.

“Listen sport,” Bacchus said, colouring up. “Hestia awarded me those sandals for

discovering the grape vine, one of my proudest moments. I won’t have you besmirching the

occasion with jokes about manicures!”

“You discovered the grape vine? So we have you to thank --”

“Or to blame,” Nimbus mumbled.

“I apologise! I did not grasp the sentimental meaning of your sandal,” Jam continued

earnestly, offering a bow.

“I am the God of Wine, after all!”

“Okay, if we can ditch the foray into the illustrious past of Bacchus and get on with the

job?” Nimbus worried they were running out of time.

They grouped on a craggy buttress near the top of Mt Etna. The volcano belched a

poisonous cloud, but was relatively sedate easing Bacchus’s access to the Underworld. He would

not have to punt the lava moat today. Jam clapped his hands together -- from him, a resident, this

was the equivalent of providing the pass word. A yawning chasm appeared, rough hewn walls

tinged a threatening red by molten rock. Searing heat blasted Nimbus and he had to squint to see

a treacherous winding path rising from a vast lake of magma, heading off in the distance.

“I give you Perdition Road,” Jam supplied theatrically. “Hard to get off, once you’re on.

Although lately, since that fool Virgil took his pilgrim through, we’ve had extreme sports nuts

fronting to white-water-raft the river Styx and base-jump the Abyss of Doom. Hades had a

Griffin when he found out! Shouted the Underworld was a prohibited area, the importance of

maintaining cultural heritage and what not.”

“Fascinating,” Nimbus said tartly, “can we move it along? Remember Celestial?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you! Azazel has Celestial trapped on the Seat of Forgetfulness.”

Jam broke into fits of the giggles. “Very amusing!”

Bacchus raised a perplexed eyebrow. Or would have were it not burnt off.

“I’m so glad she’s not hurt! I wondered how he’d keep her under control.” Nimbus ignored

the completely insane Jam, who was still shaking with laughter. He was slightly relieved about

Celestial’s predicament, but still eager to get underway. “Here are your herbs. What are they

for?”

“To cover his scent and make him blind to my neighbours.” Jam wiped away tears of

humour.

Bacchus nodded. “The inhabitants of this place can smell sin and corruption, Circe’s weeds

neutralise the fact that I am pure of heart and do not belong.”

“Sin and corruption is the ideal, huh? I would not have thought you needed the herbs,”

Nimbus murmured. Bacchus favoured him with a petulant look. “But won’t they recognise you,

whether you smell right or not?” Nimbus ploughed on.

“I have to make a detour first and obtain an item, which will address the problem.”

Bacchus packed his scant belongings in a small, new satchel.

Jam gasped. “You are going after Hades Helmet!”

He was more intelligent than he looked and Nimbus was a tad jealous. Associating with

one smarty-pants was plenty, being forced to hang with two would prove unbearable. Nimbus

refused to reveal his ignorance and changed the subject.

“Whatever! I collected the Book on the way here. You definitely recommend we give it to

Azazel and try to get it back after we’ve rescued Celestial?”

“Azazel will be wary for fakes now and I can see no alternative than to give him the real

deal. You’ll need to stall him for as long as possible, so I can bring back help before he reads it.”

“Just for the record, that plan sucks grapefruit!” For the first time Nimbus and Jam, who

wore a doubtful expression, were in total agreement.

***

Chapter Nine

The Princess and the Proxy

“Shhh! Don’t spook them!” Nimbus warned, his progress muffled by the straw-strewn

floor.

“What are we doing here?” Jam whispered back.

“You’ll see,” he said as he crouched and snuck the length of the stables, filled with an

ordinary assortment of barnyard animals: lamas, ostriches, bears and golden-horned deer. In a

large coral in the middle of the long building, stood a herd of snow white cows that brayed lowly

as the two passed by. Nimbus halted at the end stall, gesturing that Jam should remain hidden.

He rose cautiously, calling quietly as he did so.

“It’s alright buddy. It’s Nimbus.” He received a whinny in response and the winged

stallion Pegasus trotted up to him, nudging Nimbus’s cheek with his velvety nose. Nimbus gave

him an affectionate rub. “Got to ask a favour. You may need to involve the family and probably

the oxen and others as well. I hate to request you risk your loved ones, but things are a bit dire at

the moment.” The horse nodded and neighed softly. “Knew I could count on you,” said Nimbus

and he outlined his plan.

“Do you really think it’s wise to use dumb heifers for such a risky enterprise?” Jam asked a

short while later as they stealthily made their way towards the Chamber of Greats.

“They aren’t ordinary beasts of burden. They’re Apollo’s sacred herd and they’re probably

smarter than me!”

“That is no compliment of their intelligence,” Jam grinned.

“Oh, how very witty!” Nimbus rolled his eyes.

“Hades too has a magical herd that roam the Asphodel Fields. Only, they have sable black

hides. I am not sure how clever they are.”

“You are an absolute font of trivia.” They arrived behind the Chamber and slumped tiredly

to sit with their backs to the wall.

“Thank you,” Jam replied.

“So, do you think you can do it?” Nimbus asked, voice hushed.

“It will not be easy. I am still a beginner and taking another human form is the hardest to

accomplish, but for my Celestial, I would battle the Geryon with its bat wings and three giant

bodies. I promise to do my best. Good luck to you… Nimbus!”

Had Jam addressed him by his name before? Nimbus rose and started to leave for the front

of the building. He pivoted. “I have faith in you, Jam. This will not work without you. Celestial

needs you and we will not forget your contribution when this is done.”

Jam blinked in surprise. “No one has placed their trust in me before.”

“Never?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been pushed around, picked on, criticised for a long list of

inadequacies and threatened with the cat-o-nine tails or the rack if I did not follow orders. Truly

depended on to do the right thing of my own accord? Never!”

“Here’s your chance,” Nimbus smiled. He prayed to every known deity they weren’t

wrong about Jam and this wasn’t another part of the black angels’ trap.

“You can count on me,” he said sincerely.

“Wait for the signal. Then give it a minute or so, okay?”

Jam nodded. Nimbus made for the entrance and the massive golden doors to the Chamber.

He rounded the corner and almost collided with Ram, who’d been wandering aimlessly about the

ruined square. Ram’s eyes went wide and he instantly burst into scarlet flame.

“Stand down!” Nimbus yelled. “I’m here on the directive of your master. Your life won’t

be worth living if you get in my way!”

“Where’s Jam!” he bawled. “What have you done to him?” Ram’s fists remained alight.

“Stand down, I said!” Nimbus crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet in

defiance. Ram reluctantly did as asked, maintaining an obstinate expression.

“Where is my brother?” Ram repeated. “I demand you release him!”

“Your ‘brother’ is safe and unharmed and at liberty to return to his kind at any point.

Maybe he simply chooses to be free of your bossing and bullying.”

“Jam would never leave his Brethren. We are his family!” Ram was clearly incensed by the

suggestion.

“Doesn’t sound like it.” His tone hid a lack of confidence.

Ram’s unyielding attitude made Nimbus nervous. What if the hex wore off and Jam

reverted to his true nature in the middle of the current crucial proceedings? They would be

stuffed like a suckling pig on the proverbial feasting spit then. Given that Jam had chosen to flee

with Ram back at Skylar’s, it seemed the only barrier to Jam’s desertion was his obsession with

Celestial. Nimbus needed to hurry while it still held.

“I don’t have time for this. Move aside and let me do what I came to do!”

“Not until you tell me where Jam is!” Ram mimicked Nimbus’s stubborn stance.

“Okay!” Nimbus pretended irritation and raised two fingers to his lips giving a long high-

pitched whistle.

Ram looked about edgily. He did not expect to get his way so easily. His suspicions were

confirmed, when a huge golden eagle plummeted from on high -- Zeus’s familiar. Its claws

outstretched to grasp Ram by the arms, and haul him off to its eyrie on the top of Mt Olympus.

Ram shouted obscenities and struggled mightily, but to no avail. The eagle’s power neutralised

that of any in its grip or near its nest. It would take a while for Ram to climb his way back down

the steep cliff face.

Satisfied he could focus solely on Azazel now, Nimbus progressed to the door, braced

himself and pounded, loud booms reverberating across the courtyard. The doors swung slowly

inward, gradually revealing Azazel in all his terrible glory. He sauntered over and gave Nimbus a

cold, superior smile.

“It is alarming how easily the defences of the Most High can be penetrated. The Book.” He

signed eagerly for Nimbus to hand it over.

Nimbus had no choice but to reluctantly obey. He fumbled in his robes, buying extra time.

Over Azazel’s shoulder he saw Jam appear by Celestial’s side, able to do so now the

concealments were broken. He grasped her limp form about the middle and hauled her carefully

off the bulky chair, laying her down beside it, where she remained hidden so Nimbus lost sight

of her. He had an unsettling momentary vision of Celestial coming around, unaware Jam was her

ally and attacking him. But Nimbus was comforted to observe the Dark Angel step to the chair,

change his appearance, which became remarkably like the real Celestial except for the ebony

eyes, and reseat his replacement in her stead.

Azazel’s patience clearly waned. He urged with a manic power-hungry air, “Give me the

Book. NOW!”

Nimbus produced the Book and with a heavy heart, handed it over. As the Book left his

grasp, making contact with the tips of Azazel’s fingers, a frosty wind filled the square, ruffling

his hair and sending ominous shivers down his spine. In an instant the leaves were stripped from

every single tree to scuttle dismally across the paving in a growing tempest.

The peaceful rosy glow that usually infused the Ethereal Realm became the hostile pallor

of the gathering storm and Nimbus felt the ground beneath his feet tremble. He could not

understand how the Most High remained unaware of this unfolding tragedy. Their superiors had

left them on their own! An oppressive feeling of foreboding stole over him, energy draining

away as though sand slipping through fingers.

“Release Celestial!” he faltered.

“That has always been the problem with the side of good,” chuckled Azazel. “Far too

gullible. When I rule as the greatest lord over my dominion of darkness in the sky, I require a

powerful and beautiful queen. Celestial will rule beside me as my eternal Princess of Night and

remind the arrogant Gods of this lost land just how foolish they have been!”

Nimbus stood transfixed. Azazel never intended to release Celestial! “You forget one

thing!”

Azazel raised a brow in mute inquiry, completely unfazed by any issue Nimbus could bring

to proceedings.

“Celestial would never yield to your authority. She would fight you until the bitter end!”

Easily manoeuvring the Book to one hand, Azazel casually raised the other and loudly

clicked his fingers twice. Nimbus watched devastated, as from behind the Chair of Forgetfulness,

Celestial raised herself and commenced a floating glide towards them, arms oddly outstretched

like a voodoo facsimile in some type of deep trance.

“Nooo! NO!” Nimbus’ panic mounted.

Azazel glanced from the hovering Celestial to the prone substitute in her place on the

Chair. “Very interesting,” he mused. “Well, we shall discover the impostor’s identity soon

enough and they will endure fit punishment. But now, to the matter at hand.” Like a ghost,

Celestial drifted to the Fallen Angel’s side. “Come my Princess,” he smirked, snapping his

fingers again.

Nimbus launched himself at his immobilised twin coming up against a solid invisible

barricade. He rebounded uselessly from the rubberised wall, shoved to his rump.

“Wake up, Celestial!” He was up in an instant to futilely batter the air. “Celestial!”

She was cocooned within the enchantment and no longer reachable by normal means.

Azazel sneered, enjoying Nimbus’s apparent helplessness. However poorly his approach was

going, Nimbus did not succumb to his enveloping despair. His determination crystallised and he

instead closed his eyes and sent the mental signal to instigate the rest of his desperate plan.

Azazel peered curiously down at his feet. The surrounding pebbles bounced erratically in

response to strange increasing vibrations.

“What mischief is this boy?” he growled, squinting in an effort to discover its source.

A thunderous rumble grew from the distance to a deafening pitch, the floor trembling

violently as a mammoth rotating dust cloud blasted the square. Without further warning, all the

creatures from the barn stampeded into the courtyard making directly for Azazel and the

comatose Celestial. Huge brown grizzly bears lumbered roaring next to nimble leaping does,

encircled by the herd of oxen whose lowed guidance echoed above the din.

Flying gracefully at the helm of this charge soared Pegasus, his nostrils flared and his ears

flat to his temples in readiness for battle. His immortal fire-breathing mare Equinox lead the

attack from the ground, billowing smoke as she broached the stairs three at a time and surged

forward.

Azazel perceived the rush and turned on his heel to run for the Pedestal of Omniscience,

abandoning Celestial to the trampling onslaught. Nimbus barely had the opportunity to barrel her

from harm’s way as pounding hooves made the wide terrace. They rolled to the ground protected

by a sturdy pillar. Still, Azazel was fast and would reach his destination first, trailed by the

skirmish. He could not get the chance to read the passage from the Book! Pegasus, whose wing

span was too large for the Hall, landed at the door, whinnied, stamped his foot and shook his

long white mane.

As Nimbus frantically searched his oppositional brain for alternatives, he caught sight of

three lightening quick darts spearing down upon Azazel, plumes of ash and jets of fire accosting

him as he sprinted closer to the Pedestal by the second. The triad winged foals of Pegasus had

arrived with a vengeance, the triplets harrying and swooping over his head, diving to kick with

their hooves and pull at his hair and wings with their gnashing teeth. The exchange resulted in a

few fruitless mouthfuls of coal feathers. Azazel waved a free hand at them, shooting poorly

aimed flashes of crackling electricity back over his head. The charges blackened and charred the

frescoed walls raining down chunks of plaster.

“Be careful!” Nimbus was responsible for the peril the reckless young colts now faced. He

could not bear the thought of anything happening to them.

The Great Hall filled rapidly with the tumultuous sounds of animals that pressed in on their

fleeing quarry. They prevented Azazel’s fraught efforts to open the Book and peel pages from its

cover, which grew heavier and more ornate nearer the Pedestal. His focus occupied by the

seething horde about him, the black angel was no longer able to expend the mental energy

keeping Celestial at bay and she roused from her stupor with a sharp gasp.

“It’s a trap. I’m caught! How could I be so stupid? I’m so sorry Nimbus,” she cried, living

in the memory of that moment. No time had passed for Celestial, stuck in limbo on the Chair of

Forgetfulness.

Nimbus took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Come back to me, Celestial. I

need you now!”

She blinked and stared about, seeing clearly for the first time since she was taken. Her eyes

went wide as she took in the unfolding mayhem and viewed Azazel’s frenzied efforts to gain the

Pedestal, persistently buffeted in a constricting circle of churning animals. Pegasus’s foals

harassed from on high, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge the Book from his unwavering grip.

“He has the Book! How could it happen? It’s a copy, surely?”

“No it’s the real deal. We had no option, Celestial,” Nimbus admitted guiltily, fully

conscious of the fact that Celestial would not agree and almost welcoming the attendant heated

lecture.

“Well,” she said resolutely, (Nimbus thought it highly likely the sermon was merely

delayed until later), “let’s get it back! He will be greatly weakened by his stay in the Chamber.

He does not belong here. It would have sapped his strength and he cannot draw on the reserves

of his own Realm as he has been too far away, for too long.”

Nimbus clapped his forehead, of course! How could he have been so blind?

“We need a distraction,” she said, her eyes rapidly scanning the interior.

“What? You mean aside from stampeding herds and flying fire-breathing horses?” Nimbus

asked.

Celestial raised her eyes in an appeal to the Heavens. It really was so good to have her

back. If they survived this, Nimbus swore to listen avidly to every word that escaped her mouth,

never taking for granted his good fortune again.

“No,” she said patiently, “in addition to. He won’t be expecting me, you he knows about.

So, you take the front and keep him occupied and I’ll get the Book while he’s dealing with you.”

“Err, how do I manage to get at him through the whirlpool of bodies?” Nimbus asked,

knowing that it was a silly question but unable to pluck the answer from the mass of competing

thoughts in his head.

Celestial looked at him, her expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “You

have wings, don’t you?”

Nimbus would have slapped his own head again at the obviousness of the answer, but like

Bacchus, he thought it best not to deprive himself of precious brain cells. His supply was clearly

deficient. “Right!”

Celestial nodded encouragingly, and Nimbus sprung into the air, wings whooshing him

straight up to the vaulted ceiling. In his peripheral vision from the air he saw her craftily make

her way to the front of the hall, almost swimming atop the chest high tide of nature, as they

helped her hurdle from back to back.

Nimbus’s offensive unfortunately penned Azazel in with the Pedestal too soon, forcing

Equinox to direct her children to stop breathing fire so close to the Book. The Fallen Angel

would shortly achieve the upper hand on the raised platform, within a brief calm of confused and

densely packed animals, too gridlocked to move. Yet, he would also be preoccupied reading.

Nimbus had to time his ambush perfectly to this precise moment of weakness. And height.

He had never truly appreciated just how challenging it was to fly inconspicuously, reduced

to gliding awkwardly from column to column and clinging on by wrapping his arms about its

thick girth like some ungainly tree-frog. He kept losing altitude with each jump, bringing him

closer to the turmoil below than was sensible. Suddenly, Azazel’s form elevated above the

throng as he lunged onto the podium having finally fought his way through. He was bloodied and

bruised, his silken shift tattered and the crown on his head askew.

He wasted no time thumping the Book down onto the Pedestal, not bothering to clear a

trickle of blood oozing his right eye. What pitifully scant light remained in the Chamber dimmed

and flickered. Nimbus anxiously clambered higher up his pillar, adjacent to but on the opposite

side of Azazel. He needed to go just a little higher to get enough momentum!

Azazel’s mouth opened and the room shook fiercely, knocking Nimbus further down into

the animals and weakening him greatly at the same instant. The immense cosmic power that was

usually available to him at a whim was jerked away, leaving his body wracked by never

previously experienced pain. Nimbus cried out in agony, his muscles cramped and reflexively let

go. He was swept helplessly down towards the heaving bulk, too feeble even to call out to

Celestial and warn her that their attempt at saving the Book had failed and infinite doom was

upon them.

***

Chapter Ten

Perdition Road

After the lads had gone, Bacchus fashioned a loin-cloth with his one remaining sash.

Surprisingly, Jam did not seem too dodgy and Bacchus was comforted his young charge,

Nimbus, was not alone for the trials ahead. His latest attire resembled a lurid pin-striped nappy

with inconvenient holes burnt here and there. Modesty was not really necessary where he was

headed, especially as he would be invisible for the most part, but one had to maintain one’s

standards (admittedly they were usually quite low).

He hoisted the satchel ‘borrowed’ from Mercury over his shoulder, which contained

assorted supplies plus the wand, his liqueur, the herbs, an offering for the beast and his current

most valued possession: a pear from the Ethereal Realm. He would need it to cross Perdition

Road, which could cremate an unarmed intruder in the flash of a Humming Bird’s wing. He

sorely wished Celestial had not stripped him of his packages before they set out. As a result, he

had no back up defences and no means of escape if cornered, which given his destination, was

highly likely.

Bacchus took a deep, calming breath, loosened up with a few shoulder stretches and

cracked his knuckles. He had been below before to rescue his mother and knew what was in

store: an unbroken sprint through a marathon obstacle course, except in Hades the obstacles were

usually lethal and would ruthlessly hunt down trespassers to be dealt with most cruelly. Bacchus

also had scant time in which to achieve his goal, as the camouflage herbs of Circe worked over a

limited period.

“Right old man. No more procrastinating! Friends in need, goodness endangered, world in

peril and so on.” He waved a hand as though orating at the Pantheon. “One foot in front of the

other, and bit by bit the job gets done.”

Bacchus took a tentative, sandal-less step onto the coarse boiling road. Sulphurous gases

hissed from the sea of bubbling molten stone that stretched for fathoms either side of the

precarious walkway. Smouldering boulders fell from the sky at intervals, trailing embers as they

hit the lake to shoot geysers of magma across the path, which would dissolve skin on contact.

Entering the furnaces of Hell, was indeed, literal, as a furious heat accosted him, burning

the remnant hair from his body and immediately searing his flesh a scalded lobster red. His feet

blistered to the point where layers from his soles peeled away, sizzling and clinging to the road

like Achilles to his shield.

“See? Not so bad, if a tad tropical,” he murmured encouragingly to himself, and hurried

onwards against the scorching blitz.

He must wait to the very last before consuming the pear, which offered cooling protection.

This damned Road was a long one, winding off to an insignificant point in the distance. It was

quite a stretch, since Bacchus hefted his heavy frame in any activity more straining than moving

from one house of ale or feast to another, and it took him a while to coordinate his unwilling legs

in a vague approximation of running. He cut a graceless, wobbling figure, flab trembling in

protest as he lumbered along.

Sweat steamed from his brow as soon as it appeared. His mouth was an arid wasteland,

tongue swollen and lacking moisture even to wet dry, cracked lips. It was an ordeal to draw

breath; he felt as though his lungs were microwaved.

Bulging eyeballs fried in their sockets and might explode at any moment. Bacchus had to

eat the pear soon or it would all be over. His corpse would be found a dried-out husk like an

abandoned cicada case, limbs shrivelled and face seized in the pain of his final moments. Every

thump of his foot on the gravel brought stabbing agony, similar to the time he’d rashly boasted

he could dance all night on Ali Barber’s bed of nails. It was a good story and Bacchus fervently

hoped he’d get to tell it once more.

When he’d eventually dashed to a spot he estimated to be half way, he could delay no

longer, fumbling the bag and stumbling ever onwards. Hallelujah! His bloated probing fingers

touched the Fruit of the Gods and instant relieving cool travelled up his hand and arm, and across

his chest. He pulled out the pear and raised it weakly to his mouth taking a large, succulent bite.

Juice trickled down his chin, spreading to cover the rest of his body in a healing salve.

He chewed slowly, savouring the chilly calm that settled upon him to reverse the physical

damage his foray onto Perdition Road had wrought. Bacchus jogged confidently now, munching

happily on his pear, oblivious of the effects of this noxious kiln. He whistled a popular tune sung

by the Heavenly Gospel Choir, currently at the top of the Papyrus Charts. Bacchus would soon

be away from the lava moat and safely minus the first of an extensive list of tortures yet to come.

In the closing distance a jagged mountain range loomed into view. Home to the hideous

beast Cerberus, otherwise know as Buttercup, sentinel at the forsaken gates to Hades’ wretched

Underworld. Bacchus finally reached the end of the miserable track, just as he’d finished the

pear. It took him all his diminishing strength to levitate the pear core back to the beginning,

planting the seeds on a sparse patch of ground, where it would grow despite the barren

environment to supply other hapless journeyers with brief comfort on their trips of no return.

Thankfully, the air temperature plunged as he stepped off the spiky crushed-pumice surface

onto the trail that lead up into the mountains. Carved into the rock face of the jagged cliffs that

sandwiched the passage, funnelling travellers into an inescapable canyon, were gruesome

demons engaged in barbaric acts of warfare and persecution. This was the dismal and gloomy

Cavern of Erebus, said to be the nexus of Night and Chaos, the corridor to the Underworld

proper.

When Bacchus stopped to examine the fearsome images closely, they came alive as he

stared, twisting their horrible forms, leering down at him and rattling their maces. He shuddered

and averted his gaze, hurrying passed. It was impossible to shake the overwhelming feeling he

was observed by hidden hostile beings. Indeed, he knew from experience his progress was

monitored by the back-skinned, red-eyed imps, whose intelligence was at best that of a forest

troll. They recognised only that Bacchus was untouchable as he did not belong, and would take

no action against him unless permitted to do so from a higher authority.

This kindness was not afforded the Sinners and other unfortunates meant for below; they

were mercilessly tormented by both the Imps and the Rock Monsters as they advanced. Neither

of these sneering enemies would alert Hades of Bacchus’s progress. They trusted his expedition

would end with the Hell Hound, for no intruder ever escaped her slavering, ravenous jaws.

Bacchus allowed himself a sly smile. No-one except for him!

He hastened up the steep path that projected from the valley he’d just left. Ugly barbed

vines snaked over the mountain side, the thick brambles twisting and thrashing as Bacchus

trotted by. Venom-tipped thorns missiled about him and he attempted to shrink his robust

physique to a lesser target. He covered his front with his puny bag and ran the slope at full tilt. It

finally flattened out and became a wide parade leading directly to Buttercup.

Jaundiced light flickered pathetically from torches that lined the way. Seething marshland

projected either side as far as the eye could see, no doubt riddled with hazardous bogs and other

unimaginable evils. Bacchus heaved and panted, seating himself on a levee at the side of the road

to gather strength for his exchange with the Beast. He pulled barbs from the satchel flap,

disturbed to note widening acid holes surrounding the punctures. He had forgotten what a

charming place this was! He allowed himself two small gulps of Skylar’s liqueur, a glorious

calm settling, reluctantly replacing the drink and extracting Mercury’s wand. Now came the hard

part.

Reinvigorated and magically no longer breathless, he raised himself and slogged towards

Buttercup’s hidden home, tightly clasping the delicate tube -- the only defence between him and

her crushing, merciless jowls. As he drew nearer to the entrance, the imposing gates gained

detail, with engraved runes etched over every observable surface. Bacchus was familiar with the

ancient symbols. The script translated to a long rant on the consequences of shameless actions

and gave specifics on the different sectors in which particular crimes were punished.

A massive wall extended from each, topped with vicious-looking spines and periodic

turrets for watchers. Long streams of black tar, set hard over time, accumulated down the walls

at these breaches. Bacchus quaked; tossing boiling pitch over the Damned at the bottom was a

favourite hobby of the guards, who gambled on the outcome, earning points for accuracy and the

level of injury inflicted. The place was strangely deserted, which suited Bacchus fine.

In front of the gates on the right, recessed from the road, a murky cave-hole could be

detected if one knew where to look. A vile stench boiled from the void, decorated by mounds of

bones and rotting meat. Those less vigilant were rewarded with the sudden dreadful company of

Buttercup, whose mere presence had dire effect. But Bacchus was prepared. Gripping the wand

between his lips, he rifled the bag and removed a sizeable jar of doggy treats -- pickled pygmies

coated in aspic jelly, with powdered intestines ‘for a healthy coat’.

The goal was to entice Buttercup from her home, so he could get in and steal the Helmet.

Bacchus snuck as close to the cavity as he dared, eyes watering from the reek, and proceeded to

screw the lid off the jar. This was a rooky mistake and Bacchus scolded himself. He should have

completed the task away from the kennel! Before he could blink, she was there.

Bacchus was impressed; Buttercup’s movements were remarkably quiet for such a large

fiend! He could feel hot, fetid breath from her three mouths brushing the top of his head. He

slowly looked up, directly into numerous rows of razor-sharp fangs, dripping drool. Without

panicking, Bacchus continued to undo the lid. A malevolent growl accompanied the deed.

After what seemed an eternity, the lid was finally free. Keeping his movements to a

minimum, Bacchus lowered the food to the ground at Buttercup’s massive, sharply-clawed paws.

Her heads followed him down and they were temporarily face-to-face, her wicked greedy eyes

boring into him like the orange furnace of the magma lake. She snarled and Bacchus gulped.

“Nice doggy,” he murmured hopefully. “Look. Yum-yums!”

She glared at Bacchus and he thought for a moment she would not take the bait and he was

dinner, but then she put her noses in turn to the pygmies, sniffing hungrily. Her viper tail wagged

enthusiastically, the volume of slobber increasing to leak widening puddles. She noisily gobbled

the treats, flinging saliva about. Bacchus backtracked, avoiding the toxic spittle.

He waited until Buttercup was almost finished eating and blew gently through the hypnotic

wand at each of her faces. She blearily shook her heads, as though bothered by a gnat and

Bacchus hastily repeated the act. Three sets of lids drooped and Bacchus congratulated himself

on a job well done. Unfortunately, Buttercup never slept out in the open and with her appetite

satisfied she sleepily shuffled backwards into her cave.

Disaster! Bacchus would now be forced to search for the Helmet while she was inside.

Served him right for prematurely praising himself! He paused at the gaping black hole until

fairly certain the rhythmic rumbled breathing from within indicated slumber. He’d retrieved a

flaming torch from the roadside and tentatively thrust it into the gloom where it glowed weakly,

barely illuminating more than a couple of steps. Bacchus cursed softly, this was not ideal as the

need for heightened caution would slow him down, wasting what little time remained. He

carefully trailed the flame into the pitch-dark tunnel. The pong was suffocating and he fought

rising bile.

He was surprised at how far the drowsy Buttercup had made it, when the passage ended

abruptly and he came upon her giant sleeping silhouette. She almost completely blocked further

ingress. Behind her, in glowing niches hewn from rock walls, Bacchus could just make out an

assortment of the residents’ valued possessions.

This was the perfect secure vault as it was presumed no one would be mad enough to enter

Buttercup’s domain. It was a fair point! There were literally hundreds of inset boxes each

containing one object. Bacchus groaned internally; loaning Hades Helmet was going to take

much longer than expected.

Bacchus steeled himself for the first hurdle. He edged to the side of the outermost head,

which was scary even when on the floor napping, and flattened against the wall to squeeze by.

He willed himself lighter and scrambled up onto one of Buttercup’s front haunches, his heart

beating too fast for his own liking. The beast didn’t budge. Emboldened, Bacchus climbed onto

her back and along her spine, his feet sinking into her thick, amazingly silky fur. There was an

angst-provoking moment when Bacchus confronted her tail’s serpent-head, the reptilian eyes

open slits, until he realised it too, was no longer conscious. He leaped onto the stone floor and

raised the torch to better inspect the goods, which peppered the ascending alcove going far

higher than Bacchus would have believed.

Bacchus need not have worried about conducting an extensive search. The filing system

was dictated by Hades’ enormous ego, his spectacular collection symbolically elevated above the

rest of the rabble to line the upper rim. More climbing. It had never been his forte! He left his

torch on the floor, reaching up as far as possible to grip the lip of one receptacle and haul

vertically, the tips of his toes balanced in lower spaces. It was hard going, the boxes spread a

body length apart and Bacchus was soon exhausted. Some articles were large and occupied a

majority of their plots, leaving scant hand and foot holds. Bacchus held his breath on a number

of occasions, when a knocked item threatened to plummet to a shattering crash beneath.

Eventually, as his limp, jellied arms were in danger of giving out, he reached the top row.

Vertigo took hold and Bacchus gritted his teeth to quell the dizziness, praying it would soon

pass. This took so long! He had to climb sideways now, stopping to check each box for the

Helmet. The sheer scope of the priceless and powerful objects was breathtaking and Bacchus

thought himself fortunate to have no free hands. Burglarising Hade’s valuables for self-indulgent

purposes would invoke the King of the Underworld’s wrath, and even the Gods from on High

would not be able to intervene on his behalf. Such a shame, thought Bacchus moodily, just a

couple of small items from this treasure trove expanded his business in authentic relics.

He made it half way around the wall, when tenacity was recognised with success. The

Helmet sat on a stand and was far plainer than many of the other intricately wrought, bejewelled

specimens. It was a smooth bronze without embellishment that adjusted magically to fit any head

size (luckily, as it was often joked that if only Bacchus’s brains were the size of his boulder-sized

head, he would rule the universe instead of the banquet table).

Bacchus claimed it and put it on, carrying it down risky. He immediately disappeared and

tried to descend, which he discovered was impossible because there was nothing to anchor him,

as he stretched for the box below the one he currently occupied. He would have to jump, hoping

for some residual hover power in this vitality-sapping pit! If only he had wings like the Cherubs!

Thoughts of his Charges spurred him on, perhaps a tad hastily. Bacchus launched airborne

forgetting to restrain both his bag and the Horn of the Host, which were flung outwards to

connect with the contents of two boxes on the way down. Regrettably, one held a ceramic

continuously filling urn, the other a platter made from a rare Atlantean metal called Orichalcum

that was nevertheless capable of making a loud, echoing clang as it landed.

Bacchus watched in slow-motion horror from his floating vantage as they made the floor

before him, the urn exploding resoundingly as it hit, showering the beast with ricocheting shards.

In the deathly silence of Buttercup’s kennel, the resulting racket burst forth, seemingly magnified

ten-fold. The looping platter made Celestial’s cymbals seem like a tinkling lullaby. The dog leapt

up, its heads whipping to and fro for the prowler, three jaws snapping and barking in savage

unison. Bacchus inhaled tiredly and massaged his temples – a most unwelcome development! He

had mere seconds to come up with a counter-plan or he would be joining the pickled pygmies!

***

Chapter Eleven

The Keeper of the Keys

Bacchus wrenched out the liqueur, seizing a large crystal terrine on the way down. He

landed unseen, but Buttercup had an acute sense of smell and would be on him shortly. He

squatted and grasped a piece of pottery from the perpetually filling urn, ripping the cork from his

bottle with his teeth and shoving the glass chip in. The liqueur replenished and Bacchus quickly

poured out as much as he could into the basin. He tipped the bottle upright and waited as it

refilled, then added more to the almost full bowl. Buttercup’s dedicated sniffing brought her

nearby.

She halted, taking in the foreign scent. She raised her snout and howled -- a deafening

whine that blasted with an effect worse than nails down a chalk board. He clamped his available

hand over his ear, an entirely futile defence, and sunk involuntarily to his knees. Buttercup knew

instinctively that Bacchus was a special case: a hunted fugitive who’d broken their laws

previously.

She also sensed the dangerous liquid before her was not from her Realm, but gluttony was

her bestial nature and she could not resist the temptation. She would fail her duty to keep

prohibited persons out as a result. She lowered her middle head and drank deeply, whimpering

all the while. Bacchus had no notion of what the liqueur would do and waited in tense

anticipation. The tunnel filled with a weird yipping sound and Bacchus observed the retreating

hound tottering drunkenly towards the cave entrance. It seemed she had the hiccoughs!

“Oh no! Here Buttercup, here doggy!”

He could not allow her to be seen outside in this state, which would surely encourage a

conscientious watcher to investigate eventually. He received a garbled bark in reply. She was

way too noisy! He followed, Mercury’s Wand in hand. Happily, a short way into the cave,

Bacchus was granted a reprieve from prying staff when he nearly tripped over the beast’s

hunched form. She was slumped on her back, legs in the air like an upended milking stool,

snoring loudly.

He wasted no time climbing over her stomach to tentatively make the opening. There was a

slight glitch as she grumbled in her sleep, her back leg peddling to shred Bacchus’s makeshift

loin cloth with a claw, but given that had the scratching paw occurred a jot sooner, he would

have been disembowelled, Bacchus was pleased with the overall outcome. He was also nude, yet

again.

He popped his head out into the now almost blinding light, and after a pause to allow his

eyesight to adjust, was appalled to note the heavy gates barring access to Hades’ realm silently

swinging ajar. Garrulous complaint drifted towards him, snippets of the outburst gaining volume.

Bacchus groaned. Please, not the Keeper of the Keys! He busied himself stuffing a handful of the

pungent herbs into his mouth and chewing manically. They would have to be rationed carefully

to last the journey. Worst fears realised, Aiakos, the Keeper of the Keys for Hades barrelled into

view. Who could guess that such a kindly looking grey-bearded old man proved so unpleasant?

In fact, he was a totally unsavoury and snivelling character, currently griping loudly that

“an official of his stature should not be reduced to babysitting the lowest demons, brutes and

phantoms”, that his “input in current proceedings would have been invaluable and his exclusion

was an inexcusable waste of talent”, and that “maybe he should seek a more rewarding career

elsewhere”.

Surely Aiakos’ most fitting profession was as an out-of-work hermit in the mountains of

Tibet, where only the poor alpacas were left to suffer his gibberish! Bacchus swallowed the bitter

mouthful of greenery, swishing a gulp of liqueur around his mouth to dislodge a few splinters

between his teeth. He began to feel strangely unwashed as the herbs took effect.

To action! He’d wasted enough time on the easy stuff! By now he should be undetectable

to the residents and chose Aiakos as the model candidate for experimentation. He met the Keeper

half way to Buttercup’s lair, daintily sidestepped and stuck his foot out. Aiakos had some angry

speed up and tripped spectacularly to face-plant the gravel. Bacchus suppressed laughter as

Aiakos commando rolled to his feet, aggressively staring around with his puny fists raised. He’d

clearly read too many of Homer’s Trojan War fight scenes.

“Who’s there? Come out coward and I’ll have you!” A large ring of keys jangled from his

belt as the old man attempted some fancy boxing foot-work. Bacchus tripped him again and he

fell in a heap, his starched white toga dust-logged. Aiakos’s face was livid as he leapt upright,

screaming hysterically.

“Show yourself yellow cur!” A train of unmentionable words followed.

Although Bacchus found harassing Aiakos extremely enjoyable, as always, time was

pressing. The Keeper spun glowering in frustration at this elusive rival. After, he commanded an

avid audience at the tavern, relaying his heroic encounter with a murderous swarm of Afreets or

depending on his mood, more sinister attackers.

Bacchus blew on the wand and Aiakos dropped to the ground, not to rise again until a

senior Demon in search of the key to the executive bathroom roused him much later. The

Keeper’s paranoia and ridiculous claims of an unseen mighty warrior, coupled with the charge of

neglect of duty, brought him a visit to the Witch Doctor for a few disagreeable sessions. To

‘cure’ his jumpiness, the Doctor made a clay doll in his image, sticking him with a sharp pin

whenever he flinched, which of course made him flinch all the more. Miserable Aiakos was left

with a violent nervous tick and more holes in his body than a sieve.

Bacchus stole the five keys to the front gates in case he needed them to get back out; they

were easy to find being the biggest and most decorative. He dragged Aiakos’s limp form behind

a particularly large deposit of Buttercup’s dung. The smell was putrid, even for this place, and it

would be a while before anyone approached the Keeper without gagging or pinching their noses.

Bacchus slipped through into the Underworld proper, known as the Dolorous Realm, closing the

gate behind him.

Like the Ethereal Realm, it was an enormous city, broken into sectors for various beliefs

and worshipped entities. Unlike Bacchus’s home of bliss-filled peace and sharing, this was a

place of pain and suffering for individuals who’d failed to appreciate the privilege of their

earthly existence. A vile and ceaseless wind blew from the left; enough to drive even the

strongest slowly insane.

Bacchus guessed the Elders were closeted in Hades’ Palace, a colossal sprawling fortress

set on the highest hill in the distance. It was in this direction Bacchus strode, worried mightily by

the lessening time. If Azazel read from the Book, it rendered even the Most High, powerless.

Between him and his destination lay myriad obstacles, the nearest a slime-filled stream of

boiling mud known as the River Acheron, the Woeful River, which was eventually joined by the

Kokytos, or Wailing River. Although shallow, the waterway was wide and its corrosive sludge

necessitated crossing by boat. The banks of this despicable coast were crowded with moaning

listless Spectres, unable to make the other side, as they’d neglected to bring payment for the

Ferryman.

Speaking of which, Bacchus was relieved to note the man himself emerging out of the

dense haze that shrouded the middle, his long pole probing the murky bottom where Poseidon

only knew what lived there. Bacchus’s relief was fleeting however, upon closer inspection of the

proposed transport, a hobbled-together, flat-bottomed barge. The rickety contraption’s Captain

was Kharon, ferryman to Hades and authority on who was permitted to undertake the crossing.

He squinted and scanned the dismal beach with a confused frown, his ancient weather-toughened

skin puckering like crumpled parchment. The bow slithered ashore.

“Declare yourself and make offering for your passage!” A section of the restless mob

soared over, each frail spirit jostling for a prime spot to beg permission to come aboard, their

voices combined in a rasping whisper. Kharon irritably shooed them away with a flick of his

gnarled hand and they scattered. “Make plain your intention or remain here forever to lament on

the Shore of Nothingness!”

Bacchus slid as quietly as possible onto the deck. His weight rocked the boat with a

noticeable sloshing sound. Kharon was instantly alert, his eyes raking the sodden floor of his

vessel for a sneaky stowaway. The Captain sensed a vague presence but his eyes deceived him,

as there was nowhere to hide and no one visible. He retracted his pole and began jabbing it

about, just to be sure his suspicions were wrong. Bacchus could conceal himself with the Helmet

and the herbs, but his voice would be clearly audible if he received a sharp prod and cried out,

then the ruse would be ruined.

As silently as he could, Bacchus brought out a feather he’d collected from Nimbus’s wing-

rot episode back at Jinx’s. A Cherub’s feathers were impervious to flame and granted blissful

serenity to any blessed enough to hold one. They were extremely valuable. Kharon’s dogged

stabbing came within millimetres of Bacchus’s foot and he hastily pulled his legs to his chest.

The Captain would not miss with his next stroke.

Bacchus fluttered the feather up into the air where it appeared in front of Kharon’s grizzled

features, drifting down into his line of sight. He paused, his expression one of astonishment. His

hand automatically reached to pluck it from the greasy atmosphere. He took on an unfocused,

dreamy look as his fingers gently closed about the delicate gift.

“Your fare is satisfactory,” the Captain murmured, as he moved away to commence

pushing the barge from the shore. The pathetic occupants of the beach moaned sadly, their hopes

for a break from eternal tedium fading once again, the pain more intense for its false promise.

Exhaling softly, Bacchus settled in, grateful for the trip and a brief chance to rest weary

limbs. He was getting too long in the tooth for such high adventure! Kharon tucked the feather

behind his ear, and unbeknownst to Bacchus, was in the throes of a euphoria the likes of which

he’d not experienced since first consuming a barrel of genuine Buccaneer’s Rum. He started

singing an abominable version of ‘Yo Ho Ho a Pirate’s Life for Me!’. Bacchus eagerly wished

he were deaf, the ear-splitting screech of a Chimera preferable.

He desperately scrutinised the horizon for a sign of land and was not disappointed. Hades’

flamboyant abode glimmered close enough to reveal its over-wrought architecture and gilded

exterior, with soaring minarets connected by a complex of bridges, expansive balconies protected

by excessively filigreed railings and a high wall enclosing the lot. Subtlety was not one of Hades

personal qualities. Within were well-tended orchards, freely roaming herds of cattle and other

domesticated beasts, and fabulous gardens filled with exotic but deadly or flesh-eating flowers

and other things even more wicked. The pile was also surrounded by a deep moat, home to

several vicious Water-Dragons.

Still, Bacchus believed that he would not need to enter the Palace, merely get close so

when he blew on the Horn of the Host, the Most High would be within earshot. The barge

bumped to a halt at an equally wobbly-looking jetty. Bacchus disembarked after carefully

skirting the Captain, who was still entranced and singing (if it could be called that) his tuneless

dirge. Bacchus reflected it was a true talent to take a lively sea shanty and turn it into a funeral

song, an off-key one at that.

He was almost unbalanced into the slick, foul-smelling mud below as a mad dash of

inhabitants attempted to flee their ordeal in the afterlife, hurling themselves at the Captain, who

simply closed his eyes and chanted a warding curse so they pounded onto the rank beach.

Bacchus clung to the jetty pylon until the most fraught escapees were persuaded to stay.

He eventually picked his way through those more timid and made it to land. He ate his next

ration of herbs and allowed himself a few generous swallows of his now endless supply of

liqueur and refreshed, set off. He had made relatively good time on the trip over and was more

optimistic of achieving his goal in a timely manner.

A completely deserted, cobbled path lead to Hades fortress and Bacchus maintained a

jaunty confident stride, believing that the worst of his trials were over. A series of ramshackle

hovels lined the way, their doors securely barred and shutters firmly closed to prying eyes, or

worse. There was not a skulking phantom, grotesque monster or other gruesome local about.

Nevertheless, Bacchus started to feel strangely exposed. The creepy sensation he was

stalked, sent warning goose bumps up his spine. He hastily munched more herbs to be on the

safe side and scrutinised the surrounds trying to locate the source of dread, but could not

perceive anything out of the ordinary. He increased his pace. One more block brought him close

enough to blow the Horn. The place was undeniably disturbing and it was getting to him! That

was all, surely?

Ahead was a bend beyond which lay a wide incline; the grand parade to the Palace. Not far

now. Relief surged, the current position of prime dependable God far too much responsibility for

one not inclined. He rounded the corner and stopped dead still. Intense fear washed over him and

his stomach lurched and writhed like a bag of eels. He gulped and held his breath. In the very

centre of the pathway, some cubits above ground, glistened several swirling phosphorescent

smears. The soft keening of wind through a deserted house came from the luminous patches of

fog and Bacchus strained to snatch fragments of the words embedded within.

“It will be a feast like no other. Blood for all, my sisters!”

From behind Bacchus, an ice-pick to his skull, joined a rasping cackle. “And the entrée is

right on time! Hail, Bacchus, my slippery rival. Couldn’t stay away?”

He spun on the spot. “Stygia, my dear! Sharing gossip with the girls?” Bacchus

manoeuvred so that he was sidelong to this sinister Coven and could watch all of them

simultaneously.

“Yes,” she hissed gleefully. “We were chatting about sharing you!”

Their voices joined in a thin wail of pleasure, for these were the foulest of Hades things.

Known as Lamia -- ghastly witches standing on serpentine tails -- they were blood suckers of the

worst kind. Although preferring to siphon the life source from children, they would take what

they could get. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on bias), the pickings in Hades were

slim for those favouring the youthful, and they were always famished. Sin usually took a while to

accrue and youngsters didn’t have the time.

“We have foreseen Azazel’s intent and will gorge when he prevails! But you will do for

now.”

Her voice chafed the air as her physical form came into view like some horrible flickering

mirage. Bacchus sorely wished they were a hallucination, but having encountered them on his

last trip, knew they were real. Their corporeal leader towered over Bacchus, her bluish skin

blotched with leprous disease, her hollow fangs pointed and yellow. Her hair hung to her waist in

lank green clumps. Her eyes rested on her cheeks, and where they should have been, were empty

raw sockets seeping pinkish fluid like tears.

Although, technically they were blind, Bacchus was as clear as Alexander’s Lighthouse to

them. No entity hid from their psychic vision. Stygia’s ghastly pet vulture clung to her shoulder

eyeing Bacchus beadily, its mournful mood lifting at the sight of such an ample potential snack.

Stygia’s taloned fingers raised and moved in ceaseless anticipation, the long knife-like nails

clicking. She drifted slowly towards Bacchus and her excited sisters came into full body to

follow. He was in real trouble at present and utterly unarmed.

“So good of you to forgo clothing and spare us the trouble. All the better to carve those

juicy love handles!”

“His breasts are larger than mine.” A particularly well-endowed witch enthused.

“I claim the rump!” Another called, barely containing her excitement. “It’s huge! I’ll be

full for a month!”

Although supremely miffed they’d not noted his obvious weight loss (surely being

deprived of deep fried peacock had slimmed him down?), Bacchus used the only weapon at his

disposal -- persuasion-- to stall for time.

“Ladies, ladies. What’s the hurry? Perhaps another glimpse of the future might prove

fruitful. Just to be sure things will turn out the way you’ve predicted? After all, it really would

not do to aggravate Hades further, since your last incident. I believe he threatened to tear-up your

lease and where would you live if that were to happen? Even the worst shack in the err…” He

appraised the so-called street and chose honesty, “most appalling suburb, is better than nothing?”

They gibbered in outrage at this reminder of a bungled raid on Hades’ herd, swaying and

crooning hysterically. “It was one weeny calf!” whined a witch in high-pitched indignation.

“We were starving.”

“Our King,” spat Stygia, “values his Oxen more than his dedicated subjects! Glorious

fields of lush grass, fresh hay and cream to drink, while we suffer and waste away!”

“That’s really too bad.” Bacchus nodded sympathetically. He’d clearly hit a sore point.

“Have you approached your Union Rep?”

He struggled to erase his thoughts as the desire to blow the Horn gained urgency. The

witches were oracles and could read upcoming events as though flicking through a calendar.

They could also read minds, but it was not an exact science due to the overwhelming amount of

cosmic information they needed to sift, searching for the illuminating nuggets in much the same

way as a prospector pans for gold.

Stygia began a rhythmic chant and her eyeballs stretched on their sinewy nerves like odd,

squelchy balloons on a string. Her sisters joined in, their jaundiced eyeballs bobbing in unison.

Bacchus’s gullet flooded with bile and he fought the need to heave. His stubborn brain kept

showing him pictures of the Horn at his lips. He simply must find something else to think about

or become a moveable feast for these grisly ghouls. But it was too late.

Stygia’s orbs whipped down. “Deceit!” she screamed.

He had no time to lose; their full spite focused upon him and they readied to attack. He

fumbled for the Horn, which snarled in the handle of his bag. Their tails whipped about savagely

and they lifted their razored digits, poised to slice him open.

“Yak’s crap!” A thin sheen of sweat appeared on his brow. “Come on!”

He pulled and tugged to no avail and the furious vampires were almost upon him. He could

smell their stinking breath, reminiscent of the slaughter house. Bacchus vaguely heard the rabid

call of the vulture and their eager screeches as he silently meditated for calm and concentrated on

achieving his goal. With nimble-fingered speed he disentangled the Horn and drew it to his

mouth.

Clawed hands reached towards his face, one aiming to viciously swat the trumpet away.

Bacchus held on for all he was worth. Their frustrated shrieks sent slivers of ice through his

veins and his knees trembled. Out of the frenzy of roughly grasping and pinching hands, sharp

nails lanced his front, causing a blazing fire over his belly. He looked down to see four long

ribbons of blood, which flowed freely down his legs and dripped sickeningly onto his feet.

The witches writhed with renewed vigour, gurgling with joy at the smell. But Bacchus was

not a God for nothing, and although he was severely weakened by his time in the Underworld, he

possessed an inner resolve the equal of any of his lofty peers. He was, after all, pivotal in their

triumphant battle against the Titans who foolishly tried to storm Mt Olympus. He fixed upon his

aggravation at the short-sighted actions of his colleagues, who’d placed himself and his

Fledgling Angels smack in the middle of Sodom and Gomorrah.

The last vestiges of his power blasted forth and ivy curled up his legs twining around his

body to cover his skin in spring-fresh greenery. The witches’ grappling, rotted hands exploded

from him, unaccustomed to this radiating life-force. Bacchus drew the Horn to his lips, took a

deep breath and blew. No sound could be heard. The witches flew apart and raced away, their

shrill squeals fading.

Abruptly the ground beneath his feet tipped and buckled, sending him to a sprawl in the

grimy muck. The earth quaked and groaned, demolishing the flimsy huts into dusty heaps, one

after the other like collapsing dominos. A whooshing roar blotted out all else and Bacchus could

only curl into a bleeding ball, clamping his head between his elbows to ride out the upheaval.

Somehow, he did not believe that this unfolding cataclysm was due to the Skylar’s Horn;

something far worse was happening!

***

Chapter Twelve

Betrayal

“FLEE! Get out!” Nimbus screamed through the maelstrom with supreme effort before he

gave himself up to the crushing end.

His words were blown apart as a huge pillar crashed to the ground, barely avoiding the

outermost animals in the jam-packed herd. Lacking support, a vast chunk of ceiling crumbled

inwards, launching a crushing deluge of debris on those below. The cries of the injured joined

the cacophony.

Nimbus was thrust face-down onto the back of a galloping white cow, too feeble to fight

his desolation or safely cling on. Missiled stone and rubble flayed his back and wings. Sorrow

and pain utterly conquered his will and mingled with consuming shame at his uselessness.

Nimbus slumped over defeated and waited for oblivious release from this frightening vision

where goodness abandoned the world.

The mad bellows of the lesser beasts overcame the directives of those guiding the exodus

from the Chamber. They threatened to cause a panicked stampede, which would certainly end in

many trampled, with Equinox in front valiantly attempting to preserve order. Her foals offered

assistance from on high and Pegasus whinnied encouragement from the outer steps. Regardless,

the golden-horned deer leapt wildly this way and that in a disorganised jumble searching

hysterically for a way out, their hooves a panicked tattoo. An inky blackness crept slowly up the

ruined walls, as though alive with an evil, ravenous presence. And above it all, the increasing

drone of Azazel could be heard as he read aloud words never meant for one so depraved.

“Nimbus!” Celestial’s strident yell penetrated the gloom.

He lifted his head in time to see his Other burst onto the podium and barge the Dark Angel

from his position. With desperate strength she tackled him sending them headlong into the

seething mass of animals, where Nimbus momentarily lost sight of them. The Book of Lore left

Azazel’s flailing hands and was catapulted high into the air. Glorious light invaded the space.

Vitality surged through Nimbus’s body and he extended his wings to take flight. But there was

something wrong and he couldn’t unfurl one of them. Fraught, he quickly examined the wing

over his shoulder, devastated to discover it drooping and broken. No matter how he urged, it

remained unresponsive. He had no time to heal it and catch the Book!

In slow motion, Nimbus tracked its toppling arc through the void. He scrambled

precariously over heaving rumps, dragging his wing while keeping his eyes glued on the target.

He would never make it. The herd had finally broached the exit and trickled single-file from the

Chamber into the courtyard. Their timing couldn’t have been worse. The thinning numbers no

longer provided a firm plateau and became dangerously mobile obstacles.

As he dodged and darted through the crowd, Nimbus briefly caught sight of Celestial

involved in a most unladylike scuffle with Azazel on the floor, legs and arms askew. He

appeared to be gaining the upper hand as he flipped her, tearing her fingers from his eye sockets

to viciously bring his knee down onto her stomach, easily pinning her winded form as he

doggedly sought the Book’s location. Celestial stayed curled over, her half-hidden face a mask of

distress.

“NO!” Nimbus hollered in consternation for his twin and in frustration, as the Book began

its spinning descent and he remained blocked by a dashing wall of the Gods’ pets.

Azazel’s head whipped around and he stared at Nimbus, calculating the direction of his

focus. An exultant leer twisted Azazel’s features as he discovered the Book of Lore’ landing

place and leisurely drew back his fist in readiness to inflict a hideously damaging blow upon the

inert figure in his grip. Nimbus cursed his own stupidity and changed course aiming for Azazel.

Again, he would not arrive in time to prevent the strike. It seemed he always came too late!

A camel lumbered between Nimbus and this horrid scene, obstructing his view and he hurried

the stubbornly slow creature with a stinging slap to its thigh. It careened away. Nimbus craned

anxiously as he weaved, his worry for Celestial almost unbearable. Until an opening revealed a

totally altered and wondrous sight.

Celestial stood ablaze in bright, white light, suspended in a gentle float above the ground.

A halo of stardust rotated steadily about her, galaxies of dazzling brilliance so intense as to be

blinding if one looked too long; the eternal universe in miraculous miniature. A soothing feeling

of peace stole over Nimbus. Celestial maintained a serene expression, her golden curls fanning

her tilted head. Azazel grovelled at her feet, spasming and groaning. Gradually Celestial opened

her eyes seeking a stunned Nimbus. She mouthed ‘get the Book’ and smiled tranquilly.

The animals halted, creating an unimpeded pathway. Nimbus jogged to where he was sure

it had dropped, swiftly tossing wrecked furniture and tattered silk out of the way to better survey

the floor. He moved bits of stuffing, pottery and ripped artworks, magnificent in their former

incarnations. He searched and searched, to no avail, positive he targeted its resting place. But it

was simply nowhere to be seen. Where had the Book of Lore Fallen, then? His wing throbbed

and he supported himself on an elaborate piece of thick wood, once the long side of a painting

frame, his face screwed in confusion and anxiety.

“Looking for this,” came a sly voice near the massive golden doors, one now hanging

perilously at an angle.

The calm that descended over the remaining animals disappeared as suddenly as it had

come and they stamped and called nervously, some already in motion. Nimbus sighed tiredly as

Ram, one hand burning below the Book he dangled by its corner, leaned casually against the

wall. The Dark Angel shot wary glances at Pegasus, who paced restlessly at his back.

“Call her off my Master. Nothing fancy or we’ll have ourselves a little bonfire,” he

sneered, waving an angry red flame closer to the Book. “And make them land.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Ram. That Book serves you as well.” Nimbus nodded for the

foals to join their mother on the ground.

“I can be as stupid as I want! You’re not in a position to tell me what to do. Now call her

off or break out the marshmallows!”

Nimbus knew Ram would not be dumb enough to destroy his only bargaining chip. He also

knew Celestial was exhausted and could not sustain her power for much longer. Neither could

Ram for that matter. Nimbus needed a diversion to buy some time. The herd stamped and

shuffled uneasily. As if on cue, the camel he’d bumped into previously wobbled close by. It was

wounded, with several deep lacerations to its hump and haunches, which bled profusely. Nimbus

silently apologised to the beast for what he was about to do. Unnoticed by Ram, he firmed his

grip on his make-shift crutch. He put one free hand up in surrender, surreptitiously bracing his

feet.

“Alright, you win. Again,” Nimbus said resignedly, pretending a moment of instability as

he raised himself upright.

“I’m warning you, no whistling either!”

“Not!” In a lightening burst Nimbus whipped the rod out and across the camel’s rump. It

bucked and skittered haphazardly through the group, battering animals nearby and reinitiating

the rush. In distress and out of control, the camel dashed against the flow and was hurtled

sideways to violently collide with the Chair of Forgetfulness. It rocked on its heavy base

throwing Jam to the ground, where he vanished in a forest of pounding legs.

Meanwhile, Celestial’s energy deserted and she lost her hold on Azazel to sink to the floor.

There they lay side by side, both apparently too spent to move. Ram stood rooted to the spot

trying to attend the enemies encircling dangerously. The fire in his hand flickered uncertainly

and his Book arm trembled under the strain. He spun towards the Chamber opening, his access

barred by Pegasus. Tucking the Book under an arm, he hurled a huge fireball at the winged

stallion and pelted out the door. A cascading barrier of flame trapped the rest inside the Chamber

of Greats, the fire lashing the beasts into a terrorised lather.

Suddenly a figure exploded from the throng, racing after Ram, unimpeded by the inferno.

“CAMEL! It’s a camel!”

During the fracas, Nimbus worked to cure his broken wing and now sprang into the air,

issuing instructions over his shoulder to Equinox and her colts. “Guard Azazel. Help Celestial,

get the animals out!”

He torpedoed through the fire using his wings as a shield, looping upwards to swoop high

over the courtyard and survey the land below. Nimbus circled once to check on Pegasus, who

suffered numerous burns and lay on his side, licking blackened patches of fur and feathers. On

catching sight of Nimbus, the mighty horse whinnied and Nimbus knew he would survive. He

left the square, gaining altitude and eventually spotted Ram sprinting towards the outer reaches

of the Ethereal Realm, where the dimensions between worlds blurred and he would be able to

dematerialise.

Behind him in close pursuit was Jam running like a madman, the gap between them

diminishing. Nimbus speared the air, his wings tucked close to his body to easily eradicate his

starting delay and touch down some distance in front of his quarry. He concealed himself in an

outcrop of rocks that narrowed the path to create an ideal place for an ambush and waited. He

heard puffed snatches of debate long before they appeared.

“We have to take the Book back to Azazel, Ram! He’ll kill us!”

“How do you know what he’ll do? And why should I trust you? All that time with them

and you didn’t return even though you could have! Over a girl!”

“Her Other vexed me! I have only just now come out of it. Must have been the shock of the

camel.”

Nimbus detected the angst in Jam’s voice and imagined him shuddering. He wriggled for a

better view, peeking out to see them walk slowly over the rise.

Ram chuckled. “All the insidious fiends on our realm and you are frightened of camels!”

“Yes, well at least I’m not scared of figurines. As I was saying, taking the Book home is

not the brightest idea. Imagine what would happen if some of the warped simpletons below were

to accidentally possess the Book. I once saw the Chief of the Imps replace the faces of his entire

council with their butts for some minor infraction. Do you fancy walking around with two anuses

and no face? Meal times were a total debacle! We should take the Book back and help rescue

Azazel. Then we shall be praised like no others.”

“Why have you turned into such a fun-suck all of a sudden? We will be praised like no

others if we keep it with us!” Ram snapped sourly.

“You should listen to your brother, Ramiel. Or is it that you would perhaps keep the Book

for yourself? Wreak a little vengeance on my gargoyles, possibly?”

Nimbus was horribly shaken by the imperious tone of Azazel himself, but not us much as

Jam, who visibly paled at the unexpected arrival of his Master. Azazel’s head and body emerged

in increments as he broached the ridge. How had he escaped? Was Celestial alive and safe? Jam

and Ram turned to face Azazel, stances tense and edgy.

Ram bowed obsequiously. “Of course not my Master! I was keeping it secure. Out of the

polluted grasp of the pure! And I greatly admire your gargoyles, and wish them only the best,”

he babbled with a fake earnest expression. “Remember, I rescued you from that other --”

“Enough!” Azazel waved a hand testily in Jam’s direction. He to fell to the ground

unconscious. The Book tumbled to the sandy earth.

Jam’s eyes went wide in alarm. “What have you done? My brother! Does he breathe still?”

He crouched over Ram.

“Naturally. Now prove your loyalty and bring me the Book!”

Jam moved to collect it. Nimbus argued heatedly with himself, unsure whether to let events

unfold or immediately liberate the Book. Where was Celestial? She’d left him alone again! He

had no clue whose side Jam was on, discriminating the intentions of others another of his

seemingly endless weaknesses. Jam reverentially picked up the Book and took a faltering step to

his master.

“Come Boy! Your progress is glacial and we don’t have eons!”

Nimbus detected a twitching muscle near Jam’s eye. He gulped and confronted his Master.

“No, I will not give you the Book.” His bravery astounded Nimbus; Jam was going to stand up to

Azazel unaided! “It is against the Universal Laws and they are binding. You will bring ruination

on us all with your lust for power!” He pulled the Book close to his chest.

“You will provoke the wrath of the sleeping Divine One and wake the evil counterpart.

You will breach the cosmic balance and I cannot let it happen. We must abide the Essential

Tapestry!”

“Very courageous,” the Dark Angel snarled. “I have underestimated you, Jomjael of the

Fallen. Embrace your annihilation, betrayer!”

“I will take the Book with me!” Jam shouted his body crackling with blue sparks.

Ozone filled the air and Nimbus perceived a low humming sound, increasing in intensity.

Jam prepared to obliterate himself and the Book. He would not have the power and Nimbus

could wait no longer to take action. He blasted forth from his crevice, racing passed Jam to wrest

Azazel, who was taken completely unawares, to the dirt. They rolled back down the hill like the

Sisyphus Boulder, the Dark Angel thrashing and fighting to break free. Nimbus held on for all he

was worth, as he was mercilessly bludgeoned.

“RUN, Jam!”

But for some obscure reason, Jam procrastinated on the crest peering down at the

squirming duo. The Book was nowhere to be seen. Nimbus was rapidly losing and the only

weapon available was Skylar’s worthless glove! What could he do with it? Slap his adversary

and claim pistols at dawn? Azazel expelled a guttural roar and heaved Nimbus into the air. He

was tossed onto his back with a force that vented breath from his body. He stayed prone, a

panting fish out of water, burning lungs begging for oxygen.

If Azazel made it back over the other side of the hill with the Book, he could leave the

Ethereal Realm to return at will. They could never relax again! The Elders would have no

solutions to questions of Eternal Protocol, which if performed incorrectly, could warp time and

cause everlasting suffering for the people it aimed to help.

Nimbus groaned and thrust himself over onto his stomach. He clung to Azazel’s foot,

dragged back towards Jam. Azazel struck out, his heel connecting Nimbus’s cheek with

excruciating efficiency. Lightening seared Nimbus’s skull, he relinquished his hold and sagged

to the earth. Jam remained immobile, a defiant stare fixed on his Master. Azazel strode forward

and in three long paces his outstretched hands snapped closed in an unbreakable vice about

Jam’s neck.

“What have you done with the Book,” he demanded, spraying Jam with foamy spittle. Jam

made a choking sound as the noose tightened, and tried to prise the throttling fingers from his

throat.

Nimbus fumbled for the glove, his last hope. Maybe it had unforseen powers, unleashed

when it was worn. Azazel raised Jam slowly off the ground, his feet dangling awkwardly.

“Where is my book?”

Over Azazel’s shoulder, Nimbus had an awful view of Jam’s bulging eyes. The skin on his

face turned a mottled purple and one hand scratched helplessly at his occluded windpipe. The

other flapped impotently at Nimbus, begging.

“Gglll,” Jam gagged.

Nimbus winced and pulled up on all fours to commence an interminable crawl forwards.

His jaw felt ripped from its hinges and was not repairing regardless of his efforts. Azazel must

have cursed the wound. Jam contorted ferociously, his arm waving with renewed vigour.

“Gglll!” he sputtered.

He attempted to communicate. Nimbus stopped, the seconds slowing as he focused his

attention to a pinpoint. What in the Seven Virtues was he trying to say? Nimbus squinted up at

him. Jam’s head started to loll weakly, his tongue protruding. His eyes rolled back in his head

and Nimbus believed he’d lost the fight to survive. But Jam’s death did not serve Azazel’s

purpose. He dropped the limp youth contemptuously.

“We will repeat that process until you yield the Book!”

Jam convulsed in the dust, greedily pulling air. Azazel levelled a harsh kick at Jam’s ribs

and Nimbus heard the bones crack. Unbowed, Jam grasped his midriff, rolled over and valiantly

hoisted himself up on one hand. He stared meaningfully at Nimbus.

“Glove,” he whispered so quietly Nimbus strained to hear him.

“What!” Azazel incorrectly interpreted Jam’s word as a confession on the Book’s

whereabouts. “TELL ME!”

Nimbus rolled the glove into a ball and as covertly as possible, flicked it to the ground in

front of Jam, who adeptly reached out to grab it and conceal it within a fist. He winked at

Nimbus and mouthed ‘stay’.

“Never!” Jam turned back to Azazel and yelled rebelliously.

Azazel’s wrath ignited, his hatred rippling out in waves. “You will wish for death!” He

hauled Jam roughly to his feet and yanked his crippled form down the track towards the edges of

the Ethereal Realm. Nimbus painfully lurched upright and stumbled after them.

***

Chapter Thirteen

The Horn of the Host

All went still and Bacchus gingerly stretched his cramped, aching limbs. He was clothed in

tribal red but merely looked the worse for wear as his ivy had sealed the witches’ cuts and he

was no longer bleeding. Unhappily, his enchantment would not undo the disease now ravaging

his body and transforming him into carrion for their pleasure. They did not favour their victims

sprightly, too much effort in the chase. He needed more advanced healing and was unlikely to

get it in this damnable place. He had to hurry, time was shorter than ever.

He laboured to his feet, feeling far older than his ancient age and pining for Zeus’s

footstool, a shot of liquor-laced molten chocolate and a good scroll to peruse. Perhaps the

romance Venus had recommended. He staggered a few steps, enduring the fiery acid leaching

into his muscles, but was spared the need to progress further when the great flamboyant gates of

Hades’ Palace slid open.

Rhadamanthys, Hades’ highest official and ultimate Judge, stepped out onto the lowered

drawbridge. He wore a floor-length red tunic, a circlet of rubies held his white hair neatly in

place and his long beard was anchored by a broach bearing Hades’ Insignia. He carried the

Sceptre of Retribution with which he dealt a person’s penance in the Underworld. Bacchus

sagged with relief; it was all he could do to remain upright. Unlike his peers, Rhadamanthys was

fair and level-headed, even almost kindly.

The reprieve was temporary, however, when he caught sight of the individual following.

Aimrod: the high priest of the Black Order of the Dark Angels. A more shrewd and malignant

being there never was, his spiked and tattooed face hidden beneath the folds of his black, hooded

cassock.

Bacchus quickly removed the Helmet, popped it into his sack, and slouched onto a sizeable

chunk of rubble to await their descent, his head bowed as he mustered the stamina to go on. If

only he had his Thyrsus, his own staff from which he drew power and security. But Celestial had

discarded it amongst his other belongings before their trip. That girl really needed to learn

respect for opinions more experienced.

If he escaped his ordeal in Hell, he pledged to begin the Cherubs’ training in earnest. The

first lesson on the sacredness of one’s personal Instrument of Influence (given his own

inclination to abuse others’ blessed objects, the ethics of such a lecture were mighty sticky, but

he would float that cloud if he reached it).

“Bacchus, my excellent fellow! Back so soon? What brings you to our humble chunk of

the universe?” Rhadamanthys boomed heartily. “And what’s the rumpus? A couple of Hades’

baubles fell off. He does not like it when that happens!”

“Your Honour, Supreme Bloodar Aimrod,” Bacchus nodded weakly. “Seems we have a

situation. A member of your staff is operating outside the Divine Plan, trying to read from the

Book on the Pedestal. Couldn’t get me a word or two with Zeus by chance?”

Before Rhadamanthys reacted, Aimrod interjected silkily, “Well, if Azazel succeeds that

would be destined. We should never deign to intervene in such lordly matters.”

Only his pinched mouth was observable. Bacchus narrowed. How had Aimrod known he

referred to Azazel?

“Roddy, Roddy,” Rhadamanthys admonished, shaking his head as though addressing a

wayward child. Aimrod’s lips thinned murderously.

He clearly didn’t enjoy being known as ‘Roddy’ and Bacchus stored the fact for later. If

later got its sorry self into gear and finally arrived. The judge reflectively stroked his long grey

beard, ignoring the petulant display. “It would only be destined, if he succeeded despite our

involvement. Now we are apprised of the circumstances.”

“I beg to differ, Rhaddy,” Aimrod responded acidly, but Bacchus prevented further debate.

“This is no time for philosophising!” Bacchus fought to keep conscious.

“Indeed!” clapped Rhadamanthys. “It is time, however, to apprehend a wanted felon. One

charged with multiple crimes against our lands.” He materialised a scroll, which unfurled until it

made the ground. “Trespass and kidnapping of a resident for instance. So on and so forth. And

just when your mother was less-than-happily settled.”

“W-what!?” spluttered Bacchus, suddenly keenly attentive. “We have to alert the Elders!

NOW! Or it will be too late!”

The Judge clicked his fingers. “Attendants!” he called. “Lock him in the infirmary and see

to his condition. Strip him of his possessions. Do not take your eyes off him. He’s a wily one.”

Aimrod cracked his knuckles beneath his sleeves and smirked. It was a farcical expression

of joy and Bacchus briefly wondered if it hurt such a corrupt creature to smile. From guard

booths spanning the fortress wall, two huge warthogs with long, nasty-looking tusks, mean

yellow eyes and hides of thick wiry hair appeared. Their ears were pierced with large golden

rings and they wore leather vests chained in front. They swaggered upright on two hind legs,

grunting and squealing with far too much gusto for Bacchus’s liking. Long scimitars hung from

their belts, the blades meticulously sharpened. Excellent, Bacchus mused ruefully, pigs with

small brains and big, pointy sticks! He had but a moment to act.

“And boys,” Rhadamanthys advised with a fatherly tone, “the emphasis is on

imprisonment, not impalement. Captives tend not to survive minus their entrails, so goring is

definitely out! Not to mention we’ve had some complaints from the Domestics. Seems splattered

intestines are very difficult to spot clean.”

He eased the stress of managing unruly employees by massaging his crinkled forehead. “If

you’re good, I may grant you some recreation leave down below to frolic with the damned.” His

generosity garnered a hail of enthused snorts.

While this occurred, Bacchus slid out the Horn of the Host. Feigning a particularly bad

turn, he’d doubled over. He bent low, bringing it to his lips and straightened rapidly, causing a

shredding pain in his abdomen. Aimrod’s mortified frown made the agony worth it, and Bacchus

grinned at the High Priest as he blew three short bursts.

The earth shuddered and a low rumble could be heard. The boars looked around dimly, one

gawking skywards with its ugly jaw sagging, slobber trickling down its bristly chin.

“Reinforcements!” commanded Rhadamanthys. A torrent of warrior warthogs spewed

from the castle. Soon, Bacchus would be swamped. “Seize him! Seize him!” But the two soldiers

present were distracted by the gathering din and slow to respond.

“Allow me!” Aimrod threw back his hood, unveiled auburn wings and propelled himself at

Bacchus, landing forcefully on his chest with hands and feet to hurl him to the ground. He

growled savagely, his face bare millimetres from Bacchus. Elongated spines that dripped venom

projected in a line from his cheeks and across his brow. Cruel fangs grew as Bacchus watched,

along with claws designed to rend flesh. His stark white skin was covered with mesmerising

pitch symbols, which swirled and writhed.

“Delightful! May I suggest a breath mint?”

“You will not be so flippant when I’m through with you!” Aimrod leered, closer still to

suggestively smack his teeth together in Bacchus’s ear. He dragged a talon teasingly over

Bacchus’s cheek.

“Can’t we discuss our differences over a drink for once, like civilised entities?”

“Who said I’m civilised?” Aimrod made a horrible sucking sound with his tongue.

Bacchus was far too weak to fight back. The sickness in his bones had taken a terrible toll. He

reflected on how relaxing it would be to finally give in, but defeat was not in his nature.

“Just a spot of advice. You might contemplate running before it’s too late.”

Aimrod sat upright, straddled Bacchus and laughed deliriously. From deep below, rock

ground louder than Judgement Day. A yawning tear appeared in the terrain, travelling quickly in

a widening chasm. Its path created a gorge between Rhadamanthys and the surging swine,

isolating Aimrod and Bacchus on one side. Hogs toppled into the subterranean crack, their

squeals fading down into the murk. Rhadamanthys teetered on the edge of the cliff, shouting and

gesturing, his words incoherent across the fissure.

“Your Superior does not seem to favour your method of justice,” Bacchus commented

mildly.

His joints stiffened. Soon he’d become a solidified, useless lump. The pressure on his chest

felt like lead, due to hardening lungs from the witches’ toxin, rather than the weight of Aimrod,

whom Bacchus would ordinarily have been able to flick off like an inconsequential speck.

“I have no superior. Rhadamanthys is a senile old grub with delusions of important rank!

His authority is over.” Aimrod triumphantly exposed his teeth.

“You’re behind Azazel’s plot. How have they been coming and going without attracting

attention?” Bacchus wheezed with monumental effort.

He found breathing remarkably taxing, speech slurred and his eyelids drooped. His flesh

remembered the worst beating of youth, when both Urg the Ugly and Grendel had taken

exception to his wooing their girlfriend. Bacchus had never thought to repeat that pain, but felt it

now in every molecule.

“I had Azazel and his charges consigned to administrative duties, so they were not required

to attend the Enclave. It was enough to have my shape-shifters show themselves occasionally, in

his guise and that of his Fledglings, and their presence was assumed --”

He did not get the chance to finish. With a shattering roar Skylar’s ghostly polar bears

advanced in an unbreachable line up and over the edge of the sink hole. Anarchy prevailed as the

Bear Spirits easily swatted aside any pigs brazen enough to challenge their progress.

Aimrod leaped backwards onto his feet, screaming obscenities. “What manner of self-

righteous meddling is this!”

Bacchus tumbled stiffly onto his side, where he lay as motionless as granite, observing

events through horizontal slits. Accepting an exercise in futility, most of the Guard made a

disordered retreat towards the shelter of the Castle. Rhadamanthys gesticulated madly, issuing

frazzled commands to his unheeding troops. His crown of rubies was awry and he shook his

Sceptre in frustration as an unyielding barricade of Bears advanced towards him. He backed-

tracked uncertainly up the rise, belatedly grasping the fact his protection team performed their

duties admirably -- in protecting their own hides. His soldiers had scattered and were nowhere to

be seen.

“Let them destroy the pitiful fool!” Aimrod sneered as he spun to face Bacchus. “They

don’t seem to have your security in mind though, do they?”

This point was regrettably true, although Bacchus was too incapacitated to communicate

his agreement. Even his partially open eyelids had seized. Aimrod strolled to Bacchus’s side and

knelt with leisurely ease. He thrust his evil face down so that it once again blighted Bacchus’

view.

“Hmm, what to do with you? Ordinarily, you would experience the privilege of my

hypnotic tattoos, which offer a panorama of my world’s most treasured delights. An infinity of

horrors that even the most resilient find impossible to withstand. It is difficult to maintain a

belief in anything after such grand vision.” He gave a humourless bark that may have been a

laugh, Bacchus was unsure.

“But on you, I feel it would be wasted at this moment, trapped in the shell of your

unsightly, bloated body as you are,” he eyed Bacchus with disdain. “I find a victim’s reactions

most enlightening and am loathe to deprive myself.”

Aimrod sat back on his haunches and stared distractedly off, clearly contemplating options

for more appropriate abuse. In the distance, Rhadamanthys could be heard beseeching the Tower

Guards to lower the bridge and allow him access, as the Bears pressed in on him, forcing him

closer to the edge of the moat and the hungry serpents thrashing below.

The loyalty of Rhadamanthys’ workers was evidently patchy. Bacchus reflected idly that a

revision of management practices might be in order. For the first time in long memory, his

scheming brain came up blank, and he could only languish physically entombed, as a series of

absurd thoughts wandered consciousness. He dreamed of his lost sandals, wished for one final

card game with his mischievous friend Pan (usually an exchange where outrageous cheating was

applauded), and found himself acutely disappointed he would not carry-out his proudest

appointment -- tutoring Celestial and Nimbus. He was surprised by the admission, as his fuel-

deprived mind dimmed permanently.

“No!” Aimrod pounced and slapped Bacchus vigorously about the head. “You cannot fade!

I will not have my utmost reward wasted!”

“Too late.” Bacchus exhaled through lips frozen ajar.

As his spirit prepared to depart, Bacchus hallucinated a massive hurtling object that flew at

Aimrod to savagely dislodge him from his squat. His enemy was propelled through the air and

came to a bone-crunching sprawl, spread-eagled on his back in the dirt. A loud snarl echoed

across the land and Bacchus felt a fiery sting on his thigh, which although quite painful, was

oddly reassuring as it suggested he was still capable of sensation. A burn slowly spread through

his body and when locked muscles loosened, he pulled a shallow, life-reviving gasp.

This was no mere vision. Bacchus weakly pulled himself upright and peered over at

Aimrod. He could barely believe what he saw. Buttercup sat astride the devil, pummelling him

with her huge paws.

He aggressively shoved her in the chest. “GET OFF! You stupid beast!”

Instead, she gave one giant strike, batting Aimrod’s head like a chew-toy and he instantly

blacked out. The Demon-Dog swivelled and fixed Bacchus in its beady focus. He tensed. It was

surely too ridiculously ironic to be saved from Aimrod, only to be mauled to death by his Hell

Hound!

Instead she yapped a playful greeting and sauntered over, wagging her tail. It was truly a

frightening spectacle to behold three colossal, teeth-filled jaws stretched in welcoming doggy

grins. She plonked herself nearby and reared upright, a begging behemoth. Bacchus blinked and

scratched his head.

He’d better work out fast what she was after or he doubted he’d escape the encounter as

healthily as Aimrod. He rummaged hopefully in his bag and Buttercup responded with excited

yips. The yips! They reminded Bacchus of the hiccoughs back in her tunnel. Buttercup wanted

more of Skylar’s liqueur! He grabbed the bottle and Hades Helmet, and hoisting them out,

poured a generous amount into the upturned hat. Buttercup plopped to her front paws and drank

deeply.

“Well, I can’t fault your taste!” Bacchus said, gingerly patting one of her snouts.

He took a large, energising gulp for himself. His attention was taken by a panicked shriek

at the Castle gates, and he glanced over in time to watch a sodden Rhadamanthys, his dignity as

shredded as his ragged uniform, pelt gratefully through the widening draw-bridge, three slithery

aquatic dragons close on his heels. The sentinel Polar Bears dissolved quietly into the ground,

leaving no trace of their presence.

After a brief pause, Bacchus was mightily relieved to hear Zeus blast a warning thunder

clap at the snakes. They re-emerged and beat a hasty retreat, sliding off the path into their watery

home.

“I will not be further constrained!” An angry voice trumpeted, and the legendary God

himself stomped out onto the road, appearing livid.

Gabriel followed with supreme composure. Hades, with a brisk, military bearing, joined

them, hauling Rhadamanthys by the scruff as though one of Celestial’s handbags. He wore a full

dress uniform in the style of a human General, complete with highest rank epaulettes and badges

of honour.

The quartet made their way down towards Bacchus, Zeus flicking a finger to mend the

fissure in the road and stepping up to gently embrace his battered friend. Once free of the clinch,

Gabriel reached over and placed a hand on Bacchus’s forehead, reinstating him to full fitness and

hygiene. With a flourish, the Archangel added a cleanly pressed white toga and a platinum circlet

of ivy for his brow. Bacchus inhaled robustly.

“Thank you, Gabriel. That was most kind.”

Hades dumped Rhadamanthys at Bacchus’s feet and glowered at Buttercup, who noisily

slurped from his valuable-beyond-measure helmet. The beast gave a small whine and cringed.

The King nudged his bedraggled advisor with a persuasive toe.

“Explain yourself!” he commanded imperiously.

Aimrod moaned and stirred faintly, attracting a dark look from Gabriel. Bacchus raised a

quelling hand.

“There is no time for a full account. Other matters command our immediate intervention!”

***

Chapter Fourteen

The Sword

Azazel strode towards the filmy horizon that exposed the Portal between dimensions. He

tugged Jam around the neck, roughly yanking fistfuls of his feathers out as they went. A sorry

trail of stark white down lead the way, reminding Nimbus of his unfortunate condition after

Jinx’s, which seemed trivial in comparison.

The Dark Angel murmured an incantation preventing Jam from spontaneously regrowing

his wings. Nimbus could barely detect Jam fumbling with what must have been the glove, as he

allowed himself to be dragged without resisting. Nimbus struggled to keep up, incapacitated as

he was. Azazel’s injuries were impervious to the usual Ethereal comforts and his own attempts at

healing. His enemy’s intent was clear -- he aimed to hurl Jam from the Tranquil Realm!

“The Book cannot be far! Your belief that I need you in order to locate it is mistaken. I will

provide you with a final opportunity to reveal its hiding place or you will plummet to oblivion!”

Jam laughed weakly. “Locating it is not the issue Azazel. Obtaining it is! And I know

whatever happens, my life is forfeit. You do not permit traitors to live.”

Jam behaved as though unfazed by his impending death. He maintained a peaceful satisfied

expression, while quietly working the glove onto his hand. He succeeded just as they reached the

swirling pearlescent vapour of the Doorway.

Azazel was clearly unsettled by Jam’s obvious lack of fear. He was not accustomed to

facing stoic victims who did not tremble in terror and plead for mercy. He halted indecisively at

his destination, clasping a limp Jam by the arm. Finally, he heaved Jam upright so they were

face-to-face.

He chanted in a softly lilting voice. “You are brave and clever, Jomjael of the Fallen. In

your case, I will make an exception and spare you. Would you not relish the chance to spend

time with the object of your yearning? Indeed, she would make a beautiful and worthy

companion. Give me the Book and I will grant your desire,” the last was a whispering caress.

Even though Jam maintained the hex had worn off, that he was no longer obsessed with

Celestial, Nimbus found himself silently compelling Jam to acquiesce to Azazel’s most

reasonable request. He stumbled forward a few steps, intending to persuade Jam that even though

Celestial was admittedly argumentative, bossy and of dubious fashion aptitude, at least he would

never be bored, and that yes, despite the fact her face was usually puckered in prudish

disapproval, she was alright looking. In all, Nimbus reluctantly conceded she’d make a vaguely

descent catch. Luckily, an agonising spasm caused him to crouch hidden nearby, before he could

present his viewpoint.

Jam shook his head and chuckled again. “I am immune to your cajoling, Azazel. Do not

think you will entice me with your bewitching voice. It is for Celestial I make my sacrifice. I am

unworthy to be her beloved, yet cannot live in her absence. You do me a service by killing me!”

“You are not unworthy!” A firm reply from Nimbus’s elbow jerked him back from the

trance.

He blinked in befuddlement. Apparently Jam had lied to Ram about no longer liking

Celestial. Next to him stood the very angel, calmly holding the Book of Lore. Nimbus breathed a

sigh of relief, thinking how narrowly he had missed making a complete buffoon of himself in

public. Again. It was short-lived though when the implications of his Other’s arrival hit home.

Nimbus was too shocked to holler that bringing the Book back to their dire adversary was

the first, but definitely the most magnificently stupid error Celestial had ever made. A blunder

that even he could never match. She reached out and grabbed Nimbus’s hand, transmitting

healing power into his traumatised form. Together, their energy fixed some of the damage he’d

sustained and freed him temporarily from the surging aches. They stepped out into the clearing.

“What are you doing here!” he whispered harshly, too aghast to offer thanks.

“Trust me,” she muttered. “I will trade you. The Book for Jam.” Celestial directed her

bargain at Azazel, waving the Book in the air for him to see. His eyes narrowed sceptically.

“NO, Celestial! I did not send you the Book for this,” cried Jam, squirming vigorously in

Azazel’s grip.

“And I will not tolerate one more death at the hands of this villain! Release him now and I

will toss you the Book.”

Nimbus groaned, so far the supposed plan had little merit. Azazel countered, “Throw me

the Book and I will release him!”

“NO! This cannot be! Do something Nimbus!” Jam railed at him.

Nimbus opened his mouth to object and Celestial raised a finger in warning. She answered

unequivocally. “I make Sacred Pact that you will have the Book, only after Jam is free.”

Azazel vacillated, a distrustful look on his face. “How do I know it is the Book of Lore?”

Celestial opened its pages and Nimbus watched over her shoulder as she flicked to the

section entitled ‘Decorations for Fledgling-Angel Celebrations’. She read from the paragraph on

party ‘Don’ts’.

“I should not have the power to bewitch you, correct?”

He scowled threateningly. “Be careful what you do, young Cherub. You cup Jam’s life in

the hands of your decision.”

“Very eloquent. Adornmicorum gaudy!” she exclaimed.

Azazel instantly became a garish clown, bedecked in fluorescent streamers, crackers,

papier-mâché piñatas and all manner of kitsch. He stood dumbfounded and looking ridiculous.

Jam reached out and cheekily honked his shiny red nose.

Azazel’s eyes went wide with fury and he ripped at the costume with his free arm, the

frenzied activity accompanied by shrill bangs, pops and whistles. Catherine Wheels exited his

ears and bounced about erratically, until fizzling to a stop. Several stubbornly attached balloons

noisily expelled air in mimicry of awkward body functions. The black angel blazed with outrage.

Jam shook with amusement. Nimbus withheld hilarity with extreme effort.

“Do you believe me now?” Celestial inquired.

In response, Azazel viciously thrust Jam towards them, the ensuing events unfolding in

agonising freeze-frame. As the small distance between them increased, Celestial made good on

her oath and lobbed the Book high into the air. Azazel followed its progression with greedy eyes.

His distraction provided the moment Jam had been waiting for and he pivoted back to the Dark

Angel, wrenching his youth-giving opal crown from his head with a gloved hand.

This act went briefly unnoticed while the others were held spellbound by the Book’s

trajectory. At the pinnacle of its flight half way, a plethora of red-bound fakes appeared mid-air.

It became impossible to decipher which was the original Book as numerous copies joined it in

the tumble downwards.

“NOOO!” Azazel screamed, as Jam turned to run from him with the crown.

Azazel’s face began to wither and his lustrous black locks sprouted grey, wiry strands. He

was still faster than Jam, leaping to grab him by a fistful of hair and twisting like a discus

thrower. Jam was jettisoned from their world and plunged the gulf to the Material Realm. Jam’s

petrified calls faded with diminishing altitude, as the wind whipped them away.

“JAM!” Celestial yelled.

She made a distressed bid for the Portal, coming too close to the still dangerous Azazel,

who was not yet weakened by his advancing years. By some residual enchantment the Crown

had abandoned Jam’s disappearing hand, tearing the glove with it to spin in Nimbus’s direction.

The glove dropped at a distance too far away to be useful. Nimbus hesitated, loath to touch

Azazel’s Crown with his bare skin, his arm gradually stretching out to catch the deathly tiara.

Although the delay had been minute, it was enough for Azazel to gain the advantage. He

lunged for Celestial as she passed, hooking her about the waist, and with his remaining

momentum tackled Nimbus from the path of the desecrating Crown. They fell in a confused

heap, the Crown landing a short distance away.

This time Nimbus refused to falter and he commenced a rapid crawl towards it, dragging

Azazel who clutched him by the ankle and in turn tightly held Celestial. Books deluged from

above, quickly layering the ground and threatening to obscure Nimbus’s dogged objective. He

had to prevent Azazel from getting his Crown or Jam’s loss would be for nothing!

Celestial flailed ineffectually against Azazel. “You killed him! You killed dearest Jam!”

Nimbus thrashed his legs and kicked free. He launched himself to the place where the

Crown was buried and dug frantically. He pushed down through the books and touched smooth

coldness. Behind him Celestial endeavoured to muster her powers in order to stop Azazel

altogether, but she was too inexperienced, and it was too soon after her last attempt.

Although Celestial was valiant and tenacious, she was still only a Fledgling and could

never seriously challenge the supremacy of an Angel higher in rank. Anything she could do

would merely prove a delaying tactic. She did not have the physical strength to restrain him and

he shook her off, leaping upright as Nimbus groped to bring forth the horrid Crown.

“Well, go on boy,” he jeered. “Pick it up!”

Nimbus’s patience with this evil being was as at an end. He no longer cared if his gifts

made a belated emergence or if he continued to live. He had failed at every turn and felt

responsible for Jam’s demise. He spread his fingers, stretched down and seized the crown. He

slowly turned and held it aloft.

“Come and take it!”

“That won’t be necessary, such unwarranted brutality!” he tisked condescendingly, as the

grey in his hair started to retract.

Nimbus’s fingers automatically curled around the black pearls making a steadfast fist. He

could not let go and his vitality ebbed as the parasitic Crown transferred his youthful blush to

Azazel, inevitably sucking the very essence from his core. Celestial stood transfixed by horror at

the sight of her Other bled of his immortality.

“Nimbus,” she whimpered helplessly.

“Your gluttony has made you weak, Azazel. You must steal to gain benefit and you are

now dependent on your Crown to live.” Nimbus made a decision; he refused to shrink under

Azazel’s smug dominance. If he was to die, it would be on his own terms.

“Just words! They’ll make no difference when you’re gone and your spirit’s trapped in my

world!”

“We’ll see!”

Nimbus closed his eyes and triggered the scant power he had mastery over. It tingled up his

spine and infused his aching being, the blossoming tranquillity making his mind soar. Motes of

pure light appeared and danced around him, multiplying in number and intensity to swirl

sinuously about his body. He would have no problems with aim. The Crown insatiably pulled

this new source of vigour to itself.

“What are you doing?” Celestial squealed.

Nimbus simply grinned broadly, basking joyously in his own brilliant vortex, unconcerned

by the draining effect of the crown.

Azazel’s face became a mask of shock as he realised Nimbus’s purpose. He made a

desperate lunge for the upheld Crown, but was easily repelled by the spectacular radiance now

enveloping Nimbus. Any hostility he felt towards Azazel trickled away as Nimbus became one

with the fabric of time and gave himself up to its grand tapestry. With startling clarity he

understood both his insignificance in the Great Design and his awful importance.

Nimbus released his accumulated power, gladly offering Azazel all he possessed. His

bequest hurtled from him into the ravenous vacuum of the Black Opal Crown, entirely

consumed. For the briefest moment nothing happened. Nimbus slumped to his knees, his power

spent, fatigued beyond description. His hand opened and the Crown dropped benignly to the

ground.

Azazel stared around wildly. “Very dramatic! But all to no avail --”

Suddenly, illumination shone from tiny spreading breaks in his skin. He held his hand up to

his face and observed with an expression of rising terror, as the splits cracked wide and blinding

luminescence burst out. Celestial shielded her eyes against the glare, but Nimbus watched

impassively from the floor. Azazel became an incandescent figure, his mouth agape in a silent

scream.

There was no explosion or shuddering jolt, just the slow erosion of his shape as the light

dissipated into the air. Without fanfare he was gone; an ill-equipped vessel to contain such

vastness. Wisps of writhing mist escaped from the Coronet’s signature black stone, circling once

before vaporising in a chorus of grateful sighs. Many stolen souls departed for their rightful

places in the beyond. Celestial pelted to Nimbus, dropping down to hug him forcefully.

“A tad anticlimactic, don’t you think?” he asked, secretly pleading his powers were gone

for good.

“You were great, Nimbus! You finally have your Divine Powers!” she smiled proudly.

“No, Essie. They were not under my control. I knew the Crown would seek my powers in

order to devour them. I just didn’t oppose it. I guessed that Azazel’s sorcery might malfunction if

I gave willingly. I was not exactly sure what would happen, though.”

“Well, in any case,” she said, burying her face into his neck, “it was very brave!”

“Not enough to save Jam. He was braver than I’ll ever be.”

“Thank you, Nimbus, my friend! I hope you are not trying to steal my girl. Hello, dearest!”

Jam stepped through the Ethereal Gateway and winked gleefully in Celestial’s direction. She

flushed as red as Bacchus, after his cockroach crisping at Mercury’s.

She awkwardly cleared her throat. “How in the Ark of the Covenant are you still alive?”

“It was the strangest thing! As I tumbled through the sky to certain death, a giant hand

fashioned from pillowy clouds cushioned my fall.”

Celestial and Nimbus stared at each other. “Zeus!” they exclaimed.

“Come on, Nimbus,” Celestial said as she jumped to her feet. She towed Nimbus shakily

up beside her. “Thank the majestic Lords! Let’s go greet them!”

As they started back towards the Chamber of Greats, Jam loitered by the doorway, looking

troubled. Celestial turned to him.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked impatiently.

“I… I do not belong,” he stammered.

“Like Sacrilege! You belong here more than I! Now hurry up. We don’t want to miss the

fireworks,” Nimbus urged.

“There will be celebrations, so soon?”

Celestial stifled a giggle. “Nope official fun will wait until after. It’s Zeus’s temper

exploding that you don’t want to miss. He’ll go off like Greek Fire when he sees the state of the

place and discovers the full extent of Azazel’s disobedience!”

Jam nodded, going a shade paler. “Ahh, with wrath I am very familiar! The Gods of my

world are always venting their spleen! It is very messy and usually unwise to be around them.

Would it not be best if we waited here for a while?”

“Oh no, we won’t be in any danger!” Celestial cheerfully replied.

“We will if we forget to take the Book back,” Nimbus realised. “Looks like we’ll miss the

show after all. How are we going to find it amongst this jumble?”

“May I?” Jam asked. Celestial frowned and shook her head.

“For Blessed’s sake, Nimbus! You are an Angel-in-Training, are you not? You can find it

easily. Just have a little faith in your talent for once! Come along, Jam. We need to collect Ram

on the way. He’s back over the rise, raving and floundering in the dust. Seems he’s having

disturbing visions of suffocation under monster buttocks. See you there, Nimbus. Don’t be

long!”

“But Celestial, Azazel’s jewels sucked me dry! I have nothing left!”

“Wing rot!” she declared.

And with that, Celestial turned on her heel and flounced off without glancing back. Jam

shrugged sheepishly, confirming he had no intention of arguing with his beloved. Nimbus found

he was alone again. But this time it was different, he was glad Celestial was not with him. He

suspected he could easily manipulate his newly manifesting abilities and elected not to.

For once, Celestial did not seem to recognise the full import of what Nimbus had just done.

He had crushed a Senior Angel with relative ease, a skill very few of the Most High possessed,

and a bad gift for one whose knowledge was so limited, whose maturity was so underdeveloped.

He had also failed to share with Celestial what his glimpse of the Essential Tapestry had

revealed. At some point in the future, Nimbus faced an ominous fork in his destiny.

One road lead to his existence as the ultimate Full-Fledged Seraphim -- the benevolent

leader of his Order in an eternally balanced cosmos. The other generated a shudder of intense

fear, as Nimbus saw himself the awesome and terrible overlord atop a mountain wreathed in

flame, his mighty sword lancing a blackened, tumultuous sky, the entire universe prostrate and

cringing at his feet. And he knew the outcome somehow hinged on the use of his destructive

capacity.

He was loathe to take the chance and once he’d found the Book, made a personal oath

never to use his powers again. He put out his hand and concentrated on the energy the Book

produced, mentally sifting the piles of forgeries for its presence. Shortly, Nimbus had it hover

within reach to pluck it from the air.

As it settled onto his palm, Nimbus thought he caught the passing of the merest shadow. A

flicker in the Ethereal Glow so rapid, it was difficult to believe actual when no longer present.

Nimbus knew the truth however; the darkness had been very real! Ominously, the Book started

to grow to the proportions usually reserved for the wisest Elders. Stunned, he hurled it away.

Nimbus dithered with rising alarm, isolated on the outer edges of his world until he could

procrastinate no longer. He had to return or they would come looking for him. He found the

glove, put it on and picked up the Book. It cemented his decision. He could not ignore the

pessimistic signs. Nimbus would pretend at all costs Azazel had taken his powers and they were

gone for good! He would not succumb -- he would never become a Dark Angel!

***

Chapter Fifteen

Four versus Two

The pyrotechnics of Zeus’s displeasure did not eventuate. Instead, the Cherubs were

treated to a long and incredibly dull meeting during which various Elders rambled, blaming,

accusing and attempting to distance themselves from culpability. Aside from occasional heated

denials, the mood was sombre. Nimbus had snuck in unseen as arrangements were underway and

returned the Book of Lore to the Pedestal.

The Ethereal Realm had been put right in an iota and the gathering proceeded in the newly

rectified Chamber of Greats. Long tables were arrayed in a square horseshoe, facing the topmost

bench where the Most High from both realms assembled, elevated above the rest. The Chair of

Forgetfulness was positioned in front; a clear souvenir of foul play. Not formally inducted into

the Council, Nimbus, Celestial, Jam and Ram were perched on a pew against the wall behind the

Most High. Ram fidgeted angrily, regularly shooting mutinous glares at Jam.

Hades currently held the floor, indignantly blustering he had no direct responsibility for

Bloodar members. He stiffly paced the middle. “I fail to grasp how I could possibly be held

accountable for the actions of one not under my command!”

Zeus, whose head rested on his hand, propped up by an elbow on the table, stirred. “It is

clear you have failed to grasp a lot of things my crafty colleague,” he responded mildly

“OH!” Hades retorted hotly. “That is the pear calling the pomegranate fruit! Where were

you when the Chosen were in mortal peril? Basking willingly in the quality of my hospitality,

that’s where!”

Bacchus leapt up and slammed his fist down onto the marble, theatrically throwing

Celestial and Nimbus a sympathetic look. “Damned luxuriating-leopard officials! Any

opportunity for a free junket at the expense of a cherished underling!”

The gist was clear: Bacchus alone had heroically defended the Cherubs while everyone

else swanned about sipping ambrosia and supping on venison. The impact of his dramatic

outburst was somewhat lessened by the fact for most of proceedings, he’d snoozed next to Zeus

in a pool of his own spit. The head of the Gods raised an eyebrow in Bacchus’s direction,

demonstrating his good-humoured objection to the insult. Mercury glowered sourly in the

background, having not yet forgiven his erstwhile friend’s Wand theft and the demolition of his

humble abode.

Gabriel, who rarely spoke and was given undivided attention when he did, rolled his eyes

to the heavens. “Gentlemen, please sit. Discord is the servant of adversity. Bacchus, had you not

been carousing to the zenith and thus indisposed, you too would readily have deserted your

charges.”

Bacchus conceded with a disappointed nod and slouched sullenly onto his stool. Where

was the praise he so rightly deserved? The perks of this job were becoming less alluring by the

drop of sand in the hourglass.

Gabriel continued. “Recriminations are pointless. We must be like Janus the two-faced and

look backward in order to see forward. Recent events have clouded the future and warrant

scrutiny. Raphael, Michael and Uriel are at present one with the Essential Tapestry and ponder

this new meaning. They will make full report soon, but first we must hear Bloodar Aimrod’s

account. I feel it will be most germane.” Gabriel stared pointedly at the Dark Angel.

Nimbus shifted uncomfortably. He suspected that with the imminent arrival of more of his

Divine Superiors he would unwittingly become the focus of the conversation.

Heads swivelled in Aimrod’s direction. As punishment for the assault on Bacchus, he was

seated with minor representatives at the back of the hall, his usual place at the forefront left

vacant. His war spikes and fangs were long since retracted and he was again hidden by the

shrouds of his volumous cassock.

Beside him drooped an unkempt Rhadamanthys, barely recovered from his humiliating

ordeal at the talons of Hades’ pet dragons. Aimrod slowly raised himself and made his way with

belaboured dignity to the centre of the vast room. He removed his hood and addressed Gabriel,

occasionally gazing in Nimbus and Jam’s direction.

He spoke with barely repressed contempt. “Azazel acted on his own --”

“That’s a lie!” Bacchus erupted, again jumping to his feet. A murmur of assent rippled

through those from the Ethereal Realm.

“Please, Bacchus,” Zeus’s wife Hera interjected gently. “We know well the role you

played and you will be justly rewarded, but due process must be observed. Each party deserves

the right to speak uninterrupted in their own defence.”

Bacchus gave Aimrod a murderous glance and sat. Aimrod benignly inspected his

fingernails. “I am unconcerned by others’ disbelief of my account, as it is the truth. I was

unaware of Azazel’s plot and can only speculate that his inferiors were bewitched into doing his

bidding and deceiving me.”

“Do you have any explanation as to how one of Azazel’s low rank broached the Pedestal

and read the forbidden passage from the Book of Lore? He would have required great magic

indeed to promote himself to the Essential Echelon. A level it must be said, you have achieved

Supreme Bloodar Aimrod,” declared Ra.

It was the duty of the Most High to select members accomplished enough to be welcomed

into the Circle of Full Knowledge. They determined who was permitted to study or read from the

Book’s complete writings. Elders could only transfer this power with extreme discretion.

“I resent the insinuation, Ra. If you are making an accusation, out with it and it will be

addressed. Of course, you would need to present hard evidence before sullying my name with

idle speculation. We have only to visit the Seventh Circle to discern what happens to those who

indulge in slanderous gossip!”

“Are you threatening me?” Ra stood, appalled.

“Merely elaborating the requirements for due process,” Aimrod responded snidely.

“Clearly, a thorough investigation will be undertaken. Please be seated, Aimrod. Ra, you

will have your apology when the moment is less heated, but not now. I believe, the Sacred arrive.

Thank you for your tolerance,” Gabriel appeased.

Ra nodded crossly and sat. Nimbus desperately wished that he could leave. His anxiety did

back-flips in his stomach. The tension in the room ratcheted up, all expectantly turned towards

the Chamber entrance. Even Bacchus was fully awake and alert.

Eventually, the Chamber doors swept open and three austere Angels paraded in, single file.

Uriel took the lead. The only female in the group, she spent most of her time communing with

the sun and stars and was rarely to be seen in Corporeal Form. She had a diaphanous air about

her, as though permanently bathed in the brilliance of a super-nova, her glowing aura briefly

lighting the visages of all she passed.

Michael and Raphael followed, sheathed in long simple gowns, their feet barely touching

the floor, grave expressions on their striking faces. Gabriel came down to meet them, pressing

his forehead to Uriel’s in a wordless transfer of knowledge. The new arrivals took positions

behind the Most High with the Cherubs. Uriel’s golden eyes found Nimbus and she gave him a

beatific smile, soothing his unease. He returned a forlorn smile. Jam’s mouth dropped in awe at

the sight of her.

“We must adjourn the Council and confer in private,” Gabriel announced with a perplexed

frown. “You will be summoned on the outcome. May good fortune be your guardian.”

This abrupt end was met with general outrage and shouts of dissent, but the Angels had

already shed their physical manifestations and began departing for their haven, Sanctuarae

Tranquilatum.

“Is that it? Is it over?” Celestial uttered in Nimbus’s ear.

Nimbus shrugged, determining immediately it was not over for him. Gabriel, who was the

last to disappear, beckoned he follow.

“Nimbus! Where are you going?” Celestial’s question hung unanswered in the empty space

where he had been.

Some time later, Nimbus was spread-eagled on his back on the rooftop of the very same

apartment block of four days previous. He stared up at the evening sky with its smattering of

feeble stars. They lost the battle against the saturation of the city’s artificial light. He’d spent a

listless afternoon observing the clumsy courtship of a couple of amorous teenagers. Nimbus

gave-up his surveillance when they’d advanced to fondling beneath the romantic corona of the

streetlamp. They did not need his help. It unfolded without the unleashing of a single arrow.

Nimbus was not exactly enjoying his segregation, but it was preferable to being on the

Ethereal Realm, where Celestial hounded him with questions and Bacchus had promoted the

Cherubs to the role of Events Coordinators. In reality, it meant their Guardian was free to cruise

in his golden chariot like some super-celebrity, prominently displaying the Horn of the Host and

stopping often to impart the thrilling tale of his heroics. He basked in lavish praise and

graciously received numerous gifts, while the Cherubs dashed about planning the homecoming

reception of the century. Nimbus did not even feel guilty he’d deserted Celestial to the task.

Together she and Jam made an insufferably efficient pair.

Not to mention it was difficult to look at Celestial without being overcome by mirth, even

in Nimbus’s current depressed state. She insisted on constantly wearing the ridiculous hat Jam

had shyly presented her. She blinked copiously to remove the frost from her eyelashes (her

eyelids iced shut at one point, and she’d almost tripped into Jupiter’s spittoon). If she stood in

one spot too long, snow drifts developed.

Less amusing, the silver pixies had taken an instant dislike to Nimbus and hurled spells at

him whenever he got within range. In a particularly humiliating episode, the little wretches had

stripped him of his robe in the main avenue, as one of Bacchus’s adoring audiences gathered,

which unfortunately included the River Nymphs. Nimbus fronted the crowd wearing only

Skylar’s pendant.

“Oooh, nice dangler!” called a nymph coquettishly.

“Magic happens if you rub it!” grinned another.

“Never fear lad, I’m often caught with my toga down!” Bacchus chuckled unhelpfully. “No

lasting harm done.”

In a bid to rescue Nimbus from the taunts and more pressingly, save a blushing and

mortified Celestial, Jam provided a tiny pair of black leather shorts. In hindsight, staying nude

would have been smarter. The new attire provoked exuberant laughter and shouts of “Hail

Spartan!” Since, the Nymphs made sly remarks about his dagger at every opportunity.

Nimbus sighed. Maybe if he showed them his real sword. The one Gabriel had nobly

bestowed upon him as his Instrument of Influence that afternoon. But no, Nimbus did not even

want to touch it and had hidden it in the deepest recesses of his meditation space.

The Seraphim were obviously disturbed he had progressed to such heights so suddenly.

Nevertheless, it was an event that demanded certain protocol and they were bound by the

traditions. So, he had received his Instrument of Influence with no fanfare and even less pride.

He was terrified to discover it was the same ornate emerald-and-pearl-encrusted sword he held

aloft in his most awful vision. It was finely wrought from Orichalcum, the supernatural Atlantean

metal.

“There you are! Celestial sent me to see if you are alright.” Jam appeared next to him,

interrupting his thoughts.

“I was until you arrived,” Nimbus said, regretting the words as soon as they’d escaped his

mouth. Jam was eternally grateful Nimbus fought Azazel for him and tried unsuccessfully, on

many occasions, to ease Nimbus’s apparent unhappiness. Jam was extremely perceptive and

could detect the pain of those around him. “Sorry! I didn’t mean that.”

Jam said nothing for the longest while. He simply lay himself down next to Nimbus and

stared up into the night. Eventually, he spoke.

“Bacchus collapsed a moment ago and had to be sent to the healers. It seems Buttercup bit

him on the thigh with her tail to counteract the witches’ poison. Gabriel cured him of the Lamia,

not the viper-venom, which started to work on his flesh. He will be okay,” Jam added hastily.

“Zeus temporarily banned him from receiving guests, proclaiming that too much attention is

detrimental to anyone. Even Bacchus.” Jam continued without prompting from Nimbus, who

was so listless, he could have been a corpse.

“Buttercup is unmanageable. Hades made petition for a replacement, claiming his foremost

fortification has been enduringly spoiled and is now a useless booze-hound. The Underworld

remains unguarded and has been inundated by pesky adventurers, determined to follow in the

foolish footsteps of past pilgrims. Seems there is a new magical pear tree at the entrance that

allows immunity on Perdition Road.

“Kharon is on strike. His ferry was overloaded by tourists to the point where it sank in the

middle of the lake. The carnivorous fish had a feast before Hades could send his water-dragons

to retrieve what was left of the survivors. His Warrior Warthogs are out on unanimous stress-

leave, alleging combating Ghostly Polar Bears is not in their job description and Aiakos the

Keeper of the Keys is missing.

“Several of the more entrepreneurial Imps are sporting thick gold chains and loud

Hawaiian shirts in exchange for their work as guides for the Americans! Hades is complaining

that Bacchus has ruined the Dolorous Realm and must be extradited to face punishment. He’s

demanding compensation or he reckons he will move his entire flock upstairs until things are put

right.”

“Hmph!” Nimbus grunted noncommittally. “That’d put a dent in Bacchus’s big fat head!”

They lapsed into silence.

“Nimbus, do you know how Fledgling Dark Angels come to be?” Jam inquired, after an

extended pause.

Nimbus blinked in surprise. He had not given the matter much thought before, but had to

admit it was an intriguing question. He shook his head.

“Whenever meanness, corruption and hate rule the human world, when selfishness,

intolerance and greed reign, the Bloodar draw on that imbalance to bring us into being. It is a

very complex and taxing ritual and cannot be performed more than limited times over a specified

epoch, but things have been so bad on the Material Realm for so long, Ram and I unexpectedly

achieved genesis together. He is my brother in time as we share the same moment of origin, just

as you and Celestial do.” Nimbus concentrated on Jam’s words; they seemed of critical

importance to him, but he could not guess why. “We are now four to your two.”

Nimbus sat up. “There are two more of you?”

Jam also sat and nodded. “Ram and I are the younger of the quartet. At first the Bloodar,

although overjoyed at their unbelievable success in such a short period, were unsure of our

purpose. They assigned each of us to one of the other Fledglings to nurture our powers and for

tuition in the ways of our Order. Meanwhile, they consulted the soothsayers, poured over the

ancient texts and brooded on this deepest of mysteries. For eons we were left to our own devices,

under the vigilant control of the older Fledglings. Until the Chosen came into being.” Jam looked

at Nimbus.

“Us? Me and Celestial?”

“Aimrod immediately understood the significance. My teacher and I were selected as your

clandestine watchers. I have observed Celestial closely since her inception.”

“It was not my hex that made you care for her, was it?”

He shook his head. “It is the job of the Dark Angels to recognise those of pure heart, who

may prove incorruptible, for their downfall is our highest prize. Celestial’s integrity is

unmatched and she will never bend her will to the side of evil. I very much admire her

unwavering strength. She will not diverge from the path of righteousness no matter the

temptation or pain.”

Nimbus was almost too afraid to ask. “What about me, Jam? What do you see when you

look into my psyche?”

Jam gazed at him and with great sadness. “Only my teacher can tell you. She is your

Mirror. But know this Nimbus and be warned! Her name is Rhapsody and she is the most potent

enchantress of our realm. Her language mesmerises and none are immune.

“The Bloodar had her imprisoned as her powers outgrew even theirs. She is capricious and

mischievous and very, very dangerous. You approach her at your peril! I perceive the burgeoning

conflict in you, Nimbus. You are changed and I cannot foresee which direction you take. If it be

towards her, failure and chaos will plague your wake.”

“I am one of the Chosen! Our purpose is undeniable!” Nimbus shouted, to himself as much

as to this impudent upstart. Who was Jam to tell him where he was headed? He wore leather

pants for Adonis’ sake! Surely he did not mean to be taken seriously?

Jam frowned. “Do you not remember? It is by your deeds that you are revealed, Nimbus.

Not by your title!”

Nimbus fell into moody sulk. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I have seen your sword. I came to find you when you first returned from your time with

the Divine. I saw you hide it. Rhapsody spoke of the sword with the green stones often. She

claims the one who will save her bears it.”

“Does Celestial know?” Nimbus murmured, his mind conflicted.

“It is not for me to tell of other’s secrets.”

Nimbus slumped over, bereft of optimism. “Thank you. If you’ll be kind enough to leave

me. Please, Jam.”

“No. It serves nothing to stay here obsessing. Come with me to the celebrations. I believe

Huitaca is still sober enough to perform excellent tricks with astral dust! Celestial has cooked

your favourite vanilla and olive cakes and she is still wearing Skylar’s bonnet, which is most

amusing,” he winked.

“I’m not really up for a party.”

Jam regarded him. “You live in a Realm where laughter does not occur to schedule. Do not

take that for granted, Nimbus.”

“How do you schedule laughter?”

“A gong sounds on Sundays and Hades steps to the podium for a minute of joke-telling.”

“Is he funny?”

“Not in the least.”

Nimbus laughed. “Fine. You win.”

“Do not fret. I sprinkled the hat with midget sprites, the sworn enemies of pixies. They are

too busy waging war against each other to bother with you. Of course,” Jam added sheepishly,

“Celestial is rather disappointed I have seen fit to present her with such a violent hat, but she

excused this lapse of judgement in light of my disadvantaged background and my improvements

in personal hygiene.”

***

Chapter Sixteen

Perdition Road is Paved with Good Intentions

Nimbus went. He was too shattered to argue or put up much resistance. The festivities

carried on over many days. The whole of the Ethereal Realm was transformed into an exotic and

fascinating bazaar; the streets filled with amazing acrobats, jugglers and fire eaters. There were

stunning dancers on every corner and glorious music pervaded the atmosphere. The Heavenly

Choir in full voice wove joy in the hearts of all who listened.

The Gods had a rare opportunity to display their lesser known powers and acts of magic

and mystery beyond imagination were plentiful. The Cherubs’ senses were accosted by strange

and delightful sights, sounds and smells at each turn. It eventuated that Nimbus had a

surprisingly excellent week, punctuated with vague bouts of anxiety, too easily ignored.

Gabriel and Michael materialised in his vicinity more often than usual, gazing at him with

inscrutable expressions, only to disappear as Nimbus gathered the courage to approach. No one

seemed available whenever he thought to inquire about the extra attention. Even Bacchus, who’d

stretched his fame well-and-truly beyond reckoning, wasn’t publicly obvious. Nimbus worked

hard to repress brief visions of himself as Overlord of the Damned. And to pretend the sword

he’d hidden held no fascination.

Occasionally, he found himself drifting towards the Ethereal Archives, as if by instinct.

Rhapsody’s name whispered in his mind and despite Jam’s prophecy of doom, Nimbus felt an

inexorable pull towards her. He had to know more! Merely researching his ‘Mirror’ wasn’t

dangerous, was it? But every time he got close, something interrupted him and hours passed

before he recalled his quest. And Jam rarely left him unsupervised, as if deliberately steering him

away from further knowledge of the matter.

Luckily, Jam was stellar company and the perfect distraction. He had a far more liberal

attitude to the rules than Celestial, and was a perpetual practical joker with often hilarious

results. Nimbus had fun despite his worries. Celestial consulted with Paraclete the Advocate on

his behalf, and the poor fellow had a wearisome time cornering Nimbus to assess his mental

condition.

Jam and Nimbus led him into one vexing situation after another. Jam shape-shifted into

Paraclete and wolf-whistled a group of Valkyrie in front of their intimidating one-eyed boss,

Odin. Nimbus and Jam nipped behind a marquee to watch, as the true Paraclete arrived a short

while later and inquired after their whereabouts. He was met by a bristling wall of Scandinavian

warriors, who failed to contain their hostility. The bewildered Advocate became embroiled in a

one-sided scuffle with two massive Viking bodyguards, threatening customary vengeance with a

yak’s horn funnel and dwarves liquid silver.

Paraclete was eventually ejected in a ruffled state from the Norse sector, drenched in llama

urine with an ugly new tattoo on his forehead and a hail of insults regarding his mother’s

courtship of a chimpanzee, and the remarkable family resemblance. It was the least he could get

away with. Odin initially threatened to transform him into a large deposit of whale dung.

Still, the Gods’ psychoanalyst was tenacious. He resumed his efforts after a good scrub, a

calming brew and a wrapped bandage to cover the warning to all women in everlasting ink

across his brow. His counselling efforts were thwarted for good however, when Jam whispered

in a very inebriated Huitaca’s ear that Paraclete had long withheld a passion for her.

Regardless of Paraclete’s strenuous denials, Huitaca doggedly pursued him, wooing her

hapless prey with a loud, screechy love song. Nimbus was amazed how fast she could run in an

evening gown, while balancing an exotic cocktail with floating tropical fruit and a little umbrella

jutting from the glass!

Paraclete’s reputation as a lecherous womaniser was enduringly cemented when Huitaca

ambushed him in the main forecourt in front of the entire Council of Greats and miserably

beseeched that he ‘not deny his true feelings’. Hera took Odin’s message seriously and promptly

suspended his Advocate’s licence. She recommended he undergo therapy for pathological

dishonesty. (Zeus’s long suffering wife had some experience with devious men and lying was

her highest dislike. Her husband fidgeted uncomfortably throughout the drama, shooting

Paraclete sympathetic glances). Nimbus and Jam could not breathe for laughing.

“Nimbus, finally! You are almost impossible to track down. I’ve been searching for

hours!” A frazzled Celestial confronted Nimbus, as he loitered by the Muses’ bathing house. Her

face was blue with cold, her Angel’s robe soggy with melted snow. Blonde tendrils hung wetly

in her eyes.

“That’s because I’ve been deliberately avoiding you, Celestial. Sending Paraclete ‘for a

nice little chat’ was a low act.” Nimbus guiltily manoeuvred so she could not see what he had

been looking at. “Git kept asking me about my mother! Doesn’t everybody know we exist

through Divine intervention?”

“Oh, put a feather in it! What did you do to the unfortunate man? I heard he’s fled our

Realm and taken vows of silence and celibacy at a remote monastery.”

“Serves him right for meddling,” Nimbus muttered.

“I was only trying to help --”

“Haven’t you heard the one about Perdition Road being paved with good intentions?”

“-- and I know exactly what you are doing here, so stop pretending otherwise. Ogling those

poor unsuspecting girls!”

Celestial’s sympathy evaporated when flirtatious calls of ‘Nimbus, where did you go?’ and

giggled ‘Come back’s’ filtered over the hedge.

“Okay, okay! I give up. I swear I will not come to your aid again unless you beg me to.”

She removed the hat from her head and massaged her scalp. “What a relief!”

“I thought you loved that hat?”

“I do,” she sighed. “It was such a lovely gesture and I did not want to hurt Jam’s feelings

by taking it off. But my brain is frozen numb and I think I’ve chipped a tooth with all the

chattering. My toes are frost-bitten. I have to dig myself out of snow banks with tedious

regularity. Plus, I’ve learned Pixies, while they may be cute, have the foulest tongues! One swore

horribly at Neptune as I passed him by a while ago. He thought it was me!

“I almost got detention in the depths tending his Sea-Monster Hatchlings and you know I

can’t abide slime. Jam, bless him, claimed he’d said it. The Gods are lenient towards him given

his origins, and thankfully, Neptune let us go with just a warning. I know how you must have felt

scrubbing Jupiter’s Spittoon after Jinx’s now. I’m sorry I was not more sensitive. And I had no

idea that Pixies were so brutal. Sprites have been leaping for their lives all day. It’s quite

disconcerting!”

The Spittoon incident seemed like such a long time ago, when life was more innocent.

Nimbus changed the subject before depression got the better of him. “Speaking of Jam, where is

your devoted shadow?”

“You would not believe it! He’s at the barn, and aside from a morbid fear of camels, he’s

got the most amazing affinity for animals,” she beamed. “Equinox let him ride her! Jam really is

very special.”

“Mmm, he’s great,” Nimbus mumbled without conviction. “You clearly haven’t seen him

crunching on pickled locusts. Licks his fingers and everything. Claims he’s doing his bit to

prevent Biblical pestilence.”

She made a face and countered, “At least he grasps the concept of handkerchief use, at last!

It sunk in after a particularly unpleasant episode with Athena’s shawl. Apparently Jam’s nose

runs when he’s nervous. It’s a defensive mechanism where he comes from. He’s rising above his

base heritage so well.” Celestial smiled and her tone evoked pride.

Nimbus experienced an odd sensation that was more than a simple lack of familiarity with

his anatomy. He’d never spent so much time in his body before. His Other singing the praises of

a Dark Angel was certainly novel enough to warrant notice, but Nimbus wasn’t sure it was the

source of his disquiet.

What did they really know about Jam? He’d infiltrated their ranks with alarming ease, and

all who met him took him under-wing. He was irritatingly charismatic and his brilliant white hair

suited him even better than his original black, the paleness against his ebony eyes and mocha

skin a pleasing contrast.

His powers were plentiful and awe-inspiring, drawing comment whenever he used them,

normally in some fat-headed act of chivalry. Nimbus violently caught himself, surprised by his

bitterness. He severed the mean thoughts, the source of his churning gut. Was this envy? Holy

Sacrament! Jomjael of the Fallen had been in their midst for less than a jot and already he and

Celestial embraced the topmost Deadly Sins with wild abandon.

Oblivious, Celestial got her courage up and launched into the true reason she’d been

looking for him. “Nimbus, are you alright? I’m worried about you. You haven’t been the same

since… Well, you know.”

“I’m fine,” Nimbus replied briskly. “Probably still contaminated by that horrid Crown. It

will wear off in time,” he lied.

“Excellent!” Celestial looked less than convinced. “Anyway, Bacchus claims he’s going to

start our instruction properly after the celebrations and we’ll need to be in top shape,” she rubbed

her hands together enthusiastically. “We’ll finally be on the path to full-fledged Seraphim!”

“Can’t wait,” said Nimbus flatly.

He had absolutely no idea how he was going to pull off Angel Training without exercising

his powers, let alone avoiding the use of his Instrument of Influence once Bacchus found out

about it, which was inevitable. Their Guardian possessed the uncanny knack of never seeming to

pay attention and nonetheless knowing everything.

The Gods and the Angels indulgently minded their young charges. Towards the close of

the party Zeus, Bacchus and Gabriel could be found on the Chamber steps overlooking the

courtyard crammed with cavorting inhabitants.

“Bacchus, my old friend!” Zeus clapped him on the back. “You have passed your first test

as a Guardian with distinction. It bodes favourably for the trials to come.”

Bacchus was uncharacteristically clear-headed. “I am not concerned about how things will

go for me. What of Nimbus? And Jam. His Other is now an avowed enemy. Ram has taken

Blood Oath. He will not be subverted in his mission to annihilate the lad, as retribution for his

desertion. And with Azazel’s disappearance, we cannot obtain proof that Aimrod was behind the

plot to steal the Book of Lore, and bring chaos on us all. There will be no justice. That vile

deceiver has gotten away with it. Mark my words, the Bloodar are only warming up. They’ll not

let such a set-back thwart their intentions for too long.”

Gabriel replied thoughtfully, “Much is obscured. We must be vigilant and attend the

unfolding signs before Nimbus’s course is set. His choices are entwined in our shared destinies

and will drag us with him whence they lead. We cannot falter or I fear ruin will be our enduring

prize.”

Bacchus nodded with a sly smile. “It’s lucky I work best under pressure and in tight

corners, then.”

“And to think, I voted for Merlin and the Magi in preference to you!” Zeus chuckled and

patted Bacchus apologetically on the shoulder. “There is time yet, for a few nectars. Come! The

deep fried peacock is on me.”

###

Thank you for staying until the end! I hope you enjoyed the story. Other works can be

found at the author’s official website: http://www.unrealya.com Your opinion is valued and the

author would love to hear what you thought about the book. Please leave a review in the

comments section of the UnrealYA blog. Looking forward to hearing from you. Keep reading,

SueEllen.