Airel - Aaron Patterson [68]
Then, just as he was about to hit the rocks, his wings finally got some traction. They bent, filled with air, lifting the young bird. He fluttered and flapped to a landing a few feet from the sharp rocks that would have crushed him. He threw back his head and let out a tiny warrior’s squawk, and then another.
I let my hand fall from my mouth, looking up at my captor. He still had my little hand in his. He smiled and said, “This is why you are here…” It shook me awake, his voice seeming to echo in my room. My cell? It was morning and the room was filled with rainbows dancing across my bed like butterflies as the light filtered in through the waterfall.
Chapter VIII
1250 B.C. City of Ke’elei
Gathered near an ancient oak tree, dappled by the sunlight that filtered through it, the circle of elders, wise men, and Sons of El were gathered on a mountaintop high above Ke’elei. The court in which they were seated was encircled by perfect Corinthian stone columns of pure white; the massive old oak at the north side, the beginning and end of the circle. A fine latticework of shimmering silver thread screened the open spaces between the columns, casting wild shadowed reflections on the cobblestone floor.
At the east side of the circle, Kreios was seated in one of the high-backed gopherwood chairs drawn up in a half circle. On the west side were twelve thrones of white marble making up the other half of the circle.
Zedkiel was seated at Kreios’s right, Yamanu at his left. His brother and friend were adorned in their best garments, as was custom in this council. Kreios was wearing the same cloak he had worn on his wedding day, and it was bittersweetness that rode on his shoulders.
His beloved wife had crafted it for him of white elk skins throughout their long courtship, lasting through two harvests. His thick belt was studded with rubies that stood out against the white color of his robe like blood in snow. His long hair was pulled back with a leather thong, and the Sword of Light was strapped to his side in its sheath.
The elders, one taken from every tribe, were twelve in all; immortals representing every race of humanity. Kreios looked from one face to another, studying their eyes, reading into most of their thoughts. He was happy to see that most of them were on his side, wanting to fight, to put an end to the Seer and his horde.
The old man in the middle of the twelve wore his beard long and white, but his face was young. He stood, draped in a golden cape lined with badger fur that touched the ground. His breastplate gleamed of onyx, set with diamonds.
“I am called Anael. I am the Watcher over this land as well as the land that overlooks the Forked Sea. This council will come to order in the matter of the reentry of the Sword of Light and the matter of the Seer and his followers. We, the council, will hear you well.”
Kreios acknowledged him and stood. Anael took his seat, and all eyes were on the barely visible Sword in its sheath; its presence exuding great power.
Kreios’s hand moved to the grips of his sword as he strode forward to the center of the circle. When he reached the center of the council he stopped, his eyes locked with those of Anael. The sound of metal against metal rang out.
As the Sword cleared the scabbard, the heavens came loose with the ringing. The skies thundered, the artillery of the Kingdom of God sounding off at once. The Sword was lifted up, its blade held high. It crackled and a barrage of blinding white light burst from the tip in a bolt of lightning.
Then he spoke. “I, Kreios, Son of El, the keeper of the Sword of Light, give praise to God Most High, who is seated now and forever on the Throne of Grace…” He knelt down. “…and Grace has allowed that I could recover from the Seer what was stolen. Father! Raise up your voice to the storm! We approach boldly to ask what You would have us do…”
Murmurs of praise to El ran through the encircled leaders, like water over stones.
“Praise be to El; praise be to God Most High…” Prayers and awe came from the elders. Anael stood now,