Chapter 14 – Ithuriel
The Malebolge: The Trench of Diviners, Astrologers, and Magicians
I had spent the last millennia trying to avoid thinking about Sariel altogether. My closest friend since our inception, he had forsaken me and everything we ever stood for. When thoughts of him did slip through, I vacillated between thinking of him involved in debauchery on Earth or perhaps torturing wicked souls in Hell, much like the demons here in The Malebolge are. I wasn’t prepared to see the anguish he felt cut off from Heaven’s light. Cut off from… me.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jess asks quietly as we walk between one trench and the next. I haven’t spoken much with the sweet girl since… since I saw her find her pleasure at Sariel’s hands. Since I’ve been tortured with thoughts of either being in his place… or in hers. I’ve even had thoughts of both of us… touching her… together. How good would we make her feel together if Sariel achieved what he did on his own?
“Itha?” I meet the Nephilim’s eyes and feel the heat of a blush spread across my face. Sariel chooses that moment to turn around, possibly alerted by Jessica’s concern. When he takes in my expression he snorts.
“Baby angel’s just lost in thoughts, baby Nephilim,” he says.
I clear my throat. “While I understand calling her a baby, I do believe I’m actually older than you.”
The Fallen spins around and starts walking backward. “Ha. In your dreams, angelcake.”
I nod at him with my chin. “Are you walking like that to fit in the trench?”
Sariel’s eyes widen before he guffaws. “Jess, did you hear that? Itha's picking up a sense of humor. We’re rubbing off on him.”
“Pretty sure that was just you,” she mutters.
Once her meaning becomes clear, my jaw unhinges. Sariel stops walking and bends over with laughter. “Are you jealous, Jess?” he asks between fits of laughter.
The Nephilim stops as well and eyes me up and down. With her eyebrows raised she turns to Sariel and says decisively, “Yes. I mean, look at him.” She waves a hand in my direction. “He’s perfect.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. I can hear every sip of air that passes through my lips. Does she want my hands on her as much as she wanted Sariel’s the other night? I look at him.
“Yes,” he murmurs, suddenly pensive. “He’s fucking perfect, isn’t he?”
With that, he turns back around. My eyes return to Jess. It seems as if she’s waiting for me to say or do something, perhaps call them out on their forwardness. Perhaps hoping I’d make another joke.
I’m saved from inactivity by the trench’s sinners as they shuffle close, their heads twisted backward, forcing them to walk that way for eternity. Tears stream down their turned faces, pooling in the cracks of their misshapen necks.
“What happened to them?” Jess whispers with horror in her voice.
“They tried to look to the future, sell glimpses into it, manipulate fate. Only the Almighty is omniscient,” I reply, stepping around the sinners and beckoning her to follow.
As we reach further into the trench, the presence of tortured souls becomes unavoidable. Their desperate cries mix with the oppressive atmosphere of the gloomy trench. The endless streams of tears have made the uneven terrain slippery and Jess stumbles more than once. Either Sariel or I are always there to catch her before she falls. No one is there to catch any sinner when they trip and the thuds and groans of fallen bodies echo dimly among the louder sobs.
It's not long before they begin whispering to us as we pass.
“I see your fall,” one tells me, his voice raspy from strain, and my gut clenches as my entire being tenses with denial.
“He will betray you,” another tells Jess, grabbing for her with gnarled hands. Sariel’s axe relieves the sinner of the offending appendages.
The next speaks to the Fallen: “You will drown in regret.”
I try to focus on navigating the treacherous terrain rather than dwelling on their words and possible meanings. I’d be lying if I said I am completely without fear, though. Who will I be once our mission is complete and I return to Heaven?
∞∞∞
The fire is very welcome when we choose to rest – the gloomy fog seems to have seeped inside our bones. I wrap my cloak around me tighter. I’m unused to feeling cold, or hot for that matter. The temperature in Heaven is always perfect. Everything there is perfect, clean, right. But why have I felt more alive these last weeks than I ever have in Elysium?
“I know how we could warm up, Itha,” Sariel says, his black eyes reflecting the licks of flame.
Jess pauses with bread halfway to her already open mouth. Sariel snorts and tips it closed.
“Head out of the gutter, little one. I meant sparring. We haven’t had any real action in days.”
The Nephilim smirks, much to Sar’s delight, as I look between them, confused. What’s amusing?
“You’re worse than I am, poppet,” he tells her, flicking her nose as she grins widely. She truly is beautiful. Her blonde hair has a pink sheen, exacerbated by the glow of the fire. Her eyes are a cornflower blue, vivid among her round, delicate features. While she’s of smaller stature, and soft curves decorate her body rather than defined muscles, I’ve seen her fight and know she’s fast and skilled.
“What do you say?” Sariel’s question interrupts my fixation with our female companion. Judging by the mirth in his eyes, he caught me gazing at her.
I frown at him, feeling skeptical. “Should we risk injury while on a mission?”
The Fallen winks at me. “You didn’t seem to care about that when you were pounding me the other day.”
Jess chokes on a bite of her food as I gasp. This innuendo I understood.
“Stop,” I whisper. They’re overwhelming – it seems that feeling alive comes with a high risk of overstimulation. “Fine, let’s spar.”
I get to my feet and move to a flat, clear area, far enough from the firepit that we don’t run the risk of injuring Jess, close enough that she doesn’t have to leave its warmth to observe. Sariel joins me, a smirk on his face, his hand gripping the haft of his double-bladed axe. As I pull out my greatsword, he rests his weapon on his shoulder, the pose deliberately casual, as if he’s telling me he doesn’t consider me and my sword a threat. In return, I throw my greatsword from hand to hand, as casually as if it were a dagger.
Sariel scoffs. “Are you compensating for something with that oversized blade?”
I feel my lips stretch into a smile. “Says the male who hides behind two edges. Afraid one won’t get the job done?”
The Fallen doesn’t rise to my bait. Instead, his smile softens right before he lunges, the weight of his axe a blur as it arcs toward my ribcage. As I pivot on my heels and aim my sword to meet the blow, the sound of metal against metal screeches through the Malebolge’s silence.
“You’re sloppy,” I murmur, twisting my blade in a movement that has Sariel stumbling back. “It’s why you always lost to me.”
Sariel’s eyes narrow and he steadies himself, his axe coming up defensively. “That was years ago. I’m not the same male you used to know.”
Something twists in my stomach. “Clearly,” I mutter, closing my eyes for a moment. Predictably, Sariel takes advantage of my distraction, swinging low. I barely have enough time to leap back before the edge of the axe bites into the ground between us – the ground where my boots were just a second ago. With a growl, I raise the sword above my head, swinging down and slamming it onto Sariel’s axe with so much force it drives him to one knee.
“Still predictable.” My voice is rough from the strain of driving my weapon against his.
“And you’re still insufferable,” he spits back. Our faces are inches apart now, weapons locked, our breaths mingling in the charged air between us. While neither of us moves, something shifts inside us, evidenced by the way his mouth turns down, the way my breaths turn ragged.
“I trusted you,” I keen quietly.
“And I trusted you to understand,” he replies, his voice trembling with his emotions.
The moment snaps as quickly as it came. Sariel shoves forward, breaking the lock and resuming our sparring match. Furious blows rain on me and I dodge and parry each, hardly getting a chance to throw any of my own. There is so much anger for me within him, it’s like each strike, faint, and parry holds a message for me.
We stop at the same time, an unspoken ceasefire. Our panting breaths seem garish in the abrupt silence. Without a word, I sheathe my sword and turn to the fire. Jessica’s mouth is open as wide as her eyes.
“What?” I ask her.
“You were so fast, so freaking strong, sparks flew,” she says in awe. Suddenly, she stands up. Shifting her weight uncertainly from one foot to another, she plays with the hem of her top. Seemingly making a decision, she starts walking away.
“Where are you going?” Sariel questions her odd behavior.
She doesn’t stop her stride as she looks over her shoulder. “I need a couple of moments of privacy.”
“Oh.” He grins. “Don’t go too far!” he shouts after her.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“You’ll hear in a minute. Looks like she enjoyed our match as much as we did.” His signature devilish smirk is painted on his handsome face.
As his meaning crystallizes, my jaw unhinges.
“D–do you mean…?” My question comes out haltingly.
Sariel lies down and stretches back with his hands behind his head. “Do I mean I enjoyed our sparring so much I want to go rub one out too? Yes.”
My mouth opens and closes on frozen words. In the end, I lie on my side with my back to the flames and wrap my cloak around myself.
“I’m going to rest,” I say, attempting to keep my words even.
Sariel’s chuckles mix with Jessica’s muffled moans.