Seraphim, Seraphim, O Holy Seraphim… won’t you give to us the face of the God we seek…?” The voice intoned from the other side of the bars. From the wrist of the voice bearer hung a chain of gold, and from that chain of gold hung a ball from which the tendrils of acrid smelling incense drifted out and up, the white trails moved like spiderwebs in the breeze and made their way between the bars to fill Seraphim’s nose.

Seraphim looked up at him, the stone beneath her was cold and damp against her leg, she moved slowly, pushing herself up off her side, locking her elbow so that she didn’t simply collapse again. Her milk white eyes had trouble focusing beyond the smoke. “I… don’t know this… God, person… I swear…” She hacked as the smoke wound its way through her nostrils, filling and burning her lungs.

She put her hand to her breast, “I-I know nothing. Who you are, who even am I… you tell me nothing, and ask everything…” She whispered through cracked lips that had long since lost their luster and blinked her eyes at the white robed figure in front of her.

“You are an angel of God, as you were made to be, to lead us to God, that is why you suffer, suffering is his gift, the way to find him, will you be our guiding light today?” He asked of her, and the lights in the corners of the room flickered as if threatening to defy his will before her.

“I- This isn’t a gift…” She whispered, the cold in her bones made her whole body ache. “But, I’ll… I’ll show you my wings again… if you’ll just feed me and give me the water I crave… I’m so thirsty…”

“We require more, we know your need for holy water, O Seraphim, how long it has been since you’ve had any, even I don’t know. Give me your song, and I will give you the water of life from our lord. You refused my predecessor, but he lacked the will to bless you with this suffering. I do not. If I leave, it will be years before I come again. Bless me, and I will also bless you, O Seraphim.” He promised.

“I’ll s-sing… just please…” Seraphim whispered, her heart pounded in her chest, “No more needles… no more of… the things you did… water, food, and I will sing, I swear it in the name of the I Am that I know not.” She felt the milky white of her eyes well up, and the free hand of the old wrinkled man went up beside his head, his fingers snapped, then a cheer went up beyond the door.

Seraphim began to push herself up. The chain around her neck rattled as if it condemned her attempt to rise.

From her back, wings with feathers each the size of her captor’s hands emerged, exploding out like a parachute when the ripcord was pulled, she flapped them several times, helping her weakened limbs to rise. ‘How long have I been here… it seems like forever. The young man is now so old…?’ Seraphim wondered about that as she staggered back against the wall.

Her legs swayed, her belly rumbled, and a smooth pitcher was pushed inside the iron bars of her cell, and a few lumps of bread in clear wrapping were tossed to her feet.

“Now sing for us, praise God with your joyful noise…” The old man intoned, the ball chained to his wrist swung a little faster and his other hand covered his chest. “You cannot lie, o’angel of God, we know this, we only want you to remember, remember the way to save us… blessing you hurts us so… now please, sing.” He said with sympathy she found cause to doubt.

Over her milky smooth skin, the flesh opened up, and she gasped, her voice caught with mouth open as the pain hit, and the thousand eyes of the divine blinked in a rainbow of colors. Her mind was paralyzed, ‘How long since I’ve eaten, drunk? Years, so many years… and now they win this much at least…’ She thought with bitterness, as despite her confinement, information flooded her mind, her eyes looked out over the whole of the world, over the nations of mortal men, and it was then not the pain which stopped her.

‘Are those castles? Castles of glass? Where are the horses? Where are the knights…?’ She wondered as she beheld the world for the first time in… she did not know how long.

The thousand eyes, from their places covering her body, swept the world as if in search of help, as if in search of the I Am.

And as their lids began to shut, closing as if they were wounds, and disappearing as if the wounds were very old, she began to sing. Her sonorous voice burst from her throat and the milky white gaze closed off in the red darkness that filtered out the corner lights of the chamber of her confinement.

Her voice however, was free, unconstrained by bars or chains. The wrinkled old man was stock still, his lip trembled and tears of happiness ran down his cheeks as her angelic voice swept over his very soul.

His knees began to weaken as her song went on, behind his back, the one to give her food and water dropped hard to his knees. They cracked from the impact, but if he felt the pain he made no cry to show it, then fell forward and caught himself. His whole body shook like a frightened dog on all fours and he poured out his tears to the stone floor as his young heart threatened to shatter in his breast.

‘What have we done?!’ He wondered as he struggled to raise his head to look at the broken angel who barely held herself up against the wall, her porcelain flesh healed with the vanishing eyes, but she was gaunt, and weak. ‘This was supposed to be God’s work… this can’t be God’s work, it can’t be… what have we done…’ He asked himself again, and as the young priest parted his lips to plead forgiveness, the music died, and the angel’s strength gave out. She went down, falling to the floor and landing on her side, her wings withdrew and vanished from sight, her body limp as if dead.

The young priest turned his eyes up to the Cardinal, for one brief moment the novice beheld the old man, and made ready to say, “We must let her go.” But he said nothing.

The old man was in a trance, only the rising and falling of his broad chest said that he was not a dead man standing.

“I want it again… so long, a lifetime, once will not do. Wake the Seraphim. Wake her, Michael.” The old man gasped, “Go, go get the stone waters… I need this… I’ve waited too long, I could almost see our father in heaven, she stopped too soon though, I need-”

Michael closed his eyes, the old man, the Holy Cardinal, was no longer as Michael had always seen him. “Holy Cardinal… she hasn’t had anything to drink, she needs-”

The old Cardinal cut him off, “To suffer! Suffering is the gift of God, so says Saint Theresa! It leads to the divine and brings penitence! An angel made to be with us, must be here for a reason! To suffer as men suffer and guide us to the I Am! Go! Go and bring me the stone water! Inject it into her body, and wake her up!” The Cardinal commanded, and Michael felt the gnarled old hand grip his shoulder, the hard, cruel fingers closed on the dark clothing, and with surprising force, the old man yanked.

Michael winced at the sudden pain. ‘He’s no holy man… he’s a devil, a devil…’ Michael cursed, and as he was forced to his feet, he came up with a fist, full of the strength of youth and a rough early life that never truly left him, he connected with the button of the old Cardinal’s jaw and sent the elderly man staggering back to fall on the floor.

The metal ball came down, clattering to the stone and the cardinal toppled onto his back. Michael rushed for the chain, put one hand on the old man’s chest, pushed himself up, and the old man’s arm came up as if to stop him. But it was just a last motion of his body as he fell unconscious, there was no thought behind it.

The young dark haired priest swung the chain and the metal ball connected squarely with the old man’s head. “You damned us, you damned us all… we’re damned, we’re damned, we’re damned!” He wept as he swung it again, and again, and again, into the old man’s head. Tears ran down youthful cheeks to splash onto holy robes as the ball of incense slowly cracked the bone beneath the flesh.

Michael did not stop swinging, or weeping, until the chest on which his left hand pressed, ceased to rise and fall, and the last breath came from the Cardinal’s lips.

Michael grunted and pushed himself off, his own breath was ragged and rough, his chest heaving as if he’d run for miles without stopping, he fumbled with his sweaty fingers for the key he knew to be on the old man’s belt. He bit his lip, “Come on… come on…” He muttered and searched for the key he needed, it was the oldest of the lot.

His fingers tumbled through the others, rattling around as the realization of what he’d done set in, ‘I killed him. I’m not sorry, but I killed him…’

His own tears kept him half blind to his actions and his blood pulsed as it raced through his limbs while he tore at the metal loop until he could set the key free. ‘He was never going to give her the water, nor the bread, his obsession with suffering was too great… why couldn’t I see that before…?’ Michael wondered as he rushed to the cell, shoved the key into the lock and went to where the angel lay unconscious on her side.

He grabbed the pitcher and the bread and brought them close, then knelt by her. His knees now felt like they were on fire, the pain began to hit him as his body slowly regained its senses. But still he felt no regret. He sat on the balls of his feet and pulled her into his lap, turning her so that she was on her back, the pathetic camisk slipped away to show more of her milky flesh and her long straw hair fell in a tumbled, tangled mess. “I’m so sorry… so sorry…” Michael whispered to her, and tilted her head back.

He put the pitcher to her lips and poured some of the holy water within.

He then began to rub her throat, coaxing her to swallow. He repeated the gesture one time after another, though she got barely a spoonful with each attempt, it would be enough soon. Michael gave thanks to the I Am that the Cardinal’s sessions with Seraphim were always hours long, and if others heard her music, nobody would expect it to end sooner.

“I’m sorry.” Michael whispered the words over and over again, though sure she couldn’t hear him, he said it anyway.

Until her eyes began to open, and hear him she did. Her milky eyes fluttered as she awakened and began to change. She touched her lips and felt the holy water there. The wetness, the coolness, and the warmth of his thighs beneath her, and the cold chain that secured her to the wall, and the collar around her throat.

The milky white began to fade away and was replaced by stormy gray pupils which danced wildly within the white as her confusion set in.

“I’m sorry…” Michael pleaded, and held the pitcher up, his other arm cradling her at the back of her head. “Can you drink…?” He asked.

She nodded mutely and when he put the pitcher of blessed waters to her lips, she began to rapidly gulp it down, filling her belly for the first time in generations.

She darted her eyes to the bread, then up to him, a mute question in her eyes.

He took the sealed bread and brought the clear plastic wrap up to his mouth, bit down, and tore it open.

“Imported.” He said, and she looked up at him in silent confusion, unwilling to offer her voice a second time, he took the lump of bread and held it down to her.

Seraphim snapped it up in both hands and shoved it into her mouth, chewing with desperate greed so that her cheeks were stuffed. It was so absurd to see that Michael couldn’t help a little grin in spite of himself. Her eyes danced beneath his as she studied him as if he were some new specimen, and when she gulped the bread down, she went for the pitcher, rolling off of him, she stood, then brought it to her lips and tilted it back, pouring it down her throat in such a quantity that more got on her than in her. The droplets ran down the contours of her skin like little rivers beneath the loose camisk and down to form small puddles around her feet.

She dropped the pitcher when it was empty, it clattered to the floor, and only then did her eyes spy the corpse of the cardinal. Her gaze snapped back to Michael who remained kneeling on the floor.

“Yes, I killed him.” Michael answered, “I’ll… I’ll get you out of here.” He said, and Seraphim pointed to the chain on the wall, she touched the collar of iron around her neck, and her fingers closed around the cursed metal loops that bound her between it and the wall.

Michael grunted and began to limp over to the corpse of the Cardinal.

Seraphim watched with envy as he passed through the open door between her confinement and the rest of the room. ‘Is this… am I really going free?’ She wondered.

‘The world, so different though, the thousand eyes saw nothing the way it was, nothing the way I remember it, what do I do?’ She wondered, but feared to ask. ‘Questions always brought the stone water, is this a trick?’ She wondered, but the Cardinal certainly seemed to be very dead.

The one called Michael was rustling through the corpse’s robes.

Seraphim pushed herself against the wall when she saw why. She began to breathe erratically, the dread tool in his hand, the thing the Cardinal called a gun, she called a pain spitter. ‘Cursed things pierce my flesh… an unholy weapon…’ She began to wildly shake her head back and forth, her hands flat against the wall, the cursed chain held her fast.

Michael shook his head. “I know it hurts you, but it isn’t for you… I promise. I know you can understand me.” He grimaced as he hobbled closer. “Listen to me,” he said and pointed to the cylinder, “I know why you’re afraid of this… but I’m… I’m still a priest. A fresh blessing beats an old curse. I’m going to shatter the link in the chain, if I do that, your power returns, right?” He winced again as the pain in his body continued to build, it hurt to stay standing.

Seraphim kept her lips closed at first, but gave a nod, then added a careful, “Yes…”

“When I do, your eyes, they see everything, at least for a moment, can you focus on one place?” Michael asked her, and her straw colored eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes…” She answered. “If I know where, if I touch you.” Her silken voice caressed his senses, and he stepped closer.

She raised her hand, and winced as she forced one eye to open on her palm. It blinked briefly before she pressed it to his forehead and saw a place, a place far, far away, and the way there. “My brother’s home.” Michael said, gasping as her look into his mind briefly sent a wave of agony through his flesh like a dozen knives shoved into his body all at once.

She drew her hand back, “Tell him- Tell him I’m calling in the debt.” He said, then he grabbed the chain and pulled it taut from the wall, he held the gun close to his lips, “Blessed be the sinners, unshriven and unsaved, that redemption be theirs in this the hour of an angel’s need.” The bullets glowed, and he snapped the pistol down, pressed it to the chain, and fired.

The bullets pierced the cursed metal and ricocheted off the stone floor to fly away. The sound of the crack echoed, but with the fruit of long practice to help him, Michael brought the pistol seamlessly to the other side of the chain link and repeated the process.

The angel’s flesh flared like a supernova in his face, glowing with light, and blinding him to the whole world, he could hear Seraphim’s wings spread out again in an instant, and he dropped the loose chain to clatter down on the floor again.

The glow began to fade, and somewhere outside the door on the far side of the room, they could both hear the alarm go up.

“Go!” Michael urged and pointed to the wall.

“But-” Seraphim felt her heart race in her chest.

“Damn…” Michael cursed and rushed to the stone wall, touching it with the palm of his hand he recited a blessing.

“Blessed be the stone, there is a sinner within who seeks the grace of forgiveness, bar not his path to redemption, for it is the only reason his soul exists…” The priest whirled on the angel, “Now go! I’ll hold them back! Go straight to my brother, and… tell him I’m sorry I was such a shit to him.”

Seraphim went to the stone wall and struck it with the back of her hand, the wall shattered outward and rained broken granite and mortar down on the night-cloaked world below. She looked over her shoulder and saw Michael hobbling toward the door, the pistol in hand.

“Divine I Am, I send souls to you for judgment… lend me strength in my final hour, that I might be your heavenly sword.” He prayed as he pressed his shoulder against the heavy metal frame. “Get out!” He shouted and held the pistol to the slat. The crack of the gun went off again and a shout on the other side fell silent.

Seraphim jumped through the opening, her wings spread and the remnants of the chain hung loose as she took to the air. Behind her, she could hear Michael’s screams and contradictory prayers and blessings going up as the noise of the gun cracking off shot after shot went off, until there was only a click.

One last noise, a shout, and Seraphim heard Michael no more… nor anyone else, as she soared onward into the strange new world.