lightning. To the north of the trees he could see a narrow pearl arbour covered with pomegranate vines laden with lush silver fruits. He knew with a terrible certainty that beyond the hanging blossoms of the Gardens of Fragrance would be the simple wooden gate.
‘He would walk with them . . . ’ Lucifer murmured.
Very slowly, Michael lifted his gaze to Lucifer’s face as he stared ahead at the grotto at the very edge of the Cliffs of Eden, surrounded by eight ancient olive trees. A harrowing look of intense suffering clouded Lucifer’s features. A solitary tear fell down his cheek. His whisper was barely audible.
‘He has abandoned us.’
Chapter Five
Matins
The council of twenty-four long-bearded ancient kings sat at silent matins around a carved mahogany dining table, elaborately set as for a lavish feast. Each white head, adorned with a golden crown, was bowed, rapt in worship. A sleeping owl perched on each monarch’s shoulder.
Jether sat next to Charsoc and Xacheriel, who was snoring deafeningly in Charsoc’s ear. Charsoc opened one eye, frowning just as Xacheriel’s monocle fell with a splash into his steaming broth.
Xacheriel woke with a start. ‘Oh, drat and bumble!’ he spluttered.
Charsoc glowered at Xacheriel as all the other forty-four eyes opened at once, gazing ominously at the semi-blinded Xacheriel fumbling for the monocle in his broth, which had spattered onto his beard. Lightning flamed up from the broth onto the table. Jether surreptitiously wiped his mouth with a large, white napkin as Xacheriel tried most ineffectively to put the fires out with his own napkin, which caught fire from the leaping flames.
A youngling named Rakkon hurried over, closely followed by Dimnah, who enthusiastically poured an entire flagon of elixir over the burning napkin and Xacheriel’s head. Jether smothered a loud laugh. Xacheriel stood, now drenched and fuming, as Jether fished the monocle out of the broth while Dimnah attempted to wipe the seething Xacheriel down with a towel, apologizing profusely between his multiple bowings.
The other twenty-two elders retreated back to their private matins, again in rapturous prayer, while Xacheriel, still spluttering and gasping, strode from the room, followed by the languishing Dimnah.
Jether looked out from the corner of his eye towards Charsoc, whose countenance was hidden behind a large white napkin. His shoulders were shaking in a most unmonarchlike manner. Jether started to shake with merriment. He leaned over to whisper in Charsoc’s ear, and immediately the two elders vanished.
* * *
They reappeared together on the High Place of the Tower of Winds, the retreat of the eight elders who formed the High Council of Heaven. A hundred enormous white owls, perched on the battlements, screeched in delight when they saw Jogli and Bashkar, Charsoc’s owl, on the two Ancient Ones’ shoulders.
‘Let us walk, ancient friend.’ Jether clasped Charsoc’s arm as Jogli and Bashkar flew to join their compatriots. They walked in easy companionship through the lush gardens and past the water fountains and manicured hedges, their conversation low and intimate. Charsoc from time to time laughed into his handkerchief at the recollection of Xacheriel’s mishap. They rested by the sapphire fountains, the water cascading down as glistening blue mercury.
Jether held out a goblet to catch the elixir. ‘Ah,’ he said, a smile of satisfaction crossing his face, ‘tayberry and white currant!’
Charsoc held his goblet under the flowing elixir. He sipped delicately. ‘Harebell and honeysuckle,’ he murmured, gratified. He plucked a silvered sweetmeat from a large tree hung with thousands of white blossoms and delicacies. He broke it in half, revealing a glowing white meringue-like mixture bound with a thick custard-like substance. He popped it in his mouth, savouring it. ‘A sublime mix of raspberry cream and persimmon.’ He closed his eyes in rapture. ‘With a
‘He would walk with them . . . ’ Lucifer murmured.
Very slowly, Michael lifted his gaze to Lucifer’s face as he stared ahead at the grotto at the very edge of the Cliffs of Eden, surrounded by eight ancient olive trees. A harrowing look of intense suffering clouded Lucifer’s features. A solitary tear fell down his cheek. His whisper was barely audible.
‘He has abandoned us.’
Chapter Five
Matins
The council of twenty-four long-bearded ancient kings sat at silent matins around a carved mahogany dining table, elaborately set as for a lavish feast. Each white head, adorned with a golden crown, was bowed, rapt in worship. A sleeping owl perched on each monarch’s shoulder.
Jether sat next to Charsoc and Xacheriel, who was snoring deafeningly in Charsoc’s ear. Charsoc opened one eye, frowning just as Xacheriel’s monocle fell with a splash into his steaming broth.
Xacheriel woke with a start. ‘Oh, drat and bumble!’ he spluttered.
Charsoc glowered at Xacheriel as all the other forty-four eyes opened at once, gazing ominously at the semi-blinded Xacheriel fumbling for the monocle in his broth, which had spattered onto his beard. Lightning flamed up from the broth onto the table. Jether surreptitiously wiped his mouth with a large, white napkin as Xacheriel tried most ineffectively to put the fires out with his own napkin, which caught fire from the leaping flames.
A youngling named Rakkon hurried over, closely followed by Dimnah, who enthusiastically poured an entire flagon of elixir over the burning napkin and Xacheriel’s head. Jether smothered a loud laugh. Xacheriel stood, now drenched and fuming, as Jether fished the monocle out of the broth while Dimnah attempted to wipe the seething Xacheriel down with a towel, apologizing profusely between his multiple bowings.
The other twenty-two elders retreated back to their private matins, again in rapturous prayer, while Xacheriel, still spluttering and gasping, strode from the room, followed by the languishing Dimnah.
Jether looked out from the corner of his eye towards Charsoc, whose countenance was hidden behind a large white napkin. His shoulders were shaking in a most unmonarchlike manner. Jether started to shake with merriment. He leaned over to whisper in Charsoc’s ear, and immediately the two elders vanished.
* * *
They reappeared together on the High Place of the Tower of Winds, the retreat of the eight elders who formed the High Council of Heaven. A hundred enormous white owls, perched on the battlements, screeched in delight when they saw Jogli and Bashkar, Charsoc’s owl, on the two Ancient Ones’ shoulders.
‘Let us walk, ancient friend.’ Jether clasped Charsoc’s arm as Jogli and Bashkar flew to join their compatriots. They walked in easy companionship through the lush gardens and past the water fountains and manicured hedges, their conversation low and intimate. Charsoc from time to time laughed into his handkerchief at the recollection of Xacheriel’s mishap. They rested by the sapphire fountains, the water cascading down as glistening blue mercury.
Jether held out a goblet to catch the elixir. ‘Ah,’ he said, a smile of satisfaction crossing his face, ‘tayberry and white currant!’
Charsoc held his goblet under the flowing elixir. He sipped delicately. ‘Harebell and honeysuckle,’ he murmured, gratified. He plucked a silvered sweetmeat from a large tree hung with thousands of white blossoms and delicacies. He broke it in half, revealing a glowing white meringue-like mixture bound with a thick custard-like substance. He popped it in his mouth, savouring it. ‘A sublime mix of raspberry cream and persimmon.’ He closed his eyes in rapture. ‘With a
Similar Books
