Dufaii - The Patron Saints of the Damned Book I

"How does one become a parent out of nothing? For that matter, how does one become an adult without the guidance of any parent to speak of?

While my form in Heaven had become that of an adult, I most often felt this to be a mistake. They said forms came from maturity levels, but I wonder if it wasn’t the form we thought best to protect ourselves.

What I wanted, when I saw my reflection, was to see the figure of a warrior who could destroy his enemies or at least survive any attack mounted against him.

But in the end, this was only because, in the most child-like sense, I feared being attacked. I felt like a ceramic jar in a world full of people who were like stone jostling without need for care against one another.

I did not think I could survive. Especially after the Storms, every loud noise felt like it would be my last. Every bodily pain made me think I would cascade into morphing–transforming into shapes of pure pain like the Lightbringer. Every depression and anxiety-wrought bout of exhaustion made me fear I would fall asleep like the gods.

What was more, I felt no hope for the future. In the back of my mind, all my planning were just future disappointments in a world where my efforts did not matter. All was destined for tragedy. And the worst part was that I’d never even been given a say in any of it.

So when people put their faith in me, I felt like a con artist. I felt like the rustiest wrung in the ladder of a yet-to-be-invented, fire-escape. They were putting all their weight on me to escape certain doom, not knowing that I was the frailest out of them all. Even the youngest of the angels would have been a better pick than me.

Had suicide been an option to me, I might have taken it. If there had been psychiatric centers, I would have immediately checked myself in. As it was, all I wanted to do was bury myself in a cave and just close my eyes until it was all over.

However … there was nobody I knew who could take my place."

-Dufaii the Godkiller “On Parenthood” Page 10

Dufaii stood outside the Library that towered over the rest of Heaven. The noon sun created an iridescent effect as it reflected against the shell-like spiraling exterior of the tower. He looked ahead at the massive, crystal, double doors that were currently shut. Few angels ventured in or out.

Dufaii looked up at the skyway at the top of the tower and saw only a single angel departing from it by wing. He shook his head, walked forward, and pressed open one of the crystal doors just enough to enter.

It had been a while since he’d last ventured in. The center of the tower was hollow and went straight up to the skyway, allowing for natural light to fill the tower. The floors were divided into individual platforms that attached to the walls. With this design, one could see what was happening many levels above or below where they stood, at least on the edges of the upper platforms from below. Additionally, the hollow center of the building functioned as an alternative to using the stairs, since angels could simply fly up to the floor they desired.

Dufaii could see hundreds of angels as they worked silently—writing, painting, and performing an array of tasks. Some even taught seminars behind crystal doors that blocked the sound. Among these angels were the souls of departed humans, goblins, elves, faeries and any other souls keen to learn.

Dufaii stopped gawking and stepped toward the front desk.

A male angel with black skin, curly black ringlets of hair, the start of a beard, and vibrant blue robes stood there. He looked up from whatever book he had been reading to address Dufaii. But before he could say anything, someone else beat him to the punch.

“Dufaii!” said the Archangel Raphael, looking at him from a platform above. She spread her gold wings, flew down through the center of the tower, and stepped forward to greet him. She wore the same blue robes as all the other researchers and artists. Her hair was thick and black, tied neatly behind her. Her skin was a warm shade of brown, and her lips were a natural dark red. Her body was of average height, and her frame carried soft curves. Her looks emphasized the power and intelligence that was plainly visible in her large and intense eyes.

“Hello Archangel,” Dufaii said, nodding politely.

Raphael looked down and saw his sword, and a slight frown of disappointment crossed her face. “I see you’ve taken up a position with the guard. Congratulations are in order. Though … I will admit to a bit of selfish disappointment. You seemed eager to work in the natural sciences team, and the journals you drafted about plants from tropics of the mortal realm seemed promising. Did you ever finish them?”

“They were put on hold, especially with travel to the mortal realm being restricted,” Dufaii replied feeling a slight pang of grievance for the work he’d spent so much time on. The truth was that he had all the data he needed to finish his work. He’d even tried to go back to working on his independent research after the storm. But he’d found himself just … unable to write. Of course, he felt a sense of shame at his emotional and intellectual impotence, and was not ready to address that with the Archangel Raphael. He said, “With the state of affairs, I thought I could contribute more to the Creator’s call to arms in the service of Michael.”

“Maybe, though I don’t like the idea of you working with the … guard” Raphael said, speaking the last word with distaste. Her nose wrinkled briefly before she took a deep breath and continued. “So long as you are shaping them and not the other way around, you have my full support. But I would advise a transfer of post once things are a little more settled. We would value you far more highly here at the Library.”

“I will,” Dufaii replied and then only after realized that he had really lied for the first time. This created a heavy feeling in his stomach, which he did his best to ignore. “For now, I was hoping to visit the Lightbringer. While I understand the … public information sensitivities and need for secrecy, they still saved me. I just need to thank them.”

Raphael shook her head somberly. “We haven’t allowed anyone to visit the Lightbringer. They … aren’t in a good place. You probably don’t remember that I visited you while you recovered from that fall during the Second Storm. I can’t imagine how you must feel after seeing what they did for you and all of us. And how we told it feels … well, frankly … like a deep betrayal. But I don’t think they have the capacity to be hurt any more than they have. After how much they suffered during that storm, how much they still suffer. I don’t think there is anything left but the pain now, which … was the only reason we could find it in ourselves to let them take the fall.”

Dufaii nodded, trying not to let his face betray his mixed emotions. His rage at them … along with a growing part of him that was beginning to understand the necessary nature of deception. He decided to change the topic. “Nothing has helped them?”

“We’ve done everything we know,” Raphael said. “But nothing has had an effect. They have become something … completely beyond reason.”

Dufaii took a heavy breath to steady himself. “All the same, if there is any way I could see them just for a few minutes. If there is any essence of them left, they deserve to at least know that I came here. That what they did mattered.”

“A meaningful gesture,” Raphael said, visibly mulling it over. Then, she gave a firm nod and beckoned him. “Yes, I think a brief visit would be appropriate.”

Dufaii followed the Archangel Raphael toward a small and unassuming door on the opposite side of the first floor. She reached into the chest portion of her blue robes and removed a small key. She used it to unlock the small door and opened it to reveal a torchlit staircase. The two of them made their way down to a featureless white hallway with three metal doors on each side.

There was an angel inside, sketching something in a notebook. They were wrapped in blue robes and had pinkish-orange skin, almost like a sunset. Their wings mimicked this pattern but with more boldness of color that would have truly blended well in a sunset sky. This librarian had with them a cup of tea with an aroma that Dufaii recognized as coming from the chrysanthemum flower. It was one of the plants he’d discussed in a paper he’d drafted … had the Library actually used it?

Raphael turned at the first door on the right, the only one with an open window in the upper portion and then retrieved a different key than the one she’d used before. She turned the key and then pulled open a heavy bolt. Then, she turned and said in a grave tone, “The Lightbringer was violent at first … but they haven’t been responsive since–apart from occasional ramblings. All the same … be careful.”

Dufaii nodded and entered the room while the Archangel partially closed it behind him. The room was large … nearly the size of one of the barracks. The walls, floor, and ceiling had been entirely padded with fabrics. The only light came from a torch that was in a locked metal contraption on the ceiling. Books and sheets of paper were scattered around, but there wasn’t much else except for the figure in the center of the room.

Facing him was a small girl with massive red wings. Her face was covered with straight crimson hair, and her arms were crossed. She didn’t respond to his presence.

Dufaii walked to the child and knelt to one knee. He wasn’t sure what to say, at first, so he whispered, “Can you hear me?”

The Lightbringer said nothing.

Dufaii sighed with a feeling of helplessness. “We’re working hard to … make things better.”

Again, there was no response from the child.

“Do you … know who I am?” Dufaii asked. His stomach churned, and he wondered for the briefest moment if the notion of bringing the Lightbringer was a foolish one. But the idea of leaving her like this after everything she’d done … no. That was unacceptable. He said, “Please Lightbringer, wake up.”

Nothing.

Dufaii exhaled so heavily that he felt himself shudder. With only his eyes, he communicated a picture, the last thing that he remembered before he’d fallen during the Second Storm. The lightning … the Creator.

Then, there was a slight twitch in the child’s eyes. The corners of her mouth curled upward and eventually opened, revealing rows of triangularly pointed, shark-like teeth. The child looked him in the eye and, instead of communicating a psychic message, showed him an image.

It was a picture from her rather short point of view, in the center chamber of the Holy of Holies. The furniture, art, and tapestries therein were ablaze with orange fire, and the walls were splashed in gallons of golden blood. The Lightbringer’s small pale foot rested upon the Creator’s severed head.

Dufaii broke away from the image as nausea shot through him. He had to look down at the floor for several minutes before he dared to look at the child again. Now, he was filled with doubt at his previous plan to free this new creature that had once been the Lightbringer. To do so would put the angels at risk as much as it would put the Lightbringer herself in danger’s way. On the other hand, nothing good awaited her in this prison once a third of Heaven fought their way to freedom. The Lightbringer would either be left to rot, or the Creator would find a way to reabsorb her power to make up for the loss of so many angels.

Dufaii looked at the Lightbringer for a moment, for just a moment picturing the being of celestial blue he had spoken to on the mountain top. Tears welled in his eyes as he whispered wordlessly, “You told me that we always have a choice … but not that it would never feel like there was a right one.” Dufaii shook his head bitterly as wetness streamed down his cheeks.

Like before, the child did not respond.

“We need the Lightbringer … please come back to us,” Dufaii said, feeling like his plea was lost. He stood to his feet, feeling heavier than before. Dufaii then turned and walked back to the metal door that was still cracked open.

Raphael opened the door up the rest of the way for him and then closed it after he’d passed through. Her lips were curved into a frown. “I didn’t want to believe it … but I don’t think that thing is the Lightbringer … not anymore.”

“With respect,” Dufaii said, his tone more tired than angry. “If that is no longer the Lightbringer, then the Creator is equally lost to us. And I don’t think many of us can go on knowing that we’ve lost them both.”

Raphael’s eyes watered and she gave a knowing nod. “Be well Dufaii … as well as you can in these sorrowful times.”

-O-

“Dear Xaluem,

My apologies for my emotional outburst earlier in the day. I was short with you, and you didn’t deserve that. I’ve just been … dealing poorly with the news from the Holy of Holies. I mean, you know that I was in support of the departed mortals being given full access to the Great Library. But … did they have to tell us the rest … even if it is true? I longed for the awakening of the Creator since they slept. I’ve labored tirelessly in my music for their recovery. All to be told that the Creator wants the mortals here because they prefer the mortals … that they trust the souls of the departed more than their own children. It just … really hurts.

But that does not excuse my behavior. I will do my best to adjust my behavior in the future. And I hope you will accept my apology.

-Ferrax”

-Archived letter between Professors Ferrax and Xaluem during their time as students.