Angels of Darkness

clamored to get in, pictures of the angel bruised and broken on the open ground, bloodied and unconscious on a peak in the Caitanas, adrift on the ocean, his great wings spread like seaweed along the surface of the water. How could he have been so reckless, so stupid? Damn arrogant angels, they think just because they want something, they can reach out their hands and take it, I thought angrily. They don’t have to wait patiently, like ordinary men, or obey the laws of the physical world.
    But they did. They did.
    We were probably still a mile from the mine when I started shouting Corban’s name. If he was alive, if he was conscious, he would be able to hear me from a fair distance and call back. When I paused to give my throat a rest, Alma lifted her own voice. “Angelo! Angelo! Where are you?”
    About an hour after we set out, we approached the ruins of the mine. I pulled the wagon over so Alma and I could jog over to it through the sandy soil. It was immediately clear how Corban might have lost his bearings here. Sometime in the past week, the elements had wreaked additional damage to the fallen buildings; the windmill had wholly collapsed. There was no longer any rhythmic tapping noise to tell Corban he had arrived at his destination. He must have flown confidently in this direction, been puzzled at the missing sound, wondered if he’d misjudged his route, turned around, tried to get back to the house, felt a rising self-doubt that made him question any choice he made, and ended up thoroughly lost. He could be anywhere within a five-mile radius.
    â€œCorban!” I shouted, but there was no answer.
    â€œAre you sure this is where he came?” Alma asked.
    â€œI’m not sure of anything.”
    I thought for a moment. It seemed likelier that he had overshot the mark than undershot it—anyway, if he was behind us anywhere along our route, he would have heard us calling. I hoped. “Let’s go north,” I said. “At least another five miles.”
    She nodded, and we returned to the wagon. I drove more slowly for the next hour as we peered around, both hoping and fearing to see a crumpled ball of feathers lying along the side of the road. I had given up the notion of shouting his name and now I began singing, hoping the sustained, persistent notes would catch his attention even if he was in a groggy, hallucinatory state. After a few moments, Alma added her voice in a sweet alto harmony. Without conscious thought, I had opened with another Manadavvi ballad, and I raised my eyebrows when it turned out she recognized it. She shrugged and smiled and kept singing.
    Just as I was wondering if it was time to widen our search east or west, we heard a voice cry out my name. I jerked on the reins and we both fell abruptly silent, listening hard. There it was again, faint and exhausted. Moriah!
    My heart leapt. Praise be to Jovah, at least he was alive. “Corban!” I shouted, throwing the reins to Alma, grabbing a flask of water, and jumping out of the wagon. “Keep calling me! I’m on my way!”
    His voice came from the eastern side of the road along a stretch that had mostly shaken off the sand of the desert and arrayed itself in stunted trees, prickly bushes, and a hardy vine that covered soil, stone, shrub, or tree with an utter lack of discrimination. Not the worst place for an angel to come down in an uncontrolled fall, though I tripped a half dozen times on a leafy runner or a tree root. “Corban!”
    It was five minutes before I found him, huddled in the stippled shade of a squat tree just now unfurling its pale green leaves. His wings drooped behind him, so flat you could mistake them for a cloak thrown behind his shoulders, and his legs were thrust straight out on the grass. Not until I was close enough to see his face could I make out the scratches and bruises on his skin. But I didn’t see any gouts of blood, any sticks of bone protruding through the flesh. He’d made a rough landing, maybe, but not a disastrous one.
    I skidded to my knees beside him, grabbing his shoulders in a shaking grip. “Corban, are you all right?” I demanded.
    His hands came up to lock over my wrists. “Moriah, you found me,” he said in a whisper. And then he burst into tears.
    I had never in my life seen a man cry.
    No one has ever come completely undone in front of me; no one has ever been willing to display, before my cynical eyes,