Space Angels: find the Gift (complete)

●•·ƬӇЄ ЄD0Ɲ SƐƇƬ0Ʀ·•● Chapter twelve

ƬӇЄ ЄD0Ɲ SƐƇƬ0Ʀ

12 – the poem (965)

Jango reflected on their long and dangerous journey. They'd avoided Stygien's attack ships, the Zelli's death-dealing tentacles and escaped the space-time pathway through another gate built by Grimlick Juno. From there Borak had hurtled at top speed ferrying the cadre across a million leagues of space, mainly empty apart from the odd extrasolar planet, before reaching the edges of the Edon Sector. There they had faced the prospect of negotiating a perimeter of countless asteroids, comets and misshapen planetoids, none of which were flaming, as his narrator had predicted, but icy hulks looming threateningly from the darkness. Although he knew Borak was capable of avoiding collisions using his uncanny speed, gravitational knowledge and dimension-slipping skills he remembered feeling annoyed that no one had arrived to guide them through the rock maze. "Where are Malik's Seraphim?" he moaned to Fereshte, as if it were her fault.

"There they are!" Sofiel cried. "And they look fine, don't they?"

Then he saw them: three males appearing from the blackness, their tiny bodies rippling with muscle, implacable faces on large heads, bathed in the shimmering green glow of their protective buffers. Jango couldn't help being impressed with them. They wore military jerkins and breeches, and no ribbons, but he knew they were experienced and could handle themselves. He cringed, feeling upstaged, when Sofiel and Fereshte used Borak's eyes to zoom in on their fellow Seraphs, cooing in admiration.

Their leader, a thin-faced male with serious features and shoulder length brown hair, announced himself as Seraph Vetala, his words appearing on a smaller display the Lǽrans had created on Borak's inner walls whenever he spoke.

"Virtue Malik cannot offer a welcome on his planet at this time segment, Ophan, sir. He is assessing the mysterious appearance of Stygien's ships at the Linnet Gate and cannot invite you and your cadre into his domain without delaying this vital task. He has ordered us to escort you to the Marbles."

Jango had learned from his lessons that the Marbles was the name of another smaller field of asteroids a few hundred thousand leagues from Edon itself.

"Very well," Borak replied. "I will visit him when my cadre have been embedded on Edon."

"Where will that be, sir? I can inform Virtue Malik of their whereabouts... in case he needs to contact them," Vetala said.

"Fear not, Seraph Vetala, my cadre will liaise with the Edon Cherub who will brief them and deliver a situation report, and, as you say, it is vital Virtue Malik is allowed to continue his investigations without interruption. I will reveal our mission parameters to him when I return."

"As you command, Ophan," Vetala replied with a salute, "but Cherub Ecad's reports are fewer and less detailed of late. I will pass on the details of your visit to our Virtue. He will be pleased."

Jango was disappointed. He would've liked to have met Virtue Malik – you don't get to visit a Galaxy Guardian every day – but he wondered why Cherub Ecad didn't contact him much. He would've done it every day.

Once they'd passed through the network of frozen behemoths and deeper into Edon's system, Vetala left them, his six delicate wings blurring with motion within his green sphere, ruffling his flowing hair and propelling him towards a small planet in the distance. Borak topped up his atomic sustenance on an icy moon orbiting a gas giant, Jango recalled, and from another with planetary rings,always escorted by the remaining pair of tough-looking Seraphim on his flanks, both staring blankly ahead, saying little.

Jango ignored them and instead listened to the Seraphs' attempts to unravel the mysteries of this mission with the scraps of information they all had, while Cylvah simply stared at the display, concentrating on Borak's progress with her eagle eyes.

Borak hadn't assimilated every detail about the Gift or its whereabouts before the Chronica Globe had reset itself. The wait for it to rotate to the point where it gave them new information, was frustrating, but he noted the globe spun quicker away from the dark matter halo's crushing gravity. Among the data Borak had retained were the lines from a poem. Jango had memorised it.

The gift you seek from the dove,

Is rarely heard or spoken of,

Its power and its favour can be invisible,

The cynic and the worldling find it risible,

The aohk's form fits to a Tee,

Perfection in its noble sign,

Blessed are those who receive,

But the giver is divine...

Jango had first thought it gibberish and said so – perhaps a globe malfunction caused by the Zelli shard's impact – but Borak had insisted he'd assimilated the poem before that. Sofiel, who seemed to be good at solving riddles and knew a lot about songs, studied the text while Borak collected yet more sustenance at the Marbles. She concluded the Gift had another name – an Aohk – and was Tee-shaped, while the Lǽrans described the cynics as 'Edons with little faith' and worldlings as those devoted to the pursuit of riches and short-term gain. Jango decided the Edons were even lower than he'd first thought – faithless and greedy.

Malik's Seraphim escort retreated when Borak hit the clear space beyond the Marbles.  Finally they had reached Edon. When he first saw it, he gasped. Edon was a living globe of impossible beauty. The images his narrator had shown of the planet could not compare with the real thing. Its seas were of a blue so soft he almost felt it kiss his skin, and the creamy clouds caressed its atmosphere like a gentle wind ruffling his bright red curls. He heard a sob. The Seraphim were crying, and even Cylvah's large eagle eyes were moist. 

"It's like heaven," Sofiel whispered.

Jango swallowed hard and said nothing, in case he cried too. 

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