The Fallen

Chapter Three: Ubel

Draven sighed and folded his hands in his lap. Sitting on a pillow in the large, rectangular banquet hall of Ubel, he was restless. He had been trying to avoid the impulse to make himself invisible since being led into the hall by Nashti, his servant for the night. Nashti knelt before him and handed him a warm cup. The scent of spices from the tea mingled with the subtle but alluring oils she wore.

She bowed her head as she offered him the cup, and Draven thanked her. He held it but didn’t drink the tea but watched as Nashti stood and traversed her way through the crowded hall. She was a contrast of images and emotions that overwhelmed Draven, who had never been so close to the sons of Cain. Her skin was dark, but her eyes were bright. She was short and petite, but her hair was long with thick braids rolled together. She had all the right words to say, but Draven was speechless in her presence. He closed his eyes and remembered Michael’s warning. He was no Shimmara, but Draven wanted to grow wings and fly back to the Astral Plane.

“She is beautiful, my friend.”

Draven glanced over at Morane, seated on a pillow next to him and smiling. He craned his neck and held a hand to his ear.

Morane laughed and then spoke louder. “I thought you had super hearing.”

Draven shrugged. “When I need it.”

Morane leaned toward him. “I said she is beautiful.” 

“Mesmerizing is more like it,” Draven said. He waved his hand and looked around the room. “Impressive they can comfortably seat so many in this place, isn’t it?”

“Not as impressive as that change of subject but yes,” Morane said. He slapped Draven’s shoulder, and they laughed.

“It’s just all very new, and different.” He paused. “And. And it’s. I don’t know. It’s—”

“Too fast?”

Draven nodded. “Exactly. Morane, we were approaching this city only a few hours ago with no way of knowing what would happen, and now we’re in the banquet hall as honored guests of Methusael.”

“I know,” Morane said. Semyaza stumbled initially but seems to have recovered quite well.”

Draven nodded. “I can’t blame him. Being with them is much different than watching them.” 

“Do you remember all those years ago, the day we watched Mehujael come out of his house, holding the newborn Methusael in the air like the heart of a fresh kill?”

Draven laughed. “He was so proud.”

“And now that baby’s servant has just served you tea.”

“I still can’t get over Semyaza’s bumbling introduction.”

“You and me both.” Morane lowered his voice. “How many times did he nod his head? And what was with that horrible name for the city we supposedly came from?”

Draven shrugged. “I think he was trying to say summer.”

Morane wagged a finger at Draven. “Mark my words. Someday, an entire culture will be raised somewhere, and they will call it Sumer.”

Draven rolled his eyes. “That is never going to happen.”

It was Morane’s turn to shrug. “Alright. But when it does, remember who said it first. Are you going to drink that tea or hold it like a child’s toy?”

Draven passed the cup to Morane. “Go ahead.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What? Nothing.”

Morane was staring at him with his eyes narrowed. “You’ve been acting strange. Not like your normal, confident self.”

“How could I be confident right now?” Draven asked. “Look at this.”

Draven waved a hand at the bustling hall. Servants wove in and out of the crowd balancing precarious stacks of cups and bowls. The watchers were either seated in the large oval around the room or dancing with the women the city had presented to them. A servant hurried past a group of watchers who were imbibing horns of ale and bumped into them. One of the watchers, Kidar, spilled his horn on his chest. The servant, a thin woman with braided hair past her waist, launched into a stream of apologies. Kidar was stunned for a moment, tucking his chin to his chest to assess the damage, but then he and the others laughed. He grabbed the servant by the waist and pulled her to himself. Morane elbowed Draven, who looked back and saw the pale watcher grinning. Draven rolled his eyes and pointed to the back of the banquet hall. 

Semyaza and Ezeqiel were at the head of the hall, sitting on a raised dais in chairs behind a redwood table with Methusael and his wife. The patriarch was listening to Semyaza with undivided attention as he explained something. Draven listened in and was shocked to hear Semyaza explaining how to mine the hills surrounding Ubel in order to extract the secret metal ore that would make for stronger weapons and how to craft them through a forge. Michael was not going to be happy to hear about this development.

“Draven?” Morane asked.

Draven focused his attention back to his friend. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Why are you eavesdropping on Semyaza?”

Draven froze and felt his heart beating faster. “What?”

Morane cocked his head to the side. “You were listening to what Semyaza was saying to Methusael. Why?”

Draven opened his mouth and let out an awkward noise at first, but then he forced himself to gain his composure. “I was just curious, but you’re right. I shouldn’t do that.”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

He nodded. “Of course not.”

They were silent for a few moments, and then Morane whispered out of the side of his mouth. “What were they talking about?”

Draven couldn’t contain his laughter.

Hours later, Draven was still in the same spot, but the banquet hall was nearly empty. A few of the watchers remained, lounging in corners with the women of Ubel or dancing with them. Not a few had passed out on the floor and in the corners. Draven shook his head at one in particular. It was Kidar lying on his back with his legs draped over the other three he’d been drinking with. Morane was among the dancers. He had chosen one of the tallest women presented to them that day. Draven watched them groping one another for as long as he could stand and then turned away in disgust. Masking his anger had become almost impossible but not as difficult as it was becoming to turn Nashti away. 

He circled his finger around the rim of the chalice she’d set on the floor for him. The tepid liquid was even less appealing than it had been when it was still steaming hot. He sighed and shook his head, thinking about his brethren all scattered about the city in houses and tents. It had all been too easy. A few tricks from Semyaza and Methusael had become clay in the leader of the watcher’s hands. There was no turning back now, and though Draven was still determined not to divulge in their transgression, the resolve to his duty was wavering. He glanced around the room. The leader’s table was empty. A handful of servants with scrunched up faces were busy clearing platters of half-eaten food and spilled wine cups. The last of the leaders, Azazel—who was going by Utu to the humans—was exiting the side door with one of Methusael’s daughters. Draven clenched his jaw and nearly smashed his chalice.

“If hard to get was your plan, I think it worked.”

Draven looked up. Morane was standing over him with his hands on his hips. He shook his head and looked back down. “No. No plan.”

“You do not want her?” Morane asked as he squatted down. 

Draven played dumb, shrugging his shoulders high and holding them up.

Morane shot him a condescending glare.

“Nashti. A servant, yes, but she is beautiful, isn’t she?”   

“Magnificent,” Draven whispered. 

“Then why are you sulking on the floor while such a splendid creature waits in the shadow of this hall to make your every dream come true?”

Draven stood. “Suddenly Morane is a poet.”

Morane stood, towering over Draven but with a smile. “I’ve always been a poet. You just never appreciated it until the object of my art became the object of your desires.”

“What if we’ve made a terrible mistake, Morane?” 

Morane’s eyes narrowed and his smile was erased. “This mistake was made by the Most High when He excluded us from all of this and confined us to the wasteland of the Astral Plane.”

“Mount Hermon is not without its pleasures.”

Morane shoved a finger into Draven’s chest. “You left Mount Hermon for the same reason as the rest of us, Draven. It is without its pleasures.” He shoved Draven. “And you took an oath with the rest of us, so don’t think you can simply change your mind.”

“Or?” Draven asked, regaining his footing. He had never been nervous around Morane, but he was not sure how to read his friend at that moment.

Morane smiled again, flashing his white teeth. “The watcher who goes back on his oath will live to regret it.”

Draven nodded. “I’m worried we’ll all live to regret many things.” He looked at his feet and almost laughed at his pointed shoes. “Is this what we came for? These simple pleasures?”

“Of course not,” Morane said. “It took less than a day to be accepted by the people of Ubel. Imagine what we will do in a few weeks. This world will be ours soon enough, but why not enjoy the spoils.”

Draven looked up. “Are you not nervous that what we’re doing is spoiling this place?”

Morane grabbed his shoulder. “Is this the same Draven? You have been worried all day, and that’s far out of your character, my friend.”

“I know.” He mentally scolded himself. You’re giving yourself away, Draven. Maintain your role. He allowed his body to relax. “It’s just strange trying to adjust is all.” 

“Then stop trying to adjust.” Morane turned them both so that they could see Nashti in a dark corner of the hall. “Start trying to enjoy.”

Draven was silent. Nashti averted her eyes, but Draven thought it made her look even more beautiful. He longed to go to her, to breathe in her scent and feel her breath on his skin. He swallowed and looked at the floor. He knew he had to leave. Michael was right. To throw oneself into this temptation without realizing the dangers was foolish. He could not allow himself to give in to his desires, but he also could not afford to raise any more of Morane’s suspicions. Without Morane on his side, the others would grow suspicious. 

“It is just nerves, my friend,” Morane whispered. “Go to her. There will be a season of regret. Now is a season of pleasure. Don’t let it pass you by.”

Draven turned and forced a smile. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”

Morane patted him on the back. “Maybe the afternoon. Don’t wake me.” He laughed and walked away. 

Draven looked back to the corner. Nashti was standing and looking at him.

*Please note this is a work in progress. The final story might be extremely different. All feedback is welcome!