"Thomas E. Sniegoski - Aerie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sniegoski Thomas E)

burns on his bodyhad yet to heal, the pain a constant reminder ofthe Nephilim, and how much was at
stake. "Withhis death," Verchiel continued, "they will beshown that the prophecy is a lie, that there willbe
no forgiveness from the Creator."

The prisoner leaned his head of shaggy blackhair against the iron bars of his prison as the mouse crawled
freely in his lap. "Why does the idea of the prophecy threaten you so?" he asked. "After all this time, is
absolution such a terrible thing?"

Verchiel felt his anger blaze. His mighty wingsunfurled from his back, stirring the dust and stagnant air of
the room. "It is an affront to God! Thosewho fought against the Lord of Lords should bepunished for
their crimes, not forgiven."

The prisoner closed his eyes. "But think of it,Verchiel: to have the past cleared away. Personally I think it
would be pretty sweet." Heopened his eyes and smiled a beatific smile thatagain reminded Verchiel of
how it had been inHeavenтАФand how much had been lost to themall. "Who knows," the prisoner added,
"it mighteven clear up that complexion of yours."

It was a notion that had crossed Verchiel'smind as wellтАФthat his lack of healing was a signthat the
Creator was not pleased with hisactionsтАФbut to have it suggested by one so vilified, so foul, was enough
to test his sanity. The leader of the Powers surged toward the cage,grabbing the bars of iron.

"If I have incurred the wrath of my heavenlysire, it is for what I failed to do, rather than whatI have
done." Verchiel felt the power of his angelic glory course through his body, down hisarms, and into his
hands. "I did not succeed inkilling the Nephilim, but I have every intentionof correcting that oversight."

The metal of the cage began to glow a fieryorange with the heat of heavenly fire, and the prisoner moved
to its center. His robes and the soles of his sandals began to smolder. "I deservethis," he said, a steely
resolve in his dark eyes."Buthe doesn't." He held the mouse out toward Verchiel and moved to the bars
that now gloweda yellowish white. He thrust his arm between thebarriers, his sleeve immediately bursting
intoflame, and let the mouse fall to the floor where it scurried off to hide among the shadows.

"How touching," Verchiel said, continuing tofeed his unearthly energies into the metal bars ofthe prison.
"It fills me with hope to see one as wicked as you showing such concern for one ofthe Father's lowliest
creatures."

"It's called compassion, Verchiel," the prisoner said though gritted teeth, his simple clothing ablaze. "A
divine trait, and one that you areseverely lacking."

"How dare you," Verchiel growled, shakingthe bars of the cage that now burned with awhite-hot
radiance. "I am, if nothing else, aspark of all that is the Creator; an extension ofHis divinity upon the
world."

The prisoner fell, his body burning, hisblackening skin sending wisps of oily smokeinto the air as he
writhed upon the blistering hotfloor of the cage. "But what if it's true, Verchiel?"he asked in an impossibly
calm voice. "Whatif...it's all part of His plan?"

"Blasphemy!" the angel bellowed, his angermaking the bars burn all the brighterтАФall thehotter. "Do you
seriously think that the Creatorcan forgive those who tried to usurp His reign?"

"I've heard tell," the prisoner whisperedthrough lips blistered and oozing, "that He does work in