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

mysterious ways."

Verchiel was enjoying his captive's suffering."And what if it is true, Morningstar? What if theprophecy is
some grand scheme of amnesty composed by God? Do you actually believe thatyou would be forgiven?"

The prisoner had curled into a tight ball, theflesh of his body aflame, but still he answered."If I were to
believe in the prophecy . . . then itwould be up to the Nephilim... wouldn't it?"

"Yes," Verchiel answered. "Yes, it would.And it will never be allowed to happen."

The prisoner lifted his head, any semblanceof discernable features burned away. "Is thatwhy I'm here?"
he croaked in a dry whisper. "Isthat why you've captured me . . . locked meaway...so that I will never be
given thatchance?"
 Verchiel sent a final burst of energy throughthe metal of the cage. The prisoner thrashed likea fish pulled
from a stream and tossed cruelly upon the land. Then he grew very still, the intensity of his injuries
sending him into the embraceof unconsciousness.

The Powers' leader released the bars andstepped back. He knew that his captive wouldlive, it would
take far more than he could conjure to destroy something so powerful, but theinjuries would cause him to
suffer, and that wasacceptable for now.

Verchiel turned from the cage and walkedtoward the door. There was still much to bedone; he had no
more time to concern himselfwith prisoners of war.

"As does the Lord," he said to himself, "I toowork in mysterious ways."

The power of Heaven, tainted by the poison ofarrogance and insanity, flowed through hisinjured body,
bringing with it the most debilitating painтАФbut also sweet oblivion.

The prisoner drifted in a cold sea of darknessand dreamed.

In his dreams he saw a boy, and somehow heknew that this was the Nephilim of prophecy.There was
nothing special about the way helooked, or the way he carried himself, but thePowers captive knew that
this was the OneтАФthis was Aaron Corbet. The boy was movingpurposefully through a thicket of woods;
and hewasn't alone. Deep within the womb of unconsciousness the prisoner smiled as he saw anangel
walking at the boy's side.

Camael,he thought, remembering how hehad long ago called the warrior "friend." Butthat was before the
jealousy, before the war,before the fall.

And then he saw the dog; it had gone ahead into the woods, but now returned to tell its master what it
had found. It was a beautiful animal, its fur the color of the purest sunshine. It lovedits master, he could
tell by the way it movedaround the boy, the way it cocked its head as itcommunicated, the way its tail
wagged.

It would be easy to like this boy, the prisoner guessed as the sharp pain of his injuries began tointrude
upon his insensate state. He pulled himself deeper into the healing embrace of the void.How could I not
like someone who has causedVerchiel such distress?the prisoner wondered.And besides, Aaron Corbet
had a dog.