May Flights of Angels Sing Thee To Thy Rest

a short story by Marie Noire

            He lay gasping for breath on the thickly carpeted floor of his home, unable to garner the strength necessary to drag himself to the coffin resting peacefully in the next room, or even to the leather sofa only a few yards away.  He had collapsed shortly after the mob had left, unable to find him thanks to the design of his chair that allowed him to "disappear" into it when he chose.  Those thirsting for his blood had destroyed most of his home, except for his room and for Christine's... only because they could not find them either.  Upon the sight of his ruined years of effort, the glimpse of the opera he'd composed in shreds on the floor, he had fallen...

            Or had he fallen long before that?  At birth it seemed, he had been doomed to live in the world but never to be a part of it.  Never to share in its joys, but only its pains.  Never feel the comforts, but merely the stings and lashes.  Never to know its love, just its cruelty.  He had fallen long before he had ever come to the opera... before he'd become a cold-blooded killer in the even colder streets... before he'd been exposed to Persia's corrupt practices.

            He lay still, his gaze fixed not on the darkness of the ceiling above him where his eyes looked... but into a different time and place, a dimension not of his own where everything was blurred and clear at the same time.  He could see forms above him, motionless and yet swirling about in intricate, unfollowable patterns.

            Voices... he could hear voices.  Some were soft and comforting, but commanding instant respect and even awe.  Others... others were coarse and ugly, as horrible as his face... almost impossible to understand.

            He is ours!  You never paid him any mind before now.  You let him live in hell on earth and therefore forfeit all claim to him now!  one voice rasped above the others, followed by grainy agreement from what sounded like his left side.  The forms there were darker than the blackest night he'd ever seen, he noted bemusedly.

            We never abandoned him, Lucifer.  Yes, he was given that face which has caused many on earth to think him one of yours.  But keep in mind, we blessed him with his voice and his brilliant mind as well.  All of his life we were never far behind... but when one is at the mercy of your mankind... it is very difficult to hear angelic voices above the roar of an angry crowd.  a resplendent voice, much like his own, spoke with a wisdom that belied its youthful sound.  Soft, harmonious admission trickled in its wake, like a gorgeous waterfall of sound that made him forget his pain temporarily.

            Just because some foolish child of girl prays for him now, doesn't mean that he's worth your attention, Michael.  She only prays for his soul because he lied to her and claimed he was an angel himself.  He LIED, is what he did!  Thall shalt not lie, is that not one of your Master's cardinal rules.  And what about Thou shalt not kill?  I'd say he certainly broke that trust more than once!  His obvious contempt for all of you makes him ours!  the grossly distorted voice yelled back, plainly agitated.

            No sin, no matter how great, complicates this matter.  He never claimed to be the Angel of Music... the girl called him that on her own.  A hushed pause followed and a warm hand seemed to cup his cheek gently, although he knew there was no living soul for several floors up.  Instinctively, he turned his head towards that touch, his gaze clearing and falling back to his shambled home.  He no longer had any feeling in his arms or legs, a cold numbness creeping steadily throughout his body.  But the voices continued, arguing back and forth; one side vehement and the other calmly confident.

            And perhaps he is the Angel of Music.  God loves him regardless of what he's done and whether or not he admits it even to himself, this mortal, Erik, deserves to know that at last. the soft voice finished. 

            You forget... he broke the most fundamental law.  He does not believe in your Master... he serves the Dark One.  That alone makes him ours to torment! the rough voice sneered, sounding like a smug lawyer of sorts.

            If he believes in Lucifer, then by default, he believes in God... for God created Lucifer, did he not?  You weren't listening to him on the roof were you?  He mentioned even to himself that there was a God... that is enough for us.  And more than one girl believes him to be the Angel of Music.  Many believe him to be so, if not literally then at least figuratively. the beautiful voice insisted, growing somewhat less calm.

            Let us send him back to earth then... if he's so deserving of Heaven's joys, why not let him live long enough to atone for his sins?  Give him a time to start believing in God openly.  the embittered voice challenged, again followed by similarly distorted voices in agreement.

            The pain began anew, chasing the calming numbness of his limbs back.  His heart beat erratically, each living thump a throbbing pain in his chest as he again gasped for breath.  No... he didn't want to live... he had welcomed that peaceful coolness that was now retreating as quickly as it had come.

            "No... don't!" he coughed weakly to the nonexistent voices.

            A hushed silence descended, the faint mumbling of both sides quieting in an instant.  He felt the brief sensation that they had all turned to stare at him in awe.

            Can he hear us? a scratchy voice asked, sounding as though it feared the answer.

            Impossible... only angels, risen and fallen can hear our voices.  the original voice of broken glass asserted, although it didn't sound as certain as his words indicated.

            Risen or fallen... rise, Erik.  Prove you are deserving.  the sweet voice whispered in his ear, coaxing him to ignore the pain seeping into his bones and muscles.

            He took a deep breath, although the constricting of his chest stabbed pain through him as surely as any knife.  His eyes closed as he used every fiber of his being to concentrate on the words and the melody.  Slowly, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

                        Angus dei                                (Lamb of God)

                        Qui tollis peccata mundi         (Who takes away the sins of the worlld)

                        Angus dei                                (Lamb of God)

                        Dona nobis pacem                  (Grant us peace)

                        Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti    (I confess to God Almighty)

                        Beata Mariae semper Virgini  (To blessed Mary ever Virgin)

                        Beato Michaeli archangelo     (To the blessed archangel, Michael)

                        Sanctis apostolis omnibus       (To all the holy apostles, to all the saints)

                        sanctis

                        Et tibi Pater                            (And to you Father)

                        Quia paccavi nimis                 (That I have sinned)

                        Cogitatione                             (In thought)

                        Verbo er opere                        (In word and deed)

                        Mea culpa                               (Through my fault)

                        Mea maxima culpa                 (Through my most grievous fault)

                        Kyrie eleison                           (Lord have mercy)

                        Christe eleison                        (Christ have mercy)

                        Judex crederis esse venturus  (Our judge we believe shall come)

                        In te, Domine, speravi             (In you, Lord, have I trusted)

                        Non confundar in aeternum    (Let me not be damned for eternity)

                        Salvum fac poulum tuum        (Save Your people)

                        Judex crederis                         (In our Judge we believe)

                        Libera me Domine                  (Free me, Lord)

                        Libera me Domine                  (Free me, Lord)

                        De morte aeternum                 (From everlasting death)

                        Caeli et terra                           (The Heavens and earth)

                        Dum veneris judicare              (When Thou shall come to judge the world by                                                                       fire)

                        O, salutaris hostia                   (O Savior, saving victim)

                        Quae caeli pandis ostium        (Who opens the gate of heaven)

                        Bella premunt hostilia             (Our enemies besiege us)

                        Da robur, fer auxilium            (Give us strength, bring us aid)

                        Sit sempiterna gloria               (May You always be praised)

                        Gloria, gloria semper              (Glory, glory forever)

                        Sanctus, sanctus in excelsis    (Holy, holy in the highest)

           

                        Mors stupebit et natura          (Death and nature shall be confounded)

                        Cum resurget creatura           (When creation shall rise again)

                        Judicanti responsurra             (To answer for judgment)

                        Judex ergo cum sedebit          (Therefore, when the Judge shall take his seat)

                        Nil inulttum remanebit            (Nothing shall remain unpunished)

                        Quem patronum rogaturus     (To what protector shall I appeal)

                        Cum vix justus sit securus      (When scarcely the just man shall be secure?)

                        Juste Judex ultionis                 (Righteous Judge of vengeance)

                        Ante diem rationis                   (Before the day of reckoning)

                        Kyrie eleison                           (Lord have mercy)

                        Christe eleison                        (Christ have mercy)

            His voice trembled, wavering against the last measures in perfect tandem.  He had sung more times than he had ever tried to count and had rarely made a mistake in his entire career.  This time... this time he was fighting for peace and the pressure inherent in the situation made his voice struggle past the pain and the freezing hold of death... to produce the most celestial sound to ever issue from a human throat.  With a relieved exhalation of breath, he laid his head back down to the carpet, his eyes still closed, listening intently to the clear silence.

            Do you doubt now, dark ones? that soothing, gentle voice commented, slightly altered as though impeded lightly by tears.  Only one of God's own could ever make angels weep with his voice.  I repeat... this mortal, Erik... his soul belongs to us.

            A long pause followed, although he thought he could hear the muffled sounds of others crying softly on both sides, caustic and mild.  The dullness was back, steadily enveloping his body until he could not have moved a single finger even if he had tried to.  His heartbeat echoed in his head, the normally steady beat faltering and quickly losing momentum.

            Take him, then... the grating voice growled, no longer angry but strangely accepting.  He's yours to use as you might.  I have other matters to attend to."

            The dark forms moved off vaguely before disappearing from Erik's line of sight as if they had never been there.  The light forms gathered around him, filling his gaze with a blazing light of a soft whitish-blue, the brightness of which should've hurt his eyes, but didn't in the least. 

            Bring him, Angel girl... this one's waited a long time to come home to us. One bright form floated down to him from where the ceiling should've been and hovered over him, in accordance with the original voice's command.  The light dimmed enough for Erik's eyes to focus on her face.  Her face was ageless and as smooth as a youth's, her soft eyes gazing at him kindly, as though he were some precious treasure to be cherished.  Her long hair of golden-blonde floated about her face and shoulders as though a warm breeze stirred it.  Something was familiar about her, something he couldn't quite put a finger on immediately.

            "Ready, Erik?" she asked gently, her warm hand stroking his brow and unmasked cheek.  Abruptly, the image of this heavenly being in ballet slippers and a starched skirt, prancing about the Opera stage as a wood nymph passed through his mind.

            "Meg?" he tried to say, but his throat was too dry to even speak.  It was a small miracle he'd even been able to sing only a few minutes prior.

            "Come with me, Erik." she hushed him with a brilliant smile.  "It's time for the Angel of Music to come home at last... to where he belongs."

            "Home..." he repeated, closing his eyes as his heart struggled to force its last, solitary beat.