Shokad fed the fire with another handful of sticks. “I speak only of what I see in the ether,” he said, moving his hand around in the air. “There is a new time coming, the dreams tell me. We need only pay attention.”

It’s tempting to embrace these new ideas, Mufgar thought, to push aside the old ways and think of only the new. But during his long life on this planet, he had seen the wrath of the Powers firsthand, and did not care to risk having it directed toward him.

“I will hear no more of this madness,” Mufgar declared, his voice booming with power. “Our service to the masters is what has kept us alive.”

Zawar climbed to his feet and went to their belongings stashed across the cave against the wall. “We live only as long as the Powers allow us to,” he said, searching for something amongst their supplies. Finding it, he returned to the fire, where he sat down and opened the small bundle. Inside were the shriveled remains of dried field mice and moles. “When they no longer have need of our skills, they will destroy us, as they did our creators,” Zawar said as he picked up a mouse and bit off its head for emphasis. He offered the snacks to the others.

Mufgar could not believe his ears. Had they all been stricken with madness? How can they speak such treason? he wondered. But deep down he knew. The Powers had no love for them, thinking them no better than animals. “Our creators broke the laws of God by making us,” Mufgar explained in an attempt to restore their sanity with a reminder of their people’s history. “We are blemishes upon the one God’s world. The Powers have allowed us to live—to prove ourselves worthy of the life bestowed upon us by their fallen brethren. When we have done this, then and only then will we be given our freedom and allowed to search for the Safe Place.”

Again, the Orishas blessed themselves.

“But what of the others of our clan?” Tehom asked, taking a stiffened mole from their rations. “What of those who defied our masters and went to find our most prized paradise?”

Mufgar did not want to hear this. No matter how he himself felt, to question the old ways would certainly bring about their doom. He remembered how he had tried to convince the others to stay, all the time wishing that he had had the courage to go with them. But he was chief, and was slave to the traditions of old.

Mufgar crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. “They are dead,” he said definitely. “They have disobeyed our laws.”

The shaman looked to Zawar and Tehom, who were both chewing their meal of dried vermin, then back to Mufgar. “But what if they aren’t dead?” he asked in an clandestine whisper. “What if they succeeded in finding the paradise for which we so yearn? Think of it, Mufgar—think of it.”

The chief stared into the fire, pondering the words of the shaman. Could it have always been this simple? To steal away unnoticed and find their own Heaven. “Lord Verchiel has said that any who defy his wishes would be expunged from existence.”

Shokad slid closer. “But times are changing, Great Mufgar,” he said. “Verchiel and his Powers are distracted by the prophecy.”

“The Nephilim,” Tehom said in a whisper, spitting fragments of dried mole into the fire.

Zawar, sitting next to him, nodded and flapped his wings. “It is said that he will bring forgiveness to the fallen.” He picked a piece of tail from between his two front teeth. “And our masters do not want this, I think.”

It had been hours since he’d last fed, and Mufgar snatched up a dried carcass from the open pouch. “So you suggest we disobey the Powers, ignore our orders—forsake our chance at true freedom.” He took a bite of the mouse’s head and waited for an answer. The dried meat had very little flavor, and he yearned for his favorite meal. It had been quite some time since he had feasted upon the delectable flesh of canine. Mouse and mole were fine for a time—but the meat of dog was something that he often dreamed of when his empty belly howled to be filled.

“A great conflict is coming between our masters and the Nephilim,” the holy man proclaimed, “and only one will survive. The Nephilim’s power is great. To attack him would invite our downfall.”

Zawar and Tehom nodded in agreement. “Let the Nephilim destroy the Powers,” Zawar said.

“And then we will be free,” Tehom added.

Mufgar swallowed the last of his snack and climbed to his feet. He had heard enough. It was time to pass judgment. He raised his arms above his head again, gazing at the fire and his followers around it. “I, Mufgar, chief of the Deheboryn Orisha, have listened to the words of my clan and have applied my great wisdom to their concerns.”

In his mind’s eye he saw an image of those who had left the clan in search of the Safe Place. He saw them living in the beauty of Paradise—but then a dark cloud passed over, and from the sky, fire rained down upon them. The Nephilim had not defeated the Powers, and for their betrayal of the old ways, the Orishas were destroyed forever.

“We will continue to hunt the Nephilim,” Mufgar said, avoiding the disappointed looks in his followers’ eyes. “It is the only way I can guarantee the continued existence of our kind.

We will track the enemy of our masters and capture him—when we succeed, then we shall be set free.” Mufgar lowered his arms. “I have spoken,” he said with finality. “This council is ended.” He turned from the fire and headed for a darkened part of the cave where he would rest before resuming the hunt.

“You doom us all,” he heard Shokad say to his back.

Mufgar reached for the dagger of bone tied to his leg and leaped into the air, his wings carrying him over the fire. He landed upon the shaman, knocking him back to the floor. Zawar squealed with fear as Mufgar placed the knife against the old Orisha’s throat.

“I will hear no more of your blasphemous talk,” Mufgar said, gazing into Shokad’s fear-filled eyes. He pricked the leathery skin of the oldster’s throat with the tip of the dagger, drawing a bead of blood. “And if I do, the Nephilim will not have his chance at you—for you will have already doomed yourself.”

Mufgar sheathed his blade and left the shaman and the others cowering by the dwindling fire. Alone, curled into a tight ball on the floor of the cave, the chief chased elusive sleep. Finally he found it as the fire burned down, the stones forgetting their past, leaving the cave in darkness.

Gabriel’s tail wagged crazily as Aaron approached the picnic table at the back of the roadside restaurant.

“That’s our lunch, isn’t it, Aaron?” the dog said happily, his back end swaying from side to side with the force of his muscular tail. “It sure smells good,” he said with a heavy pant, sniffing at the bottom of the bags Aaron carried. “I’m so hungry, I could eat cat food.”

Aaron laughed as he set the bags down on the wooden table. “Was that a joke, Gabe?” he asked the excited dog.

“No,” the dog replied, his eyes never leaving the white bags. “I really would eat cat food.”

Aaron laughed again and began to remove the food from the bags. Camael was sitting on one of the wooden benches gazing off into space, as if he was watching something a thousand miles away. For all Aaron knew, that very well could have been what he was doing.

“Did he give you a hard time while I was gone?” Aaron asked Camael. For some reason, Gabriel had not taken to the angel and was prone to being difficult when Aaron was not around.

“He chattered, but I ignored him,” Camael said without turning. “And he did eat something off the ground, a filthy habit.”

Aaron glanced down at the dog sitting obediently at his feet. “You know you’re not supposed to do that,” he said sternly.