"Angel" means "Slave" in Heaven Part II

CHAPTER 2

Cat led the way through the shadowed path with a hozuki lantern lit with a firefly. The angel glared.

"Is it true that fireflies are the souls of small children?" she asked.

"They are undeveloped souls. Child souls." Cat looked back at the angel, a dark bedraggled thing whose head hung down, as was befitting a slave, but whose eyes burned red as the hozuki lantern. Red as an immature soul.

"The Living are savage because of their emotions. The denizens of Heaven are savage because of their lack of emotions," the angel said.

"They're not good for anything else, might as well put them to use."

"Have you ever led the demon host down the mountain?"

"Cats always do. But I in particular have not. But I am leading you up the mountain." Cat chuckled.

"Why?"

"Because it was something to do."

That was answer enough. Cats could not be swayed by anything but their own capriciousness.

They were indeed walking up a mountain. The alleys had disappeared into a misty gloaming scented with spruce and water and night-time longing. There was no sound, save their own footsteps and, somewhere in the invisible distance, the constant dripping of water.

"Is this the right path?" asked the angel.

"Wherever we go is the right path."

The darkness grew oppressive around them. The path lost shape. It was as if they were being squeezed inside a black bag. Cat fought to hold the lantern steady, lest the soul inside escape. The angel was crying, and Cat realized what held them.

"Stop that!" said Cat. "Picture your happiness memory."

"They're all gone, all gone. I lost them all when I sold my soul."

"Do not despair!" Cat snapped. "Tell me a story. Tell me...about your friend."

"My friend?" said the angel, with the voice of a small child. Ah, no wonder. Children were the easiest to trap, after all--their innocence meant they were not so solidly in the World as adults. It was easiest for them to hear the voices of Heaven, and be tricked by them.

"Yes," said Cat soothingly. "Tell me about your best friend."

She sniffled. "He was fat. And wore glasses. I saved him from bullies. They were stomping on his styrofoam planets."

The path had reappeared, the Despair that had threatened to devour them held at bay.

"Why are you crying?" asked Cat.

"My wings," she sniffed. "They hurt."

Cat held the lantern closer. The angel's robe had slipped down and, sure enough, on her white back had sprouted two angry red stubs.

"They're just growing in. They'll be quite fine, I'm sure."

"I don't want them," she pouted, a petulant child. "Everyone knows what I am, when I wear them. And the collar chokes me."

The golden halo had appeared around her neck. From it hung a chain that disappeared after a few links. The other end, the Cat knew, was in her master's hand. The halo was the most poignant symbol of an angel's enslavement.

Cat, who like all cats, loved freedom over all, felt pity for this foolish child.