Az Read online

  by A. A. Bavar

  edited by Natalie Bavar

  current cover illustration by JRDomingo

  original cover art by Sarah Bavar

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Text Copyright © 2013 by A. A. Bavar

  Original Cover Art Copyright © 2015 by Sarah Bavar

  Current Cover Art Copyright © 2019 by JRDomingo

  All rights reserved.

  Published by A. A. Bavar

  www.aabavar.com

  SUMMARY

  Can innocent love heal your heart even if you're the Angel of Death?

  Azrail is an archangel, one of the original four. He's also the Angel of Death, the harvester of souls, the one who comes to your deathbed. But when a ruthless killer makes a deal with Lucifer and murders his goddaughter, the rules change and all hell breaks loose. Az seeks revenge and then narrates his story to the new face of death before succumbing to his fate.

  Az is a fantasy novel that takes us through a journey of deception, rivalry, love, and self-discovery as narrated by the dark and edgy Angel of Death himself. It’s a fast-paced, action packed story full of emotion, witty dialogue, and dark humor. Ultimately, Az is about an archangel who lost himself to humanity only to find himself again in his humanity.

  For my lovely wife, Jennifer, my rock and beacon.

  For my three wonderful children, Sarah, Natalie, and Navid, with love and admiration. If you ever need anything…

  For my mother who is the epitome of fortitude and love.

  For my father who just keeps on going and enjoys all that life has to offer.

  PROLOGUE

  “The root of all evil is greed, and Man is defined by his roots.”

  Lucifer

  ONE

  I am thousands of years old and have won many battles, but tonight I lost the war.

  There was no defining sound of footsteps or rustling of feet, but I knew she was coming. She? Yes, I could tell by the subtle, delicate brushing of her bare feet on the cold, stone floor. “You’re here sooner than I expected.” I paused and allowed my voice to echo in the hollow darkness of the room, staring through the inky blackness at the even darker outline of the approaching hooded figure. She moved with eerie silence and was soon standing behind the oak table in front of me. “Are you committed enough to do this?” I asked in masked anger, even though I knew there was no answer to that question. It was not her decision to make. She had no choice.

  The hooded figure did not move or make the slightest sound as she stood there in dead silence like a statue. How irritating. What the hell was she waiting for, a formal invitation? I angrily rapped my fingers on the table. “You want to take me now? Then do it! But don’t think that I will be asking for repentance from you or anyone else; ever.” Her job description, as far as I knew – and believe me, I did – didn’t ask for much, just the willingness to be in the right place at the right time and offer salvation – when she felt like it. If she was to be my successor, the new face of death, then she had better learn to be more objective, but she just stood there. Her tall, slender figure loomed in front of me, almost as if it were floating, and I wondered what she looked like. Was she young, serene and unblemished? I chuckled softly. Man would take care of that in no time.

  I looked up at her impassive posture and suddenly burst out laughing. If I had lost my sense of compassion and empathy for Man at some point in the past few thousand years, I still had my sense of humor, and although dark and not entertaining to the dying, it was humor nonetheless. “Well, clearly you’re socially handicapped, or just dumbstruck to see me. But lucky for you, your clients do most of the talking, weeping, and begging anyway.” I stopped and scratched my nose. Nothing. “You’re not a mute, are you?” Still nothing. “Okay, Missy. You want to start your job the hard way, be my guest. Want to be my confidant? Listen to my sad story? Fine, I’ll take you up on that offer, but don’t imagine for a second that you won’t be my executioner.” I stopped and squinted, fixing my eyes on where I thought hers would be. “Because you will never be my savior. Now, sit!”

  I heard a soft crackling noise and glanced down, and although I couldn’t see her hands, I knew exactly what she was holding. I would recognize that sound anywhere. “I said, sit.” The robed figure gently pulled the chair back without making a sound and slipped into the seat. I smiled. She had that part down pat. No dead man walking would ever hear her come.

  “How does it feel to hold a dying soul in your hands for the very first time? Can you feel its history? The velvety veins where life used to flow strongly and freely; now brittle and coarse with nothing more to give? Can you feel me there in your hands?” My voice was low, barely audible. “It’s ironic how the hunter ultimately always becomes the hunted. The thrill of pursuit turning into the despair of flight. The only difference here is that I chose to become the hunted and I have no fear.”

  Suddenly, a breeze swept the room and a faint shaft of light fell on the table across from us. The delicate fingers opened as the current snatched what was a withered leaf, and it slowly drifted down, landing softly on the dark, wood surface. I held my breath and closed my eyes. Some part of me did not want to see what I knew was inscribed on that leaf. In a blur, I saw the name of every soul that I had ever retrieved since the beginning of creation flash before me, and the finality of the moment – the result of my decision and actions that day, finally sank in. With a deep breath, I opened my eyes and looked down. To my surprise, the leaf was blank, the space usually inscribed with a name still empty. Then, before I could take a breath of relief, the defining gold letters slowly started to appear in script.

  “Stop!”

  The figure did not move, but the writing came to an abrupt halt right after the tail of the first letter; the letter M. I stared for a moment. M for Malak al-Maut, the Angel of Death; me! What the hell? Was I really ready for this? To give myself to Lucifer without even a final fight? Vanish from existence without anyone knowing why I did what I did? No, the robed figure had to know. She had to hear from me that my fall was not due to weakness. That it was exactly the opposite, a show of ultimate defiance and maybe, just maybe, that knowledge would save her. “This is going to take a while, so get nice and cozy.”

  TWO

  I inhaled, the flow of air into my lungs deliberate, almost calculated, and let my chest expand to its maximum capacity as I pondered where to start. Then, as the pressure increased and I was forced to obey life yet again, I began.

  “Sometimes, we stumble over the truth but still choose to ignore it because it’s the easy way out; the weak way out. But how long do you really think you can fool yourself before someone comes along and smacks reality in your face?” I slowly slid my hand across the table and touched the edge of the leaf. I’m not sure what I expected, maybe visions of my past or feelings of remorse, but for there to be nothing was surprising. I pulled my hand back and continued, “And even if that doesn’t happen, your memories will always be there to remind you, hound you as you try to make peace with yourself. Yes, it’s true that time can take off the edge, make the bitterness of life less acute, but can it really heal you? No! At most, it can stone-wash the images that hide in the crevices of your mind and numb the feelings of pain and sorrow that are stashed away in your heart. But that’s not enough, because there are moments that mark you, scar you, and are always present no matter how long you wait or how hard you try to forget.” I sat up and leaned forward with my arms resting on the table crossed in front of me. I felt like a judge scrutinizing an already convicted defendant.

  The hooded figure was rigid as a
board, her back straight with her head erect and staring in my direction. I cocked my head, trying to see her eyes, but they were hidden under the brim of her hood. “It’s these memories that fester and boil inside you until they get amplified to the point where they consume you; destroy you.” Suddenly, I felt tired.

  I shrugged and leaned back. What did it matter anyway? She was so young. What could she know about life and existence? She was Man turned angel; and I?

  “When I think of it, even I can’t say that I understand existence, but I do know a thing or two about life and death. I wasn’t born from a womb – thank Father for that, but at some point I was simply there, and it was long before the creation of Man. However, it wasn’t life as you experienced it. It was more like an ever present fog that washed over nothing and everything without a real reason. After all, what purpose could there be for me when there was nothing to be purposeful about? But Father changed that and gave me a physical body where I could move and interact, and I immediately became aware that I wasn’t alone. I was finally born to my brothers and the world.”

  I brushed my hand over the surface of the table and revealed the cover of a book that wasn’t there just moments before, The Three Musketeers. Interesting, I still had my powers.

  “My favorite book, and definitely more enjoyable than the Bible.” I passed my index finger over the embossed letters of the cover, stopping at the author’s name. “Alexander Dumas! Ooh, I liked him. He gave us – the four archangels – a lot more life and glory than we deserved, and I enjoyed that. But the way he made us live for life and love was a fallacy.” I recalled something I once told Dumas in a conversation, and said in a grave voice, “It’s necessary to wish for death, and see me come, to know how good it was to live,” and paused. As I looked at the dark form before me, I wondered what kind of life she had and how old she was when I took her soul. Would I even remember her? Did she ask for forgiveness? Man feared me for good reason. For a person waiting for me, death is terrifying, never funny, seldom enlightening, but always revealing.

  “Dumas and I argued, but he still changed the saying and made it eternal in his own way, and got it wrong as Man usually does. Life, with its miseries and losses, is never good. Death, on the other hand, can bring you peace.” I paused. Nothing, no reaction. “Oh, so you want to know about The Three Musketeers? Well, let me tell you. I wanted to call it The Two Musketeers of Heaven, the Newcomer, and the One Who Mucked it All Up, but I saw how that would make heads roll – Dumas’s to be more precise, so I let him keep his boring title as long as he got the story somewhat right.”

  I thought of us – the archangels, as we were in the beginning, before Man, and my stomach muscles tightened. We were so different. “For two of us, life would revolve around death; for the other two, it would be more about service. Yes, the three in the title is somewhat misleading.” I reached down and in the dark felt the hole in the underside of the table where a knot used be, and then slid my fingers diagonally to the left and found the beginning of a deep gouge that ran towards the center of the table. It was old, almost as old as Michael who had put it there, and I would start with him.

  “Michael was quiet and reserved, but with an intense energy and when he talked, you listened. He was always ready to fight for justice and defend Man and never blinked in the face of danger. And why would he?” I stopped and chuckled. She would probably fall in love with him as women do with hunky meat-bricks, or find him terribly demanding, insensitive and unapproachable. “He was huge and way, way too big for anything to scare him, and he designed and perfected every detail of his armor himself. So, it was natural for Man to see him as a God, call to him as the Protector and worship him like no one else.”

  “As for Gabriel, he would love you. You make the perfect audience for his long-winded reasoning. I can’t remember anyone, ever, not conceding to him just to have him shut up.” I looked to the side, almost hoping to see Gabriel standing there. I loved him because he was the only one who could calm me and make me see reason, when I allowed it. “You know, that’s not fair. He was infuriating with his constant calm and warm demeanor. After all, Man misbehaves all the time and I wanted him to react like I would – just once, and slap some sense into Man and make him obey through sheer force and fear. But ultimately, his patience saved and guided Man more times than I can count.” I grinned to myself and said, “The Archangel of Truth and Judgment, all he needed was his mouth and his comfy robe.”

  I was finally where I hated to be, and as before, my muscles tensed and I felt the adrenalin surge in my veins. I could see the reflection of my eyes on the shiny table surface, usually dark and deep, now glowing an electric blue. Even to me, after all these centuries, that was still cool and I surreptitiously looked at my devoted admirer hoping for a reaction; awe would be nice. Nothing. I guess I was too intense, probably even frightening with my disheveled and bruised look. I brushed the damp hair from my eyes and nodded to myself.

  “Well, the boring part is over, ‘cause now we’re going to talk about,” I paused pointedly as I stretched out the ci in my remaining brother’s name, and hissed, “Lucifer.” The thought of our explosive encounters brought a cynical smile to my face. “What can I say that the world doesn’t already know? He was intelligent, handsome and, even then, the soft-spoken and politically driven one. In today’s world, he would be voted the one most likely to succeed.” I smirked. “That should tell you something about Man and his tendencies. Most likely to succeed because you are the best in your class at being elusive, conniving and deceitful. And guess what, Father even named him the Day Star, or Day Spring of a new era; the promise of the future of humanity!”

  I stopped and laughed softly at the irony of it. Still no reaction, not even a sigh or subtle shake of the head from the statue sitting in front of me. “Don’t you see the irony of what is Lucifer? He is darkness, the destroyer of hope and yet his name literally means bringer of light. Damn, are you even listening?” As always, the thought of Lucifer unsettled me and engaged my anger. I abruptly stood up and in my frustration knocked over my chair. It was big and heavy, made of solid wood, and the crash was loud enough to make anyone jump; anyone except my new companion. Maybe she really was deaf. “He had no moral compass, and was a goddamn selfish, power-thirsty tyrant.”

  I remained standing for a moment, embarrassed at my outburst. Then, I picked up the chair in frustration and sat down again, never taking my eyes off of her.

  “Well, we all know what happened to him. He defied Father and finally succeeded in having his own throne by getting his ass kicked out of heaven. And by the way, contrary to popular belief, it was actually Michael who confronted him and expelled him.” I leaned back in my chair and put my feet up on the corner of the table. I wanted to look casual and unconcerned. Why did I even care what she thought of me? “That was a gruesome battle and I remember thinking – quite selfishly, thank God Michael’s the protector and not me. Well, little did I know that from that moment on, I would be the one doing all the fighting where Lucifer was concerned. He was the Lord of the underworld, and with no souls to rein he was thirsty to get his claws into Man. And I, quite naively, helped him with that.”

  I put my feet back on the ground and we both sat there silently in the darkness. This was the last time I would be in my room, my sanctuary, and I wondered what changes she would make. I looked around, and even through that darkness, my eyes found every marker, scratch and scuff mark that defined my existence. I groaned in dismay. She was going to change it all and I knew exactly what she would do. She was going to make it cozy, warm and inviting until her soul told her differently and light and warmth became intolerable. Without warning, anger, rage, deception – I don’t even know what to call it, would replace hope and she would hide in the cloak of darkness wishing she had never been born.

  Strangely, I felt a pang of concern for her. “Are you aware of what you’ve done?” I can still remember how through the ages darkness slowly filled my senses and took o
ver my soul, but no matter how I tried, I had no choice and unlike Man, had to obey. “You were unconquered, invictus! Why would you give that up? And for what? Don’t you see the privilege that was reserved for you alone? To be the master of your fate and the captain of your own soul!” I hated that quote because it was a provocation, a jab at me. As I coached and mentored Dumas, so did Lucifer – for a brilliant instant, inspire William Henley. With a triumphant grin, I grabbed a strand of my wet hair and with a flick of my hand pulled it out. It hurt, the pain shooting through my skull, but the control made me smile. “Today, I was finally the captain of my soul and the master of my fate.”

  My words were pointless. What was done was done and it didn’t look like she cared anyway; but she would. Just like me, a long, long time ago, she was the newcomer and the path was already defined for her. I remembered my first mission as an archangel, the creation of Adam – the one who came from earth; Man created in Father’s image, and sighed with lamentation. If only we could be born already wise to the world. Suddenly, my mind was on fire and images of that fateful day filled the darkness of the room.

  THREE

  Swords cut through the dim light, the red glow of the candlelight reflecting off the edge of their blades, the sound of clashing steel bouncing off the stone walls. It was a masterful show of strength versus agility as Michael and Lucifer tirelessly and with great abandon lunged and parried, doing justice to the future tale of the musketeers. And although the fight was not real, it was as intense and physically demanding as any battle that I would come to face against Lucifer in the future, with the exception that they were not in it to maim each other. I stood watching, observing Michael – the brute force of nature, attack the more polished and controlled Lucifer. I was in the corner of the room that would, unbeknownst to me, become the only place where I could seek a moment’s respite from my obligations; the somber room, as Gabriel would come to call it. But it wasn’t dark and dismal yet, and we were still brothers and united at heart. In an instant, however, that all changed.