James sat up and yawned, running his hands through his sandy blond hair. Getting out of bed, he padded barefoot to the tiny bathroom of his cabin and took a quick shower beneath the spray of lukewarm water, then dressed in loose jeans and a plain t-shirt. Donning his Akubra hat and grabbing his sunglasses, cell phone and keys, James tugged on his worn and scuffed work boots and headed outside.
The bright blue sea of the Great Australian Bight caught his attention as it did every morning. It made living in the tiny town of Ngapa bearable. Ngapa was a tiny desert town nearly equidistance between the capital cities of Adelaide and Perth that served to provide travellers along the Nullarbor Plain with a place to rest. Sometimes people stayed for several days or a week, or the drivers of road trains would take a day to rest before continuing on to their destination. It was a town with a fluid population, people coming and going on a near daily basis; those who lived permanently in Ngapa were owner-operators or employees of the few amenities in the town.
Today, the sea was teal with patches of rich, dark, navy blue indicating depths and flows of the current, with no whitecaps on the gentle swells of the waves. The red desert with its uneven patchwork of grey-green saltbushes ran along the flat plain to the seashore where the sand turned white, and then the brilliance of the water began.
Touching the silver Celtic cross around his neck, James put on his sunglasses and turned towards the building that was a motel, truck-stop, restaurant, gas station and caravan park all in one. This was where he worked, living on the premises in one of the cabins that the owners, Marge and Bert, kept for their employees. Also living in Ngapa were Bill, who owned and ran the bar, and Tommy, his wife Rita and their children, Indigenous Australians who worked for Marge and Bert and lived nearby in a small cabin they had built on the edge of the caravan park. James had been living in Ngapa for nine months and had come to think of the small community as family.
"G'day, cobber." Tommy grinned at him as James walked into the office of the motel building to check his roster for the day. "Sleep well?"
"Not too bad. At least it isn't humid at night." James grinned back. "How's Rita this morning?"
"Pretty good. She's setting up for class with the kids. We had to get Bert out early to set up the satellite dish for School of the Air to come through properly. She doesn't trust that internet thing at all."
"Don't blame her. Is the coffee hot?" James nodded towards the coffee urn.
"Hot as a tin roof, mate." Tommy moved out of the way as James made a beeline for the urn and mugs. "How you can drink that stuff is beyond me."
"Too early for beer," James shrugged. "And I need to wake up properly." As he prepared his coffee, he leaned back against the counter. "What's on the schedule for the day?"
"Not a lot. It's gonna be a quiet one. Few road trains scheduled to stop for gas and probably a beer or two, but that's about it." Tommy consulted the large notebook with the details for the week's arrivals. "You've got a light day's work today. Just a bit of cleaning up in the gardens Marge likes so much and manning the gas station in the afternoon."
"Okay," James nodded. "Sounds fine. No tourist groups?"
"Not this week." Tommy flicked through the pages of the notebook. "Not next week neither. Makes a nice change. So, you want to join me and Rita and the kids for tea tonight?"
James smiled at the invitation. "That'd be great. Thanks, mate."
"No worries. You always seem to like Rita's food."
"And the homebrew," James laughed. "You make a mean lager, Tommy."
"Hey, a man has to know how to use his talents. And I have many," Tommy joked. "Say seven?"
"Sounds good." James drained his coffee, pulling a face. "Okay, time to clean then ... see if Marge or Bert need me for anything else, I guess. I'll see you tonight."
It didn't take long to rake the scant leaves and clean up the gardens that Marge had put in the year before, giving overnight guests somewhere to sit if they didn't want to stay indoors, go down to the beach or the motel's pool. Finished, James hummed to himself as he put the gardening implements away in the shed and turned to head inside when a headache came out of nowhere.
"F-fuck," James gasped, squeezing his eyes tightly closed. He pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead as he groped blindly with his other hand for the wall to steady himself. The headache was the worst he'd felt in some years—when he'd been a teenager, he'd suffered from cluster headaches and they were the sort of thing he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. But this was awful: the pain was intense and he thought he could hear something like a confused babble of voices—harsh, unpleasant voices that sounded akin to nails scratching down a chalkboard. The sun was pounding on him like boiling knives and the headache made every part of his body sensitive. James dropped to his knees, crying out raggedly as the pain grew even more intense. The voices seemed to grow louder, the sound of raucous, ugly laughter accompanying them.
The next thing James knew, there were hands on him; warm, gentle hands, and the sound of urgent conversation. He couldn't figure out if the words came from the voices in his head or from someone else. All he knew was pain, the sensation similar, he imagined, to having a herd of buffalo stampeding back and forth over his skull.
"Get him out of the sun."
"Quickly now!"
"Bert, go get Maggie."
James felt himself being half-lifted, half-dragged indoors to the blessedly cool and dim interior of the staff room of the motel. He heard a rough sound that seemed almost as loud as a gunshot and realised that it came from the venetian being drawn closed. James felt a cool towel press against his forehead, and with a gasp, he reached blindly for something, anything, to anchor him to the real world.
"There now, there's a lad."
James recognised the voice as belonging to Rita, her soft timbre soothing to his ears. "Rita?" he managed to grit out. "What ... "
"Shh, lie down."
He moved unresisting to the sofa, lying back and groaning with relief when he suddenly found himself inhaling the strong, pleasant scent of eucalyptus. The pain in his head subsided a little and he moaned. "Shit."
"Can you tell me what's wrong, love?" That was Marge, James thought fuzzily. He nodded slowly, and then winced, wishing he hadn't moved his head at all as it throbbed.
"Headache," he muttered. "A really fucking bad one. Worse than a migraine or a cluster headache."
"Here." Rita again, he thought. "Inhale. Gently, mind."
James did as he was told, smelling more eucalyptus and accompanying spearmint. It didn't ease the pain entirely, but it was enough for him to open his eyes without crying out.
"Drink this." Rita handed him a chipped mug full of steaming liquid.
"What is it?" he asked, even as he sipped it.
"Tea," she said calmly. "Rock fuchsia bush: it's good for soothing headaches. It's an old bush remedy my Gran taught me years ago. It'll help."
He grunted in reply, still drinking even as Bert entered the room with Maggie, the local nurse, in tow. James flushed slightly, embarrassed by the commotion he'd caused.
"I'm okay," he began, but he was hushed by Maggie as she moved to examine him carefully. "It's just a headache," he added lamely.
"A bad one," Maggie said thoughtfully. "Do you have a history of migraines, James?"
He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I used to get cluster headaches when I was younger. That was years ago, though. Last one I had was when I was nineteen, so ten years ago."
"Cluster headaches." Maggie shook her head. "Those things are the worst. I think you'd better spend the rest of the day in bed with the fan on and the curtains closed."
There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled as Maggie rummaged through her bag and pulled out the necessary pills for headache relief. "Take these," she ordered. "Two now, then one every two hours."
"Yes, ma'am." James managed a wan smile, taking the pills from her and setting down the now empty mug.
"Water." Marge handed him a glass.
"Thanks." Still embarrassed by the fuss he had caused, he swallowed the pills and pulled a face. "Ugh, pill-coating tastes revolting."
They all chuckled, the tension broken. The sound of a loud air horn outside made them all jump and Bert swore.
"Shit, it's the first road train. A sixteen-wheeler, I think. C'mon, Tommy, give me a hand, mate."
Tommy nodded. "Will do. Jimbo." He turned to look sternly at James. "Go to your cabin and rest. We'll look after things. You're lucky we've got light traffic today."
"Okay, okay, fine, I'm going." James held up a hand in surrender. He didn't wave off Rita, Marge and Maggie's help to stand or to walk the short distance from the motel building to his cabin. They left him alone with water, the headache pills and the ceiling fan turned on high, the venetian blinds and the curtains drawn closed. James groaned as he lay on his back with his eyes shut and tried not to think.
How long he'd been asleep, he had no idea, but James came awake with the feeling that he was no longer alone. Thinking it was Rita or Marge (Maggie would have to go back to work, checking on other patients who lived along that part of the Nullarbor) he pulled a face as he sat up slowly.
"Couldn't leave me alone, huh?"
"I think," said a soft male voice, "you're mistaking me for someone else, James Marlowe."
James blinked, turning to stare at the owner of the voice. Sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed was a man who appeared to be near to James own age of twenty-nine—or perhaps a little older. He had dark, shoulder length hair and pale skin, and wore simple blue jeans and a dark grey t-shirt. His eyes were a bright, piercing blue, a colour that reminded James immediately of that navy blue of the deeper parts of the sea. They were beautiful eyes, almost mesmerising in their intensity and James felt himself inexplicably drawn by them.
"Who are you?" James asked. Ngapa was remote enough that random strangers wandering into his cabin was practically unheard of ... at least until now.
"My name is Raziel," said the man as he stood up. "And I am the Archangel of Secrets and Mysteries."
James stared at him incredulously, suspicion turning immediately to scepticism. "Right. Sure you are. And I'm the pope."
"Very droll." Raziel rolled his eyes. "Your headache. Is it still bothering you?"
"A little," James admitted, and then he frowned. "What the hell is this? Who are you really?"
"As I said," Raziel shrugged. "I could prove it to you if you wish, but you humans seldom enjoy such demonstrations."
"Yeah, well, no." James crossed his arms over his chest, completely unconvinced by Raziel's words. "Prove it."
Raziel let out a heavy sigh, the sound of one who is truly put-upon, and before James's astonished eyes, a pair of russet brown wings were suddenly visible, unfurling and stretching. The room seemed suddenly tiny with those large, magnificent wings revealed—not fully spread, however, for they would not have fit. There was a faint sheen of bronze light around the feathers, a light that both drew James and filled him with fear. He gulped.
"Okay, I believe you." James was amazed at how even his voice sounded.
Raziel quirked an eyebrow. "Well now, that was easy. I thought I'd have to levitate you to the top of the motel building or something else equally tacky."
"No, no, the wings are ... well, the wings are bloody amazing; that's good enough for me." James couldn't take his eyes off them. "But ... I don't believe in God, sorry. Or the Devil or demons or angels or, well, you."
"That's all right," Raziel smiled, and James noticed a flicker of that strange bronze light in his eyes. "You don't have to believe in us. We believe in you."
James had no reply for that. The words made the hackles on the back of his neck stand on end and he shivered, even though it wasn't particularly cool in his bedroom. It wasn't simply the words, however: James couldn't help but stare at Raziel, taking in his slender form, the warmth of his smile, the way his cheeks dimpled. Raziel was beautiful, beautiful and intriguing and a million other clichéd words and phrases that James didn't want to dwell upon, for fear of turning crimson in embarrassment and feeling like a horny teenager. It wasn't just the wings or the smile or his body, James realised, as Raziel carefully furled the wings against his back where they faded from sight: it was those intense, otherworldly eyes and the voice and ...
Oh God, he was doomed. He was lusting after an archangel. James forced himself to pay attention to Raziel's words as he continued talking.
"Now, I am not my brother, Raphael, who is the healer of my family, but I do know a little of the healing arts, and we need to talk, you and I. So I am going to fix your headache so that you can concentrate on what I have to say, all right?"
"If you can get rid of the headache, I'll concentrate on whatever you want," James promised.
Raziel chuckled and moved to stand in front of James, resting his hands on top of James's head. "Just listen to me is all I ask."
James nodded, falling silent again as he felt the warmth of Raziel's touch cascading through his skull like a comforting blanket. There was the sense of muscles being relaxed, of pain being sponged away and soothing caresses on his mind by invisible fingers that left little trickles of what felt like electricity in their wake. James's eyes fell closed as he relaxed completely, lulled by the power of Raziel's touch.
Finally, Raziel stepped back and looked into James's face critically as he opened his eyes, then nodded once. "Good." Raziel sat down again, pulling a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans and lighting one with a lazy snap of his fingers. "So. Let's talk."
James leaned back against his headboard. "Okay." He realised that he had no idea what to say. And yet ... "Why is an angel smoking?" he blurted out. "Isn't that sort of a sin?"
Raziel chuckled. "I enjoy my vices, James. They aren't many, really—cigarettes, the occasional beer, sex. My father is much less strict about these things than you humans would otherwise believe. Our duties are such that these little ... tastes of ours are forgiven as a necessary evil if you will—something we do to wind down, to relax or to cope. What we do, after all, is rarely pleasant or easy." He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly and gazing steadily at James, his expression unreadable.
"I need your help, James," Raziel continued, taking another deep drag of his cigarette. "A book has been stolen from me, a very important book—a book that I wrote a very long time ago. It's been stolen and hidden by some very unpleasant creatures. Now, before you ask me what this has to do with you, I shall tell you. For I am just that awesome." He grinned boyishly and James couldn't help but laugh.
"Okay, Raziel the Awesome, tell me."
"Raziel the Awesome, huh? I like the sound of that." Raziel's expression grew serious. "The book is called the Sefer Raziel, which is, essentially, the book of me. I wrote it and gave it to Adam. Yes, the Adam who was married to Eve and lived in Eden, before you ask. It's a book of magic and a guide to taking care of this planet. It's been stolen from the place I have kept it in for eons by a rather nasty little archdemon named Adramelech, who seems to think he can use it to start the final battle and give Lucifer an advantage over my oldest brother, Michael. I'd really rather he didn't do that—I'm sure you can understand why. I don't particularly want to see Dad's—God's—creation destroyed or watch my big brother die, even if he is a stuffy, uptight, pain in the ass sometimes."
"What's this got to do with me?" James asked.
"You can hear demons." Raziel exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. "That's the reason for what you call cluster headaches—which are a very real thing, I hasten to add—but not what you yourself suffered. The headache today is worse because Adramelech is close. This barren wasteland you live in suits his needs. I can't find him, but you can."
" ... what?" James blinked. "I what now?"
"Hear demons," Raziel repeated patiently. "Like ... internet radio for Hell."
"Gee, that doesn't make it sound any less psycho or, pardon my language, fucked up!" James got to his feet, raking his hands through his hair. "I hear demons?! What the hell!"
"It does not mean you are evil, James," Raziel said calmly. "Some humans can hear angels, others hear demons, and still others hear both. Those unfortunates who hear both inevitably end up in institutions. The human mind is not designed to cope with the sounds of Celestial and Gehennan voices simultaneously." His expression grew sad. "I like humans," Raziel went on, "and it grieves me to see the effects that the sound of those voices have on human minds. The human mind is an amazing, remarkable thing, capable of infinite ideas, concepts, inventions. Seeing such potential torn apart by the agony of noise like that is ... well. It saddens me." He shook his head. "Anyway. To return to the point. You, my friend, hear demons. Congratulations." Raziel grinned, the display of his quixotic mood-swings not lost on James, although he chose not to comment on it. There was, after all, a bigger issue to discuss.
"I hear demons. Do you have any idea how fucking fucked up that is?" James was shaking—with shock or anger, he wasn't sure. "So, wait. Let's say I believe you. You want me to tune into demon radio and figure out where they are and what they're planning, is that it?"
"More or less," Raziel agreed smoothly. "For now, though, I think you need to eat. You must be hungry."
James waved a finger at Raziel. "Don't think you can fob me off, mate. We're coming back to this topic."
"Of course." Raziel stood up. "However, I have found humans tend to deal better with a new situation if they are regularly fed."
"Oh good, now I feel like a fucking sheep or a cow." James rolled his eyes.
"Nonsense." Raziel smiled brightly. "If you were a sheep or a cow, it would be cannibalism."
James gaped at Raziel. "You are fucking weird," he said finally. "I mean that in the nicest way, of course."
"Quite." Raziel's grin grew cheeky. "You also think I'm attractive and are having lustful thoughts about me. I'm flattered."
"You're reading my thoughts? Don't! Don't read my thoughts!" James blushed to the roots of his hair.
"As you wish. Shall we go and eat?" Raziel gestured towards the door.
"Fine." James shook his head. "This is ... the most bizarre day I have ever had. I can't believe I believe this shit."
"Stranger things have happened. Come." Raziel gestured again. "You require nourishment."
James rolled his eyes and moved towards the door. "How am I going to explain you to my friends here?"
"However you like." Raziel's expression was serene as he lightly touched James's elbow. "I'm sure you're inventive."
"Great," James muttered. "Just fucking great."
Tommy intercepted them on the short walk from James's cabin to the restaurant. James smiled at his friend as Tommy clapped his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
"You look much better, lad," Tommy said, nodding to emphasise his words.
"I feel it and all," James replied.
"I didn't know you were expecting a mate, though." Tommy was looking at Raziel now, his expression curious.
"Oh, right, yeah." James nodded. "This is Raz, a friend from the UK; I forgot he was coming today, what with the headache coming out of nowhere like it did."
"Understandable." Tommy's expression cleared and he offered Raziel his hand. "Nice to meet you, Raz. Any friend of James is welcome here."
Raziel shook the proffered hand, nodding politely. "Likewise, Tommy." As he looked around, James could see that Raziel was taking in the facilities and the landscape, and that his expression was growing more and more puzzled by the moment.
"Where's the nearest town?" Raziel asked, turning back to James and Tommy.
"You're standing in it," James said, trying not to laugh.
Raziel blinked, turning in a small circle. "But ... there are no houses or streets or anything of that sort. Just that long road that I assume is a highway."
"Nope. Welcome to outback Australia." Tommy was starting to chuckle now and James couldn't hold back his own amused grin.
"How many people live here?" Raziel sounded incredulous.
"Fifty, officially," Tommy shrugged. "The population changes because the tourists and some of the drivers of the road trains stop overnight. Or longer, in some cases."
"What is a road train?"
"Big truck," James supplied. "Usually a twelve- or sixteen-wheeler, carrying goods from one capital city to the other. They usually supply the big chain grocery stores and places like that. Or they carry cars or sheep or cattle."
Raziel frowned in confusion, looking out toward the highway and the desert on the other side. "And no one lives out there?" He pointed towards the scrub.
"No." Tommy shook his head. "The tribes people who lived here when this place first got settled died out." His voice was clipped as he spoke and James smoothly interjected before Raziel could ask another question.
"There's a history museum of sorts just up the highway, Raz, if you're interested in that."
Raziel quirked an eyebrow but didn't press the issue, instead shaking his head as a small car whizzed past, sending up a cloud of dust in its wake. "Barren place," he remarked.
"Desert's like that." Tommy was smiling again. "C'mon you two, you must be thirsty." He gestured toward the restaurant attached to the motel and gas station. "Unless you want to go to the pub?"
"Restaurant's fine," James nodded. "I'm hungry anyway. Which is a good sign, because those headaches usually make me hate food and throw up when I smell it."
"Bloody awful, mate." Tommy pulled a face in sympathy. "Rita'll be glad to hear you're feeling better. Raincheck on dinner, though; I think you need to get an early night."
James didn't protest. Truth be told, an early night sounded like a good idea. He was still tired, and despite Raziel removing the pain of the headache, the experience had worn him out. He nodded and smiled at his friend gratefully. He was about to say something when Raziel stopped dead in his tracks and stared, pointing.
"What on earth is that?"
"It's a big blue whale," Tommy said calmly.
"I can see that, but ... why is it here?" Raziel stared at it.
"It advertises beer, mate." Tommy stifled a laugh behind a cough.
"It's made of solid concrete," James added helpfully, grinning broadly at Raziel's astonishment.
"But ... but ... why? Why is it here? Why at all? Why a big, blue concrete whale?" Raziel's confusion was obvious.
James and Tommy shared a grin.
"Why not?" Tommy chuckled.
"That's not an answer," Raziel frowned, looking at Tommy.
"Sure it is, mate," Tommy laughed. "It's just not an answer you like."
It was an astute remark, James thought, as Raziel's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Raziel was wise beyond imagining, but such things as giant, concrete whales advertising beer in the middle of the Australian Desert were beyond his ability to rationalise. That seemingly flippant answer of 'why not' was, James thought, a very good answer to most of the questions of why anyone did anything at all. And, he realised suddenly, Raziel, a creature of nearly unlimited power and knowledge, would find the answer of 'why not' as frustrating and unsatisfactory as James found the knowledge that angels and demons were real. For both of them, the information only led to more questions and the answers to those questions were equally frustrating and unsatisfactory. It was like a mental Escher painting: no matter how much information they had, it still led to only more questions and tangents and ultimately, more confusion. It was something he had in common with Raziel and that made Raziel more human and less alien. It was comforting.
"There are loads of big things around the country," Tommy was saying. "Big orange, pineapple, rocking horse, macadamia nut, barramundi, River Murray cod, you name it."
"Why?" Raziel blinked in confusion.
"Again, why not?" Tommy laughed. "C'mon, mate. Come inside and eat. Don't think too much about it; it's not really supposed to make sense. It just is."
Raziel opened his mouth, and then closed it again, looking at James in bewilderment. "This is ... very strange."
"You not been to Australia before, then?" Tommy asked as he walked to the door, holding it open for them.
"Not in many years, no." Raziel nodded his thanks as he entered, James on his heels.
"Don't mention what you are," he hissed to Raziel.
"I wasn't intending to," Raziel replied mildly. "I'm not a complete idiot, you know. There's no reason to say what I am to these good people and confuse or upset them. This place ... " He stopped, gesturing to the restaurant, the big blue whale and the town of Ngapa as a whole. " ... is remarkable. Strange and confusing, yes, but remarkable."
"I like it," James said. "Let's get some food. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
Raziel chuckled. "I don't actually need to eat, James, but I will do so, to preserve the fiction that I am human."
"Good on you." James rolled his eyes.
"I thought so." Raziel, undeterred by sarcasm, merely grinned.
"You're a brat," James declared.
"Yes, yes I am." Raziel winked and James laughed, unable to stop himself.
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