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Vilma was about to tell her otherwise but didn't have the strength. "No," she said, her fingers again goingto the golden cherub. "I wasn't hungry."

Tina stared at her, saying nothing, and Vilma began to feel self-conscious. She wondered if her eyesshowed that she'd been crying.

"What?" Vilma asked with a strained smile, switching to English. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tina reached down, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her out of the chair. "C'mon," she ordered in ano-nonsense manner. "You're coming with me and Beatrice, and we're going to Pete's for a slice."

Vilma tried to pull away, but her friend held her arm fast. "Look, Tina," she began. "I really don't feel like

..." But then she noticed the expression on her friend's face. There was concern, genuine worry.

"C'mon, Vilma," Tina said, letting go of her arm. "We haven't talked in days. It'll do you good. It's

gorgeous outside, and Beatrice has promised not to talk about how fat she's getting."

Vilma chuckled. It felt kind of good to laugh with someone, she realized.

"Let's go," Tina said, holding out her hand.

Tina was right, Vilma knew, and with a heavy sigh she took her friend's hand and followed her outside tocatch up with Beatrice. It would be nice to get out with her friends. She needed a distraction.

The three girls headed down the driveway toward Pete's. Tina regaledthem with talesabout how hermother had threatened to throw her out of the house if she even thought about getting a belly button ring,and Beatrice, true to form, talked about her expanding bottom.

But Vilma was lost in thoughts of her own. She thought about how nice the weather was, now that springhad finally decided to show, and wondered if the sun was shining as brightly wherever Aaron Corbetwas—and if it wasn't, she wished him sunshine.

Inside the cave, Mufgar of the Orisha clan squatted on bony legs and removed four pumice rocks from aleather pouch at his side. The diminutive creature with leathery skin the color of a dirty penny stacked thestones and, with the help of his three brethren, coaxed the remembrance of fire from the rocks.

The volcanic stones began to smolder, then glow an angry red as the four murmured a spell used by theirkind for more than a millennia. Mufgar laid a handful of dried grass atop the rocks, and it immediatelyburst into flame. Shokad added some twigs to feed the hungry fire as Zawar and Tehom gathered theirweapons and placed them against the cave wall until they were needed again.

The fire blazed warmly and Mufgar adjusted his chieftain's headdress, which was made from the skull ofa beaver and the pelts of two red foxes, upon his overly large, misshapen head.

Sitting down before the roaring campfire, he raised his long, spindly arms to the cave ceiling.

"Mufgar of the Orisha clan has called this council, and you have answered," he growled in the guttural tongue of his people. He leaned toward the fire and spit into the flames. The viscous saliva popped and sputtered as it landed on the burning twigs. "Blessed be they who are the Powers, those who allow us to experience the joys of living even though we have no right to this gift."

The three others cleared their throats and, one after the other, spewed into the blaze. "Praise be for themercy of the Powers," the Orishas said in unison.

"We are as one," Mufgar said as he brought his arms down. "The council is seated. It has begun."

Mufgar gazed at the three who had gathered for this calling, saddened by how their numbers had

dwindled over the centuries. He remembered a time when a cave of this size wouldn't have begun to hold

the clan's numbers. Now, that was but a distant memory.

"I have called this council, for our merciful masters have bestowed upon us a perilous task," Mufgar said, addressing his followers. "A task with a most generous reward, if we should succeed." He looked at what remained of his tribe and saw the fear in their eyes—the same fear he felt deep within his own heart.

Shokad, the shaman, shook his head. Hislong, braided hair, adorned with the bones of many a woodlingcreature, rattled like chimes touched by the wind. He murmured something inaudible beneath his breath.

"Does something trouble you, wise Shokad?" Mufgar asked.

The old Orisha ran a bony hand across his wide mouth and gazed into the crackling fire. "I have beenhaving troubling dreams of late," he replied, the small, dark wings on his back fluttering to life. "Dreamsthat show a place of great beauty, a place where all our kind have gathered and we live not under theyoke of the Powers," he whispered, making cautious reference to the host of angels that were theirmasters.

Mufgar nodded his skull-adorned head. "Your dreams show a future most interesting," he observed,stroking the long braid hanging from his chin. "If we succeed in our new task, our masters say they willreward us with blessed freedom. Our independence we will have earned."

"But... but to achieve this we must hunt the Nephilim," Tehom stammered. "Capture it and bring it to

Verchiel." The great hunter looked as though he would break into tears, he was so filled with fright.

"If we wish to be free of the Powers," Mufgar said to them all, "we must complete this sacred chore.

Then, and only then, will we be allowed to search for theSafe Place ."

With the mention of the Orishas' most sacreddestination, all four blessed themselves by touching thecenter of their foreheads, the tips of their pointed noses, their mouths, and then their chests.

Zawar climbed to his feet, frantically dancing from one bare foot to the other. His wings flutterednervously. "But our task is impossible," he said, pulling at the long, stringy hair on his head. "The Nephilimwill destroy us with ease— look at how he bested the great Verchiel in combat. You saw the scars—weall saw the scars."

Mufgar remembered the burns covering Verchiel's body. The scars were severe, showing great angerand strength in the one who inflicted them. If that could be done to the one who was the leader of the Powers, what chance did they have? "It is the task bestowed upon us," he said with the authority thatmade him chief. "There is no other way."

"No," Shokad interjected, slowly shaking his head from side to side. "That is not true. The dreams show

me a world where our masters have been destroyed by the Nephilim."

Mufgar felt himself grow more fearful. The shaman's dreams were seldom wrong, but what he wasspeaking—it went against the ways of the Orishas. Since their creation, they had served the Powers.

"You speak blasphemy," the leader hissed as he pointed a long, gnarled finger at the shaman. "It would

not surprise me if Lord Verchiel himselfappeared in this very cave and turned you to ash."

Tehom and Zawar huddled closer together, their large eyes scanning the darkness for signs of the

terrifying angel's sudden arrival.

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 payattention."

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 notcare 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 liveonly as long as the Powers allow us to," he said, searching for something amongst their supplies. Findingit, he returned to the fire, where he sat down and opened the small bundle. Inside were the shriveledremains 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. Heoffered the snacks to the others.

Mufgar could not believe his ears. Had theyall been stricken with madness?
How can they speak suchtreason?
 
he wondered. But deep down he knew. The Powers had no love for them, thinking them nobetter than animals. "Our creators broke the laws of God by making us," Mufgar explained in an attemptto restore their sanity with a reminder of their people's history. "We are blemishes upon the one God'sworld. The Powers have allowed us to live—to prove ourselves worthy of the life bestowed upon us bytheir fallen brethren. When we have done this, then and only then will we be given our freedom andallowed to search for theSafe 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 certainlybring about their doom. He remembered how he had tried to convince the others to stay, all the timewishing that he had had the courage to go with them. But he was chief, and was slave to the traditions ofold.

Mufgar crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. "They are dead," he said definitely. "They havedisobeyed our laws."

The shaman looked to Zawar and Tehom, who were both chewing their meal of dried vermin, then backto Mufgar. "But what if they aren't dead?" he asked in an clandestine whisper. "What if they succeeded infinding 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 thissimple? To steal away unnoticed and find their own Heaven.
 
"Lord Verchiel has said that any whodefy his wishes would be expunged from existence."

Shokad slid closer. "But times are changing, Great Mufgar," he said. "Verchiel and his Powers aredistracted 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 thefallen." He picked a piece of tail from between his two front teeth. "And our masters do not want this, Ithink."

It had been hours since he'd last fed, and Mufgar snatched up a dried carcass from the open pouch. "Soyou suggest we disobey the Powers, ignore our orders—forsake our chance at true freedom." He took abite of the mouse's head and waited for an answer. The dried meat had very little flavor, and he yearnedfor 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 oftendreamed ofwhen 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 topass 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 greatwisdom to their concerns."

In his mind's eye he saw an image of those who had left the clan in search of theSafe Place . He sawthem living in the beauty ofParadise — but then a dark cloud passed over, and from the sky, fire raineddown 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 fromthe 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 overthe 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 fireburned down, the stones forgetting their past, leaving the cave in darkness.