The sky was a deep and brilliant blue, only shades brighter than the sea at the middle of the world, and there were flowers and tall grass; it felt like home. A warm, salty sea breeze came up to the cliffs, and flower petals skirled through the air. The flurry of delicate petals reminded Morpheus of an anime scene. He wanted to say so, he started to, but Absinthe and Laudanum darted away from him.

They were speaking Greek. Morpheus had to listen carefully and translate before he understood. They were lething on; a murmur of fleeting thoughts: the air is so sweet, the land is so warm, there are not too many Humans, just enough to amuse us.

"You haven't even been born yet, but here you are. We haven't even been born yet!" Absinthe said in the language that would be American.

Laudanum tried to impress upon Morpheus how few Humans there were in this age, an age where gods ruled. And certainly, they could be counted among these gods.

"But there is only one God," Morpheus said, "and God is not a person as you or I. Not something...small."

Laudanum giggled.

"But the Humans don't know that!" Absinthe said.

She laughed and danced about the field. Her amber hair changed to green as she spun, from the tips of the longest locks to the shortest layers, as her skin did the same, first at the center of her body and then in her limbs. She wore something insubstantial as those nets the Humans below used to catch fish. It looked like it might actually be a fishing net decorated with green seaweed.

Laudanum wore an immaculate white chiton and delicate sandals: the same thing he had worn every time Morpheus had seen him.

Morpheus was still practicing with forming clothing, but had managed a simple black cloak in keeping with the age, which he might have called a poncho.

"Couldn't I go talk to some Humans?" Morpheus asked, "I've barely gotten to talk to any."

Absinthe shook her head. "You're too new, you might say the wrong thing and confuse them."

"You're my mentors. Aren't you supposed to teach me?"

"No, we are merely here to facilitate your self-education, Little Brother," Laudanum said.

Absinthe smiled. "What we'll do is this: we'll go see if any of the other Angels are about. If they have Humans with them, you may speak to those ones. But, don't talk to strangers, Murph."

Morpheus said nothing and followed.

Absinthe explained that the land Morpheus might know as Greece was then little but a beach resort to the gods, as their bases of operation and battlefields were in the east. This was why, she said, though the Greek storytellers had quite a few things right, it seemed a great number of myths they passed down were tragic love affairs between gods and men.

Laudanum explained to Morpheus how love affairs often formed at resorts.

Morpheus did not think he was ready for love affairs.

They came to a small house near the slope of a hill. Several olive trees grew without and some flowers. There were three figures in sight: a Human and two Angels. Morpheus could tell that much, at a glance, from the glow or aura about the two.

Laudanum approached the Angels while Absinthe fell back to walk alongside Morpheus.

"Now," she said, taking his arm, "This is an Angel highly ranked, so wait until he speaks to you. But, I am sure, if I know this one, that he will be friendly to us!"

"One of the Seraphim," Morpheus said. He was getting better at distinguishing the specific Orders within the three triads. Seraphim were usually recognizable by six-part wings

The Angel, bare-chested and having gold and brown coloring, reclined on a low couch outside the house. "You're blocking my sun," he said to Laudanum.

Laudanum quickly stepped aside. "I beg your pardon, Ra."

The Angel hissed a laugh. "I do not often get that nickname. It was a mistake you know. The Sun, yes, but I was never known to spend time in Egypt. Must have had something to do with one of Lucifer or Tristopher's plots to elevate Eros to a higher rank. Anyway, come sit down." He turned to the other Angel, who was likely from the lower Orders by his slight build, "Fetch us something to eat, Remi!"

"As you wish, Raf," said the smaller Angel, then ran off toward the house, orange wings fluttering behind.

Absinthe led Morpheus to the couch. "This is my cousin-nephew," she said.

"Ah, a creature from The Allegory if I ever saw one. A youth sent to us from the gates of karas, no, elphas! This one is sent to counterfeit forms."

The one called Remi suddenly popped into being, tray of glasses humming and rattling, just in time to burst into bubbly laughter.

"I'm not actually from Dream," Morpheus said quietly.

"American?" the one called Raf asked. "Of course, your mother passed from her father's house to that of her love, but I know Dream's creatures when I see them. I was Regent of Dream, for a little while, before I shifted to the fallen one's rank. Before Jibril was created to take my place."

"You are that Raf? Archon Raphael?" asked Morpheus, another memory gaining context.

"I am. We've got so many names by now. Rather makes one regret not leaving the people of Babyl to their ambitions. We must have had a good reason not to."

"Nephillim Spawn infestation," Remi whispered.

"Oh, yes." Raphael turned and took a bunch of grapes from the tray. "Here," he said, "have something to eat, talk. Remiel will fetch what you require. Don't worry about Hyacinth there, he's not one of those ambitious boys, just hedonistic."

Remiel laughed, again.

Raphael took up his lyre and sang several amusing stories for them. Remiel laughed at them all.

It seemed to Morpheus that Raphael was likewise hedonistic. Wherever it did not interfere with being righteous, he took pleasure. His stories indicated he had been living in Greece many Earth years. He apparently allowed Remiel to hang on and didn't mind Hyacinth, though he said the young man had other interests. Raphael told a lot of jokes:

"What does a Venusian do at a stop sign?" he asked.

"I've no idea!" said Remiel.

"What stop sign?" Raphael broke into snickering, sibilant laughter.

Absinthe had to explain that before it got so very hot Venus had been a popular place for racing. Now, she said, Venus was an awful lot like the image of Hell the Europeans would be creating; hot and smelling of sulfur. Not that Hell had anything to do with Venus, except perhaps that Lucifer was associated with both.

Jokes weren't funny when they had to be explained.

As the sun began to set, Morpheus left the others to watch from the nearby cliff. He'd been living in a land of permanent twilight and had never seen a sunset, just a troubled Manhatten skyline that one time.

The sky darkened shade by shade. The water below seemed to blacken. Yet, the air was warm. Morpheus imagined the flowers were making him sleepy, but he knew that wasn't likely.

It might have been something he sensed in Hyacinth. The Human approached from behind Morpheus and whispered something at his ear. Morpheus didn't know quite what he was saying, not at first. It was all Greek.

The young man spread his cloak on the grass and then sat. He had dark hair and eyes that seemed black in the night and skin that glistened. In that moment, the chiton Hyacinth wore seemed more revealing than when Morpheus saw his brother dressed in the same manner.

Morpheus averted his gaze to one side.

Hyacinth leaned in towards Morpheus. He smelled like fragrant oil.

Morpheus sat still, he watched Hyacinth's hands move along the grass between them. The blades tickled his knee.

Hyacinth tipped his head and moistened his lips with his tongue.

"Why are you in close proximity to me?" Morpheus asked.

Hyacinth leaned back and smiled. "You seem lonely yet agreeable sitting here."

"I don't look Human."

Hyacinth pursed his lips, then reached again toward Morpheus.

"I don't know if this is right," Morpheus whispered.

"I do not understand your language." Hyacinth stayed his hand. "Can I not be beloved to you?"

"It's not you," Morpheus said, "I'm not sure I'm...ready."

Hyacinth did not move any closer. Instead, he tugged at an edge of his garment to expose himself.

"I don't have that." Morpheus bit down on his lip.

"What are you saying? I have heard Hermes and Apollo say that you can take any form."

Morpheus felt full of mice. He shut his eyes tight and tried to send some explanation into Hyacinth's mind, but something else happened. It was not words but images that flooded forth reflexively as contact was made.

Morpheus chewed at the edge of his thumb and opened his eyes. Hyacinth knelt in the grass, eyes swimming from side to side, and hands poised before his face. Gradually, Morpheus came to know what he'd done. He could sense it: Hyacinth was dreaming.

He had cast dreams into Hyacinth's mind.

Morpheus watched the youth's hands climb into his dark hair. He knew Hyacinth's dream. He could see it. Hyacinth dreamt of Morpheus.

That seemed OK. That wasn't really Morpheus in the dream. Everyone got what they wanted, more or less.

Dreamcasting, Raphael called it.

While Hyacinth slept inside the house, Raphael advised Morpheus how to use this talent.

"You have not a few abilities for one only three-quarters Angel," Raphael said.

Morpheus sighed at that.

"Not that surprising in one with multiple lines of descent from Leliel."

"Yeah," said Morpheus, just agreeing.

"Your blend of abilities may very well be needed someday."

"Right." Morpheus scoffed. "Like a hero in one of your songs."

Raphael grinned at Morpheus. "Not all labors require the same type of strength. We each play our part."

Raphael suggested Morpheus might ask Jibril's permission to try dreamcasting on other Humans. Neither thought it would be wise to try it on sleeping Angels, though Remiel rested on one of the beds.

When their lessons were finished, Raphael lay beside Remiel on the larger bed. The smaller Angel's saffron wing folded over Raphael's arm.

Morpheus was tempted to look in on their dreams, but it did not seem righteous use of his ability.

He went out from the house and gazed up at the night sky.

He watched stars spin, planets wander, and moon set.

Morpheus watched sunrise from the roof of the house where he saw Raphael emerge as the sunlight broke over the eastern horizon. As the sun reached the windows in the small house, the others rose and came out. First, Remiel and Hyacinth and later, Laudanum and Absinthe stretching limbs and rubbing eyes.

Raphael took up his bow and arrows and said he would go hunting. Hyacinth went along, carrying the quiver.

Remiel retired to the couch set in their meadow between house and cliff. He did a fair impression of Raphael, laying in the sun and feeding himself grapes. "They'll be gone a while."

At first, Morpheus thought Remiel suggested hunting involved patience, but Laudanum giggled.

Morpheus supposed he might not be the only one Hyacinth had tried to distract by removing clothing.

Making such advances must be typical resort behavior, part of the love affairs. Morpheus didn't see any wrong in hedonists having their pleasure, but he didn't feel he was much of a hedonist, either. He had to wonder why he was there.

He had asked to meet Humans, and had spoken to Hyacinth only to find it was his changing form that seemed desirable.

Days later, they were still eating meat cooked the evening after Raphael's hunt. Absinthe sat at their fire alongside Morpheus, a short distance away Raphael helped Hyacinth to apply oil to his skin, while Remiel sat on the couch with Laudanum at his feet, gossiping.

Did they know that Remiel was acquainted with two Archangels? Of course, Raphael and Remiel were close, but Duma confided in Remiel also. Duma, Remiel said, was the Archon of their Order, the Tafsarim. Apparently, Duma didn't say much, but Remiel suspected Duma might be particularly close with Zerachiel, the Archon of the next lower order.

The names were familiar to Morpheus. Duma and Zerachiel were Children of Night who had attended his Introduction. Whether that were before or after now was all relative. Morpheus had also seen Zerachiel in New York City, having left from his Introduction to find her there before him.

Remiel mentioned Jibril, whom he described as a Prince of the Hashmallim and "not as shallow as he may seem". Morpheus wondered if Remiel fully comprehended he was gossiping about Absinthe's father. The fact that Absinthe smiled so widely made Morpheus think she was pretending politeness. He laughed. She elbowed his arm.

"I should really be with Duma. He is my Archon, after all. Yet, there is only so much a Guardian can do, and I do enjoy being in close proximity to Raphael."

Raphael rose and announced he would go afield with Hyacinth to play a game of quoits. The two moved a safe distance away from house and cliff; Morpheus could still see them from where he sat stirring lentils.

The game involved tossing a metal discus and then measuring the distance of its flight in paces. To be consistent in measurement, Hyacinth strode out into the field after every toss, sometimes jogging to a previous marker before the discus had landed.

When Raphael had his turn, the discus flew far, requiring Hyacinth to run a great distance. When it was Hyacinth's turn, he spent a lengthy time preparing his throw during which he gestured for Raphael to come close to help improve his form.

Morpheus watched them, half-listening to Remiel's gossip about some oracle, until a gust of wind blew in. The coals flared to life and ash and sparks sailed toward Morpheus so that he lifted an arm to shield himself.

When his view cleared, Morpheus saw Hyacinth fall.

There was a confused moment when Morpheus questioned what he saw. Hyacinth was on the ground and he wasn't getting up.

Raphael winked out of sight and then popped into view at Hyacinth's side.

Morpheus stood up. He could hear the others asking what had just happened.

"The discus couldn't have hit him," Remiel whispered.

Morpheus walked through the fire and directly into the field. Hyacinth was there, neck limp and head bent to one side, a deep wound bleeding over his brow.

Raphael lifted Hyacinth to his chest. The tears shed from Raphael's golden-brown eyes rolled down his face and transformed into roses.

"What happened?" Morpheus asked.

"The discus," Raphael said, "It bounced from the ground and struck Hyacinth."

"He's dead?" Morpheus didn't see anything rising from the body.

"The impact broke his neck." Raphael lay Hyacinth on the ground. Vainly he held a cloth to the wound at Hyacinth's hairline; it no longer mattered how much Hyacinth bled.

"I should have seen it," Morpheus said.

"No—"

"No. I mean I think I can. Or have. Or will. At least the possibility."

Raphael looked up. "Angels can. But even so, interference is strictly...."

Two Angels appeared. Morpheus flinched from the strong presence behind him, though the arrival alone was not surprising. He had expected Zerachiel or one of her reapers to arrive. This presence was stronger and familiar: red, volatile....

They were both manifesting flesh, one on the masculine side of being androgynous and one distinctly like a female. She appeared pale and pinkish, with braided blonde hair, and uncommon wings; they were four-part, but a combination of planar and tendril-form.

"I know you," Morpheus said.

"Yes." She wore a Nightcloak over one shoulder. "I carried you in my arms when you were newly sung."

Morpheus saw lilies in his mind when he looked at her, but it was Raphael who named her.

"Sister-Moon, why have you come when I expect your darker half? Have you come to console me, when Hyacinth's blood is on my hands? Gabriel? And Raguel? Why have you come?"

"I'm afraid I've come for Hyacinth," Gabriel said. "Zerachiel is not able to do her duty just now. If a Child of Night cannot perform their duty, another must take their place."

Gabriel took a knee beside Hyacinth's fallen body. Morpheus leaned in, wanting to see how the reaping was done, but Gabriel swung her cloak from her arm to hide Hyacinth from view.

"Raguel?" called Raphael.

The other Angel had deep, dark red hair and wings, and skin of a color Morpheus didn't know how to name, like something between mauve and taupe. He wore no cloak, but a fitted uniform in indigo, which prompted Morpheus to suspect he was the Archon of the Hashmallim, because he had memories of his father in such a uniform.

When Raguel didn't answer, Gabriel whispered to Raphael. "He has orders for Remiel."

Remiel was not far from them, having left the couch to see what had happened. He stood then in the field, saffron wings twitching and tangerine eyes seeming to burn. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

"Remiel, I may only say to you this: Duma will no longer be your Archon, and you may no longer be close to him. I am here as Archon of the Hashmallim to adjust your duty." Raguel paused, and when he spoke again his voice was changed, as if a multitude spoke. "You, Remiel, are Archon of the Tafsarim and guide your Guardians in protecting causes. When we Archons meet, you attend and attire yourself as fits your rank."

"Me? How is it I have been chosen? There are other Princes. How is it I'm worthy?"

Raguel bowed his head, and when he looked up once more, his voice was his own. "We held a counsel. With Raphael away and Duma the object of discussion, we had just the seven needed to pass a judgment. You were unanimously chosen to be the next leader of your Order. I cannot explain why. I can only say it is true."

Remiel moved closer to Raphael, who still sat near Hyacinth's body. "Raf, do you believe this? An Archon. We shall be permitted in The House of Archangels together."

Raphael looked up, his hand bloody as he brushed hair from his brow with the back of his wrist. "It is good, Dear Friend," he said. "Perhaps you will take your new responsibilities seriously. I pray you do, for your sake."

Morpheus turned from them and went back to the fire where Laudanum and Absinthe stood close together. Laudanum pat Morpheus on his arm as he joined them.

"How are you?"

"What? Fine. I've seen a dead Human before."

"He was young," Absinthe said, "there must have been things he still dreamt of doing."

"I didn't see a way to prevent it," Morpheus said. He glanced back out into the field. Gabriel was approaching, but Raphael remained with Hyacinth's body. "Gabriel will get him where he needs to go, right?"

"It's up to his soul, now," Laudanum said, "whether he had anything weighing on him or not."

Morpheus pressed his lips together in a frown.

"Morpheus," Gabriel said. "Laudy, Sin."

"Archon Gabriel," Absinthe said, but her tone wasn't very formal.

"Raphael tells me Morpheus can dreamcast."

"Yes," Morpheus answered.

"You are needed. We require a revelation be sent in a dream, but Jibril is somewhat indisposed. Do you feel able to send a dream we will describe, to a Human woman?"

"Is she Hyacinth's mother?" Morpheus asked.

Gabriel's blue-veined black wings fluttered. "What?" She fixed her gaze on Morpheus, probably reading his mind. "No. Raphael will see to Hyacinth's family. But, another family does want for closure."

"I can do it. Dreamcast or take on a form."

Gabriel nodded. "Then come away with us," she said. "When you've done this task, you may return here if you wish, or go wherever you like."

Morpheus did check with Absinthe and Laudanum, but since they made hand gestures as if to sweep him on his way, he went away with Gabriel and Raguel. They began on foot, passing Raphael's house and then circling the hill behind. There, was a small helicopter.

"Do Humans have helicopters in this age?"

"No more than a few inventors," Gabriel said. "This is a Taiqing prototype the Cherubim are testing." She climbed into the pilot's seat behind a series of control levers.

"But why, if we fly?"

"Better to enjoy the scenery," Raguel said, retracting his red wings to enter the cabin.

Morpheus saw his point. When not teleporting or concentrating on his own flight, Morpheus noticed small detail in the features below. The direction in which a farmer plowed the furrows of his field. The grid of a city. A meandering country road.

As they flew over a watery gulf with beach strewn with timbers, Gabriel turned to explain what Morpheus must do. "In Trachis, lives a woman named Alcyone. She and her husband, Ceyx, have the blood of our people in them. He has died at sea, and she does not know. We wish to reveal his doom to her. This, at least, will stop Alcyone from wondering."

The copter flew inland and soon landed. Raguel stayed in the copter while Gabriel led Morpheus to the house where Alcyone lay.

"Now, look at me," Gabriel said.

Morpheus looked. He gazed into Gabriel's sapphire-blue eyes and then past her eyes. Images entered his mind. He knew what he must show to Alcyone.

"You know," she said, "before Raphael or Jibril were Regent of Dream, I was. I was first, and Jibril I created for the task."

"Gabriel, what happened? Duma, Zerachiel, and Jibril all unable to continue their duty?"

A heat radiated from Gabriel, her presence whelming Morpheus.

"Duma's fallen. I can speak no more of it, My Dear. Now go. Alcyone is here. I'll wait to see how it goes."

Morpheus went into the house of Alcyone and found her lying on her couch. He cast a dream into her sleep that would make her look up and see him. Then, assuming the form of her husband, Ceyx—deathly, dripping, and dressed in seaweed—Morpheus spoke to her.

"Do you recognize me, wife, your Ceyx, or has death changed my face so much? Look at me, Alcyone, the shade of your husband. I am dead. Do not wait any longer for me to return; no prayers will save me now. The Winds caused a storm that sank our ship. Oh, wife, the word that left me with my last breath was your sweet name. Let me hear you cry for me now. Do not let me go unmourned to the underworld."

"Ceyx! Stay!" Alcyone cried.

Morpheus took on the color of shadows as servants came into the room. Then, extending his wings, Morpheus sent himself to the yard where Gabriel waited.

"You did well," she said.

"Will she be OK, now?"

"You did your duty," Gabriel said, "What happens now is her choice."

Morpheus returned to Raphael's house where he had left Laudanum and Absinthe. They were there still, with Remiel, seated about a fire. Raphael was absent, but Morpheus supposed he had taken Hyacinth's body home.

"There's a flower there now. Where he died," Laudanum said.

Absinthe said nothing and mushed lentils about her dish with a heel of bread.

"Raf might have said something about the effect of blood on earth," said Remiel.

Morpheus turned from them and went to see the plant. The place where Hyacinth had fallen was still marked by bloodied blades of matted grass. In the moonlight, he saw the flower: small and delicate, with a single bud just hinting at being purple. The flower was much less intimidating than the man had been.

Morpheus dug around the flower to free it and a ball of soil from the surrounding earth. He cupped the little Hyacinth in his hands and carried it back toward fire and house.

"I'll take care of it," Morpheus promised.

No one said Morpheus could not keep the flower.

Remiel told Morpheus that if he looked in the right places, he might find other flowers grown from bloodshed.

Morpheus left the house with Laudanum and Absinthe and they traveled Greece looking for these flowers.

As they journeyed, Morpheus found help from Halfangels, often those without a tribe of their own. They hid from Humans, and so knew the secret reaches of forests or mountains.

They spoke sometimes of other spirits, ones neither Angel nor Human and who had always been so. Daimones they were called, or in some lands Djinn.

Absinthe and Laudanum alongside him, Morpheus traveled to farther lands and sought these spirits as well as flowers.

He found two. Willful spirits who responded when Morpheus had need and were repaid. He made a pact with the two Djinn who became his companions.

In his travels, Morpheus encountered beings of varied appearance and grew in ability to take on forms. He practiced reading minds and casting dreams. He listened to languages and learned to speak them back.

Morpheus liked the Empty World, but he did miss his mother. So, after some years, when there were no more special flowers to be found, Morpheus took his plants and his Djinn home.

Absinthe and Laudanum followed him.

-----

image media (top) author's charcoal drawing of Morpheus

audio/video media top:  "Hyacinth House" by The Doors

image media (mid-chapter)  Nicolas-René Jollain Hyacinthe changé en fleur, 1769; painting in the public domain