Authors: Alexandra Rowland
Jocelin sighed. “We pity thee, our love. Nightmares, our sweets, bring him. But gently.”
Lucien stood, backing further into the corner. The Nightmares oozed and floated though the wire, as formless as ghosts and nearly invisible in the dim light. Lucien beat his wings on the small space, hoping the breeze would blow them away, but except for a fluttering around their edges, they were unaffected. The Fallen struck at a Nightmare with one wing, but cried out as the limb passed through it. The feathers and skin, where the shade had touched it, were burned and blistering.
“
Do not fight, our love,” Jocelin crooned. “They only try to defend themselves. Come along, out of the nasty box of truth, and then thou will take the feathers away.”
“
Truth box?” Lucien asked incredulously.
“
Our love may only speak of the right things when our love is entrapped. Our love may only appear as our love truly is. The wings.” Jocelin pointed. “Does our love like his little box? We made it for him. It was only a nasty, earthly little thing when we found it,” the angel continued as Lucien came out of the cage and tucked his wings away. “But now it is lovely and magical.”
“
Let me go, Jocelin,” the Fallen implored.
“
No, our love, thou needs thy present. Nightmares, take him.” One of the shades passed itself through Lucien's eyes, and all went black.
***
The Fallen came to in a too-warm room. The same grease-stained, soot-blackened walls of the warehouse looked over him, lit by the flickering red-gold light of a fire. Lucien himself was tied diagonally to a hard wooden table, arms stretched above him and ankles tied together below. He heard the crackling fire, the rhythmic thump, a close trickle of water, Jocelin singing softly a song about sunshine. The angel came into his vision, soft dark hair, high-lit in dark reddish-golden glory, spilling onto Lucien's neck and chest. Jocelin's skin gleamed, also golden orange from the fire.
“
Our sleepy love, thou must try to stay awake. We waited, we wished thee not to miss thy gift.”
“
Just get it over with. So I can go home,” Lucien said softly.
“
Home?” The angel paused, wary.
“
The temple.”
“
No!” Jocelin shrieked. “Thou cannot love them and not love us! Thou shalt love none but we, here, thine! Thus, present.” Jocelin straddled him, reaching to the other side of the table to pick something up. The angel's strange wild face; too-thin, genderless body; the unmarked blankness between Jocelin's legs, pressing against his groin as the angel shifted – Lucien shuddered in loathing and disgust for this being's every feature, every caress, every word that passed the angel's lips.
Then Jocelin let the firelight flicker on the blade, and touched the point of the knife – yes, wickedly sharp, as he'd guessed – to Lucien's bare chest.
And the Fallen began to fear.
***
The temple, having happily settled upon the shape of a medieval monastery before Jocelin left, was quiet. Without godly decrees and orders to distract them, the followers sank into deep and brooding thoughts. Those that had lost during the End – which was many, nearly everyone had known someone that had been Taken – mourned and grieved for their loved ones and themselves. They found that the presence of their gods had allowed them to... forget, for a time.
Andrew could be found in a dark corner, clutching a bottle of something alcoholic, speaking to no one, and looking haunted. Mara did her best with the others, organizing regular work details and search parties for others who needed food, which they had amassed, and shelter, which was in no short supply. She comforted the mourning minions as best she could, and put down the regular arguments of authority.
“
Who put you in charge?” Dave shouted one day, a few days later as she assembled a scout team. Richard, the young assistant who sat at her elbow, shrank down in his chair and began to shuffle papers in a businesslike manner.
“
The followers did,” she replied sharply. “Before you got here.”
“
I don't like the way you're running things, young lady!”
“
That's too bad, then! You can leave, no one's keeping you here.”
“
I like her ways,” said a power-laced voice from the end of the hall. The small crowd looked towards the door, where a bedraggled god-angel was making the entrance. He was mussy-haired, shirtless, and panting softly, with color in his cheeks. Mara had no doubt he'd been soaring moments ago. And he
glowed.
His hair was like fire.
“
Lord Lalael!” Mara breathed. “You're back.”
“
Yes.”
Mara ran to hug him. Dave slunk to the back of the group; everyone else surged forward around Lalael.
“
Jocelin
lied,” Lalael said loudly, shoving through the crowd even as they parted. “Ríel's gone. Disappeared. Vanished off the face of wherever.
Where's Lucien?”
“
He's disappeared, my lord. The Angel Jocelin spoke to him one day and Lucien shouted about it, and then...” Mara hesitated. “Jocelin left that day, then a few days later, Lucien said he had to find you and he went too.”
“
That was three weeks ago,” Richard said softly.
“
Well, he never found me... He didn't say when he'd be back?” The angel looked between Mara and the young man. The priestess shook her head.
Lalael hummed cheerfully. “Well, send out a few people to look around for him. I'm sure he's fine.”
***
Lucien remained ashen-faced and silent as Jocelin pressed the red-hot flat of the knife to his side.
“
We did not want to do this deed, our love. But traitors are unclean and you must be cleansed before thou loves us.”
“
Not what you were saying a while ago,” Lucien forced out from between clamped jaws.
***
“
After they're out, come meet me in the office, yes? I –” Lalael uselessly gestured. “I have to tell. Someone.”
“
Yes, of course, but Lalael, Andrew's been...” Mara trailed off and shared a meaningful look with Richard. “Well, he's been drinking. And he won't talk to anyone.”
Lalael nodded thoughtfully. “Where is he?”
“
Kitchens, last I saw him.” The angel looked around at what used to be the main area of the church. The monastery now had thick walls, narrow windows, and large fireplaces.
“
Figured out where those are?”
“
Separate building, to the back. It's the only one not pouring out smoke.” Lalael looked at her quizzically. “No one's really interested in eating lately. They'll nibble on greenery from the gardens, but anything more than boiling an egg? Nothing.”
The angel nodded again. “I'll have to do something about that.” He passed his hand through the air. The walls rippled. “Yes...”
“
Shall I just take you there, then, my lord?” Richard asked.
“
That would be fine, thank you. Lead on. Er, wait.” Lalael looked over the crowd. “When you go out,” he began slowly, “Pay attention. He is a god; he might be exuding power or some such. Pay attention to your gut instincts. Let your intuition pull you along. Does that make sense?” The crowd murmured vaguely. “And do what feels right to your team.” Several people in the crowd grumbled. The angel looked at them sharply. “Questioning authority, are we?” The angel queried, words once again spiked with power.
“
I just don't understand why we have to listen to people who don't know –”
The angel's wings burst from his shoulder blades in a feathery storm. They now, Mara noticed, were burnished with an opalescent gleam to each feather, rather than the former dusty white, although they were, as always, meticulously tidy.
Lalael looked at the naysayer, who took one glance at him and dropped his glare to the floor. “Take me to the High Priest now, Richard.”
The boy started in nervousness and wordlessly led the god-angel away.
***
They found Andrew huddled in a corner of the kitchen building, clutching a bottle of cheap liquor – one of the ones liberated from the shops. He looked haunted and gaunt.
“
Andrew, sir?” Richard asked quietly.
The High Priest shivered slightly and took a slow swig from the bottle.
“
Richard, leave us,” Lalael gently commanded. “Andrew, give me that,” he said, firmly taking the bottle away. Andrew made an angry protesting noise and grabbed it back.
“
Can't 'ave that, 's mine,” he slurred. “M' liquor.” He coughed. “Drownin' m'sorrows, see?”
“
What sorrows, Andrew?” Lalael sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.
“
Started when th' crazy angel left. Affer you did. You know Jocem – Josser – that crazy angel?” He nodded. “He's crazy. But 's not a him, y'know.” The priest's voice quavered. “Nope, not a him or a her or an it, y'know.” Another sip from the bottle. “Jus' IS, an', an' a'fore that, you went – ” The priest pointed accusingly at Lalael and tried, unsuccessfully, to focus on him. “An' Luchee –
Loooo
shee – t'other one. 'S like you, but taller and he got...” Andrew studied Lalael's russet hair. “Dark an' curly like. He left too.”
The angel nodded encouragingly.
“
Ef-ryone left,”Andrew said, sniffling. “An', an' it was like th-end all over again!” He flung his arms about, miraculously not spilling any of the drink.
“
So why were you drinking?” Lalael took the bottle away.
“
Eh? Hey, where'd it go?”
“
It went home to its wife and two-point-five children.”
Andrew blinked muzzily at him through the drunken haze. “Nahhhhh, git outter 'ere, likker don't have kids!”
“
You're right! Good show, Andrew.”
“
I din't,”Andrew started, raising one index finger officiously. “I din't have
nothin
' after y' left, y'know, Lael-- Lalalalae--” He hiccuped. “Lord. Yer name's like tryin' to shpell Missississippi. M-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-s-s–”
“
That's enough, Andrew.”
The priest sniffled. “Din't have nothin'.” He said again. “There– There was no one to boss,” he ticked it off on his fingers, “And no one ter boss me. An' no one 'round that meant I oughter be there too. M'family's all dead. I din't mean
nothin
' when you left.” Andrew glared at Lalael.
“
Well, I'm back now,” Lalael said, patting Andrew's arm.
“
Y'are?”
“
Of course.” The angel smiled brightly. “See me? Back home. In the flesh.”
Andrew paused warily, then grabbed the hand that was still resting on his arm and tugged sharply – Lalael fell and found himself entrapped in a tight hug.
***
Lalael stared in the crackling fire. Mara... waited. She had come into the office as Lalael had asked, without a word, yet she knew the angel had heard her. So she had sat, and she had waited. Lalael just remained sitting, motionless, elbows on his knees and chin resting on his laced fingers, studying the play of the embers.
“
When I first left,” he finally said, “I went back to the battle field where I met Lucien.” The angel smiled. “He had forgotten his car after the battle. It was all covered in leaves and branches, and wthere was a nest of squirrels inside. I guess with them abandoning us and him trying to convince me to stick around, he was a bit preoccupied. Then... Then I flew, I went up and up until I couldn't go any higher, and then I called like I was at the doorstep. And called. And called. Then I prayed, which angels aren't supposed to do except in extreme circumstances.”
“
Why not?” Mara asked.
“
We're loud. If the power from a hundred humans praying can make as much noise as a snowfall at midnight, then one angel is more along the lines of a hurricane or a waterspout.
“
Anyway,” Lalael continued, “I'd only prayed once before. Of course, I got scolded for it later. But that first time...” He shook his head as if to clear it, and went on, still staring into the fire. “Remember the other day when you and Jocelin found one of the children burning leaves with a magnifying glass? It was like that. Suddenly I was the focal point of interest of a nameless, omnipotent power that some of you call a god. I could feel all the vastness and power and... I felt the universe focusing on me. Just for a moment, I was the center of it all. That was ages and ages ago, last time I was on Earth.” Lalael stared at the fire.
“
Which was when?”
“
Last time the Apocalypse nearly happened. There was a lot of collateral damage over just one specific area, and I think all the humans in the two closest cities were pretty much vaporized. That was my fault. Indirectly. It was a couple thousand Earth-years ago. This time, when I prayed, I felt nothing. Not just nothing in particular, but the absence of... anything. I felt the Nothingness beyond the firmament.”