Authors: Alexandra Rowland
Angel-slayers. There was something
right
about them. They were more than they were, not just mere objects like any other weapon he'd trained with.
***
“
This is it, then?” Lalael asked, looking up at the derelict warehouse outside of which the search party claimed they had found Lucien. Scorch marks and brimstone stains marred the outside of the building, and the only way in was through a locked metal door: boulders had been dragged to block the others. He turned to Andrew. “Is this it?”
Andrew looked around, worried. “Yeah. That throbbing sound is the same we heard when we found him. Just over there – but the noise is coming from inside.”
Lalael nodded. “Stand back.” With a mere thought, he ripped the doors off their hinges. The energy he expended was immediately refilled by Andrew's awe at the sight.
The doors fell to the ground on either side with a metallic crash. The late afternoon sunlight streamed like vaporous gold through the warehouse, a pathway of light, and it illuminated Jocelin, who sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, surrounded by Nightmares. The dark, swaying wraiths shrieked when the light touched them; they scrambled and writhed away from that which lit Jocelin sun-bright and shining. The angel's eyes opened as Lalael strode into the building on the light path, Andrew following more hesitantly.
“
No Nightmares in the daylight, Angel Lalael,” Jocelin murmured. “Dark makes things that dare not show their faces in the day.”
“
Angel Jocelin,” Lalael declared, “We come here on this day to put you to trial for the capture, torture, mutilation, and attempted murder of the Fallen Angel Lucien, God of the People and Lord of Storms.” Lalael drew his knives.
“
Yes,” Jocelin said, reaching towards Lalael, the knives, the sun. The angel looked straight into the light without flinching.
“
Yes what?”
“
We took him. We cleansed him and took his sins away until he could repent.”
“
And that involved taking his wings?” Lalael demanded, the edge of his blades glinting in the sun. Behind him, Andrew went still.
“
We didn't take his wings,” Jocelin said, closing his eyes and pointing off into the shadows. “He forgot to bring them when he left.”
Lalael looked to the shadows and faintly saw a pair of wide, sweeping shapes, still graceful even in lifelessness. Andrew retched. The lines were blurred with movement: thousands of flies buzzed around them, accompanied by the cloying scent of rotting flesh.
Lalael looked away and stared Jocelin down with granite in his eyes. “So you admit you committed those evil deeds?”
“
Yes,” sang Jocelin. “We did.” Lalael sheathed one of his knives, turned to Andrew, who stood behind, and took the dagger from the man's belt.
“
And you stabbed him with this knife?” Lalael held it up to the light as the other angel hissed.
“
Ours!” Jocelin wailed. “Thou took it from us!”
“
Like you took Lucien's wings? Did you try to kill him?”
“
No,” Jocelin said simply. He looked at Lalael with the familiar, unnatural gaze. “We didn't.”
“
So this knife stabbed him by itself?” Lalael demanded.
“
No, we did. But we didn't try to kill him.”
“
What do you mean?”
“
He died.”
“
No, he didn't,” Andrew shouted, wiping his mouth. “He came back. He
lived
, you bastard.”
Jocelin leaned to one side to look around Lalael's legs. “He is dead. We brought him to death.”
“
He was just unconscious.”
“
No,” Jocelin said, swaying. The beginnings of a smile began to curl around the corners of the angel's mouth. “We made him die. We listened to his heart stop and we watched, and it didn't start again. Our love died.”
When the angel smiled, it was blinding.
Later, Lalael couldn't remember what had happened, even after Andrew had retold the story to him several hundred times. The angel had heard of battle-fury, had seen other angels in the Army of Ríel take the fury during the Last Battle. He had never felt it come upon him, however, so when a black and red veil came across his vision, he didn't know what had happened. For a moment, everything was in darkness. It seemed to the angel as if he had been separated from the world for a single moment in time – a moment and yet an eternity, for it felt like he had wandered through a silent labyrinth darker than the deepest coal mine. Like a dream, he wandered, and found things in the darkness – cold, secret things that no one, immortal or otherwise, should know. Secrets of the world he found, secrets of what wasn't the world, shameful things and sorrows, ill will and sicknesses. It was a Pandora's box, this maze of choking night, and though he searched for a fraction of a second and for an eternity and a day, he couldn't find the Hope that he knew should be just beyond the next twist, just ahead after the next turn. He gathered the despairing darkness into both hands, cradled it to himself with the secrets, and then knew that now, when he was more lost than he'd ever been, when his soul seemed to tear itself apart, that he couldn't depend on anyone else's salvation to find him... he had to make his own. A lance of light, a single note of song cut through the darkness, and he saw the things that even the Creator hasn't seen. For a moment, he was everything there ever was, in this universe and all universes.
When he came to, he was shaking violently, holding Lucien's angel-slayer, which was dripping with fresh blood, to Andrew's neck, his other hand clutching the man's hair.
Andrew was wide-eyed and dead white and very still, as if a single movement might break Lalael's mercy. The angel, panting and still trembling, let go and backed away. The knife's hilt was clenched in his fingers, and he fell to his knees and grabbed at his chest – his heart was throbbing painfully. Suddenly, he turned back to where Jocelin should have been. Emptiness. The warehouse rang with silence.
“
Where?” Lalael asked, breath coming in sharp gasps.
“
What?” Andrew said. He'd begun hyperventilating. The color hadn't yet come back in his cheeks.
“
I... everything disappeared for a second. Or was it forever? Where are...”
Andrew stared at him, inching away. “Do you remember what happened?” he whispered.
Lalael shook his head.
“
When Jocelin said he'd killed Lord Lucien, you went all still and quiet and... yeah.”
Lalael looked at his bloody hands. He was already regaining brightness. He'd done something, and Andrew had seen it and he was slamming belief into Lalael as hard as his frail little human mind possibly could. “I killed. I killed Jocelin. Didn't I?” He looked up at Andrew, desperate and lost.
“
You shot him. Twice to the chest. Then you threw the gun away and... and then you stabbed Jocelin in the stomach with the bronze knife and stabbed him in the heart with one of Lord Lucien's daggers...”
The angel swallowed. “Where – Where's the body?”
Andrew ran his shaking hands through his hair. “I... I don't know,” he whispered shakily. “You... You opened a rift or something. It was right there,” he said, pointing to a spot on the floor. “It was like a hole torn in the middle of the air, and it was... Black. The blackest thing I've ever seen, and it was so empty and I didn't want to look at it, but when I did it was like it looked back
into me,
that's how empty it was. And it pulled all those smoke things in like they were dust.
”
“
And?”
“
And you... Jocelin was taken into it, bleeding, and...” Andrew took a deep breath, wild eyed, “And you looked like you both knew everything there ever was to know. And then Jocelin was gone and you turned on me, and grabbed my hair and nearly slit my throat. Then you came back.” Lalael looked at his hands again, speechless and still trembling. “It's all right,” Andrew said. “I forgive you, lord.” After a moment, he reached out his hand. Lalael took it and Andrew pulled him up off the floor.
“
You need to do something,” Lalael said. “You're his Second.”
“
Oh. Um...”
“
Accept the vengeance tribute. It doesn't matter what you say.”
Andrew took another deep breath. He looked terrified, shaken out of his skin. Lalael squeezed the hand he still held tighter and very, very gently nudged Andrew's mind away from the horror of the Void. It was so easy to dull the memory of it a little, so easy to soothe away that memory. Andrew's face cleared and he relaxed. His face took on a more natural color. “Any... any words?”
“
Whatever words sound right,” Lalael said softly. “The words don't matter, just that they're said.”
Andrew nodded, licked his lips, and began slowly. “Most Highly Honored Angel Lalael, God of the Temple, Lord of Light and Fire and all we give you, thank you for doing what Lord Lucien and I could not, for avenging his injury and death.” A respectable, solid little acceptance. Lalael had heard worse.
“
Now taste Jocelin's blood. A drop will do.”
Andrew hot crimson blood now smeared on his hands too. He hesitated, licked off the tiniest drop from one of his fingertips to seal and accept Lalael's vengeance.
Lalael nodded and wiped his hands on his pants and sheathed the knife. He picked up his gun from the corner he'd thrown it – away from the wings – and tucked it back in his waistband.
“
Can we go home now?” Andrew asked hesitantly. “Is this the only errand?”
Lalael nodded. He was beginning to tremble now too.
***
Lucien met them at the door of the temple. He took one look at Lalael and came forward to wrap an arm around his shoulders and help him stumble up the steps to the door in the blue twilight.
Suddenly, Lalael took a deep, sharp breath, seemed to anchor himself in the world with a sudden jolt. “Are you all right?” he asked, a little frantic, gripping Lucien's upper arm in a hold that cut off Lucien's circulation. Andrew silently walked past them into the temple.
The Fallen nodded, even smiled a little. “I'm all right. It's done.”
He was all right. The twilight glided through, and they went on, up the last few steps, and went inside. Home. It was done.
The day dawned. It was a day that seemed shiny and new, like fresh silver or the taste of rain, and all the familiar sights and sounds and smells had a divine, sharp, unfamiliar cadence and feel.
When those who knew them looked for their gods, they could not be found – not in temple, nor garden, nor tower, nor as close to the endless sky as they could be. Yet something permeated the air of the temple that shiny, new day. When the word spread that the gods had disappeared without warning yet again, the faithful smiled and went about their business they went as usual. They knew what they had to do. Their gods would return. No need for worry.
Mara found a small pendant next to her bedside table that morning. A pair of silver wings with tarnish between the delicately molded feathers, linked together by a short chain. She knew where it came from, and as she held the wings in the palm of her hand, the sunlight shining on the silver dazzled her eyes. She believed, and the sun shone, and the sky was blue, and there was something – a rightness – about the world that felt like an old friend had just returned after a long, long absence.
Perhaps it had.
***
Evening fell through a burning flame of sunset. The sky streaked and painted itself with big strokes of red and pink and gold, and they stood together, side by side, at the peak of one of the Bridge's towers.
“
I miss flying,” said Lucien, his voice catching. “And swooping and falling and trying to see how close I could get to crashing without actually doing it. And flying so high I couldn't breathe. And the ache in my shoulder blades after I've flown long and hard.” He was silent for a moment, then repeated, “I feel... I don't know. Empty.”
“
I know,” answered Lalael, and somehow that made it all right.
Lucien nodded and was quiet again. They stared into the glory.
“
It was never this exciting in Ríel. Nothing ever happened, really, just light and green grass and clouds and army dress inspections,” Lalael said, and sighed. “I'm tired. What do you want to do now?”
“
I suppose we go back to the temple.” Lucien took a deep, steadying breath. “I'll make my peace with things.” He paused, blinked, and smiled. “Think they'll let us have a vacation?” Lalael laughed softly. A moment later, Lucien spoke again. “Thank you.”
And Lalael looked to his companion, standing next to him here beyond the End of All; he smiled a little, knowing smile, like he knew all the secrets of the world, and looked off into the sunset: Fire and blood. Then he looked at Lucien again, and his smile shone more radiantly, his eyes gleamed brighter than the sun itself.
So they stood, alone on the brink of everything, and watched as the sun set over a world, and knew.
###
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Thanks for reading!
***
Coming soon:
FENTON WHARF