34. Cat
Chapter thirty-four
Cat
O h, my god. Oh, my god. The smell.
The shows don’t prepare you. The books don’t prepare you. Nothing does. The odor of the medieval-style prison was suffocating. Unwashed bodies, not all of them human or human-like, wafted over me, filling my lungs so that I could taste the rancid air. Excrement, fresh and rotting, flowed through my nose as a slick bottom note, coating every spare remnant of that sense until it went numb. And was that food? That sickly, sweet smell? Please just be spoiled food.
I bit my hand to keep from coughing. Why did I have a feeling that smell was rotten flesh? I whispered a short prayer that any decomposing limb wasn’t attached to anyone living. The angels could be brutal, but this was beyond—
This was—
I doubled over and breathed through my mouth, slowly .
I’d never find Zariel if I was caught, and puking was loud and left evidence behind. I had to move. Fast. Away from the smell and towards Aniela. Anything to get away from the smell. The whole prison couldn’t smell like this, right?
Zariel had casually explained a bit of the prison’s layout to me, though now I wished I had begged to see a map. The prison had guards, but they were much more prominent near the entrance. This wasn’t a place where there was a guard in each hall, probably because the smell would drive them insane. And because the prison was a maze in the ground with only a few exits. If someone did manage to escape, then they’d be found outside in the ash. Oddly, the angels didn’t seem concerned with prisoners escaping their cells and living happily, munching in the storeroom. I didn’t understand why, until I saw that the prisons didn’t have key holes, or any sort of visible lock. Instead, there was a short spike poking out of shiny black orbs placed at each cell, the spike roughly as long as my thumbnail. That had something to do with getting into the cell, I just knew it. My gut twisted even more. Nothing good was going to come from this. I had seen the angels’ beauty, marveled at their creations—and now I was submersed in their brutality.
Alright—I had to find exactly where the rune was leading me, and try to avoid any guards. Aniela was closer than ever, a beacon calling me to her. Could she sense me? Did she sense when Zariel gave me their magic? If so, maybe I wouldn’t have as hard a time explaining things to her as I thought. The rune throbbed harder every few steps, burning like my stomach touched metal left in the sun, as if it knew I was looking for her and was trying to reassure me that it was doing its job. Maybe it was. If angels could make magic burning runes, I wouldn’t put it past them to make them intelligent.
My battered nose had somehow adapted to the smell enough that I could breathe, and instead my ears were now overwhelmed by the moans. No one begged for mercy—there was no point. But many still moaned in pain or from a living nightmare. Still others were holding conversations with themselves, and not every voice that came from the cells formed words I could understand. Somehow worse than the cries was the absolute stillness from those who had given up. Or were dead. Yes, these creatures were dangerous, and Zariel had a point that his world wasn’t like ours. He had seemed confident that most creatures in here deserved their fate. The angels couldn’t just let them leave now, to do what they would to humanity. But would it be so bad to give them some fresh air? Zariel was imprisoned—who else was in here unjustly sentenced by the High Artist?
I came to a crossroads at the end of a hall, and suddenly the rune tugged to my right, urging me to turn. I listened, following it to a cell nested at the end of a walkway, one side of the cell sharing a wall with the mountain itself. Carefully, I peered inside the little slat, into the near-absolute darkness .
“Aniela?” I whispered and then backed away. Last thing I needed was claws gouging out my eyes if I was wrong.
“Who is it?” A woman asked and then coughed. My shoulders sagged with relief.
“I’m Cat. I’m … Zariel’s mate.”
There was a shuffling in the cell, and then an angelic face pressed against the slit. All I could see were her golden eyes, narrowed with suspicion.
“His mate?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not an angel.”
“I’m aware. It’s a long story.”
“That’s impossible. This is some trick.”
“You can feel my rune, right?” I paused, squirming. “You know I couldn’t have that unless Zariel gave it to me.”
“Show me.”
I did, untying and parting my robes. The light from the runes glowed, casting us in a dim orange glow.
“… Zariel, what have you done?” she whispered, closing her eyes and resting her head against the bars.
“He needs us,” I said, retying my robes. She raised her head to look at me. “I’ll explain what happened later. Or he can tell you himself.”
“He had better.” She paused. “And what is his mate doing here, of all places? ”
I swallowed. “Zariel was taken prisoner. The High Artist lied, about everything. I … I am afraid Zariel is going to be sacrificed. Probably very soon.”
Whatever I expected from Aniela, it was not the dark chuckle that slipped from her mouth. “I thought I sensed him near me. Ah, so the bastard finally got around to his plan.”
My eyes widened. “You knew ?”
“Oh yes. I learned about it years ago, not long after the worlds changed. Found some notes on his desk and kept asking questions he didn’t want to answer. One night he brought me into his study and gave me a choice—plead guilty and be imprisoned, or Zariel and I would both be killed. There’s lots of ways for accidents to happen here.” She pushed matted dark hair out of her face. Even with her eyes hollow and her skin stained with dirt, she was striking, an angel of despair. “As you can guess, I chose the option that let him live.”
As much as I wanted to get to Zariel, I needed to make sure she was going to help me before letting her out, or at least not stop me. Which meant talking. “But why is the High Artist doing this to Zariel, of all people? I know that they haven’t gotten along, but I thought that he and your father were friends.”
Aniela huffed. “That’s between Father and the High Artist. Trust me, I’ve had a long time to think about it, and I suspect that the answer lies from long before Zariel and I came to the mountain. It has to. But, Cat, be glad that you won’t see the angelic courts—a betrayal like the High Artist’s is entertainment. For some, blood is a delicacy. They make this prison seem pleasant in comparison.” After what I just smelled, I highly doubted that.
“I don’t know how to save him,” I admitted. “I’m afraid we’re too late.”
“No. He’s alive. We can feel it—if he died so would his connection to the rune. But we need to go. And I have an idea.”
“You’ll help me?”
“Of course. He’s my brother.”
“Are you … able to help?”
Aniela shifted, standing tall so that she had to duck to see out of the cell. “I’m an angel,” she said. “And what strength I have left will be used to see that bastard dead. I swore it to myself the day I was placed here.”
Good. This would be easier with someone who had an idea of where to go. I looked down the dank, grimy hallway. Our plotting could wait until after she was free. If a guard found us, we had nothing. Aniela groaned, stretching her wings. Would she really be able to move? To fly? To see? She had been imprisoned here for so long. But as she said, she wasn’t human—maybe she handled being in here better than I would.
“Aren’t you going to let me out?” she asked, watching me expectantly .
“I don’t have a key.”
“Yes, you do. You have our magic—it’s blood.”
“What?”
She titled her head to the protrusion sticking out of the door in front of her.
As I feared, the shiny black ball at the door stared back at me like a morbid eye, the spike extended, rusted and crusty with what was likely the blood of guards from years past.
“I need to … ?”
“Yes.”
“… There isn’t a way out of this, is there?” Thankfully I was up to date on my tetanus.
“Slam your hand on it fast. It’s the easiest way.” Aniela shifted.
“So all of the guards, each time—”
“Once we’re put in, we’re not expected to come out. And because of the cost of opening the door, we usually don’t leave until it’s time for a new occupant.” She kicked a panel near the base. “This opens a little wider, for when the guards decide it’s time to give us a fresh bucket.”
I stifled a gag. That rotting meat smell probably was a limb.
Gritting my teeth, I eyed that spike. This was going to hurt. Bad. Slowly, I held out my trembling hand.
For Zariel. He needed me. He needed us. I could do this. I could—
I slammed my hand on the ball before I could think, pulling away and leaving my blood coating the rusted metal .
“Mother fucker ,” I cried, putting my hand in my mouth and hopping. Tetanus shot? I’d need every antibiotic in the world after this.
But it worked. The door creaked open and Aniela emerged, wings spreading hesitatingly in the hall, and then fully extended. Now I could see that she was Zariel’s sister—they had the same coloring, and nose. And then the same look of determination as she took in her freedom.
“Finally,” she said, mostly to herself.
“What about me?” a deep male voice suddenly asked from the cell next to her on the left. “We had a deal, Aniela.” No one else in the hall protested. Was there anyone else here? Considering that the High Artist wanted his secret kept, I was surprised she had any company at all.
Aniela coughed. “After all these years? As if I’d forget,” she said. Before I could ask any questions, she slammed her hand on the spike on the neighboring door and yanked it away with a stream of muttered curses, opening the creaking door to let out … something.
The man that emerged was tall, possibly taller than Zariel, with long dark green hair that clung against his back. His skin was pale, but tinged with echoes of some color—or was it dirt? While the prisoner wore breaches and a shirt, his neck had firm evenly spaced lines, almost like fish bones pushing against his skin, trying to break free. Yet the man carried himself with a regal grace and held me in his firm gaze. He was handsome, surprisingly. Fish bones and all .
What was he?
“This is Drusc,” Aniela said to me before turning back to her … friend? “It’s nice to finally see a face.”
“Indeed. These years would have been far longer without you.”
Aniela turned to me once more. My mouth was open, my bleeding hand pressed against my chest, and I was beyond confused.
“Drusc doesn’t deserve to be here,” Aniela explained. “He was trespassing, but even that was up for debate.”
“How—”
“My people’s lands are along the river, which spreads through many kingdoms,” Drusc said. “I was searching for someone—and led astray. In several respects.” Drusc clenched his fist. “But I have a chance to set things right now.”
“Drusc is a rusalka,” Aniela explained.
“But he’s a man,” I said. If Aniela wasn’t going to panic about the flesh-eating water creature, then neither was I. For now.
“I’m glad you noticed,” Drusc said, giving me a wink. I grinned, despite myself.
“There’s rumors and human myths, and there’s the truth,” Aniela said, doing her best to adjust her filthy hair, settling for twisting it and letting it land between her wings. She had a point. The exercise in name entomology, rusalki mythology, and magical translations would have to wait. A long time .
“I want to talk longer, my friend, but we should go,” Aniela said. “My brother was more foolish than I feared.”
Drusc nodded, stretching, his fingers reaching the ceiling. “Yes, yes, murder, sacrifice, treason—all in a good day. I’ll be sad to miss it.”
“You’re leaving?” I asked. Someone that size would be useful.
“This isn’t Drusc’s fight,” Aniela said softly. “And he’s suffered enough at our hands.”
His jaw clenched. “Isn’t that the truth … but as much as I would love to keep talking, there’s no point in making this farewell last. We might have company any moment.”
Aniela nodded. “Good luck,” she said to him, adjusting the feathers on her wings. “I hope to hear from you again one day.”
“One moment,” Drusc said, pulling up his shirt sleeve to reveal a thick corded forearm. “And don’t worry—whether you like it or not, you will. As soon as I can send word.” He clenched his fist and webbed spines jutted out from the sides of his arm, like fish fins. Grimacing, he grabbed one of the spines and plucked it out with an unnerving squishing sound, offering it to me. A moment later the remainder of the spines were absorbed back into his skin, no sign of anything amiss other than a fine, oozing line.
I took the slimy, bloody spine, because what else was I supposed to do?
“Use it wisely,” Drusc said, obviously amused at my reaction.
“I … will?”
“It’s a rusalka barb,” Aniela explained, frowning at a few of her bent feathers. Was she sure she was going to be alright? “They use these to paralyze their … prey.”
“Prey? You make it sound so crass,” Drusc said.
“Do you have a better explanation?”
“Yes. It’s a weapon—a potent one. It will be weaker with it no longer attached to me, but it will still work. The thought of this being stuck in an Artist makes it worth it.”
“I, well, thank you,” I said. If I lived long enough to write my dissertation, the things I’d be able to add … “But wouldn’t Aniela be better—”
He looked me over, evaluating me. “You look like you need the help more. And I’m sorry, but I can’t keep removing body parts.” Fair. On both counts. Even if Aniela was weakened, she was still an angel, and I was still … short. And filthy. And tired.
“Good luck, human,” Drusc said. “I’d say that I’ll see you soon, but I think we all know that’s not going to happen. But trust me, I will be wishing for your success. Send me a note if you use the barb will you?”
“Uh … yes.” How was I going to manage either of those things?
Aniela and Drusc said farewell, and she reminded him of a few exits from the prison—which Drusc rejected. He’d find his own way out, and we weren’t to spare him another thought. Literally. How was he going to get past the ash? He didn’t seem concerned, and neither did Aniela, so hopefully he knew something I didn’t. After a few moments he left, departing the corridor with shocking fluidity, like a wave retreating from shore. We were alone.
“How are we going to get from here to the ritual room?” I asked, tucking the barb under my robes in a pocket and away from my skin. The last thing that I needed was to paralyze myself. It was a small miracle that I hadn’t encountered guards yet, and that the creatures around us were either excellent at minding their own business, incapable of speech, or dead. Or not there. I was going to keep pretending they were never there.
“Don’t worry,” Aniela said, taking my hand and leading me out of the hall. She was obviously too thin and covered in grime, but her eyes were now lit with a fire that told me she would either die or get Zariel back. There were no other options. “I have a way for us to get to the ritual. And a plan, which at the very least will make things harder for them.” She cocked her head. “How strong is your grip?”