fourteen
“What was that?”
The three guards stand in a V shape at the base of the tree, with the scraggly man as their leader.
I try to push farther into the branches, but any movement at this point could get me shot. If I come out of hiding and they see that I’m human, perhaps they’ll leave me be. Perhaps they’ll even help me.
“It’s probably just a bird,”
the scraggly man says as he inches forward.
The smaller man huffs and nudges his larger counterpart. “There are no birds out here. Shoot it.”
Oh, crap.
“Don’t shoot!”
I shout. “I’m human. I’m coming out, okay?”
I swing my legs over the branch and land on my feet with a quick but sharp pain in my knees.
The guards don’t drop their weapons as I step out of the darkness. They turn to look at each other with eyebrows raised.
“What are you doing out here?”
the woman asks.
“I’m looking for someone. My, uh, my boyfriend didn’t make it home in time for curfew.”
It’s not technically a lie; it’s just not all of the truth.
They share a quick look again. “Why would you come out here by yourself? Are you stupid? You’re going to get yourself killed,”
the scraggly man says, with such a level of condescension that I see the woman’s eyes roll.
“I’m not dead yet.”
I smile and spread my hands out. Both the men grunt and look away. “You three wouldn’t happen to have seen a sharp-winged angel around, would you?”
Their attention snaps back to me simultaneously, and I notice the scraggly man clutch his gun tighter.
I’ll take that as a yes.
He cocks his head and takes a step closer to me. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve just heard rumours that he’s quite the sight to see.”
He looks unconvinced as he turns to the others and nods. “You should come with us. We’ll keep you safe.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay – I’m doing fine on my own.”
My hand twitches, inching slowly towards my belt.
The scraggly man reaches forward and grabs my wrist. “We insist.”
My eyes narrow. “Have it your way.”
He tightens his hold on me until his nails dig into my skin.
In one quick movement I twist my wrist and he stumbles forward, losing his footing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the smaller man reach for his gun as his eyes widen.
I strike the scraggly man with a speedy punch to the throat, and his hands wrap around it while he gasps for air. The smaller man’s hand freezes midway to his gun. A stupid mistake.
I grab the barrel of his gun with my left hand and push against his wrist with my right, forcing him to release the weapon. I flip the gun in my hands and drive the barrel into his head with enough force to knock him unconscious.
As I toss the weapon aside, the scraggly man runs towards me at full speed, tackling me to the ground. He moves quickly to position himself on top of me, his legs either side of my hips and his hands clawing at my throat. I grab his forearms, digging my nails into them, but the material on his sleeves rips and I lose my grip.
I have to blink a few times to focus on the skin beneath the torn fabric, wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. His veins pump with liquid that looks like daemon blood. They’re black as night, and move as he does.
“You should have come peacefully,”
he seethes, his saliva dripping onto my forehead.
I lock my arms around his elbows and rock my hips at the same time, throwing him off and rolling on top. “Peaceful has never been my thing.”
He struggles beneath me, but I use my forearm to apply pressure to his windpipe, just enough for him to pass out.
The female guard looks at me with a mixture of horror and surprise. She holds her gun tightly as she stares at her companions on the ground.
“Who are you?”
Her voice trembles slightly.
“Just let me go.”
I hold my hands up in defence, but I try to soften my look.
She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. If they tell him I let you go, he’ll kill me.”
“Who will kill you?”
The woman shakes her head again. “Knock me out.”
She shoves her gun into my hand before I can argue further.
“This is going to hurt,” I say.
The woman nods and closes her eyes tightly. Then her gun meets her head and she falls to the ground.
I stand there, chest heaving, wondering who I’ve become.
I toss each of their weapons into separate bushes, just to make it slightly more inconvenient for them when they eventually come to. These idiots had no idea what they were going to stumble into. Worlds, I don’t even know what I’m walking into. All I know is that I need to find a way in.
I wonder about the dark veins in the scraggly man’s arms, and the horror in the woman’s eyes.
What happened to them?
The rest of the walk is fairly uneventful; I only come across two lone daemons. They were rather easy to kill now that I have my frost blade. Part of me even feels giddy about finally being able to use one in action. I’ve only mentioned my excitement about that to Jeremy twice a day for two years. He thinks I’m a nerd, but in a weird, murderous kind of way.
A dim light glows through the canopy of trees in the distance, so dull that if I wasn’t looking for it, I might have missed it altogether.
The Luminary.
I decide against drawing my blade as I move from tree to tree, inching closer to get a look. If I manage to find the archangel without being detected, perhaps I can get information out of him.
If I go around pissing off angels, he’ll kill me on the spot.
I shelter behind the trunk of a large oak tree, peering around its edge to see what lies amongst the lights. What looks like a wooden hut obstructs my view. I pull myself up into the lowest branch of the tree, climbing until I’m high enough to see a landscape of the Luminary. My movements are not graceful, and the grunts that escape me are nothing short of pig-like.
Worlds, I could use a nap.
My breaths are quick when I reach the top, but they stop for a moment as I take it all in.
It’s… beautiful.
I can’t believe they pulled this together in a matter of five years. It looks as if it’s been here for centuries. Countless huts line the outskirts of the area, each an exact copy of the next. Small torches illuminate pathways from the forest to each hut, as if to outline some sort of road. But there are no cars, and instead of gravel, the road is made of stone.
I look closer. The torches aren’t lit by flames, but rather small balls of light that float above the logs below.
A large building sits in the middle, with a colosseum-type stadium attached to the back of it. The building itself reminds me of the Pantheon in Rome, made of stone with large columns that surround the rectangular front and a large dome at the back. I remember seeing footage of the Pantheon collapsing in on itself when the ground cracked open beneath it. Daemons crawled from the rubble and surrounded the city within hours.
I watch for angels flying in from every direction, but the skies are hauntingly empty. The streets the same.
Where are they?
The sound of joyful shouting emanates from the Pantheon-like building. It could be where they train for battle, and if so, I’d imagine it’s the best place to start looking for the archangel.
I climb down from my perch in the tree, deciding to move closer and find a discreet way in. I wonder if the AIA knows this is here. Since curfew, we’ve been relatively clueless about any affairs that occur outside of the major cities. Though this is a rather big thing to not be aware of. They’ve built nearly an entire city in the middle of the woods just outside our borders.
I hide in the shadows of the trees closest to the building. Three angels linger out the front. They’re all wearing armour, but they don’t look ready for battle. They laugh and shove each other playfully.
A much smaller figure appears behind them, carrying a silver tray with several champagne glasses on it. The waitress is dressed in tight pants and a T-shirt, an apron tied around her waist.
She’s human. They’re making humans serve them.
Monsters.
“What is this? I asked for dark liquor – does this look dark to you?”
The largest of the angels spits the words at the girl and throws his glass to the ground next to her feet. She tenses up completely, not daring to move an inch.
The others snicker beside him. “Can’t even get a drink order right.”
“Pathetic.”
The first angel pushes past her and storms back into the building, the others following behind. One chuckles, “Clean that up, insect!”
The girl falls to her knees and begin to pick up tiny shards of glass. A sharp pang spears through my chest. How did she end up here?
I hide my weapons in the thickest bushes at the edge of the trees. I don’t know if they’ll still be there when I get back. If I get back.
I take my smallest dagger and tuck it into my left boot, aiming to satisfy the logical side of my brain that screams at me for going in without protection. I’m not a complete idiot.
I detangle my hair from its tight braid and fluff it up. I try to wipe some of the dirt off my face, but the backs of my hands are stained with a mixture of blood and ash that I’m sure only makes matters worse.
As I approach, the waitress is still kneeling on the ground, picking up shards one by one.
“Are you okay?”
I lean over and mirror her actions, scanning the ground for glimmers of broken glass.
Her eyes widen as she looks up at me. “What are you doing? They’ll kill you if they see you helping me.”
The heartache in my chest grows deeper, the fear in her eyes hitting me like daggers. “I don’t care.”
I give her a soft smile, but it doesn’t ease her.
She stands up and folds her arms over her chest. “Just go. I can clean it up myself.”
I put the shards of glass back down in a neat pile and stand. I squeeze her arm with one hand, subtly untying her apron with the other.
The waitress scoffs at me and bends down as I slip the apron off her and tie it around my own waist before she can notice it’s gone, quickly moving towards the entrance of the building.
It’s ten times bigger than it seemed from the trees. Walking inside, I truly do feel like an insect. The building is made of stone, its details not as intricate as the Pantheon’s were. It’s as if the illusion of beauty I saw from afar dissipates with every step I take. I wonder how the angels managed to build this within a few years, but I suppose it might be one of the perks of their immortal gifts.
I walk through an open door to the right, the sound of laughter and yelling growing louder. It’s not an aggressive sound, more reminiscent of a pub at three in the morning. It almost sounds like the world before.
The hairs on my arms stand tall as I walk into enemy territory.
Jeremy would tell me to turn around, to run as fast as I can and hope they let me live. But if our roles were reversed, he’d be out here making the same stupid decisions to get to me.
I follow the sound through a large empty room towards a towering archway. Beyond it, angels are gathered in groups, large glasses of beer and wine in hand, laughing and nudging each other. If it weren’t for the sea of wings and feathers, it would be a very human sight.
It takes me a few deep breaths to step into the crowd, shoving my way through the masses of drunken enemy warriors and hoping I become forgotten within it. There are bars at the front and back of the room, with lines of angels forming behind them. I have to walk on my toes to see through the crowd of giants, and as I do I see that the bartenders are all human. No surprises there – like any of them would stoop so low as to make drinks.
I grab a tray from the bar and slip through all the bodies. Angels place empty glasses on the tray as I walk past, not even looking at me as they do.
Towards the back of the room is another large archway that leads through to the dome. It’s laid out like a colosseum, with grandstands of angels cheering on the fight taking place in the centre. Drunk angels fighting – what could go wrong?
Though it’s not two angels who fight in the centre. It’s one angel, and one human.
Blood drips from the human’s nose, mouth, and head. He sways on his feet as the angel raises his arms to the crowd and encourages a cheer.
I grip the tray tightly. No wonder the archangel wouldn’t bring me here. They’re fighting humans for sport. To keep themselves amused. Was the destruction of our world not amusement enough?
The angel’s jet-black hair falls just above his shoulders, and an old scar trails from above his left eyebrow down to his cheekbone. That is the only mark on him; there’s not a single wound or ounce of blood on his features. He looks as if he’s merely playing a game.
The human is a small man with grey hair. He must be nearly sixty years old. He holds up his arms in defence, but they sag as if they’re about to fall off.
The human tries to punch the angel, who weaves and evades him with ease. The angel grabs him by the neck in retaliation. The crowd roars, cheering the angel as he chokes the human.
My fists curl around the tray and I fight the urge to race into the arena.
“If you go around pissing off other angels, I’m the one who will have to take care of you.”
The archangel’s words haunt me. They’re the only thing that stops me from acting on the reckless thought that races through my mind. If I interfere, the archangel will have me killed.
Then Jeremy will die along with me.
I watch reluctantly as the human man fights for breath, but when he taps the angel’s arm, the angel lets him go. The man lies crumpled on the ground, heaving, and the angel lifts his arms to the sky in victory as the crowd goes wild.
Don’t interfere. I repeat those words to myself until I stop at the bar at the back of the colosseum. I scan the room for white wings that drip with silver, but this doesn’t exactly strike me as the archangel’s scene. I can picture him as the sort to plan for battle while everybody else has fun.
Maybe if I can get one of these drunken angels talking, they’ll slip up and give me a hint as to where I could find him.
“Can you fetch me a drink, sweetheart?”
I jump at the voice that sounds too close to my ear. I force my lips to curve into a smile and turn around slowly.
“What can I get for —”
Bright red hair comes into view. Striking red-and-orange wings grow from the angel’s back, the colours swirling together like flames that burn with passion.
Afriel.