Sacrifices Made #2
I raise my arm and accept his help. He carries me some way before placing me down on a small boulder. I gently set my leg down and mask my wince as much as possible. But he misses nothing.
“You’re in great pain?”
“Yes, but it will heal. It will just take some time.”
“How long?”
“By morning, I imagine.”
He seems less worried by this, taking my words at face value. I will not heal. Not from a wound this severe and with no more elixir in my blood. I hope at some point in the night, when not under his watchful gaze, I can change that and be as good as new with one small dose.
If he sleeps at all.
Do angels require rest? If not, I have to hope he leaves me unattended at some point.
I also need to mentally prepare myself for the task ahead.
He is within reach, and his guard is down.
I might never have another chance like this one, though I war with the thoughts he has planted in my mind.
Others, bred into me, battle those and remind me of the sacrifices I have made to have this opportunity. I cannot let it pass me by.
We stare at one another for a long moment. I take in this version of him, which looks both like the boy I see in the visions, but has since grown into a man and fought on the battlefield. He's changed a great deal.
“I saw something when you caught me.”
He nods. “I did as well.”
“I saw you and another. The white one. He’s your twin? Or was, a lifetime ago?”
“He is, yes, and we, unlike the other Horsemen, were once human.”
His visage slowly changes back before my eyes to that of the rugged man I met in the woods when injured.
Not exactly the blond highlander I witnessed in my visions because of the grey, and I am curious as to why he chooses to appear as this—older and his hair ashen like the air around us.
Is it to blend in, or because of the role he plays among the Horsemen? That of a Plague Caster?
“Unlike War and Death, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“They are creations of Heaven and Hell, imbued with powers from their makers like us. But they never once lived among mankind. They don’t know them as we do, and Pollock and I are the balance of those two scales.
Conquest and Devastation. He can influence the hearts and minds of those susceptible, and I can influence the world around them, their anatomy, or ability to function, any life on earth, really. ”
“What do you mean, imbued with powers from their makers? Isn’t there just one? God, who’s the other?”
“The Devil, or as you all like to call him, Lucifer.”
“He created the black one? Death?”
“No, he created Kahill, Wrath, or again, as you all have come up with many creative names for us, he also goes by War.”
My hair blew across my face again, and I raised my hand to brush it away. “That is not at all what the scriptures say.”
He shrugs and looks away, inspecting the area around us. “Then your scriptures would be wrong.”
Agitation runs through me. I riffle through the words I know by heart and think over their meaning, how they might be misconstrued.
While I do, I work to unwind the torn portion of the blanket from around my injured leg.
My blood has soaked through many layers of cloth, and they stick to one another, making it more difficult not to jar my leg while removing them.
However, I need to see how bad the wound still is, so I proceed until the last binding is gone.
He sees what I’m doing and sinks to his knee to get a closer look.
“It’s healed some, but without properly cleaning it, infection will set in.”
“At least the bone is no longer sticking out.”
“How’s your pain?”
“Manageable.”
He looks doubtful. His lips pinch as he gets back to his feet. I’m going to search for dry wood and build us a fire.”
“No ability to just point and create one? That’s disappointing.” It’s a joke, but he takes me literally.
“That would be Kahill. But I can guarantee he wouldn’t be as accommodating as I am. He would have left you behind in that trap to die. He has no patience for women or their whims. Only the strong survive in his company. The rest get left behind.”
“He sounds pleasant.”
“Pleasant is not the word I would use to describe him, no.”
He ventures a few feet away, then disappears into the trees. I hear him, but whether he’s gone back to being invisible or just where I can’t see him, I’m not sure.
A loud screech rents the air, so piercing in pitch that a shiver skates up my spine.
Orán is back in a matter of seconds, dumps wood into a pile a safe distance away from me. He crosses to an outcropping and peers downward. Another screech comes and another.
It sounds like an animal dying.
“What in Heaven’s name is that?”
He looks back at me over his shoulder, a dour expression covering his features. “They’ve found the trail. They’re hunting us.”
“The demons?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s the same sound they made when they caught my scent before.”
“How long did it take them to find you?”
“A few hours, but I also stopped trying to lose them and lured them into an easily defensible position. I needed to figure out what I was dealing with.”
“Do you think they’ll find us?”
“Depends on how good they are at climbing.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
“Not trying to be. Giving you a false sense of security won’t do either of us any good. It’s better if you’re prepared for the worst.”
He’s quiet for a moment and then says, “They’re a good distance away at least. However, this means we won’t be needing that wood to start a fire.”
“You could fly us to safety. Yes?”
He nods and comes closer. “Yes, but where is safe? They may be the only demons hunting us. However, I have yet to ascertain how many we might be dealing with and if anything else has escaped to breach the surface.
“What kind of demons did you face before? Do you think these are the same kind?”
“By the sounds of it, yes, they could be the very same. Part hound, part demon. About two to three feet tall. Long ears, so they probably have exceptional hearing. Thick hides, hard to kill. Their skin is ghostly and pale, but black blood can be seen running through their veins, which is the marking you’ll want to look for in any unnatural beast you come across.
They have ridged backs and blazing red eyes.
Sharp teeth and claws like most demons, but with protruding horns on the crown of their heads and long muzzles and canines. ”
“Oh, is that all?”
He smirks then. “Let’s just call ourselves lucky that they don’t have wings”.
“How fast can they move?”
“Fast enough, and they hunt together, as if they think as one. They’ll look to herd and corner you so as to put you at a disadvantage.”
“Can they be killed?”
“Yes.”
“Fatally wound one, and it’ll die like any other beast on Earth.
Heart, head, or a wound severe enough to put it down.
” He’s pacing now in a slow gait, thinking, looking over at me every so often to make eye contact while answering my questions.
When he stops, he exhales and says, “That’s not the same with higher levels of demons.
Some can…” He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head.
“What?”
“Some can regenerate as we do. The higher the level of demons, the more abilities they have.”
“Yes, but can the higher ones also breach the surface? These are smaller, yes?”
“If there’s a way through, I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before the others find it as well. Heaven’s Gate, there could be more than one opening with the damage done in those quakes.”
“So what do we do? We can’t just sit here and wait for them to find us.”
“We make our way toward my brothers. You said they were in this direction.” He points east, and I nod. “We need to warn them and send Kahill after them. Put his powers to good use. It was Kahill with Pollock, yes? Not Tíarnach?”
“Tíarnach? Oh, you mean Death. Is that his real name?”
“Yes. Though he goes by many names, most are inaccurate. He’s a soul seeker, and his purpose here isn’t actually to claim dominion over life. He’s the last to cast judgment.”
More high-pitched snarls can be heard in the distance. They sound closer. As soon as they quiet down, I say, “I don’t know what that means.”
“Nor do I have the time to explain it. We’ll need to finish this conversation another time, Priestess. They’re closing in. Come.” He bends down closer to me and holds out his arms. “I’ll need to fly us out of here.”
Cautiously, I rise from the boulder on my good leg.
This time, when we touch, it is not his old life on Earth I see, but glimpses of another place.
He rises naked from a pool of silver. It drips off of him as he strides forward.
Hair wet and body gleaming. He is a sight that, though I try internally to pull away from, I cannot.
In the next glimpse, he is wearing his full armor and standing next to Pollock and two others.
An angel that is larger and broader with red hair, and one dark, his black wings the biggest and set high over his shoulders, black but shimmering with gold.
The dark one turns as if sensing that I am infiltrating this moment, and he peers at me with eyes that remind me of the wheatfield.
Of the day that changed my life forever. They too are gold.
I am suddenly pulled out of the moment as Orán speaks. “The tattoo, the one on the back of your neck that they marked you with as a little girl. What is the meaning of the symbol?”
I know what he speaks of, the thought of sharing that with him—knowing that he is experiencing the same thing, small glimpses into my past when we touch—unnerves me.
“I don’t know.”
He picks me up gently and holds me for only a second before he walks to the edge of the cliff. “Why don’t I believe you?”
Probably because I do not put much effort into the lie. I am still reeling with all I have learned, and the last thing I want to do is reveal that I was hand-selected by our Order to defeat the very being who is saving my life.