Death's Angel

by Colin Lindsay

  They made their way back out to the ledge where they’d left their belongings and found them undisturbed by the spiders or anything else. They scooped up their journals and hurried back inside. In the map room, they revised the maps in their journals by annotating them with the amulet settings for all of the locations they recognized. Kala noticed when trying to find the location of Bayre, that there was a green gemstone near it. “I think the green stones are the ‘dead spiders,’” she told Skye, “beacons from which you can call an airship.” She made sure to add all of their locations on the map in her journal.

  Skye made his own discovery. “I think I found our island,” he announced. He was standing off on what they’d worked out to be the far west side of the room. There’s a black stone here, which is why it was so hard to find.” He’d used the amulet to illumine it by spinning its outer ring as far in one direction as it would go. “There is nothing else this far west. It’s closer to the west coast than the east coast, thank the gods, and I figure that if we can coax an airship to leave this place, we could go from here to this place on the coast,” he suggested, walking across the map and pointing out a blue gemstone. “Then, we’d head on to my village. The stop would be to gather supplies. Besides, it’s too far to make it all the way to my village in one hop. As it stands, I am not sure we’ll even make it to the coast without food and water, and who knows what type of reception we’ll get when we do.”

  “We’ve got to try,” Kala agreed and returned to updating her journal.

  Having gotten as much information as they could from the map room, they each grabbed an amulet, and headed back to the caldera, and then through the fissure to the ledge. It had grown dark while they were in the map room, but the glow of the lava bathed their surroundings in a red light that was eerie, but sufficient to see by.

  They collected their belongings off the ledge. They were still too hot to bear the thought of getting redressed, so they cradled their clothes in their arms as they walked down the mountain. They descended in silence, as neither wanted to comment on their slim odds of making it to the coast alive.

  Arriving at the airfield, Skye declared, “I want a big one,” and set about finding one in the faint light cast by the lava belched from the volcano. They boarded their chosen airship and closed the door behind them. They looked at the amulets around their necks. Skye consulted his journal and dialed his amulet. Nothing happened. Turning it over, he pressed its center, and they heard the familiar thud of the ship’s anchor releasing. The ship began to rise. They slumped to the floor, relieved beyond measure, and prayed that they’d be alive when they made landfall.

  Priestess

  The Priestess was greeted by a blast of frigid air as she opened the airship door. The howling winds lifted the dry snow off the ground, like a snowstorm in reverse. She looked out over the frozen wastes appreciatively. Things were unchanging here – they didn’t require constant oversight and guidance – they just were. She pulled her collar tight around her neck and stepped out into the wind. She oriented herself toward the lone structure on the otherwise featureless tundra and trudged toward it through the snow.

  The entrance to the building was set in the side that was typically leeward to the wind, so the wind abated somewhat as she got closer to the building, and it shielded her from the worst of it. The walls were constructed of centuries-old blocks of ice – shaped by people long forgotten, but whose mission she carried on. The walls jutted skyward at sharp angles in stark contrast to the surrounding landscape, which had been smoothed by eons of unrelenting wind. Even the distant hills were uniformly rounded.

  The entry was recessed at the end of a long, slightly inclined ramp. The Priestess trudged up it to giant wooden doors that had been transported here in some manner that was no longer conceivable. She unstuck the knocker and banged loudly on the door. A moment later, it swung open, and she hurried inside.

  An old monk, swaddled in furs, greeted her. “Priestess, please accept my apologies – we weren’t expecting you.”

  “No need to apologize, brother – this visit was unplanned.”

  “Would you like to eat and rest first after your long trip?” he asked.

  “No, thank you. I’d like to tour the vaults first – but then, afterward, dinner would be appreciated.”

  “As you wish, Priestess. I believe you know the way.”

  She nodded, and he scurried off. She released her grip on her collar, but still shuddered from the cold. The building was kept unheated; even when it was fully occupied, the only heat coming from the bodies of its inhabitants. She turned in the opposite direction that the old monk had taken and walked deeper into the building. She descended several levels and had to light a torch to continue. Skylights lit the upper levels, but their dim light did not extend to the deepest ones.

  She followed the labyrinthian path from memory until she arrived at the door to the Vaults. She took a key from around her neck, one of very few in existence, and placed it in the keyhole. She turned the key, and a series of clicks and whirs told her that the door had been unsealed. She swung it open and stepped inside. Once inside, she closed and relocked it. If something befell her inside, the Vaults would remain sealed.

  She lit a torch on the wall, in case the one she held went out unexpectedly, then switched her torch to her other hand and set off across the antechamber. The flickering light revealed a long corridor that stretched on into the darkness. She passed the first of several rooms that contained seed stock for some of the more useful strains of plants that grew across the planet. These rooms were located near the Vault’s entrance as they were the most frequently accessed.

  She next passed rooms containing biological weapons that the Church used to regulate the population. These rooms were accessed moderately frequently. What she sought lay in the deepest recesses of the Vaults, and was something she’d only learned about by poring through the Church’s oldest texts. She continued to the farthest rooms. She passed rooms that hadn’t been inventoried in generations, and she would have consult ledgers to recall what they contained.

  She arrived at the farthest rooms and counted doorways until she found the one she sought. It hadn’t been disturbed in ages, so she brushed the cobwebs away from the keyhole and inserted a second key, of which she was presently the sole owner, and opened the door. She stepped inside and found a room full of crates extending into the distance. She pried the lid off the nearest crate and beheld items created by chemists in times so ancient that even everyone who remembered them was long dead. It was a fearsome technology that the Church hadn’t had to employ in recorded history. Just touching it comforted her to know that it existed and was at her disposal.

  Satisfied with what she’d come to verify, she retraced her steps out of the Vaults. She walked back to the entrance to the building, then continued to the dining area. The old monk had been expecting her and didn’t comment on the length of time she’d spent in the recesses of the building. He simply motioned her toward a small room off the main dining room.

  Closing the door behind her, he apologized. “It’s easier to heat this small room.” He bade her sit down at a table sized for two. A cold soup, small salad, and roll were set at her place. “Please start with this while I fetch your meal.”

  “Thank you, brother,” she replied, and he scurried off through an open door.

  He returned a moment later with a plate of roast lamb and vegetables, and set it before her.

  “You’re not eating?” she asked.

  “I’ve eaten earlier – thank you. I don’t need much at my age,” he added.

  “Please sit regardless, and tell me of your progress in readying this place.”

  He sat down, slightly uncomfortable, whether because of her or the infrequency of visitors, she couldn’t tell. “We’ve tested the system that extracts heat from deep in the ground. It still works, and we can turn it on at a moment’s notice.”

  “Why don’t you have it on now?” she asked, not accus
ingly, just curious.

  “We don’t really need it, and it would be wasteful – but as I said, it’s ready when needed.” He went on. “The quarters are in good repair – we can accommodate several hundred souls. We walked through the dining hall, and the kitchens behind me can serve several hundred as well.”

  She ate her lamb and nodded at him to continue.

  “We keep the subterranean farms running constantly. They do not yield very much, and they do so slowly, but we preserve what they produce and place it in cold storage. We also have a fair amount of livestock housed here as well. All in all, we have sufficient provisions for a full complement for about two moons,” he concluded.

  “Impressive,” she responded.

  He looked relieved that he’d passed inspection. He blanched slightly when he noticed that she’d been finished with her meal for a little while and was just reclining in her chair. He jumped to his feet and grabbed her dishes. “I have a bread pudding just coming out of the oven,” he reported and ducked out of the room. He returned a moment later with the steaming dish and then cringed. “Perhaps it needs to cool off a bit.”

  “I’m sure it is fine,” she said and smiled warmly. “I commend your hospitality in such a difficult place.

  He smiled back, uncertainly. “May I take my leave, Priestess? I have to attend to the animals.”

  “By all means. Your company has been very informative.”

  “You have your pick of sleeping quarters. I will have your breakfast ready at dawn.”

  She thanked him and waved him away. She lifted a forkful of pudding to her lips and blew on it, then spent the evening mulling over what she’d found in the Vaults.

  The Priestess was happy to have returned to the land of warmth. She passed through the beautiful gardens surrounding the temple and wondered how long it would be before they were trampled beneath Soren’s boots. She entered the building that led to the catacombs and descended calmly. She positioned herself across from the crystal and opened her mind to anything the Ancients might want to tell her. Her breathing slowed, and the visions started.

  She saw through the eyes of a raven flying high above an army camped on a vast plane. She looked in all directions, but the host stretched on as far as she could see. The vision dimmed, and she found herself looking out to sea. Two mighty waves reared and crashed into each other, each obliterating the other. She tasted saltwater and found herself floating on the sea’s calm surface. The tide changed direction, and she felt its tug shift from pulling her inland to pushing her out to sea.

  She opened her eyes, exhausted. The entire day had passed, and she had not moved from her seat. Her body ached as she rose in the dark, the only light coming from the intermittent flashes from within the crystal. She sat pondering the meaning of her visions - the Ancients communicated obtusely, and it was mentally exhausting to interpret their messages. Her stomach protested having missed lunch, so she decided to unravel their meaning later. She’d need to consult with other oracles and compare their visions.

  She was so familiar with the space that she could navigate her way back without light, so she didn’t bother to light a torch. She just meandered back to the surface, her thoughts consumed by the visions.

  The Priestess lay in bed, watching the moon hanging low in the sky outside her window. The cool night wind wafted over her bare shoulders.

  “Brother Grey?” she asked.

  “Yes, milady,” he replied. He reserved this term of familiarity for within her chambers.

  “I’ve been thinking…,” she began and rolled over to place her head on his chest. She drummed her nails on his stomach and continued, “Our weapon is developing well. Loss has been a powerful motivator for her growing into her role, but time is slipping away. We have to push her harder. Her consort – the boy named Skye – I want you to kill him.”

  “As you wish, milady,” he replied.

  10

  Kala

  Kala woke in a strange bed. She bolted upright and reached for the dagger that she discovered was no longer strapped to her thigh. She looked about in a panic.

  “There, there dear – you’re all right,” a woman’s voice soothed.

  Kala homed in on the source of the voice and found an elderly woman reclining in an upholstered chair, cup in one hand and saucer in the other. She put them down carefully on the cluttered table beside her chair, and pulled off the heavy blankets that covered her, putting them aside in a heap on the floor. She picked up a candle that was balanced precariously on a pile of books. “Let’s have a look at you,” she said and rose with an effort from her chair. She ambled over slowly. “This old body isn’t what it used to be,” she sighed and lifted the candle to illumine Kala’s face. “Oh – you’re pretty,” she exclaimed. “Couldn’t tell by the state you were in when we found you, pale as you were… but your color is returning, and it suits you,” she concluded, satisfied.

  “Is my…,” Kala began, but paused, unsure of what to call Skye. Her boyfriend?

  “Your friend?” the woman finished for her.

  Kala nodded.

  “He’s on the sofa in the front room. I can’t say what condition he’s in, other than he looked worse off than you did when we brought you both here – but he was breathing regularly when I checked on him a moment ago.

  Kala relaxed, then realized she was wearing an enormous flannel nightgown.

  The woman chuckled at her confusion. “That’s mine – had to pin it in places – you being skin and bones and all. Wasn’t easy getting you out of that leather outfit of yours. I mean, really – how could you ever be comfortable in a thing like that?” She stared at Kala in amazement. “But I did my best to wash it. It’s drying on the line outside. It pleased me greatly to see the neighbors worked up into a tizzy when they saw it. That alone is more scandal than we’ve had in years.” The woman chuckled at the memory and headed for the door. “I’ll fetch you some soup – then you’ll have quite the story to tell, I imagine.” She paused at the doorway and added, “I’ll check on your friend on my way past.” She sauntered out of the room.

  Kala looked around at the cozy bedroom, lit by flickering candlelight. The bed she lay in filled most of the space, but there was a comfortable reading nook in which the woman had been sitting and a tiny wood-burning stove in the corner. Paintings and sketches of smiling faces filled the walls. Heavy floral drapes were pulled closed in front of the windows, and a collection of well-worn carpets covered the floor. She felt a pang of longing for her old cottage. Quilts spilled off the bed, clothes were scattered about the floor, and a pile of books surrounded the woman’s chair. Order was obviously not a priority, but it radiated comfort.

  A yellow tabby startled Kala by jumping up onto the bed. It strolled over and lay down on her lap.

  “Well, hello there,” Kala greeted it.

  It was annoyed at not receiving enough attention, so it butted her hand with its head until she scratched behind its ears.

  “I see you’ve met Tiberius,” the old woman noted, returning with a steaming bowl of broth. She shooed the cat off Kala’s lap, although it only complied reluctantly. The woman turned back to Kala with the soup in her hand. “Let’s start you off slowly,” she advised, “Then we’ll work you up to something more substantial.” The smell wafted over to Kala, and she realized that she was ravenous.

  “Can you sit up without help, dear?” the woman asked, puzzling over where to put the soup down if the answer were ‘no.’

  “Yes, I can, thank you,” Kala replied and rearranged the mountain of pillows that surrounded her into a tidy pile behind her, and propped herself up against them.

  The woman handed her the bowl and a spoon. “Careful now – it’s hot,” she fussed. “Oh, and your friend still breathes,” she added happily.

  Kala blew on a spoonful of broth. She only noticed how chapped her lips were as she closed them over the spoon. The soup tasted heavenly after so long without eating, but her stomach revolted nonetheless. S
he sat stock-still for a moment, wondering if she was going to be sick.

  “There, there – just take your time, and you’ll be fine,” the woman coached. She walked back to her chair while Kala sipped her soup, and dragged it across the floor to Kala’s bedside. The screeching it made as the back legs scraped against the bare wood floor would have woken the dead and Kala peeked out the doorway to see if it had, in fact, woken Skye. It didn’t appear to have done so, and she worried for him despite the woman’s assurances.

  The woman positioned the chair beside Kala and collapsed into it, panting. “I’ll need a moment,” she wheezed. Once she’d recovered her breath, she started again, “Allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Edith. Welcome to my humble home.” She looked at Kala for her to respond in kind.

  Kala put her soup down. “Pardon my manners. The soup is delicious, and I was finding that distracting.” She collected her thoughts and decided that here in this tiny bedroom, she wanted to be Kala, a girl woefully far from home, rather than Raven, Angel of Death. “I’m Kala,” she said and marveled at how right it felt to say it.

  Edith beamed. “I knew a Kala once when I was a young girl.” She leaned back into her chair. “Now tell me how you and your friend came to us on death’s door in an airship from across the sea. We don’t get ships from out west – just from the south along the coast, and never with two such intriguing passengers, or two at all. Imagine our surprise.” She folded her blankets back over herself, readying herself for a lengthy tale.

  “There’s not much to the story, I’m afraid. My friend and I are from villages east of here, and we stowed away aboard an airship trying to get back home.”

  “I can’t say I blame you,” Edith declared. “I’m quite attached to my home, simple though it may be.” She mulled over something that puzzled her. “You say you’re from the east – but you arrived from the west. Our fishermen tell us that there’s no land west of here. And it was the damnedest thing – pardon my language – but your airship drifted in out of the fog and landed itself squarely with nary a soul tugging it down. It’s sitting there still – not even tied to the ground – just sitting there,” Edith marveled.