Kaybree Versus the Angels

by Harrison Paul

CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Songs and Judgments

  We started at the Bard Song. Mira and I sat at one of the oaken tables beneath a hanging steel lantern lit for the holiday. Its orange flame mixed with the rainbow prisms of sunlight that streamed through the open window. A light breeze blew through my hair, causing a chill tingle on the back of my neck.

  Will walked in and sat beside us with a few packets wrapped in white paper. "I snuck some of the cheese from the shop," he said, unwrapping it and taking a bite. He nodded to the stage by the hearth, where a bard was playing a fast song on his lute. "What do you think of this guy on the lute? Nice technical work, no?"

  I sniffed the cured cheese and took a bite. It was rich for goat's cheese, and packed a strong punch of flavor. "He's really fast," I said. "You have some tough competition."

  "I can take him," he said. "You know, I can play lute and sing at the same time. Like to see Hot Fingers over there do that. Crowds can appreciate a man with multiple talents."

  Mira sipped her drink. "As long as one includes writing lyrics. Unless you're trying to make them laugh."

  The smell of vanilla swept over me, a scent popular in the capital. Danelle and her posse walked past, and she shot me a warm smile. I tensed and waited for her attack. "Good morning, Kaybree," she said. Her hair fell to her shoulders, and her dress attempted to match the festive spirit of Midwinter with heavy fur lining, but still managed to cling to her figure like her other dresses. My own clothes consisted of a burgundy bordertown riding dress, along with my snow fox coat. To me, Midwinter was about celebrating our ancestors' survival in harsh conditions, so flaunting seemed kind of disrespectful. Like all their sacrifices were for the purpose of making us rich.

  "Good morning, Danelle," I said. I tried a little civility. "Your dress looks nice." I didn't even tack on any biting commentary. I was proud of my self-control.

  Her smile twisted at the edges as she likely tried to discern some hidden insult. "Why thank you," she said. "It's good to know that peasant blood doesn't keep someone from appreciating noble fashions." She gestured at the bards performing. "Or quality music. If you stay around longer, you might catch my troupe's performance."

  I folded my hands, wishing she'd go away. "Oh? What do you play?"

  "The lute, of course," she said, holding up a case. "Most students learn. Didn't your mother send you to music lessons?" She covered her mouth in mock sympathy. "Oh, maybe that was beyond her means. I understand."

  I tried not to let my smile falter. In a way, I wished that Danelle would turn out to be an Angel so I could transform and pound her a few times in the face. But I couldn't just punch someone because I didn't like them. I could do other things. "No, I was actually surprised that Galen never mentioned that you play. We spend so much time together that I was sure he'd bring it up." I pretended to think about something. "Oh, wait. He never talks about you."

  Danelle's eyes flashed. "If they don't burn you for witchcraft," she said, flipping back her hair, "then maybe they can behead you for adultery. Your family may not take your oaths seriously, but civilized people do." She turned on her heel and left, with her friends close behind. They melted into the growing crowd in the tavern.

  We listened to a few more songs, performed by bards of no small talent. I kept glancing at Will, wondering if he knew how weak his songs were in comparison. I didn't want him to rush up there next week, blustery and full of bravado, and think that he'd get roaring cheers from the audience. It might only be Apprentice Night, but after hearing so many fantastic bards, the crowds might not be friendly to beginners.

  "So, Kaybree," Mira said, sliding her glass over and sitting close to me. She lowered her voice. "Any word from your mom on what's in the tower?"

  Mom. The word didn't seem to fit my mother at all. I glanced around. With all the clanking of glasses and commotion of the patrons, not to mention the music, no one would hear us. I shook my head. "She and Galen seem to think there's nothing special there at all. I told them I think the Angels are trying to get something, but either they're not telling or they really don't know."

  Will took a swig of his drink. "You know," he said, setting down his mug, "all this time we've thought the Angels were looking for something. But everyone knows that your mother fought off the Angels here in that first attack. Could it have something to do with that? Maybe he's just scoping out a rival."

  "Seeing how she did it," I said, nodding. "That's right. No one has ever found out how she defeated the first Angel. I was here to fight the second one, but that first one is still a mystery. I saw Vormund try to kill the second Angel, but even putting relics on crossbows didn't seem to work. They have good defenses against the monsters of the forest, but not Angels. But still . . . that doesn't tell us why they stopped attacking fifteen years ago. Why not strike in other areas?"

  Mira twirled a strand of black hair on her finger. "It does give us a clue of why they're here now." She pulled out the Judge book and turned to a page full of runic letters. "Think about it, Kaybree. If you were an Angel, and mankind starts falling into sin, you first send visions to the sages, and then if that doesn't work, you send judgments and destruction. When we repent, the judgments stop. Except this time, before that happened, one of the Angels was defeated—by a mere human."

  I understood. It was all making sense. "Of course," I said, my heart pounding. "You wouldn't want to risk another attack until you knew how they fought you the last time."

  Will drummed his fingers on the table. "Ladies, we are still missing a crucial piece to this puzzle: why did they attack in the first place? If there's some kind of sin brewing among the masses, their visionary message must not have gotten through. And if we haven't mended our wicked ways, then they're just biding their time for the next wrathful judgment. Stop one Angel and bring a thousand more down on you."

  Visionary message. Had there been visions before the first attack too? And had anyone else but me seen visions before the latest one? I bit my lip, unsure of what to say to my friends.

  Will gave me a sidelong look. "You're making that face."

  "What face?" I asked.

  "The face that girls make when they know they should tell you something but really don't want to. So what is it?"

  I scowled at him. "You really know nothing about girls, Willard Matthias."

  He laughed. "Nope, I don't." His smile disappeared. "But I am a bit worried that you're getting so defensive. What's going on?" A wry smile returned on his face. "Come on, it can't be any crazier than transforming into a flying ball of mayhem and fighting with the Almighty's holy servants."

  "I've seen a vision."

  Mira's eyes widened. "Really?"

  "Twice."

  Will paled. He cleared his throat and shrugged, as if trying to pretend it was nothing special. "So, visions too. That's nice. They tell you anything useful?"

  "That judgments were coming upon the land, and that if we don't change things, it'll be the doom of us all." I shrugged. "So it's pretty scary, but not very useful."

  Mira shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. I mean, I'm sure you're a pure vessel before the Almighty, but why appear to you and not the sages?"

  "Maybe the sages weren't listening," Will said. "Or maybe they're the problem. Have you seen Traum marching around the sagekeep like someone stole his hair and he wants it back?"

  "I'm not sure," I said. "Jans seems to support the sages, even if he thinks Traum is a little too obsessed with his inquisition job. That is strange, though. Why tell me about judgments and then not tell me what we needed to change?"

  "There's only one person in this city who knows for sure," Mira said. "And I think we all know who that is."

  I twirled a strand of hair on my finger. "I guess I could try to ask him," I said. "I'll need to talk to him alone, and maybe say that I know something about how my mother fought the first Angel. But I can't let him know that I know about him."

  "Why not transform?" she said. "That would get his attention
."

  Will rolled his eyes. "And then what? Hold up a white flag and say 'Sorry about killing your Angel friend, but couldn't we just talk this out like civilized mythical beings?' The moment he saw her he'd turn battle-rage and try to slash her face off."

  I finished the last of the cheese, washing it down with a mild wheat tea. "Good point. I wonder what would happen if I just said I'd seen a vision?"

  Will frowned. "Well, he'd either tell you what you wanted to know . . . or tie you up and toss you into Traum's dungeon."

  "We'll think of something." I held in a sigh. This was Midwinter, and I hated having to worry about the Angels. I wanted to sit back and listen to the music and stories, like I always had. Except it was different this time. On the plus side, I had friends to enjoy it with. On the minus side, I had enemies too.

  The crowd's noise level dropped a notch. The bard performing laughed nervously and raised his mug of beer in a toast. "I'd like to dedicate this next song to those who guard our sagekeeps and make this festival possible. Ladies and gentlemen, Father Arctur Traum and the Knights of Valir!"

  There was a halfhearted applause. The bard whispered to his lute player, flute player, and drummer, and they started a traditional folk song about Giles the Philosopher, whose visions led humanity after the War of the Angels. It was a polite gesture, perhaps, or a way to stay politically safe.

  Traum moved through the crowd in his usual austere robes and wearing his usual condescending sneer. At least, I thought it was condescending. He probably thought it was righteous contempt for frivolity or something. His eyes locked on mine like metal to a lodestone, and he flashed a smile, heading my way. His teeth were long and sharp, like a predator's. "Ah, young Lady Staalvoss," he said. "A moment please."

  I smiled at Will and Mira. "I'll be back in a minute." I followed Father Traum outside, into the frigid winter air. Acrobats tumbled along beside jugglers and a team of sled dogs in the street. "Enjoying Midwinter, Father?"

  He scowled at the statuettes of philosophers and wreaths that hung on the doors of buildings. "Enjoying? A celebration of man's ignoble past mixed with raucous impiety? Why, there are more drunks and cutpurses and women about on Midwinter than any other time." He leaned closer. His breath smelled of onions today. It made me gag. "You don't think it makes my job more difficult when the unwashed masses gather? You tell me how to sift the wicked from this rabble."

  I smiled back. "It's nice to know that you've captured the holiday spirit: duty and responsibility. I'm glad we have people like you around, Father, to keep us in line."

  He frowned, probably at my cheery tone. "Your mother and her pet have returned," he said. It curdled my stomach to hear Galen referred to as a "pet." "What have you learned?"

  "That if they ever did anything important, they probably wouldn't tell me about it until it was over."

  Traum clenched my shoulder. It felt eerily like Jans digging his claws into that same shoulder a few days ago. "What have they talked about? What have they not talked about? Surely you know something."

  "Nothing. They didn't tell me anything. Whenever I ask about Angels, they just lock up."

  He stroked his chin. "Interesting," he said. "Perhaps you can—"

  "Uh, excuse me?" said Will, bursting in and grabbing my arm. "I'm really sorry, Father, but we kind of promised Brother Jans that we'd be at his reading, and it starts in, like, five minutes."

  I grinned. I could have kissed Will right then. "My apologies, Father. I'll be sure to tell you if my mother ever does anything abnormal. Like kiss babies or smile. Survive the Midwinter!"

  Traum took his hand off of my shoulder and straightened his robes. "This is no laughing matter." He brushed snowflakes off of his coat. "Beware of pride, girl. The eternal souls of this city are at stake." His tone chilled me, and I realized that although he spoke in ignorance, he was right. The city counted on me, and I was the only one who could stop the Angel. But even if I could fight them all, how could we stop them from coming back?

  We left quickly to lose ourselves in the crowd. Mira and Will raced along beside me through the streets, skidding on icy walkways and dodging other students rushing toward the taverns. We arrived at the sagekeep only a few minutes late, and slipped into Jans's classroom right as he opened the thick tome and began to read. The room was covered with a series of wreaths made of broken pine branches. Candles gave off a strange fragrance, their flames bright blue and their candlesticks placed within bowls of water. I coughed when I caught a breath of the smoke. It made my eyes water and my nose run. I found a seat toward the front, where the candle smoke wasn't as heavy.

  Mira took the seat on my right, and Will scooted into the chair on my left. He nibbled on a piece of cheese while Jans began the Saga:

  O fair and ye foul,

  Who grin and who writhe,

  Through death's hallowed halls ye now tread.

  Gaze anew at this world

  That thy hands have made

  Of burning keeps housing the dead.

  Rise up, Giles, see true

  Let vision shine bright

  Over desolate lands charred with hate.

  Thy people, not lost,

  Shall still rise anew

  Awaken, for small shall grow great.

  He stumbles from ruin,

  Through trees charred and black,

  From moldering heaps he called friends.

  When blindness descends

  In lightning array

  A messenger seeking amends.

 

  Mistakes light the candle

  To understand pow'r,

  The Angel recounts to the Sage.

  A philosopher's gift

  To fight wisdom's bane,

  Together they turn a new page.

  I listened, lost in his sonorous beauty of his voice. I thought of the Angel that had appeared to me in my dreams. Had Giles the Philosopher felt this way when he'd seen an Angel for the first time? How had he felt when the Angels took him from this world in a shaft of light? Where was he now? I wondered if he and the other great philosophers were watching us. I wished I could ask them what to do. What would the philosophers do if they found that the Angels were turning against mankind? Talk to them. Just like I'm trying to do. Maybe it was humanity's fault. Maybe Mikael's questions were leading me toward the truth. How could Angels be evil?

  My vision blurred, and I sneezed. Why did Jans have this horrible smoke inside his room? I glanced around at the others. No one else seemed to be reacting like I did. I blinked away the watery blur and kept my composure. I didn't want to worry Jans in the middle of his recitation.

  When the poem finished, we applauded for Jans and he took a bow. When we kept clapping, he gave a sheepish smile and bowed low again, setting the tome back on his desk. "Thank you all so much for coming. Please, enjoy the rest of Midwinter. I shall be reading again tomorrow at this same time. Thank you again."

  I walked over to Jans, but Will ran in front of me. He reached out and shook Jans's hand, grinning. "That was amazing, man! I felt like I was really there, peering off the edge of the abyss with old Giles himself. How do you do that?"

  Jans laughed. He seemed embarrassed by the attention. "I did not compose the poem," he said. "I am merely the voice of the poet. But I'm pleased that you enjoyed it."

  "Are the Angels really like that?" I asked. "Glorious, full of light, beautiful?" I wanted him to think I was asking about the poem, but I wondered what he'd say. After all, he hadn't been very bright or glorious when he'd attacked us in the tower.

  "That's what most of the accounts say," Jans said. "Giles, Baldr, most of the philosophers described the Angels they saw in vision that way."

  "Most?"

  "Angelic manifestations come to each philosopher differently," he said. "Most accounts converge on Angels of brilliance and glory. But there have been times when Angels have come in more humble guises, hiding as beggars or friends until they revealed themselves."

  Just like
him. "And why would they hide? Why not reveal themselves right away?"

  Jans frowned. "I suppose that some Angels come for different purposes than others. Some appear to grant knowledge. Others come to test our faith."

  To test our faith. Was that Jans's purpose here? And what were we supposed to do to pass the test? "Is there anyone else who wrote about the Angels? Any other poems? I'd like to hear some of those too." I smiled. "Not that they'd be better than your readings, of course."

  Jans waved a hand and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. I could tell that his eyes were watering too, though it couldn't have been from the candles. He'd placed them here himself. "Nonsense, Kaybree. Brother Van and Sister Arcias both have fine readings about visions later today that you should attend. They have theatrical training as well, so it should be quite marvelous. I think I'll go to them myself."

  "Thanks!" I turned so he wouldn't see me squint against the smoke of the candles. "We'll see you then!" I walked out and took a deep breath. My eyes cleared up and I saw Mira and Will staring at me. "Sorry, guys. Where are we going next?"

  Will took my arm and we started walking. "You all right, Kaybree? Or do all Witches cry at old poetry?"

  I sneezed. "No, it's not that." I wiped my eyes. Now that we had left the classroom, my sinuses began to feel clearer. "Just the smoke from his candles."

  "I've never seen bright blue fire before," Mira said. "Are you sure it was the candles? They smelled funny, but nobody else was tearing up."

  I shrugged in response. I decided to ask Signy about it later.

  We emerged outside, where the cheese vendors and herb sellers had set up stands and booths. Although the traditional foods were supposed to be plain, most of the vendors sold salted or sweetened versions of them. "I wonder where they sell pure yogurt," I said. "I usually live on that stuff during Midwinter."

  Will bought a roasted fish on a stick and wagged it at me. "What, did your mother lock you up in your room? So you wouldn't fraternize with the unsavory characters at the taverns?" He took a bite of the fish. "Here, have a bite."

  "No thanks," I said. "Actually, I like going through Midwinter eating a winter diet."

  Will chewed on his fish. "Why?"

  "Some of the sages say it's good for your health," Mira chimed in.

  "Not just that," I said as we passed a street performer playing Ignes's Ballad to a crowd of clapping children. "I want to feel a little of what our ancestors had to go through. Don't you ever wonder what it was like living back then? You struggled all summer to store up food in cellars and iceboxes, and to keep your animals well fed for the winter. And then the snows would come and trap you and your family in your homes, with nothing to do but eat and tell stories and try to survive." I shrugged. "It makes me appreciate what we have the rest of the year, I guess."

  Will shook his head wryly. "Whatever you say."

  The snow fell lightly around us as we kept walking down the street. We reached the end of the vendors' row and took the next street, which curved back and led to the Bard Song. Will told us about a legendary bard, Black Frost Giant, who was performing later today, so we decided to go back and eat at Bard Song before the show.

  "What are you doing here?"

  I knew the voice, and it made my insides twist. My mother stood there, and although she was only a few inches taller, her presence towered over me. "Hi, Mother. Survive the Midwinter!"

  She wasn't in a festive mood. Her uniform was crisply pressed and its buttons shined. Her hair was pulled back in a conservative bun. "You have a city to defend, young lady," she whispered. Mira and Will hung back at a respectful distance. "Jans continues to walk among us, waiting for an opportunity to strike again."

  I kept my eyes down. "I'm searching for him now," I said.

  "You're unarmed. What do you expect will happen if he attacks you first?" She handed me a pouch. "Take this."

  I opened the pouch. It contained a slender red bracelet. "Is this—"

  "Yes," she said, snatching away the bracelet and putting it back into the pouch. "Only use it if absolutely necessary. Its power capacity should be small enough that you can handle it."

  "But what about Father Traum?" I asked. "If he finds me with this—"

  "Do not worry about one mad crusader," she said. "An Angel is far deadlier a threat. I want you ready if he should move."

  I slid the pouch away. "It's nice to know you care about me."

  She clasped me in a wooden embrace and kissed me on the cheek. At least she was honest about her motives for wanting to protect me. Talking about humanity's defense was the only time she sounded sincere.

  My thoughts turned to Jans. I'd fought an Angel before, even killed him, but it was only when he threatened to burn the whole city down. If my mother and Galen thought Jans was going to do the same, would they order me to attack him? Even knowing what he was, even seeing him kill Father Kraus, I wasn't sure I could. I was a Witch, but I fought Angels when I needed to protect someone; I didn't attack someone who looked so human and defenseless. And what if we were wrong, and Jans wasn't the real evil behind this—how could I live with myself if I killed him and he was innocent?

  Will and Mira came up behind me, and we continued toward the Bard Song. I thought about my mother, how my father had described her and how she was now. Was she ever bright and fun loving like he had portrayed, or was he a lovesick fool tricking himself? A shudder passed down my spine. What if she wasn't my mother? Could Andreya Staalvoss be an Angel dressed up as a human? That would change everything. I put the thought in the back of my mind for now, though. I couldn't go around accusing everyone who acted strange of being an Angel.

  "Black Frost Giant is the king of the lute," Will said, ushering us back into Bard Song. "I picked up my style from his technique. And his singing and lyrics are incredible too. I'm really stoked for this." He ordered some food for us—traditional fish and yogurt—and we sat at our table, waiting for the next bard to come out.

  Mira tapped my shoulder. "So what did your mother say?"

  "She asked me about the Angel," I said. I tapped the pouch in my coat pocket. "She also gave me a present."

  Mira's eyes widened, and she pointed to the side. "Kaybree, it's that guy again. The borderman. I think he likes you."

  Mikael stood by the entrance, looking straight at me. His eyes locked onto me like a hunting cat, elegant yet dangerous. He had a gorgeous face, though it seemed hewn from stone because of his grim expression. Not to mention that his fashion sense was nonexistent; he wore the same green cloak and studded vest as before. They didn't even match. I waited with my friends as Mikael made his way through the crowd, nudging other patrons aside as he advanced. When he passed by our table, he leaned over and said, "We need to talk."

  I stayed right where I was. "Anything you can say to me, you can say to my friends."

  Mikael eyed Will and Mira, who both seemed embarrassed by his presence. Will carved his initials into the table with a pocket knife, while Mira flipped through the pages of a book, glancing up every few seconds. "You're running out of time," he said, making a show of not looking at Will or Mira.

  "Until what? I turn into a pumpkin?"

  His hand shot out and grabbed my arm, pulling me away toward the tavern counter. I stumbled along, surprised by his strength. Will stood, but I waved him away. I let Mikael lead me to the counter, where a loud game of dice was happening. The rattling of the wooden dice and the shouts of the winners and losers covered our conversation. Mikael leaned close, his hand still clenched tightly around my arm. "Do you think this is a game? They're out there, Kaybree. They're hunting you."

  I tried to pull my arm back, but his grip held firm. "Well, what do you want me to do about it? I still don't know why they're attacking. And if I keep fighting them, more will come in their place. I need to know why."

  Mikael released my arm. He took a step back, eying me with an amused smile. "You're really something else," he said with a chuckle. "Give you the power to move
mountains, and you play pranks on an Ambros." He stroked his chin and arched an eyebrow. "You've never wondered about the possibilities? You're a Witch. You could have anything you want."

  I rolled my eyes. "What I want is to have a normal life, with normal friends, without fiery flying things trying to kill me." I leaned in closer, whispering into his ear. "Look, if the Angels want us to repent of our sins or something, why not just send a vision to one of the sages? It would be a whole lot more polite than all this death and destruction."

  Mikael frowned. "And then what would you do with your powers?"

  "Nothing." I smiled. "If the world isn't in danger, I don't need to save it."

  The crowd broke into applause as a massive figure strolled toward the stage. Mikael leaned in closer. "Power can be used for good, or it can be used for evil. You can't just put it on a shelf and let it gather dust."

  I smirked back. "Watch me." I returned to Will and Mira, who were sitting at their table and sipping mugs of ginger beer. I slid into the seat next to Mira and gave them an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that."

  Will sighed. "That must be what fame is like," he said. "You just got here to the city, but everyone wants to talk to you."

  "It's mostly because of my mother," I said. "I'm used to it. But it's nice to have some friends too. Ones who don't just come by to give me cryptic messages."

  Will had already turned to watch Black Frost Giant strum his first chord on his lute. He stood at least two heads taller than most men in the room, and he carried an enormous double-lute as tall as he was. Something about the lute's design made it sound deep and explosive, like a rush of pure power. He started on an intricate intro to the song, and then sang in a deep, resonant voice. The song described the epic of Baldr the Philosopher, how an Angel saved him from the winter snows. How he led humankind toward a greater understanding of ourselves.

  I looked around the room. These people don't know there's an Angel out there. An Angel that might want to kill them instead of save them. The stories told us to rely on the Angels to protect us, but what if the Angels were what we needed protection from? That means I'm the one. I had to protect all of these people. Could I do it? Did Baldr or Giles or the heroes in the songs ever feel like this? Did they ever wonder if someone had made a mistake and chosen the wrong person?

  I listened to the rest of the song, but the whole time, I wondered what Baldr would do if he was in my shoes. Then I thought of a way I might be able to find out.