First Angels

by Guerric Haché, Keezy Young

  He grumbled, but gestured to the other guards to get off - an order they had looked ready for since she had arrived. He slapped the back of the pilot’s cabin, and the hauler slowed and stilled, the army continuing to move around it. Isavel turned to her friends, who were watching and waiting several meters away, and beckoned them over.

  Dendre hopped off the hauler and pointed at the cabin. “I’d rather not send my pilot out with you. I think this is a terrible idea.”

  Isavel grinned, watching the pilot step out warily onto solid ground. “You think I’m a terrible idea, Bulwark. Keep your pilot, then.”

  “You said it, not me.” Dendre turned to leave, and crossed paths with Sorn and Rodan, and the others behind them. “So you’re the ones going out to risk your necks with the Herald, eh? Good luck to you all.”

  As he walked away, Sorn looked at her. “Wait, what? Isavel, what are we doing?”

  She pointed to the head of the army. “We’re going out to scout - I need to stretch my legs a bit, and this army feels slow.”

  He was shaking his head, though. “Isavel, you can’t put yourself at risk like that. Wouldn’t it be better to send regular scouts to do the job?”

  She frowned, tilting her head. There was something about his tone, something counselling and advising, that she didn’t like. It felt too formal. “I can’t? What do you mean? I can do whatever I want, and this isn’t strictly about scouting - it’s about feeling progress.”

  “It’s just - you could make yourself a target. They must know you by now.”

  “We’re on a hauler that moves faster than anyone can run. We’ll be fine.”

  Sorn pursed his lips, looking around at the others. His eyes briefly met with Marea’s, and he turned towards Zoa and Ren with a sigh. “The coders are useless in a fight - I’ll get them some guns.”

  Ren shrugged and Zoa nodded in agreement. Sorn stalked off, and Isavel was left to stare after him. She turned back to the coders, who hadn’t known her for as long - and who would, certainly, be more at risk in a fight. “You two want to pilot the hauler? I’m sure you’re better with ancient relics than the rest of us.”

  They exchanged nervous glances, but Zoa nodded and pointed at the cabin, looking at her brother. “Come on, there could be new code in there!”

  That musing seemed to light him up, and they clambered into the inert hauler, leaving Isavel with Rodan and Marea. Rodan, she noted, only belatedly pulled his eyes off of Zoa as she entered the hauler. Isavel cleared her throat and pointed off in Sorn’s direction. “What was that all about?”

  Rodan glanced over to Sorn and shrugged. Marea bit her lip, but spoke up nonetheless, in her native language as she often did. “Sorn is worried you don’t understand your importance. Don’t be too hard on him, especially when he can’t talk back.”

  Isavel blinked. She could barely comprehend what Marea meant - had she come across as… ordering him around? How could that possibly be? They were intimately close - he should always be able to talk back. She might have told him off for telling her what she couldn’t do, but surely he should understand that was a retort, not a dismissal.

  She rubbed her temple and sighed. “He needs to relax. This isn’t that big a deal.”

  The hauler hummed to life, and Isavel heard Zoa swear gently from inside the cabin. She peered inside the cabin to look at the coders.

  “Zoa? Are you okay?”

  Zoa’s hands were clasping a pair of sticks alongside her seat, and she was looking ahead with a look of intense concentration. “Um… it’s weird. Really weird.” The hauler slid forwards a little, then back alongside Isavel. “I’m not sure I like it, but I’ll get used to it. It’s… kind of like the thing already knows how to pilot itself, and it’s helping me. It’s hard to explain.”

  Ren looked amused, glancing between his sister and dark code embedded in the front of the cabin.

  Isavel wondered at that - the machine might know how to pilot itself. It was said the gifts knew how to work themselves, too, and showed the gifted directly. She looked at her hands, at the ripples of colour and texture she could call up across it with a simple thought. Given how easily the gifts had come to her, she could believe it.

  Sorn returned soon with a pair of guns in his arms, eyes on the ground, so Isabel nodded to the coder siblings. “If you think you can pilot it, I guess we’re ready to go.” She turned to the others. “Come on, hop on the back.”

  Sorn tossed the guns into the cabin, and while Zoa caught hers easily, Ren, too busy examining the code on the inside of the cabin, barely reacted as the weapon knocked into his shoulder. Zoa punched him on the leg. “Pick up your gun, Ren!”

  Isavel left the coder siblings to their business as she and the others climbed on the hauler’s flatbed. With Rodan, Sorn, and Marea all here, she almost felt like she had before this Saint Herald business - one person in a small party of adventurers. It was a nice feeling, less ungainly. She called up front. “Okay, Zoa, take us forward so we can -”

  “Saint Isavel!”

  She turned around to see Hail Sen, guard uniform still marking her out as from Hive despite the new turquoise band around her arm. Hail was looking up at her somewhat nervously. “Hail?”

  “Saint Herald, may I accompany you? I would like to protect you.”

  Isavel blinked. She looked back at the others, but their expressions betrayed no emotion, only patient anticipation of her own reaction. She realized in that moment she was still standing tall, and sat down alongside the rest of them.

  She bit her lip, wondering how to proceed; she didn’t want this to become a regular occurrence, lest the entire army refuse to ever leave her side. Still, she liked Hail. She reached out to help the hunter climb onto the skid. “Sure, I’m flattered. Normally I’d prefer to keep this party as small as possible, but since we know each other, I accept.”

  Hail smiled, but it was a shy smile - too shy given how much they had shared of each other’s stories the night before. They should be past judgement of one another.

  As Hail climbed onto the hauler, Isavel’s gifted ears heard Sorn whisper something to Marea. “Who’s that?”

  Isavel turned around without missing a beat, and answered. “This is Hail Sen, a hunter and Hive guard I traded favours with yesterday.”

  Sorn nodded sheepishly, as though he didn't know he should have just asked her. She turned back to Hail, who was glancing at the others with some measure of awe. “Are these your best soldiers?”

  Isavel looked at them. “No, they’re my friends.” She paused a beat, and then horror exploded in her mind and she scrambled to correct herself. “Uh, I mean - they’re excellent fighters! Of course they are. But that’s not why they’re here.”

  Rodan grinned broadly. “I’m touched by your kindness.” He turned his grin on Hail, then. “Hail, right? So, you and Isavel… traded favours last night?”

  Hail blanched a bit, and Isavel rolled her eyes at him. “Come on, Rodan.”

  He shrugged it off and patted the space next to him. “You can sit here; it's further from the ledge.”

  Something in Hail’s expression grew colder. “Thank you, but ledges don’t scare me.”

  Isavel smirked - Hail had no interest in Rodan’s smiles. She slapped the pilot’s cabin and called out again. “Zoa? Take us ahead to the leading drone. I want to talk to the Mayor.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The hauler accelerated smoothly, and Isavel was surprised at just how well Zoa was doing with it. Of course Zoa had said the vehicle knew how to pilot itself already, but Isavel felt there must be some contribution on Zoa’s part.

  It wasn’t long before they reached the drone that was leading the army along, low-flying and well within speaking range. As the hauler slowed down to skim alongside it, Isavel stood up and addressed the young Mayor. “Mayor Aren?”

  After a moment, the child’s voice buzzed back through the drone. “Hi Isavel.”

  “Aren, can you make this drone lead me a
nd my friends ahead, and get another drone to lead the army?”

  “Sure, yeah. Jari says I shouldn’t stay up too late though. Maybe before bedtime you can tell me if you want anything else from the drones.”

  Isavel grinned; it was adorable, and ridiculous, to have such a small child in command of a fleet of autonomous flying artifacts. “Sure thing, Aren. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Bye, Isavel!”

  She giggled a bit; he seemed like such a nice boy. She wasn’t sure how that had happened, given his father’s personality. The drone was already picking up speed, and Zoa, perhaps a keen listener, was keeping pace.

  As she sat down, she saw the others looking at her, and they all seemed a bit confused. It occurred to her that none of them had met Aren.

  “Aren is the new Mayor. Still just a kid, but a nice one.” They nodded with understanding, but said nothing more on the subject. She didn’t want them to just sit here in silence the whole time, so she prodded them. “What did you think of the old Mayor?”

  The shrugging was unanimous, and Sorn elaborated. “I didn’t really meet him. Didn’t get much chance to talk to the higher-ups besides you.”

  Higher-ups? And he included her in that count? It was not unreasonable, she supposed, but… something about the comment felt wrong. What was going on? Maybe Rodan could help, as the least serious of the bunch.

  “Fair enough, I guess. So, Rodan, you’ve never told me where you’re from.”

  His eyes widened a bit in surprise, glancing off into the woods. “Oh, er, I don’t really know.”

  Sorn snickered. “Oh great, this again.”

  “It’s true!”

  Isavel saw her own confusion reflected in Marea and Hail, neither of whom had heard any such story before. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  Rodan sighed. “Well, I was born in some village somewhere in the mountains, south of here. People talked about Fogpoint and Hive and Angelos, but I don’t remember what was closest. One day I wound up tied up in the back of a horse-drawn carriage for a few days days under bags of wool, or maybe it was cotton. By the time someone picked the bags up and found me, I had no idea how to get back home or where home even was. I think i must have gotten dehydrated or something, because my head really hurt and I'd forgotten a lot. And I was so gods-damned thirsty, you have no idea.”

  Isavel gaped. “A few days? ”

  “I was really pissed off.”

  Hail ventured the obvious question. “You just wound up tied up? How? Who?”

  “I still can’t remember her name. I think she just forgot about me there or something. I don’t really know what happened - I just remember she was pretty.”

  After a second of piecing together the implications, Marea was struck by a sudden fit of laughter, and the group managed to slip into more relaxed conversation. As the hauler followed the drone across open terrain and into the woods, Isavel sat back, quiet, and enjoyed the rush of summer air on her skin. If she spoke things might turn serious, so she didn’t, listening instead to the kind of loose conversation she hoped she might one day be able to have again.

  It wasn’t long into the woods that, with a tingle in her peripheral vision, Isavel spotted the dragon.

  “Shit - dragon!” Her hexagonal shield bloomed to blue-white life on her arm, and the others spun around to look, but even in that moment dragonfire crashed through the canopy, narrowly missing the hauler. Gods only knew what would happen if the dragon didn’t miss.

  “Zoa, stop driving!”

  The hauler shuddered to a quick stop as more dragonfire burst ahead of them.

  “Everyone off! Spread out, take cover!”

  They did. The coder twins bolted from the cabin and ran away from the dragon as far as they dared before ducking behind a rock. The dragon fired another shot, but it slid through the air slow enough for Isavel to jump out of the way, and as she ducked she saw Sorn pull Marea into cover behind a tree. Rodan was closer to Isavel, alone and unable to provide them any cover, and Hail was a bit further away.

  “Rodan, shield Sorn and get him to different cover - we need to spread out!”

  Rodan nodded and ran to Sorn, who looked reluctant to abandon Marea, but he still did as told. As ordered. Hail cowered behind a rock, having surely never seen a dragon before. Her eyes were still fixed on Isavel, though and though she tried to put on a stoic face, her eyes betrayed her fear and surprise.

  “Hail, tell Ren and Zoa to get the hauler away! Everybody, start firing!”

  The hauler started moving again as the dragonfire rained down near them, and everyone moved around to keep cover between the dragon and themselves, hunters firing at the dragon if they could. Their shots struck its shield harmlessly, though it did draw its attention. The dragon dropped down onto one of the fir trees, clawing at the bark as it descended, belching crackling clouds of golden-red hexagons down at the humans. Needles and splinters of old redwood showered down underneath it. It took another step down the tree, and gave Isavel an idea.

  She raised her shield and darted over to Hail’s rock, narrowly missing dragonfire as she ran. “Hail! You’re behind Marea here, we need to spread out. Come on, I’ll cover you.”

  “I - it’s a dragon!”

  Isavel laid her hand on Hail’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Just stay behind cover. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Hail’s eyes were wide but she nodded, mashing down that fear with some inner strength. Isavel raised her shield and guided Hail to another rock face, and now the dragon was being attacked by three hunters, from three directions, forced to split its attention. Hunterfire glittered through the trees as dragonfire split the ground next to their cover each time they ducked out to try for a shot.

  Isavel started pulling off her white tunic. “Hail - stay safe, run if you need to.”

  Hail briefly widened her eyes before turning to shoot out at the dragon again. With the pathfinder’s brace matching the woods more closely, and her skin shifting to meld into the environment, Isavel was ready. There was little she could do for her tousled brown hair except be thankful she hadn’t been born with it blond or blue. As Hail and the other hunters opened fire in tandem, and Rodan darted between cover with his shield as a distraction, Isavel made her move.

  She kept her head low, creeping through the ferns and logs and the rest of the forest floor, making her way towards the dragon’s tree. In its confidence in its own shields, it didn’t seem to feel the need to move much.

  Then it stopped climbing down, and Isavel swore under her breath. The shield was still a meter or or so from the ground, and the dragon didn’t seem intent on coming down much further. It wasn’t that stupid, apparently. She gritted her teeth, but did so with a bit of a smile - some challenges were meant to be overcome.

  Behind the dragon’s tree she twisted the warrior’s gift a bit, calling up two short, cold daggers in her hands. She had used hot daggers to slid down a wall, once, but could she climb up a tree if she used them as spikes? Only one way to find out. She jammed one in the bark’s deep ridges and, with just a gentle hiss, it stuck. She reached up further with the next one, tested her weight, and started climbing.

  She didn’t need to get very high, and good thing too - the dragon’s attempt to blast the others out of cover wasn’t going well, and it was growing fidgety. As soon as she was level with the dragon Isavel started climbing sideways, across the tree’s girth.

  She slipped past the shield, and the dragon didn’t seem to notice.

  She freed one palm from the climb, calling up a warrior’s shield on it, tensing and readying to release it. It was second nature to her, by now, to twist and weave her gifts. She kept her feet and other hand firmly against the trunk as she aimed for the dragon’s neck.

  It spotted her just as she unleashed the blast, and moved. She missed the neck, but her shield still exploded into a bright white scream of light and electric noise. The dragon shrieked, flapping awkwardly in the air onto another tree where it tur
ned to spit fire at her. In the split second before its golden-red roar, she saw one of its legs had become a shredded stump.

  Then it the dragonfire came. She snapped up another shield, but she felt weak, and the impact jarred her enough to loosen her grip on the tree. She fell and crashed down into the underbrush with a painful thud, and a second blast of dragonfire came at her. She only barely hauled herself behind the tree in time.

  Luckily, the dragon did not seem keen on continuing the fight. It took to the skies, roaring and howling as it went, heading north-east. Isavel heard footsteps approaching at a rush, but in the brief moment of privacy before they arrived, she allowed herself a smile. She needed to protect her people, her city, and in moments like these, haggard but victorious, she felt like she really was making good what the gods had given her. It was bloody and dangerous, and she would not have chosen this life herself, but it was still what she had been made for.

  Then came the faces. Hail’s was first, looking starstruck and nervous. “Saint Herald, are you okay?”

  Isavel hauled herself up into a sitting position, still feeling a bit drained. “I’m fine, I -”

  “Isavel!” Sorn was shouting as he crossed the forest floor. “Isavel, are you okay?”

  She pulled herself to her feet. At first she steadied herself against the tree, but she quickly realized she didn’t need it. Marea and Rodan were not far behind Sorn, and Zoa’s blue hair caught her eye in the distance, showing her the coder siblings picking their way over from the hauler. The dragon was fading away now, a flicker of darkness in the cracks between a thousand leaves, but they could all still hear its roaring.

  At least everyone was alive.

  Isavel’s mind suddenly cooled. Gods, it was good they were alive - they had been distracting the dragon. Inviting it to attack them, all so she could do what? Hack off one of its legs? She had used them as bait, without even thinking of it. It had come so naturally.

  She sucked in air and backed off, looking down at her feet. Shame breathed down the back of her neck - if they sometimes treated her like she was a leader, was it because she treated them like they were her followers? Gods, she didn’t want leadership. She walked back to the hauler, where Zoa and Ren were nervously glancing at the skies, guns in hand.