by Helen Allan
“Why are we flying so quickly?” she asked. Her voice was carried by the wind, but his hearing, like Calarnise, was so acute he could have picked up her words, even whispered.
“The Hunt,” he muttered, “I’m pretty sure the Angels agreed to this date for a reason. The Hunt comes every month right about now. We have every chance of being shot out of the sky.”
“What? But the lasers?”
“The lasers protect the city, the pods come in a formation at the same time every month, their patterns rarely vary, and they make virtually no impact now – unless they see one of us in the sky – then it becomes a hunt to the death – lone Winged have been killed, many of us Scouts particularly. Even Angels have been caught out.
Sorrow, held close in his arms, closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of the wind in her hair as they soared from the mountain top.
“It seems strange,” she mused, “that they haven’t worked out another way to attack you. I know Earthborn Hunts, they were single-minded in their killing – they always seemed to find a way to strike, no matter how hidden their victims were.”
He shrugged. “The Gods here are lazy – lazy but still deadly. Now hold on, I’m going to drop straight down, don’t be scared, I won’t lose you.”
Sorrow held her breath as he turned, face down, wings flat against his body, and they dropped through the air like an arrow. The feeling of the sharp descent and the rush of the wind sent exhilaration and fear racing along her spine, and she gasped at the thrill of it. As they breached the laser, slipping silently between the beams, and levelled out, Raphael pulled up and opened his wings full stretch, beating them with a power and strength she felt ripple through his chest muscles. The rhythm of his strong beats pulsated through her body, and she was breathing hard when they landed softly on the rooftop.
“How did that feel?” he chuckled softly as he set her onto her feet, and stood, wings enveloping her.
“Uh,” Sorrow shook her head. She was sure he knew perfectly well that her body had thrilled to the descent, tingles racing up her spine and through her lower regions. Sensation-wise, it was like having sex in the air – it had felt wonderful. But the last thing she wanted to do was give him the satisfaction of knowing his impact upon her; it would only feed his already out of control ego.
“You know, don’t you?” she said, stepping back and shrugging off his wings, “you know they want you all to die.”
“We suspected,” Raphael shrugged, “your meeting confirmed it. I must report to my superiors as soon as possible.”
“Wait. I thought you worked for the Angels? I thought you captured me so they could question me?”
Raphael grinned and dipped his head.
“I am,” he smiled, “what you might call a double agent.”
“A spy?”
“Of sorts.”
“So, what was today really all about then? You just used me as an excuse to get to the Angels and see the lie of the land?”
“Use is a harsh word,” Raphael murmured, raising his hands in supplication, “but an invitation, you are right, to the Angel’s mountain top is something hard to come by. Even as someone who works for them, I needed an excuse to go there without raising suspicion from either side. You supplied that reason. I used the time I had available while you were finding out about the Goddess, to talk to an Angel I know and find out what was really going on in the halls of power. Now that we know they plan to leave us to our fate, the Winged government can make firm decisions with that in mind.”
“That female?” Sorrow frowned, “the tawny-coloured Angel you were with when Nithiel and I returned?”
“Yes?” he smirked.
“Is she a spy?”
“She is a friend,” he said firmly, “and they are few and hard to come by in these times. That is all.”
“Is she your lover?” it was Sorrow’s turn to smile.
“She may have had that privilege at some point.”
“You are a very bad Winged One,” Sorrow snorted, shaking her head and walking towards the stairs.
“No, I’m a very good one,” he said, following her down and using his wing to brush her backside.
“Hey, hands off, buddy,” she turned to look up at him, her eyes laughing, revealing her mock anger.
“It wasn’t my hands,” he winked.
Sorrow shook her head and continued walking down the stairs.
“I need to go home,” she said, as they neared the bottom.
“I was afraid you might say that,” he sighed, “but yes, of course, I will return you to Landfirst as soon as I have reported to my superiors.”
“And, just as a matter of interest,” she added, trying to sound disinterested, “they don’t wear clothes, and I couldn’t help but wonder, from a medical perspective of course, how, I mean, where are Angel genitals?”
His laughter echoed down the stairwell loud and raucous.
“From a medical perspective, you say?”
“Yes, I am a doctor you know,” she said, trying to sound firm and professional.
“They have them,” he chuckled, “they are just covered in feathers, but they are there.”
She couldn’t help it; she had to know.
“And yours? Are they, you know…?”
“Well that is something you will have to find out for yourself,” he leant down, murmuring into her hair, his breath warm on the back of her neck, “fly with me later Sorrow, I promise you have only had a taste of the feelings I can give you once aloft.”
She shivered and stepped down the last step, turning to stare at him, incredulous.
“You do it in the air?”
He winked.
She shook her head, laughing. “Alas,” she mock sighed, “that is one medical investigation I will have to delay. After all, you have to leave now to report to your superiors, and I must take a bath after our long flight, soak my smooth, pink body….”
“Evil,” he sighed, “you are truly evil.”
Her laughter followed him as he pointed to her door and continued down the hall towards the sky window exit.
The floor-length white fur coat, although against her principles, was the warmest thing she had ever worn, and she had to admire Raphael’s taste as she pulled the hood over her hair and looked at herself in the mirror.
They were journeying today back to Landfirst, her role in Winged politics now complete, but this time she was taking no chances that she would freeze to death on the flight.
“I’ve already told you a hundred times,” he said in answer to her sigh as she looked at her reflection and hugged herself, shivering at the thought of the trip. “You will be in my arms, warm, and this fur will protect you from the windchill.”
“Yes, but the altitude sickness,” she grimaced.
“I will take the long way round, through the mountain pass, we will skim mostly over the treetops – we don’t have to rush and cross the mountain tops as we did on the way in here.”
“This pass,” Sorrow frowned, “is it defended?”
“Of course,” he smiled, “we are not stupid, Sorrow. And since you have given us more information about a possible influx of these Gharials, we have called up all our reinforcements to prepare for battle and enlisted thousands more. We are well defended here and will be ready, should they breach the portal. My superiors agree with you the Gharial gate should be blown the first chance we get.”
Sorrow nodded.
“Very well then, I’m ready.”
She had already said her goodbyes to his sister, Gabriel. She knew she would miss the companionship of another woman, and she would miss this city. Gabriel would escort them only as far as the edge of the mountains, and Raphael would drop Sorrow off on the outskirts of Landfirst and return to prepare with his people for war.
“And you won’t change your mind and stay?” he asked, one last time, “at least until you have sampled the delights of my body?”
Sorrow laughed.
“No. Id
iot. I need to get back to Etienne and organise the defence of the town. And since you plan to come down with your squadron I also need to prepare the Chosen for the sudden appearance of a huge flock of people they still view as the enemy.”
“Yes,” he murmured, coming up behind her and looking at her in the mirror, “that won’t be easy, Sorrow. It may be impossible. I want you to know that if we have to fight them to get to the portals, well, you already know how that is going to pan out. I don’t want you on the opposite side of my weapons.”
Sorrow sighed. This earlier discussion had been at the forefront of her mind too.
The Winged government, in direct opposition to the wishes of the Angels, had determined that they would need to take control of the time gates and defend their planet in the event of a Gharial attack when the portals opened in a few months. This would mean Winged moving into the Landfirst township– something they all knew would not go down well.
Sorrow had agreed to try and broker an agreement prior to them coming in. She had been given one week to convince the Chosen to agree, or it would happen regardless. Grimacing now, she leaned back into Raphael’s chest and closed her eyes, opening them as her resolve hardened.
“I’m ready,” she said, looking him in the eye, “and when the time comes, if the time comes, Raphael, our guns will be pointing in the same direction. You have my word.”
11
Gabriel and Raphael talked as they flew side by side towards the towering mountains in the distance, and Sorrow listened quietly and considered how she was going to approach brokering peace with the Chosen. She determined Calarnise might be the only option, the woman who lived, essentially twixt the worlds of the Gods, the Winged and the Chosen, as had generations of acolytes before her – she might be the key to bringing some sanity to the discussion. Deep in thought, she almost missed what Gabriel said until she heard Raphael curse.
“Swing back, get reinforcements,” he ordered, his voice deep and brooking no argument.
“I’m on it,” Gabriel said, swishing so fast in the air it blew Sorrow’s hood back from her face, the cold wind biting into her skin.
“What is it?” she shouted to Raphael as he began to fly higher, his wings beating hard.
“Gharial,” he barked, “many of them, making their way through the pass; it looks like our guards are being overwhelmed, a battle is raging below.”
“Well drop,” Sorrow shouted, “why are you climbing?”
“We can’t risk you, Sorrow,” he shouted back, “there are too many of them. Gabriel will call reinforcements from the closest garrison; they will only be an hour away at most.”
“An hour might be too long,” Sorrow frowned, still shouting, “what else do you see?”
“I see a human, some Earthborn, one or two, and some Chosen, most are lying dead,” he shouted back, “the few left are badly outnumbered, they are, wait, they are shielding a Winged soldier, he must have been shot from the sky. They haven’t got a hope in hell; the Gharial are regrouping and preparing to charge.”
“It must be Etienne,” Sorrow shouted, “drop, fucking drop.”
“You don’t have a weapon,” he growled, and I can’t fire with you in my arms. We will be just target practice for them.”
“Get me near an Earthborn, a dead one.”
“What?”
“Just do it, go low, drop me near the dead.”
Raphael began to drop slightly but then appeared to straighten and head up again.
“Raphael,” she screamed, “drop me now.” Seeing he was not going to listen, she lifted one arm and punched backwards, underneath her armpit, straight into his chest as hard as she could.
“Oomph,” he faltered, his wings still for a minute before righting himself.
“Do it! Drop me now.”
“Hold on,” he gritted, squeezing her tight and spinning headfirst into a freefall.
Sorrow screamed despite herself and closed her eyes, opening them only as she hit the ground hard and rolled up against the body of a dead Earthborn. Rale, she knew him from training, but he was barely recognisable, his face covered in a red growth that almost completely obscured one eye.
“Christ,” she muttered, leaning over him and pressing the button on his suit. It snapped open immediately and, still laying on the ground to avoid detection, she moved to squirm into it, but saw it too was covered with red on the inside. The growth was the same red as blood and looked like it pulsated with a life of its own.
“Uh, nope,” she changed her mind instantly, her plan to put on the suit discarded along with her belief that as an Earthborn she was safe from the miasma. Instead, still wearing her fur, she picked up Rale’s weapon and, using his and other bodies as a low shield wall, began firing into the, now running, lines of Gharial. She smiled with satisfaction as they fell, struck by her laser chainsaw from the side and by shots from above coming from Raphael. But there were at least three dozen of them, and from her vantage point, she could see the remaining Chosen were dropping like flies.
Rising from the ground, a gun in each hand, she charged the lines of Gharials from the side, just as two Winged Ones rose from those she had thought were dead and joined her. Together they fired round after round as they ran. One Winged soldier caught an explosive in the neck and disintegrated, the other continued on with her. She overtook the Gharial and reached Etienne and the survivors just as the enemy did with a loud crunch of body meeting body. The fighting degenerated into hand-to-hand combat and Sorrow needed to use all her martial arts training to dodge and weave away from the Gharials’ snapping jaws. Jabbing and stabbing with the short knife she had taken from the fallen Earthborn, she fought systematically with strength and precision.
At some point she realised two things; Raphael was beside her, and the Gharials were sick, very sick. Many dropped their weapons and fell dead after just one blow or stab from the knife she wielded, others seemed to fall apart under her hands. Finally, panting, she realised she was standing amid nothing but the dead – not a single Gharial had survived their charge, her hands ran red with miasma and green Gharial blood.
“You,” Raphael panted, coming to stand by her side, “are amazing.”
“Thanks,” Sorrow grinned, grimacing at the goo and blood covering his normally beautiful, pale feathers, “you are too.” She turned, wanting to reassure herself that Etienne was safe when she realised she and Raphael were the only two standing – no one else lived.
Raphael, noticing this at the same time, holstered his weapon and walked towards the nearest Winged. Felled from the sky by well-aimed lasers, most lay crumped, a mess of broken wings and limbs. Silently he began to turn them over one by one looking for signs of life.
Sorrow, tearing her eyes away from the carnage, spun and looked to where she had last seen her friend. From under a Gharial, she saw a long, muscular leg in tan-coloured jodhpurs and a black boot. Throwing her knife aside, a choked scream escaping her lips, she ran to where Etienne lay and holding her breath in fear, pushed the body of a Gharial off his torso. As he opened his eyes, she let out her breath and raised her eyes to the sky in thanks before reaching down and pulling him to his feet. Embracing him tightly she squeezed him hard, ignoring his attempts to pull away, as she whispered into his ear.
“Etienne, thank God, I thought you were dead.”
“And I thought you were a flying polar bear,” he laughed, stepping back and pushing the hood from her hair, “mon Dieu, Sorrow, you dropped from the sky like a furry vengeful angel.”
Sorrow burst out laughing and embraced him again.
“You crazy French man, what are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere with a handful of sick Earthborn?”
“Looking for you.”
“Jesus,” Sorrow exhaled loudly, leaning down and putting her hands on her knees for a second as the adrenalin began to run out and she realised her legs were shaking, her heart still racing from the fight and the run, “I really thought you were dead.”
&n
bsp; “Not yet,” he grimaced, stepping back and wiping down his blood-stained shirt gingerly. Green Gharial blood covered him almost from head to toe, “but I fear it won’t be long mon amour.”
“What? Are you hurt?” She straightened up quickly and studied him from head to toe.
“No,” he said quietly, raising his eyes to hers.
“Then?”
“Well, there is the small matter of this,” he said matter-of-factly, raising his shirt to show his stomach covered in a red, crusty, pulsating growth.
“Oh fuck.”
“Yes, my sentiments exactly.”
“We have to get you to the town, to the infirmary, what the hell were you thinking coming out here into the wilderness when you are ill?”
“I was thinking,” he smiled, cocking his head to one side and looping her hand through his arm to lead her off the battlefield, “of rescuing you, ma cherie, before going to the great paradise in the sky which, we have both ascertained, actually does not exist.”
“No,” Sorrow said, pulling him to a stop. “I won’t let you die, Etienne, I’ll find a cure. We have to get back to the infirmary, to the regeneration tanks.”
“My dear girl, while it is true my organ is larger than most,” he raised his eyebrows up and down comically, “I’m afraid my heart is only one, singular, which, we both know, means I cannot be regenerated.”
“No,” Sorrow shook her head at him, “but I can. Maybe in the tank I can hear more of the collective memories of the Gods and see if I can figure out what this disease is, and any clues to finding a cure.”
“Surely if the combined brains of the Gods, and there are several thousand according to Calarnise’s bible, could not discover a cure and preferred to simply separate themselves from the ground-dwelling folk, then you cannot think you might discover one?”
“Are you saying you think they are smarter than me?”
“Heaven forbid,” he laughed gently, “I have every faith in your prodigious brain, ma mie, after all, you are the daughter of Megan, a most talented young woman, and Amun, the self-anointed God of Gods. I am simply saying that I am at peace with my fate. This has been coming on for several months now; I have watched many of the Earthborn succumb to it – I know what to expect.”
