by A. Sparrow
One nice thing about cooking with roots was the smokeless heat they could provide. They could burn as well, but flames were not prudent when we were trying to preserve our stealth. I was amazed and delighted when the odor of bacon wafted up to greet me. I wondered if Lille had anything to do with it.
I gazed back from where we had come. The Cherubim we had passed were on their feet and on the move now. The sight of them stirred a bit of panic in my chest, but they were so far behind us and moving so slowly there was no need for concern.
I circled about, scanning the valley ahead for more Cherubim. But in the dim light of morning, I found only empty wilderness. The crackers had somehow done less damage here. Only the occasional concentric rumpling indicated deployment of the destructive pillars.
There was some wreckage in one the streams winding through the riverbed. I dropped down for a closer look. I saw some kind of cart overturned in the channel. A long flared cannon-like cylinder lay shattered beneath it. Upstream lay a crumpled mass of cloth and tubular framing. It was the same kind of material that made my wings, but much larger.
I hovered around it, trying to make sense of what I saw. The wingspan was huge and there were multiple cages. This was apparently a multi-passenger version of my Seraph wings. Pods bristling with spikes dangled from the undercarriage.
Someone whistled back at the cliffs and I maneuvered around to see Lille waving at me.
I flew back and she handed me a bundle of something that looked like fried bread or naan folded over some greenish grey strips and a pale smear of something gelatinous.
“You must be starved, all that flying about. Aren’t your arms tired?”
“My arms? I don’t even use my arms. See?” I held up that breakfast sandwich or whatever it was.
“Go on and eat your food. I can’t vouch for its quality. It is pretty much cooking by committee with this crowd, which never ends well.”
I nodded my thanks and regained altitude, studying the terraced mountains that loomed over the head of the valley. I had been there before. That was where I awakened my first Old One, Mr. O. I wondered if that was where we were headed.
I took a bite of the sandwich and gagged. It tasted smoky and salty but the texture of the pale stuff was like cold, overcooked eggs. I shook the contents of the sandwich loose and munched on the bread, which wasn’t half bad.
I spotted Kitt strapping on her wings. Soon she had soared up to join me.
“Your turn for a break.”
“Nah, I’m good. I already ate.”
“Olivier wants to see you. Better get down there.”
So I sent myself into a gentle, spiraling glide, intending to impress everyone with smooth landing, but I stalled prematurely and fell back on my butt. Tyler and Det rushed over to help me out of my wings.
People gathered in little circles on the damp sand. I found Olivier next to Petros. He wasn’t kidding when he said he would not let Petros out of his sight.
“Those Cherubim we passed are up and marching,” I said.
Olivier shrugged. “Figured they would be. No worries. We’re not sticking around long much longer.”
“Did you want to see me about something?”
“Just wanted you down on the ground, kid. Don’t want you to overdo it up there.”
“It really isn’t a problem. You should try it.” I noticed his wings were still strapped to his back.
He shook his head. “Flying’s not my thing, kid. Makes me queasy.”
Petros chortled.
Bern found me and lowered himself onto the sand.
“Glorious out here, isn’t it?” he said. “Nice to know that these bloody angels haven’t ruined it all.”
“Only because they ran out of crackers,” said Olivier.
“Any respite you perceive is temporary,” said Petros, smirking. “There is more to come. We won’t rest until order is restored.”
“Why are you doing this? Why don’t you just leave us be?”
“Flaws must be corrected. No? Before this age, we had no army. We formed one out of necessity, recruited souls and found a way to get them here.”
“You mean these Cherubs are volunteers?”
“Not exactly,” said Petros. “But it is implicit in one’s residence in Penult that you might be asked to serve a higher cause. Do you think I want to be here right now?”
“At least you got to keep your brain,” said Olivier. These Cherubs seem to have no consciousness.”
“All in the name of mercy,” said Petros. “With no will, they feel no distress, no discomfort.”
“Do they get it back? When the war is over?”
“Their souls have already moved on,” said Petros. “We merely borrow their vessels.”
“Moved on? To where?”
“To wherever they were destined. It is not for me to say. Places the likes of you will never see.”
“Oh yeah? Don’t be so sure about that. Some of us get around.”
“Your souls are corrupt, bereft, ineligible.”
“What makes you so different, Petros?” said Olivier. “Huh? I mean, you seem like a regular guy. You don’t seem that special to me.”
“I am vetted. I am pure. I am … immortal.”
“Immortal, huh? So if I … say … slashed your throat … what would happen?”
“My soul would find its way to another vessel, perhaps in another, higher realm.”
“The realms go higher?”
“Of course. The Liminality is but a way station … in two directions.”
“Cool!” said Tyler. “I want to go to Heaven. Problem is … I don’t think it exists.”
“That is a problem,” said Petros.
“I would say so,” said Tyler. “Can’t go to a place that don’t exist.”
“The existence of the Upper Realm is not in question.”
“Whether it’s a place you want to be another question,” said Olivier. “I mean look at these poor Cherubs. They’re fucking slaves.”
“Nonsense,” said Petros. “They sacrifice themselves willingly. It is a noble task.”
“Then why ain’t you a Cherub?” said Tyler.
Lille interrupted, showing me the roots she had gathered in her basket. “Look how lovely these are!” she gushed. “So well behaved. I’m saving them for later. Who knows if we’ll find a patch half as nice.”
Olivier got up and looked down the river valley from whence they had come. The ranks of Cherubim were on the move. They were a good mile away from the looks of it.
“We should probably get rolling.”
“Stay,” said Petros. “My brothers wish to meet you here.”
“Here?”
“I have communicated. They are on their way right now with your prisoner.”
“Communicate? How?”
“We have our ways,” said Petros, who was smiling for a change. “So now we shall trade and send you on your way.”
“Not here. Hell no. We’re not doing any exchange here. I want us to be solidly behind resistance lines before we do any swaps.”
Petros shrugged. “I can’t see how it matters.”
“I just don’t trust you guys. You don’t honor your promises.”
“Nonsense.”
“Listen. I was there in Luthersburg when we were given one full day to gather our stuff and evacuate below ground. Then, just as we were about to go, your Hashmallim led an all-out assault and smashed the crap out of us.”
Petros dismissed this with another shrug. “A simple misunderstanding. I sincerely apologize on behalf of our Lords.”
“So how can we be sure it won’t happen again?”
“I am in direct communication with our Lords. You have been given free passage to perform an exchange of prisoners. This is now confirmed.”
Kitt came swooping in, landing right beside Olivier.
“Battle formation coming up quick behind us,” she said. “Cherubim, a thousand strong. The ones we saw last night plus reinforceme
nts. Slashers and Bashers. With Hashmallim to guide them.”
The news agitated Olivier. “Okay. We’re leaving. Right now. Everybody up.”
“No worries,” said Petros. “These Cherubim will not harm you, unless you attempt to do me harm. I can see their orders.”
“See?”
“Their orders have been communicated to me. We Seraphim are connected.”
“Through the Singularity?” I speculated.
“No,” said Petros. “A private channel. Created by us, available only to us.” He tapped a lump behind his ear. “The Lords provide.”
“He’s got a mod,” said Olivier. “Like the wings, only permanent.” He climbed atop a slab of stone. “Get your asses moving people! Off your butts. Don’t worry about washing the damn dishes. Leave them! You can make new ones. Dump any gear you don’t need. We need to move fast. We’ve got Cherubim on our ass.”
The gaggle of warriors and refugees rushed from the shelter of the overhang. Tyler, Det and I scrambled to get our wings while Olivier herded his flock back out to the riverbed.
The marching Cherubim had descended out of sight into one of the dry channels, but their presence was revealed by a low-hanging cloud of dust.
“Man, they’re moving fast,” said Tyler. “They’re gonna catch up to us at this rate.”
“Not if we do something to delay them,” I said, cinching the straps across my chest.
“Like what?” said Detmar.
“No, you guys. No aggression,” said Kitt, hovering just above our heads. “Least … not until we complete the swap.”
Chapter 26: The Basin
This time, I flew point, while Kitt brought up the rear, which was fine with me. She was closer to the enemy now, while I had only the friendly front lines of the resistance before me. My cowardly streak approved of this arrangement.
I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if I faded back to life while I flew. That would be fine with me. I was not crazy about being here. But what would happen when the roots eventually came to haul me back to the Liminality? Would I find myself naked and wingless, plummeting twenty stories to the riverbed? Maybe this wing business was not such a great idea for someone who was not yet a Freesoul. I didn’t fly quite as high after that realization.
I kept about a mile or so ahead of the ground party, circling back regularly to see how they were doing. Olivier had his marchers moving at a pretty good clip now. The Cherubim on their tail had closed only a bit of the gap between them.
They travelled much lighter now, having shed much of their extraneous belongings back at the overhang. Having an army of brainless mutant warriors on their tail was a pretty good incentive to keep moving briskly.
The valley narrowed with every bend in the riverbed. As I swooped ahead of our ragged column scouting run, I was shocked to come upon a formation of Cherubim arrayed at the base of a side gulch, kneeling in wait.
It looked to me like an ambush so I zoomed back to warn Olivier. I made another awkward landing, coming in too fast and tumbling in the gravel at Olivier’s feet, and wing tip caught Petros full on in the face before he could duck. He staggered back. Only Olivier’s firm grip on the thick cord attached to his neck kept him upright.
I scrambled to my feet and shook off the dust.
“Fighters!” I said. “Around the next bend. Waiting for us.”
“How many?” said Olivier.
“Two, three hundred.”
“No worries,” said Petros. “My brothers will let you pass.”
“Yeah? And how do you know this?” said Olivier.
Petros ignored him. His gaze remained distant and unfocused. “My Lords are sending someone to meet us … at the basin … beyond the marshes.”
“You talking to them somehow?”
There was a glaze over Petros’ eyes. He seemed distracted.
Olivier sighed. “Nothing to be done but keep moving,” he said. “Not like we take them on … and there’s even more Cherubim coming up behind us.”
I nodded and flicked my shoulders intending to fly straight up, only my wings weren’t on straight so I lurched to one side, barely avoiding smacking into Petros again.
Back on point, I came to grasp the full scale of our predicament. The Cherubim trailing us represented only a small fraction of the invasion force. Detachments massed at the base every tributary and side valley. We were running a gauntlet, surrounded on all sides by the enemy.
But the Cherubim lining our flanks kept still, their weaponized limbs loose and inert at their sides. Not a one glanced up as I flew over their heads. They were either disciplined to extremes or devoid of curiosity.
There was not much human about them beyond their shape. I saw no shelters or bedding. They built no cook fires, dug no latrines.
Their masters, in contrast—the Hashmallim and Seraphim who controlled them—camped in relative comfort. Their pale, silky domes clung to the ridge tops and cliff faces like the egg sacs of spiders.
A cluster of shattered pillars pierced the ground along the river bed. These ‘crackers’ had been destroyed before they could be fully deployed, my first indication that the resistance had enjoyed any success in fighting back.
Clearly, destruction of these devices had been a matter of high priority for the resistance. The ground before them was littered with corpses of Frelsian and Dusters warriors and their mounts—the carcasses of giant bugs and domesticated Reapers.
There were signs that the fighting had been recent. One of the Reapers still writhed and moaned where it lay.
It kind of bothered me that I saw no Cherubim corpses among them. Either they were super-efficient at recovering their dead or they simply hadn’t suffered any casualties. But then again, the winners of a battle controlled access to a battlefield. To the victors go the spoils and the dead.
Up ahead the river cut through a fin of up-tilted bedrock that slashed across the valley. It formed a natural rampart behind which yet more contingents of still and silent Cherubim were deployed in a defensive formation.
The terrain would force the ground party to pass within spitting distance of them, but I didn’t bother troubling Olivier with my concerns this time. If Petros wasn’t right, there was nothing we could do about it. The folks on the ground would be sitting ducks. I kept my sword at the ready and hoped I could conjure something effective if something bad went down. I might be a coward but I had friends down there and I would not abandon them.
Tyler and Detmar came in from the flanks in support as they passed through the choke point. The stolid Cherubim did not even toss a glance in our direction as we filed through the gap in the ridge. They stared straight ahead, faces blank, feet planted in the ground like a human forest. They reminded me of those terra cotta warriors archeologists unearthed in China.
Up on the flanking ridges, a few Hashmallim and Seraphim ventured out from their precariously perched shelters to watch us pass. Something about their body language put me at ease. They acted less like mortal threats and more like folks sauntering out on a nice day to watch a parade.
Beyond the squeeze, the land spread out into a huge flat basin, ringed by mountains. Patches of marsh were interspersed with rocky hillocks clothed in arid scrub. It was an odd contrast of wetland and desert.
Olivier led his flock to the nearest high point and called for a halt. He signaled for us scouts to come down and join them.
Tyler volunteered to stay aloft while the rest of us landed. I welcomed the respite. A burn of fatigue had begun to set into my shoulders from using muscles and stretching ligaments that weren’t used to being worked.
Olivier wore a broad smile. He seemed a bit less anxious. I slipped out of my wings and rubbed my shoulders. There were thin spots in my hoodie where some of the weaving was already coming undone and reverting back to roots.
“Just wanted to give you guys the lay of the land,” said Olivier. “See that mountain over there? The one that looks like a Mexican pyramid? That’s New Axum. Frien
dly territory. We’re in the home stretch.”
“Cool,” I said. “Looks … not too far. What do you think? Half a day’s march?”
“If that,” said Olivier. “Once we get through the marshes it’ll be easy going. Flat and open land. Be nice if the resistance could meet us halfway but … I’m not sure they want to stick their necks out. Looks like they got beat up pretty bad.”
Petros knelt in a clump of dead and dry marsh weeds, his back straight, head tilted back.
“What’s up with him?” said Kitt. The Seraph’s eyes were closed. Sweat dewed his brow. He shivered and rattled his restraints.
“Some kind of trance,” said Olivier. “He’s been doing a lot of that. I think it’s how he communicates with these Lords of his.”
The Seraph’s eyes popped open and drilled us with a penetrating glare.
“The wings,” said Petros. “You must surrender them. All of them.” His eyelids slammed shut again. His lips trembled.
“Say what?” said Olivier. “No fucking way.”
“My Lords … they did not realize you had captured … so many. They belong to us. They must be returned.”
“Captured? Wait a minute, those are ours. James made the joints.”
“Not … possible. My Lords … demand … their return.”
“No way, no how! This wasn’t part of any deal. The only pair we took was your own, and fine, you can have those back, but the others, we’re keeping.”
“No,” said Petros. “My Lords … require … all … of the wings. All … of them.”
“We ain’t giving you shit if you keep this up. The deal was a prisoner for a prisoner. That is all. You can’t alter the terms after the fact. If your guys want to renege, maybe we should just haul your ass back underground.”
“No. My Lords … need … their wings … back.”
“What the fuck, Petros? You knew we were working on copying them.”
“And failing.”
“But James here managed to get it done.” Olivier snickered. “I bet your Lords didn’t expect a ringer to show up out of the blue, did they?”
“Ringer?” Petros pursed his lips and his eyes went cold and distant. His jaw quivered with strain. “The wings. My Lords must have them back.”
