by Faith Hunter
Chorael’s stare and silence were unnerving, and Reimei hunched his shoulders, tucking his hands into his armpits to warm his fingers. Chorael shifted, his form blurring and flowing until a human-looking man stood before him, a man with pale green skin and flowing white hair, green-green eyes and silken clothes, a cape tossed back from his shoulders. The fallen angel leaned into the bars and gripped them with elegant fingers. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”
“Many times,” Reimei said. “But I will not willingly mate with your Dark mage. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
“I will not force her on you. But look upon her face one last time.”
Last? Reimei thought. “So, will you kill me now?”
Chorael smiled, his expression kind, almost angelic. “You are too valuable to feed to my spawn. Far too valuable to me.” Chorael gestured to his side and a neomage slid into the crook of his arm. Dark mages had been considered mere myths until recently, when that new consul-general, Thorn St. Croix, fought some on the hellhole mountain near her home. Now they were feared because their powers were less tied to external elements than mages of the Light. The only good things about Dark mages were that they didn’t have formal savage chi and savage blade fighting techniques, and they were untrained in the use of their magics. But raw power—they had that a-plenty.
“You remember my Jasmine . . .” Chorael crooned.
Jasmine was beautiful, a tiny, pale-skinned woman with glistening black hair and eyes, her body emblazoned with Dark mage tattoos. A River mage apparently, she was dressed scantily, a length of silken cloth tied at one shoulder. Her flesh was swirled with the blues of ponds, the burbling green foam of streams, and the near-black of subterranean rivers. The skin art was magic—elemental conjures tattooed into her flesh, giving her an attachment to Chorael, allowing her to use him as a power sink, giving her almost unlimited power.
Reimei could smell her heat, his body reflexively reacting in ways that strained his bonds of self-control. He swallowed convulsively. Since she was in heat, the dragon had to be holding a kylen or seraph prisoner. The rumors were true—not that knowing it for certain gained Reimei anything but another reason to despair.
Chorael untied the knot holding Jasmine’s clothing in place. The cloth slithered down her body to pool at her feet. She stood before Reimei, her body firm and perfect, her tattoos churning, whirling water patterns seeming to froth up and out from her navel. The waves curled around her tiny breasts, to splash over her nipples.
Reimei clenched his eyes shut, blocking the Dark mage’s image out.
In the passageway, Chorael sighed. “You make this difficult, mage.”
Reimei heard the receding patter of feet. Jasmine had been sent away. He shuddered with relief. And then he heard a sound from the door. Reimei opened his eyes to see two dragonets entering. He’d seen parts of Thorn St. Croix’s battle on SNN, as had most of the rest of the nation, and these new Dark creatures had drawn much commentary.
They were smaller versions of those things, each only about three feet tall—or three feet long.
The long one was built like a centipede, with an articulated body and multiple jointed legs. The creature had long forelegs that jutted up and then down, like arms, with pincers on the ends. The smaller feet had tiny hooks at their heels. It had scarlet hair in tufts on its head and sparsely across its back. And it had faceted pink eyes, eyes that held him in their sights.
The tall one was part human, standing on human feet, with human legs and human genitalia, but with the upper body of a hyena, snout filled with serrated teeth designed to rip flesh. And his hands were taloned like a bird.
Reimei backed up against the cave wall, the stone an icy ache along his spine, but nothing compared to the frozen fear he felt at the sound of the cell door swinging closed.
And the stone at his back heated, a sudden burst of energy that healed his pain. He gasped.
From the hallway, he heard a long gurgling breath as Chorael shifted back to his dragon form, and a dragon scream that tore at his eardrums. “To war! To war!”
The dragonets whirled and sped from the cell, following their master. And the cell door did not clang shut.
Two Mules for Brother Hope
Early Summer 105 PA / 2117 AD
Christina Stiles
When the sun finally rose after the long, hellish night, its light revealed the true extent of the damage. The kirk was gone, destroyed by fire. Most of the shacks the indentured townsfolk had lived in were likewise burned or had been leveled by the larger monstrosities. Even bossman Lawrence Decker’s brick mansion had been gutted. Only the stone-built town hall stood unscathed.
The survivors were gathered in the town hall. “Only sixty-two sheep, Oh Lord,” Brother Leon Hope said aloud. Trinity’s population had been roughly three hundred before the attack. “I am their shepherd. I will protect those you’ve given unto my care.” Brother Hope clasped his light brown hands in prayer and looked skyward.
Nearby, Reasha Zhane, the beautiful, dark-skinned Earth mage on license from the New Orleans Enclave, moved another mound of dirt with her magic, dumping it on a burning building. The weight of the earth collapsed the structure entirely, but extinguished the fire. That accomplished, she fell, exhausted, to the ground. Michael Eagleheart, her bodyguard, was beside her in an instant and lifted her tired body into his arms.
He walked with her to Brother Hope, interrupting the kirkman’s prayer. “She’s spent, kirkman,” Eagleheart said. “Don’t expect Reasha to put out more fires today. She faced the Darkness with the rest of us. When the battle was over, she dug the grave pit and buried all the dead. Then she fought the fires and built the firebreaks to save what she could. I don’t care what else needs to be done, she needs to rest.”
“Yes. You’re right. We all do.” Brother Hope replied. “After that we’ll need to prepare defenses for when the creatures return.”
“About that, Hope. We need to talk.”
Reasha Zhane lifted her head from Michael’s chest. “You think they’re coming back?”
Brother Hope saw the terror in her eyes. She was from the posh New Orleans Enclave. She’d led a pampered existence before Decker had hired her. Her encounters thus far with spawn, succubae, dragonets, and Dark mules had left a scar on her soul, one from which she might never recover. Reasha was handling the shock better than he’d expected. She was stronger than she realized. If he’d had more time to counsel her, Hope was sure he could have made an ally of the Light of her and her companion. The Most High needed people like them.
He didn’t know if he could save Jesse Holder’s soul, though. Jesse liked to fight, but didn’t care why she fought, only that she was paid for it.
“I’m sorry, Ree, but they most certainly will be back,” Eaglehart half-whispered to her. “They know there’s food here, and devil-spawn are walking hunger. They won’t stop hunting here until there’s no one left.”
“Didja tell him?” said a gruff female voice from behind them. They all turned to see that Jesse Holder, bossman Decker’s former enforcer and lover, had joined them. She held a pistol in each gloved hand. “Seraph balls, but we are in one serious load of spawn shit here, boys.”
“Please stop the cursing, Jess. We don’t need to add divine judgment to our . . . troubles.”
She arched an eyebrow at the kirkman, and then said, “Seraph balls. Ser. Aph. Balls. Why should I be afraid to curse your so-called Most High and His so-called host? His seraphs might hear me and take offense? Not bloody likely. There aren’t any seraphs listening, there aren’t any seraphs coming to punish me, and there certainly aren’t any guardian angels coming down from the heavens to help you save your spawn-bait congregation!”
“Forgive this woman, Most High. She knows not the power of her words.”
“Screw that, Leon. If your God is so almighty, why did He let this shit happen to this town? These folks were innocent enough. They did a good day’s work and prayed with you on Sundays. So
why did your Most High allow Decker and Yates to enslave them all that time? Why didn’t He send His servants to blast the Dark creatures to oblivion when things got really bad? Those invasion theorists got it right: Those seraphs we see on the TV are just aliens using our world as a proving ground, and we’re damn well stuck in the middle of their crazy war with the other aliens that followed ’em here. This shit sucks seraph balls! Eagleheart is right.”
“Right about what, Michael?” he asked, turning toward the neomage’s protector.
“Uh, we’ve been talking, Leon,” the big man said, uncharacteristically hesitant, “and we’ve decided to leave.”
“A lot of the townsfolk are injured or too weak to walk any great distance.”
“Screw them, Leon,” Jesse spat. “I’m not worried about them at all. You are bat-shit crazy if you think we’re moving them. We can’t take them all with us—and we won’t. We have to look out for ourselves, preacher man. They’d slow us down and be a huge target, and in the end we’d all get killed. There’s a pickup truck at Decker’s manor house that Lizbeth should be able to get running in short order. It’ll be big enough and fast enough to get us—just us—to Atlanta. Yates, too, so he can stand trial.”
Eagleheart, softly spoke. “Maybe they can scatter into the hills, find defensible locations to hold out for a couple days. Once we’re back to civilization, we can report the problem to someone. The authorities, the Army, the neomages will know what to do about the growing Darkness.”
“But we have a duty—”
“I am sworn to protect Reasha, not these people, kirkman,” Eagleheart interrupted. “I have to get her safely back to the New Orleans Enclave, or at least to the Embassy in Atlanta. That is my duty.” After an uncomfortable silence, he continued. “I’m taking Reasha inside to rest now,” and he turned away with the neomage.
“Yeah, we’ll need her at full strength for the trip,” Jesse replied. “Tell Lizbeth to get out here. I need her.” To Brother Hope, she said, “So, while Lizbeth is fixing up the truck, the rest of us should be gathering food and supplies. We should try to get the hell out of here no later than two o’clock this afternoon so we get a good start under daylight.”
Hope shook his head. “I’m not leaving my flock. You all are free to do what you wish, of course, but the Most High has given them into my care, and I will lay down my life in His service. Make sure to leave us food and supplies.”
Jesse stomped a booted foot. “Damn it, quit being all high and mighty and stupid, Leon,” Jesse said. “We can’t save them. They’re going to end up as spawn vittles when that horde gets here.”
“I will protect Trinity with my last breath. I am their shepherd.”
Jesse huffed. “Then you’ll be food, too, kirkman.”
Despite the warmth of the early summer day, Trinity’s survivors huddled together in front of the fireplace in the town hall under coats and blankets they’d managed to salvage from their homes. Beside them lay a few other possessions reclaimed from the smoking debris. Brother Hope watched Lizbeth James walk from person to person, handing out emergency rations and bottles of water from the stock room. Decker’s town administrator, Jacobin Yates, visibly cringed at the loss of such valuable items.
The townsfolk were unnaturally quiet, their eyes glazed over from the trauma of their recent encounters with Darkness. For the first time in Brother Hope’s life the desire to sing to bolster the courage of those around him escaped him. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. Although he couldn’t muster a song, he would still be the rock that these people needed him to be. He rejected every doubt that crossed his mind. The Most High believed in him, and the Lord never gave a person more than he could handle. Adversity built strength of character. His flock would survive. They would rebuild. They would flourish in Trinity. These were the truths that he believed.
And if he had to lead them all through this tribulation alone, he would do so. It was necessary.
Resolved, Brother Hope waited for Lizbeth to finish distributing the food before he approached her. She had been a good friend. He would miss her.
“Lizbeth,” he said, quietly.
She looked up. Dried blood still streaked her face, and a few patches of her skin and clothing had been eaten away by the acidic blood of the Dark minions.
“Did Michael give you Jesse’s message?”
“No. He came in and put Reasha in Yates’s bed, and then he went out. He didn’t say anything to me.”
“Jesse wants your help in getting Decker’s truck running. She wants you all to be ready to leave as soon as possible. They don’t want to be here when the devil-spawn return.”
Lizbeth stared at him.
“Did you hear me?”
She blinked. “I did. But I didn’t hear the part about everyone needing to escape this town. What’s the plan to save them?” she glanced toward those crowding the main room.
“Jesse isn’t taking us with you. She will take Jacobin Yates, though. To bring him to justice.”
“Oh, yeah? She intending to walk? I’m not fixing up anything unless we all get a ride to safety.”
Brother Hope laid his hand on Lizbeth’s arm. “Be charitable, Lizbeth. Michael promised to alert someone in Atlanta or New Orleans to the problems here. He’ll do that as soon as he gets Miss Zhane home. I trust him. He has proven nothing but honorable since we started working together.”
“I can’t say the same about Jesse,” she said.
“It will be all right, my child.”
She laughed. “Child? You aren’t any older than I am.”
“Sister?” he smiled.
She held his gaze. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “No. I don’t want to be your sister, Leon. My thoughts about you are often . . . impure.”
He arched an eyebrow at her and released his hold.
“What? Kirkmen can be sexy.”
A smile reached his eyes. “You flatter me, Miss James.”
“‘Miss James’? What happened to ‘Lizbeth’?”
Brother Hope noticed the survivors starting to stare at his exchange with Lizbeth. Dirty faces watched their every move.
“Were we not in such dire circumstances,” he whispered, “I’d explore what future we might have. But alas . . .”
He cleared his throat and stepped back to be more circumspect. “As I was saying, Jesse needs your help. Please help them get Reasha Zhane back to the Atlanta Embassy. Her seraphic visa will only be active for two more weeks, and it’s dangerous for a mage to be out and about without one. I wouldn’t want anyone to go through what I’ve heard rogue mages suffer. Nor would I want to risk the Darkness capturing her—that could be much, much worse than death.”
“Back to business, huh? Okay, kirkman. I’ll fix their truck, but I’m not going with them. I can help save this town. We kinda owe it to them after we screwed up in the mines.”
Brother Hope and Lizbeth James helped the others pack the pickup truck with supplies from the town hall’s storeroom, while the townsfolk spent the day gathering weapons and shoring up the block building as best they could, boarding up the windows, leaving spaces between some of the boards for the defenders to shoot through. If they’d been interested, Jesse and Eagleheart could have done a better job of setting up defenses. As it was, Brother Hope relied on the Army training he’d received before he’d heard God’s call and changed careers.
“The boss isn’t going to be happy about you taking all his stuff,” Yates grumbled during the loading. He’d been pacing and muttering to himself the whole time. He didn’t seem glad to have a seat on the only vehicle leaving town.
“Neither you nor your absent boss have a say in it,” said Lizbeth. “I don’t think he plans on coming back. And once a judge hears about what you’ve done, I doubt you’ll be coming back any time soon either.”
Jacobin Yates stopped his pacing, and leaned into Lizbeth. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The neomage was supposed to be an appeasement to the ones Decker p
issed off! You ruined the exchange!”
Lizbeth pushed her face toward his until they were eye to eye. “You mean to tell me that he wanted the Darkness to take Reasha and you knew about it all along?”
Yates straightened up with a jerk. A glint of madness and hatred shone in his eyes. “Yes! Yes! And you screwed up everything! Now, they’ll be back for sure!”
Coming around the corner, Jesse Holder overheard Jacobin Yates’s last exclamation. Moving fast, before anyone could react, Jesse drew a pistol. Stepped to the side. Shot Yates in the head. The angle of the shot blew brain tissue across the far wall. Yates’s body crumpled to the ground, arms still extended outward, his mouth open as if he had more to say.
“What in the world did you do that for?” Brother Hope yelled at her. He bent down to examine Yates’s body, but there was nothing anyone could do to save the man. “No one liked Jacobin Yates, but you didn’t have to kill him!”
“I’m the law in this town. The man was a confessed criminal.”
“He deserved a trial,” Lizbeth muttered.
“He just had one. I’m the judge and executioner here too.”
“Yes, you served Lawrence Decker as law enforcement here for several years, but Decker’s gone,” Brother Hope replied.
“What can I say? Old habits die hard,” Jesse said with a shrug. Turning, she yelled, “Hey, Michael, put the body in the back. We’re going to take this sorry sack of shit with us, dump it somewhere away from town.” She faced the stunned Brother Hope again. “That might gain you a little more time to finish your prep for the devil-spawn.”
Without a word, Michael Eagleheart lifted the dead body into the back of the truck, and then climbed into the cab, taking his place beside Reasha Zhane.
Brother Hope said a prayer over the body and turned toward Jesse. “Your soul is tainted, Jesse. You need to make right with the Lord and cleanse this evil from you, else you’ll be joining the Darkness yourself.”
