Gwyndolyn had no such desire to rouse Haliel. She was shy around the towering, statuesque angelic being. Unbeknownst to any of the children, that was actually just fine by Haliel. He considered himself ‘bad’ with children, despite his Lord’s declared love for them.
All three children raced down the stairs and ran the nearly forty yards to where he sat meditating. They stared at the stone-still Haliel, not knowing what to do. A voice came from their right in one of the wings of the transept.
In a thick accent, the voice explained, “Can not wake him now. He be done soon. Why you need talk to him?” The voice belonged to a Wildman, but not one of the Wildmen the Eater of the Unwanted had brought.
“Dargar!” shouted all three of the children at once.
“We’re looking for you too!” squealed Gwyndolyn. As shy as she was with the Faithful Servant Haliel, she was friendly to the converted Wildman, Dargar.
The Wildman had been kneeling in front of an alcove in the wall of the transept. In the alcove was a silver-white sword hanging from two pegs. The Wildman had been contemplating it.
“There are abominations attacking upstairs,” said Litharus calmly to the hulking creature. “There is no sign of the skyship, and we have no idea what’s going on. We’re supposed to send you two up there to help and then head on to the village.”
Dargar shrugged his large shoulders. He was shaped like a long-armed, short-legged, overly muscled brick wall. “Haliel come back from Wandering Isle with answers soon. They tell us what to do, and we do as good as we can.” The Wildman smiled a reassuring smile with its ursine snout, revealing almost human teeth.
After just a few minutes of waiting, Ingrid was near tears. “Why isn’t the Wandering Isle sending Haliel back? We need him upstairs right now to stop those monstrosities.”
Haliel’s clear, even voice answered her, “We are going to stay here. The seers on the Isle have told me so. Whatever the Lord desires, it begins with all of us here in this room. Let us plan for when the abominations arrive.”
The Sojourner sanctuary was bigger than when the structure had first been made. Originally, it was just a rectangular great hall used by the Kaladarian Legionaries who had constructed the complex over three hundred years earlier. Sojourner stonewrights had added on two shorter halls that extended off of the main hall to turn it into the shape of a cross. It wasn’t their preferred tree shape, but it was close enough. They had been forced to carve out one of the new halls shorter than the other because of the locations of other rooms in the complex. Four large columns were also carved to help support this new open area and to counteract any weakness caused by the nearby rooms. These columns figured prominently in the discussions of Haliel, Dargar, and the children.
Eventually, the major contingencies had been discussed. Haliel left the other four to take up his position watching the rear entrance that the children had entered from earlier. Standing in the middle of the nave, Haliel set his austerely beautiful face to watch the door with supernatural stillness. His feathery wings gleamed white, and the blade of his sword was made of rippling silvery blue flames.
Perhaps the space here is why the Wandering Isle told me to stay. Just like an Exile, his mind moved faster than a man’s and could easily focus on different trains of thought simultaneously. He let a small part of his mind wonder at that moment. If the seers and senders hadn’t given me that vision during my meditation, I certainly would have rushed off when the children had come. If the Wandering Isle thinks it best for me to be here, then I will trust their wisdom. Here in the open space with my wings and the high ceiling, I should be at a decided advantage against everything except perhaps a dragon. Why do those demon spawn have to be immune to my blade’s fire? A shiver at the memory of his last encounter with one of Molech’s children rippled through him from wingtips to toes.
Despite his rather human appearance, he was physiologically like the Exiles. He did not need to breathe, drink, or eat. He had no lungs, stomach, or any other viscera. Their physical forms constantly reminded both Faithful and Exile that they were not meant for this world.
Behind Haliel’s glowing position, Dargar crouched down in the shadows. He was all the way toward the front of the sanctuary in the chancel near the altar. They had dimmed the lights by hooding some of the flamewright-blessed crystals, but the silver-white sword still gleamed in Dargar’s lap. Quietly, the Wildman whispered to Litharus, Ingrid, and Gwyndolyn. The language seemed to have more than its fair share of words that sounded just like grunts. Even so, the children comprehended the inhuman language with practiced ease.
The Wildman was looking at the children with bright eyes from under a thick, sturdy brow. The overall effect of his appearance was usually extremely disquieting to those unfamiliar with Wildmen. Even those who were familiar with other abominations had trouble dealing with Wildmen. There was something about how similar yet how different they were from normal men. Most abominations were either only subtly different or very different. The Greater Princepts had third eyes in their foreheads. The wizards and sorcerers of Abzu were completely hairless and had glowing blank eyes. The Spideresses of Arachne had kept only their faces and their torturously lengthened arms. Unlike all of those, Wildmen had made it to that eerie place of almost but not quite human.
The children, however, showed no fear of the Wildman. Litharus nodded respectfully as the Wildman surreptitiously pointed around the room. Behind Litharus in the shadows, Ingrid fiddled with a strand of hair poking out from under her blue head scarf. Her eyes were puffy from crying. Her gaze was focused somewhere far beyond the distant end of the sanctuary, trying to see her grandfather’s fate through tons of unyielding stone. Tucked near Ingrid’s side deep in the shadows was the bright-eyed, smaller form of Gwyndolyn. Even her curls of silvery hair were hidden by the gloom.
Everyone in the sanctuary was anticipating it. Still, the children and the Wildman all jumped when the door burst open. The Eater of the Unwanted stalked in, wreathed in smoke with flames flashing up through its rib cage. It opened its mouth to say something, but could not even get out a word.
Haliel half leaped, half flew all the way to the top of the stairs in one fluid motion.
The Eater was not expecting such a timely welcome. Barely knocking Haliel’s blow aside, the Eater gave a low, feral growl from deep in its scorched throat. This was not part of its plan. The Eater wondered at the soundness of its plan, as it ducked an air-shredding slash that shattered the door. An eruption of splinters and chunks of wood flew everywhere.
In a sudden flash of white wings, Haliel leaped away from the Eater and back down to the floor of the sanctuary. Haliel immediately began to flow between fighting stances. He and his sword were one gracefully lethal bird of prey. “Do you plan to fight me alone, Eater of the Unwanted? That seems rather foolish, even for you.”
The Eater stared at the Faithful, “Have I fought you before, lapdog of a dead god? How do you know my name?”
“We know all six hundred and sixty-six who fell. Do you know even two or three of us?”
“Ah, my memory is not as good as yours, apparently. Perhaps if you seventy-however-many-of-you-there-are were better at bothering me, I’d bother to remember you.” The Eater of the Unwanted began to descend the stairs. “Which one are you anyway?”
“That is not important,” responded Haliel quietly. “I bore a censer of incense before the Almighty’s throne until your foolish rebellion. I miss the smells of the Celestial City the most. When I’m slain and go back to the edge of Heaven to be knit together, I bask in those aromas. They make the century of pain more bearable.” Haliel adjusted his body and wings to keep a great white wall of feathers across as much of the sanctuary as possible.
“When you go back? How many times have you been slain? Doesn’t it hurt for you too? Don’t you try to avoid it?” The Exile’s black face scrunched up a little, skin crackling, black crimson blood oozing, as it tried to gauge its opponent.
“I have lost co
unt. Of course it is painful. Our pitiful physical forms are overwhelmed by the Almighty King’s glory.” Haliel continued his constant motion, “It is always an honor. The first was defending the Numa in the First War. If you slay me, I doubt it will be my last death before the Son comes again.” Haliel was moving and sliding from side to side, staying between the Eater and the altar at the far end of the hall.
“I’ve only been back once,” an involuntary shudder rattled the Eater’s burnt body. “Though what you say about the ‘glory’ of the Unspeakable One makes sense. He would force Himself on us, even in the very moments of our defeat. Unmerciful, haughty, self-righteous…” The Eater’s voice trailed off as the fire in its belly hissed with a infernal hatred of the King of the Celestial City. Through gritted teeth, it spat, “Needless to say, I don’t plan on going back to visit Him anytime soo...”
Midword, the Eater suddenly vaulted over the stone railing. It launched itself toward Haliel, leaving a trail of greasy smoke through the air, a black comet flying at a winged sun.
Unfortunately for the Eater, Haliel saw the move coming and launched himself up to meet it. The Faithful Servant crashed into the Exile in a cosmic collision of bright sun and black comet. A shriek of metal on metal pierced the subterranean night, and the sun and comet went careening away from one another in opposite directions.
The Eater slammed into the wall halfway up the stairs with a sickening squerch of burnt flesh compressing on cool, unyielding stone. The smoke and vapor of its lower half looked like water splashing in slow motion as it impacted the wall a moment after the top of the Eater. Sliding heavily down to the stone steps, the Eater shook its head and tried to regain its bearings.
Haliel had spread his wings out to catch the air. Even using his wings as brakes, the Faithful still slammed into the floor of the sanctuary.
Haliel pulled himself up as quickly as he could, but his mind was swimming from the force of the impact. The Eater slithered down the steps to the floor and wobbled toward Halieil unsteadily. The Faithful saw through the deception and blocked the attempted sneak attack when it came.
They began to trade blows, not like human warriors, but like chessmasters. Each attack and response was meant to incrementally build an advantage that only their supernatural minds and senses could plan or even perceive.
The Eater thought that it had finally set up the Faithful, and it risked a lunging thrust. Haliel was one step ahead, though in a direction the Eater was not expecting. Instead of pressing the counterattack, Haliel slid and spun to the other side of the Eater. This put Haliel opposite where it expected Dargar to suddenly be. When Haliel looked for the Wildman, he was shocked into a horrified moment of stillness.
When the Eater of the Unwanted had thrown open the door at the top of the stairs, the Dargar had been startled. He did not depart from the plan though. So, he sat back, waiting to see what Haliel would see behind the leading element of the assault. Once the Faithful had leapt and checked the number and type of enemies, the way he returned to the main floor of the sanctuary told the Wildman what he needed to know.
I am supposed to approach now, staying hidden behind his wings. Then I wait for Haliel to leave an opening for me to take advantage of, I wonder if he will pull a wing out of the way, or leap up and expect me to strike low? I wish we’d practiced tactics.
Before he had taken more than a few steps forward, he heard a soft creak behind him, and saw a shimmering translucent curtain pop into place across the sanctuary. He had spun to face the creaking sound even before Gwyndolyn screeched, “Dargar, lookout!”
A dark winged figure holding a long, spiraling golden horn came out of the side door. The children huddled deeper into the shadows. Dargar dashed to get between the Exile and the children. “Get far back, evil thing!” he shouted, hoping to warn Haliel that they had somehow been outflanked. Even a slow-witted wildman could realize an enemy there now made no sense. There was no entrance down that corridor that an Exile could breach.
“If that is supposed to be a warning to your friend, it won’t do any good. My curtain there blocks all the sounds from either side. Listen, we can’t hear them, and I promise they can’t hear us.” Kuruskos addressed the Wildman in the common tongue of the Boreal lands, not the Ancient Tongue that the Exiles, Faithful servants, and Sojourners still used.
Dargar paused a moment and cocked his head. Just as Kuruskos had said, there was no sound to be heard of conversation or clashing weapons from the far end of the sanctuary. Dargar’s sloping forehead wrinkled in consternation. He looked at Haliel and then the children, torn for a moment. Deciding, he settled into a defensive stance, huge hands wrapped around the elegant silver white sword.
“I just can’t help but ask before I kill you. You seem like you’re working for these Sojourners like some kind of tamed wolf cub. I thought family was important to your kind. At least that was the impression I got from your kin working for us. What is a Wildman like you doing here?” Kuruskos kept his horn at the ready, but did not advance. His statuesque face had a look of genuine curiosity.
“Me am Dargar. Am Sojourner now. Am son of God, brother of Son, brother of Sojourners.” The Wildman was struggling with the words in the Boreal common tongue. Yet, the word ‘Sojourner’ came out like it was well practiced. Human speech did not fit well in Wildmen mouths.
“What?” sputtered the Exile incredulously, “Aren’t you an abomination to them and their dead god? Made by evil, evil from the start?” asked Kuruskos, glancing over to check the battle in the other end of the sanctuary.
“Oh yes, was evil. Evil when born. Evil in tribe. Evil all time. First Sojourners come, tribe kill. Sojourners come again. Tribe kill again. Tribe was...” Here, Dargar paused and shouted something in the choking, choppy Wildman language.
Ingrid answered back from the shadows, “That’s ‘prisoners’ or maybe ‘slaves,’ I don’t think you mean ‘food’ which your word also means sometimes...” Her voice trailed off, as she realized the implications of the linguistics involved.
Kuruskos interrupted Dargar before he could finish. “Just speak your own tongue. I can understand all tongues, but I can’t speak any Wildman. I can’t make those gravelly sounds you put in half your words. You didn’t exist yet when I was made.” Kuruskos hefted his horn up into a ready position. “We need to start swinging weapons at each other. I’ve got to keep up appearances, but we don’t need to get serious. I’ve got more questions. Do we have a deal?”
Answering in his own tongue, Dargar replied, “I won’t make a deal with an Exile. I am a faithful Sojourner. You have been banished from the home I will return to. Be ready, if you want to fight.”
Kuruskos shrugged and took a predictable, slow swing at Dargar.
The Wildman blocked and quickly countered. Kuruskos dodged and countered weakly. It was Dargar’s turn to dodge easily, but he dipped and took a sweeping swing at the Exile who was almost caught by surprise. Kuruskos leaped up adding a quick flap of his wings to be on the safe side. The downdraft from the Exiles wings stirred up the smells of incense, bread, and wine.
Dargar looked at his opponent quizzically. “Is this what Exiles call fighting? Wildmen would call this dancing, or…” Dargar spared the briefest glance at the children, “um...courting.”
Kuruskos gave the Wildman a dark, withering glare. “Tell me more, Dugrar, or whatever your name was. I think you give me more answers before I have to kill you.” Kuruskos was actually not the least bit confident that he could kill this Wildman. But, no reason to let him know that just yet. Surely my glare put him off, I’ve got a pretty good glare when I want to.
“You and your tribe were killing Sojourners. I don’t see how that leads to you being here as one of them. In fact, it seems your story was headed in the exact opposite direction.” Kuruskos began to pick up the intensity of his attacks.
Dargar was confused, but he matched the Exile. Why is it playing with me? Oh, no! Haliel just stood still looking over for me! He didn’t kn
ow about this other Exile yet!
“Come on now. Tell me more, or I’m going to start taking advantage of your divided attention.” The winged Exile slammed at Dargar with his hardest blow yet.
Dargar desperately started on his story again. “We were slaves to evil. We thought we were free, but we weren’t. We were stuck killing each other and fighting men. We had only one way to live, no choices. Kill and be killed. It’s a saying with my people. The Sojourners offered us something else. They offered us life. They showed me how the Son of the Most High God bled and died in my place. Sojourners showed me how His Blood covered all my evil, all my tribe’s evil. His Blood even covered killing their friends that had come before. The Son’s Blood can cover anything.”
Kuruskos gritted his teeth as he swung viciously, “It can’t cover everything. It can’t cover the things I’ve done.”
The Eater of the Unwanted was satisfied with the wound it had dealt Haliel while he had been distracted. It isn’t going to end the fight, but it should slow down that winged idiot, the Eater congratulated itself.
While the Eater’s hellish flames could not harm Haliel, its Exile-wrought black blade could still cut. While the Faithful had been distracted, the Eater’s blade had snaked across Haliel’s thigh.
Haliel’s shock at finding a second Exile behind him had worn off immediately. Almost at once, the wound released a trickle of brightly glowing drops of Haliel’s blood. Like molten metal, the drops hissed through the air and sizzled on the floor. As Haliel drew back, he left a trail of burning spots on the stone floor.
The Eater realized, I guess I’ve fallen into some bad habits fighting lesser creatures like men and Chosen. Well, I’ll just change things up a little. Trade one big lethal blow for a thousand little cuts. Still gets to the same place. I’m nothing if not adaptable. Not like some Exiles I know. Gorram was such an idiot last time he was back. I swear he spends more time reforming on the edge of Heaven than he does here on Earth.
Blessings and Trials (Exiles and Sojourners Book 1) Page 5
