Flaming Dove: A Dark Fantasy Novel

by Daniel Arenson

  "You heard the Captain," he grumbled, turning to his soldiers. "Lower your weapons, angels. The half-demon is welcome here tonight, it seems."

  The angels complied, lowering their spears, but kept a close watch on Laila. Bat El stepped toward her half-sister, arms outstretched.

  "Laila," she said. "Welcome."

  Laila hovered down from the ceiling, the shadows still wreathing her, and laid her burden upon the floor. Bat El finally saw what it was, and she gasped. Her sister's wolf lay at Laila's feet, his breath shallow, blood coating his black fur. Bat El covered her mouth with her hand, looked up at Laila, and saw that bloody tears covered Laila's cheeks. Fear filled the half-demon's fiery eyes, and claw marks ran across her shoulder, bleeding.

  "Dear God," Bat El whispered. Laila got herself into a fight again. It was a bad one this time.

  "Can you do something for him?" Laila said, voice low, careful. She still didn't trust this room full of angels.

  Bat El knelt before Volkfair. The wolf gazed up at her with glassy eyes, and Bat El placed her hands in his fur. She shut her eyes, breathed deeply, and concentrated, letting her energy flow between the wolf and her hands.

  She opened her eyes. "His life force and will are strong," she said. Laila had retreated into the corner and covered her head with her hood. The glow of angels hurts her.

  "I know," Laila whispered, and Bat El could almost cry, for she heard godly love in the voice of her sister. Such love could only come from her angelic side. "He is a strong one, my dearest Volkfair."

  "I will do my best," Bat El whispered with a tremulous smile, her own love filling her, love for her sad, outcast sister. She took a deep breath and focused, praying to God to heal this beast, to send godlight and grace into the creature. As she prayed, sending love and life into Volkfair, her skin and hair glowed, a soft glow of Heaven. Light pooled between her fingers.

  Laila hissed at the light and pushed herself further into the shadows, turning her head away, so as not to look upon the glow. Her fists clenched at her sides. The godlight burns her demon blood, Bat El thought, but no demonic blood filled Volkfair. All wolves were God's creation, Bat El knew, smiling as she passed her hands through the black fur, as the wounds closed, as light and life filled Volkfair's eyes.

  The wolf rose to his feet, shook his fur, and licked Bat El's palm. His yellow eyes gazed at her, and Bat El wondered how she had once so feared the creature. A look passed between them that told Bat El that now, and forever, the wolf would be her friend.

  Laila stepped forward, still shielded in her cloak and hood, and Volkfair moved to stand by her. Two warrior comrades together again, Bat El thought, and gazing into the shade of Laila's hood, where red eyes burned, Bat El knew: There is more that she came here for.

  "What is it?" Bat El whispered, for she saw somberness and horror she had never before witnessed in her half-sister.

  Laila took a step forward and pulled the hood back from her head, her face pale and bloody, her eyes burning. "Take me to Michael," she said.

  * * * * *

  Zarel swooped down from the church clerestory, caught a demon that fluttered by, and pulled it to the floor. She tore out its throat with her fangs, then shook her head, splattering blood in all direction. She ripped into the dead body with her claws, tossed back her head, and howled into the darkness.

  Standing in the pulpit, perusing a dusty old volume, Beelzebub flicked up his eyes. "Zarel, calm yourself," the fallen angel said wearily. "Please."

  Zarel shot him a venomous glance and growled, drool and blood dripping from her maw. The blood was hot, fresh, igniting flames within her. The bloodlust burned through her, making her vision red, blurry. She hissed, smoke rising from her nostrils to veil her eyes.

  Beelzebub shook his head with a sigh and brushed sparks off his breastplate. "We won't have any demons left if you keep killing them."

  Three more demon bodies lay strewn across the church, shredded with fang and claw. "A thousand more demons fill this church," Zarel said and licked her lips, savoring the taste of demon blood. Beelzebub could not understand, she knew; no fallen angel born of Heaven could truly understand a demon forged in hellfire. He could not understand how the flames forever burned in her. "I'll kill as many as I like."

  "The only one you were to kill is Laila, and you failed," Beelzebub said.

  His words hit her like a slap. She screamed, her hair crackling and raising sparks, and leapt into the air. She smashed an old statue of a saint, shattering it, scattering stones across the floor. She leapt again, flipped through the air, and landed before Beelzebub, hissing, claws drawn. "The girl fled. I was close to killing her."

  "And yet she got away," Beelzebub said, staring at her levelly. He was the only one who'd dare stare at her levelly. "Now step back, Zarel, or you'll burn my book."

  Zarel lowered her head, feeling tears gather in her eyes to seep over her scales, bloody. "Why do you hurt me, my lord?"

  Beelzebub sighed again and slammed the tome shut. Dust flew. He stepped down from the pulpit, approached Zarel, and embraced her. His old Roman breastplate, blackened from fire, felt cold against her. She tried to push him away, hissing, but he held her firmly. Finally she relaxed and leaned her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him. He smoothed her flaming hair with his clawed fingers.

  "I love you, my husband, my eternal king," she said.

  "And I love you, Zarel, forever." His wings wrapped around them like a cocoon.

  "I failed you, Beelzebub. I let you down. I know." Her eyes lit up; she could see their flames reflected in Beelzebub's breastplate. "But I will not fail again. Send me on the hunt, and I will bring her back. When I'm done with her, she will be begging for death."

  Beelzebub shook his head, released his embrace, and stepped toward the altar. He placed his hands between the burning candles and leaned forward, as if lost in reflection.

  "She will seek refuge with Michael," he said, voice low. "It's likely she's in his camp already. If you fly into that fort, Zarel, you will not leave it alive."

  Zarel growled. Does Beelzebub doubt my strength? She felt rage fill her. She was among the greatest archdemons in Hell. I am Zarel, Queen of Hell. I fear no one. "I fought the legendary Laila," she hissed, "and she fled from me. There are none among the angels with power enough to harm me."

  Beelzebub shook his head, the candlelight dancing on his armor. "You could beat Laila in a duel, here in my court. If you fly to her now, Michael will be with her, and Raphael. That's Laila and two archangels, and thousands of troops surrounding them. Even you cannot take them on, Zarel."

  Zarel leapt onto the altar and slammed her fist down, raising a shower of wooden splinters, sending candles flying. "So you'll just let her join Michael?"

  "We don't know for certain that she'll join him."

  "She will, now that we tried to kill her. She knows you killed her dad, and she wants revenge. She wants your throne. If she joins Heaven, she could shift the tide."

  Beelzebub grabbed Zarel's wrist, and she snarled and struggled to release herself, but could not. There were none whose strength eclipsed her own, except for Beelzebub, she knew. That is why I married you. That is why I love you. Still she struggled against his grasp, screeching, flames rising from her nostrils.

  "First of all, Zarel, calm your temper. This church is our home now, and I'll not have you destroy it. If you do not calm yourself, I'll chain you to the floor again."

  She growled and hissed, snapping her teeth, trying to bite him, but he held her back. She knew her words had touched a nerve. She could see it in Beelzebub's eyes. He knows I'm right. Since Armageddon, Heaven and Hell had beaten each other into a bloody, uneasy standstill. With Laila returned, that would change. With Laila fighting for Heaven, Michael would gain the advantage. We cannot allow that.

  "She is not untouchable," Zarel said, smiling caustically, the demon blood still smearing her face. She could feel the cut Laila had given her lip, where her own blood had
beaded. She made me bleed. Very few can do that, girl. She felt the exhilaration, the bloodlust, the power burn inside her. Finally she had an enemy worthy of her, someone to kill beyond these shades, these weak demons who filled their church. Zarel flapped her wings, rising into the air, tongues of flame dancing around her. "She can be killed, even now, even if she fled to the angels. And I will kill her, Beelzebub. Very soon, I will kill Laila."

  * * * * *

  Laila and Michael walked among the ruins of a human city, black and red ash hiding the stars. The night was silent, the only sounds their footfalls over rubble. Scattered fires burned among the ruins, vestiges of war, or maybe cooking fires of human survivors. It was hard to imagine any survivors in this town, Laila thought, gazing around. The place was a pile of bricks, twisted metal, and fluttering shreds of burnt cloth. As she stepped over a broken tricycle, her boots scattered the bones of a human child.

  "A lovely place you brought us to," she said, wrapping her cloak around her. Volkfair padded beside her, sniffing at the ruins, maybe smelling skeletons buried beneath the rubble. Dust flew around them.

  "A private place," Michael said. "We can talk here." He stepped around the rusty frame of a burned bus. "It's been a while, Laila," he said, the godlight of his halo gilding his wings. "I'm glad to see you again. I'm sorry about what happened last time. I wanted to tell you that."

  Wincing in his glow, Laila swallowed and tightened her jaw. "I don't need your apologies," she said. She spotted a skull in the rubble and kicked it, sending it to clank over the ruins. Does he think that could make up for it? He dragged me into Heaven, claiming it could "heal" my demon side, saying I needed to visit my family, the home of my mother. The godlight had burned her then, and the song of harps drew blood from her ears. She had fled, hurt and frightened, until she fell from the clouds to crash into the sea, shivering. Laila clenched her fists. "Your words mean nothing to me now, Michael."

  "And yet... and yet you asked to speak with me. So there must be some words of mine you want to hear."

  Laila lowered her head, staring at the dust blowing around her boots. These old boots had taken her on long journeys throughout her exile, but it seemed her road still wound for many miles. She closed her eyes. For years I sought a home, a place where I can belong, a place that is mine. I am Lucifer's daughter, his only child. Rightful heir to Hell. Who'd have thought the underworld is the place I'm meant to be? A bloody tear ran down her cheek. She hated the thought of entering Hell, hated the thought of being Satan's spawn, and yet... and yet sooner or later, she knew, this world was dead to her. Whether Michael or Beelzebub won did not matter; either hellfire or godlight would fill the world, both which could kill her. If Hell is my domain, if I can sit upon its throne, I can extinguish its fires. I will go there, to a place that will be mine, where I can finally find some peace, even if that peace lies beyond hellfire and pain.

  She stared at Michael, feeling the halo of flame ignite around her brow, the halo that burned whenever anger or fear filled her. "I don't care for your words, Michael, only for your spears. I need a hundred thousand of those spears. Give me them, and the angels who bear them, and I'll give you this world."

  Michael walked in silence for a moment, his godlight glinting on his gilded armor, on his blond curls. Even in these ruins of death and desolation, he managed to look divine. For a moment he looked so much like a classic archangel, all cherubic and beautiful, that Laila wanted to retch. God, I hate Heaven. I think I hate it even more than Hell.

  "So Bat El told you," Michael said softly. "You know about your father."

  Half a wheelchair rose from the ruins to poke at her cloak, and she kicked it aside. "That my father was Lucifer? That Beelzebub killed him? That I am rightful heir of Hell? I don't need Bat El to bring me such news. I always knew."

  "And you've always been a poor liar," Michael said, shaking his head, a small smile on his lips. "You ran and hid all your life, Laila, living with humans, with wolves, in the forests and deserts. You never wanted a part of our war, and suddenly you speak to Bat El, then come to me asking for spears." He looked at her shoulder, where Zarel's claw marks ripped through her cloak and flesh.

  Laila shook her head, exasperated. Of course Michael sent Bat El to her. Of course he knew she'd confront Beelzebub, seeking the truth. Of course he knew Zarel would attack her, that she'd come to him, that she'd ask to fight. Laila's fiery halo crackled, and Volkfair growled, sensing her anger. "You're a sneaky one, Michael. Always have been. You're a lot like your brother, do you know?"

  His smile widened. He said nothing. For a moment they walked among the ruins in silence, and Laila watched several bats who flew through the night, or maybe they were owls. Fire rose from a dented garbage can beside her, illuminating dusty items that peeked from the rubble: a burned doll's head, a baby's shoe, a tin can, a few bones. She tried to remember the name of this town, only a few miles from Michael's fort, but could not. She had been born into this war; she never knew a time when human cities had names, teemed with life.

  "Look," she finally said, "sooner or later, one of you guys is going to win this war, whether I choose sides or not. And when that happens, I'm screwed. If Hell wins Earth, hellfire will fill this planet, burning away my angel blood. If Heaven wins, the godlight will sear my demon half, leaving me just as dead. But now I have a way out. I am heir to Hell, and once I sit upon its throne, I can douse its fires. I'll build myself a home there, a home with no hellfire that would burn me, where my mixed blood can survive. Once I do that, you take Earth; I'll no longer need it. Help me kill Beelzebub, help me take over Hell. I'll give you Earth in return."

  The sun began to rise, sending pink feathers over the eastern horizon, gilding the ruins. Laila pulled her hood over her face as Michael looked at the dawn, admiring it. "I know sunrise burns you, but can you appreciate its beauty? Do you ever just stop and admire it?" When Laila said nothing, he sighed. "Laila, I will not give you a hundred thousand spears, and I will not fight your wars for you. If you want to kill Beelzebub, you will do so as a soldier of Heaven, under my command. You will work for me; Heaven will not work for you."

  She glared at him, baring her fangs. "I work for no one. I do not serve Heaven and I never will. Heaven is your domain, Michael. I'll even give you Earth once I take over Hell. Hell is mine, and I serve no one. I will not serve as a soldier for you. I will make an alliance with you, but I remain loyal to none but myself. Join me and together we will kill your brother. And if I need spears, you will give them to me. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them. Do we have a deal?"

  Michael stopped walking and stood among the rubble, wisps of dust flying around his boots. He looked at her, and Laila was almost taken aback, for she saw pain and remorse in his eyes. She saw pity there, and it both shocked and enraged her.

  "Laila," he said, sadness in his voice, "come with me to Caesarea. Our partnership begins there."

  She laughed mirthlessly. "Caesarea? That's Angor's city. Forget it. You'll never take it."

  "We need Caesarea. It cuts the beach between north and south. It houses a horde of demons just a few miles from our fort. We will take it. And you will help us."

  Volkfair growled and Laila patted him. "I don't care about Angor. I don't care about Caesarea. It's Beelzebub I want to kill, and maybe his wife. I care only for Jerusalem."

  "Beelzebub's church is guarded by more force than in ten Caesareas, for miles around. We will get there, Laila, when the time is right. Baby steps. We take Caesarea first. And you, Laila, will go underground until either you, or Angor, is dead."

  Her halo crackled. "And if I refuse?"

  Michael looked at her shoulder, where claw marks still dug deep. "Did Zarel give you that wound, Laila?" he asked softly.

  She stared at him for a moment, then nodded.

  "Do you want to get back at her?" Michael said, only the hint of a smile in his eyes. "Angor, the archdemon that lurks below Caesarea, is her father."

  Laila barked a l
augh, though it sounded to her more like a sob. She could still feel the pain of Zarel's claws on her shoulder. "If I couldn't kill Zarel, what makes you think I can face her dad?"

  Michael put a hand on her shoulder. "Angor is old now, and tired, and his strength is not what it was. He is still powerful and mean—a real bastard—but if you faced Zarel and lived, you can kill Angor. And that, Laila, will be a greater blow to Zarel than any other you can give her."

  Laila lowered her head, remembering the fire of Zarel's drool burning against her. Ash swirled around her, staining her frayed cloak. She tightened her lips and nodded. "I'll do it."

  * * * * *

  Laila knelt in the shadowy chamber, moonlight falling upon her through the arrow-slits. She could hear angels clanking in the hallways in their armor. This entire fort stank of them; a smell like roses, fresh air, goodness, a stench that made her demon blood cringe. At least here, in this small chamber where archers had once stood, she could find relief from their godlight, she could lurk in shadows with only moonlight to fill her eyes. Volkfair sat by her, and Laila lay her head upon his fur. Her tears filled that fur now, as blood had just a day before.

  "Volkfair," she whispered, "I can't do this anymore."

  He licked her cheeks, and Laila hugged him.

  "All I ever wanted was some peace," she said. "A home. Friends. People to love me, people who I might love. Is that really too much to ask for?"

  Volkfair stared at her silently, and Laila knew he could understand her. She could see it in his yellow eyes.

  "I'm sick of being so scared all the time," she said. Volkfair licked her tears and nuzzled against her. "I'm sick of always being so lonely, of being so hurt, of running, of hiding. I can't do this, Volkfair, I just can't. I can't live this life."

  There were ways to die, she knew, even for her, even for a being of her power. She could march back to Beelzebub and let him kill her. She could dive under the sea until the salt water drowned her pain. Yet where would she go in death, a half-angel, half-demon? She was outcast from both Heaven and Hell; if she died, where would her soul go? She could not become godlight like dead angels, ascend to Heaven and glow among its meadows, a being of peace and beauty; Heaven would be barred to her soul, even in death. Nor could her spirit travel to Hell, become hellfire like the souls of dead demons, burning forever in tar and lava. Hell's gates, too, would be locked to her spirit, the spirit of a half-angel. Her soul would eternally wander, a haunted shell of fading memories, lost and seeking a home that could never be.