Flaming Dove: A Dark Fantasy Novel

by Daniel Arenson

  Finally Laila found the old house where she had once spent a month, nursing a wound demons had given her in the forests. She had been nineteen, maybe twenty, wandering the Holy Land in cloak and hood, fleeing Heaven and Hell. She stepped into the old house now, the memories strong. Things had been so different back then. She had been more frightened during those years, weaker in body and spirit. I'm so much harder now, so much darker.

  Laila smiled as she entered the shadowy, dusty house. The place was just as she had left it. It was a small home, only a single story with three plain rooms, the brick walls old and crumbly. Her chest of drawers was still there, covered with dust and cobwebs, and when Laila opened it, she found a bottle of whiskey, a survivor of her old stash. Her smile sad, she uncorked the bottle and drank. Still good.

  Her power generator was still there, as she had hoped, plugged into an old record player. Buried under more dust and cobwebs, Laila unearthed her record collection, surprised that it took her so long to return here. She dusted off an old record of The Who and placed the needle on her favorite track, "Call Me Lightning". With a few squeaks and squeals, the record player began to play, and Laila sat down and leaned against the wall.

  "It's a happy song," she said aloud, just to hear a voice. She was so used to speaking to Volkfair, that even with him away, she found herself needing to speak aloud. She pretended that her wolf was there to hear. "I don't think people would imagine I like a happy song, but I do. It makes me happy."

  She took a swig of her drink and shut her eyes. Soon the bottle was empty and her head spinning, and she kept playing the same song. "Call me lightning," she sang in the shadowy room. "Call me lightning. I'm like lightning, Volkfair. I'm fast. I'm fast. I can hurt people. I don't want to. I don't want to go to Hell. Volkfair, do you hear me?"

  She smashed the empty bottle against the wall and rummaged for more booze, but found none. "Dum dum dum, call me lightning." Nobody answered, and Laila curled up on the floor, accidentally kicking over the record player. The music died, and she slept.

  She slept through the night, sprawled across the floor, like in the old days when she'd sleep in caves, burrows, abandoned houses, and fields, passed out with an empty bottle at her side. When she woke up, her head ached, and her stomach felt queasy. The floor was dark where she had drooled onto it. She looked aside at the smashed bottle, and the smell of alcohol made her stagger outside and retch into the bushes. She straightened, groggy, and winced in the morning light.

  "Man, my head hurts," she muttered. Why did she have to drink the entire bottle in one sitting? Her stomach still roiling, she tested flapping her right wing, then her left. I can't face Angor now, hung over, groggy, with that song still stuck in my head. Yet Laila dared not tarry longer. Every day that she dallied, Hell grew stronger. Their spies reported that Zarel was mustering an army in the south, and Laila knew that army was meant for one purpose: to kill her. But I have a few surprises up my sleeve. Killing me won't be so easy, Zarel.

  A rooster called atop a roof ahead, but the thought of breakfast made Laila's stomach churn again, as did the thought of flying. Instead, Laila set out to walk to the lake, Haloflame strapped over her back. She took slow steps, rubbing her temples, heading down the hills toward the water. The lake glistened in the valley below, deep blue, fringed by treed beaches. For thousands of years, the humans worshipped at this lake, where they said Jesus walked, where the River Jordan flowed. A lake of Holy Water, Laila knew. A lake that could extinguish hellfire. This better work.

  She could not see Angor from here, and she wondered if he hid underwater, or if he had betrayed her and fled. "I told you to wait for me at the lake," she muttered. If he had escaped, Laila swore that she'd hunt him down, chop off his tail and wings, and—once she conquered Hell—demote him to the firepits.

  Soon Laila walked alongside the banks of the lake, trees and rushes rustling around her. Thousands of birds flocked here, and Laila glimpsed orange and red fish in the water. Just as she was reflecting how the animals multiplied as the humans vanished, Laila noticed a human girl standing by the water, leaning against a eucalyptus. Eighteen or nineteen years old, the girl wore only tattered underclothes, revealing a bruised, muddy body that had maintained an attractive curviness in an era when most humans were skin and bones.

  "Well, what are you then?" the girl asked when she saw Laila, her eyes widening, a smile curling the corners of her lips. Her face was squat and square, attractive in its own unique way, with green eyes, full lips, and wavy hair that fell to her shoulders.

  "I'm half-demon, half-angel," Laila replied, surprised that the girl did not recognize her. She thought that everyone on Earth knew of her. If for no other reason, Laila instantly liked the girl.

  "My, my," the girl said, eyes widening even further, sparkling with what looked like delight mixed with surprise. "Would you like a trick, then? Loaf of bread gets you an hour. Give me salted meat or fruit, and I'm yours all morning."

  Laila blew out her breath. "Just because I wear big boots and carry a sword doesn't mean I roll that way."

  The girl shrugged. "Would you like to go for a swim, then? I hate swimming alone. There's a great demon in the lake. But I won't be scared to swim with you, and I could use a good bath."

  So Angor was here. Laila nodded. "I'd like a swim." A human girl, young and attractive, selling her wares for cheap... this one would know Beelzebub. Laila was sure of that. If she could befriend the girl, she could use her.

  Laila pulled off her boots, doffed her cloak, and stripped down to her underwear.

  "Your body is all bruised and cut," the girl said.

  "So is yours," Laila replied.

  The girl shrugged and stepped toward the water. "Part of the business."

  They entered the lake. The water stung Laila's skin, just holy enough to tingle her. This lake had been blessed millennia ago, and most of its holiness was gone. It wouldn't be enough to burn demons, Laila knew. I just hope it's still holy enough to extinguish hellfire. It better be, or I'm screwed.

  Particolored fish swam around them, nibbling at their legs, and aquatic plants caressed Laila's toes. She ducked under, letting the water fill her hair. It had been so long since she'd gone for a swim. This felt good—the water, the birds above, the company of a girl who did not fear her, did not even know her. Is this what it feels like to be an angel? Laila wondered. It was so rare for her to feel her angelic side, to feel peace and beauty, that whenever the feeling tickled her, she clung to it. Never forget, Laila, that angel blood flows through you, that you are capable of peace and beauty too.

  "What's your name?" she asked the girl as they waded through the lake, the water up to their necks.

  "They call me Kayleigh," the girl said, moving through the water beside her, glancing around as if searching for Angor. Her light hair turned brown when wet.

  "What's your real name?"

  "Kayleigh is good enough. That's my real name now." She laughed uncomfortably and wriggled in the water. "These fish keep nipping my feet."

  Laila smiled. "We should catch a couple and bite into them in return."

  Kayleigh wrinkled her nose. "I can't gut a fish, and I hate cooking them. Do you know how?"

  "I do."

  "Okay. We can make some later, if you can start a fire. I'm out of matches."

  Laila smiled crookedly. "If there's anything I do well, it's starting fires."

  Kayleigh looked into Laila's eyes, fear and fascination mixing across her square face. "Your eyes seem to be on fire, like the flames on candles. Can you see in the dark with them?"

  "Well enough. Do my eyes scare you?"

  Kayleigh shrugged. "I don't know. I've seen eyes of flame before. There's a fallen angel I know. His eyes are like that too."

  Here we go. This was going faster than Laila had expected. "Is he tall, with black curly hair, and black armor filigreed with gold?"

  Kayleigh nodded. "Is he your brother? He looks a little like you. He also has fangs and claws
, but his are larger and look meaner." She showed Laila old scratches on her shoulder. "He doesn't even realize when he scratches me. He says later that he doesn't remember doing it."

  "Beelzebub," Laila said.

  Kayleigh nodded. "That's the name he gave me. Are you two related?"

  Laila raised an eyebrow. "You don't know who Beelzebub is?"

  "He never told me much about himself. I think he's married. I don't ask questions. He brings me good meat, eggs, wine. He's nice, kind of quiet, laid back. I like him."

  Laila bit her lip, shocked that anyone would not know who Beelzebub was. Then again, this girl was born after Armageddon, and probably grew up along this shore, illiterate and uneducated. Maybe it's better that she doesn't know. Strangely, the thought of Beelzebub with another woman still sent pangs of jealousy through Laila, even after all these years.

  The girls swam for a while with no sign of Angor. Laila caught three fish, and Kayleigh had some rice stashed inside an old suitcase. The girls started a bonfire on the shore and ate lunch, birds pecking the grass around them, columns of flame rising across the lake with sounds of distant battle. At one point, a black hump disturbed the surface of the water, then disappeared with a grumble, sending birds into flight. Kayleigh froze and paled. "The demon."

  Laila nodded. "Don't worry about him. I'm going to get rid of him after lunch. I'd like to talk to you a bit more about Beelzebub first."

  The girl, it turned out, sold her words for not much more than her body. Laila promised to visit once a week with parcels of food. In return, she had the sweetest little spy in the Holy Land at her service.

  "Next time you have him in his passion," Laila told the girl, "when he scratches and moans and is unaware of himself, ask him questions. Can you get him into a state where he'll answer anything?"

  Kayleigh nodded with a crooked smile and a wink. "You're good at starting fires in wood. I can start fires in the male heart. If there's anything I can do, it's that. List your questions, Laila the half-demon, and I will give you the answers."

  Laila nodded and gave the girl a list, making her memorize it. They whisper, my dearest Beelzebub, that you have another woman, an angel. Is it true? Where do you keep her? Let me know because I'm jealous. They say, my darling, that your wife is gone, that she's somewhere south. What is she doing away? When do you think she'll return? Let me know, because I like you better when your wife is away. They say, my sweetness, that you once loved Laila the half-demon. What do you know of her whereabouts? Tell me, because I must have your love for myself alone.

  "Those are innocent enough," Kayleigh agreed. "I can make him answer them. Soon I'll tell you all about your sister, about Zarel's plans, and how much Beelzebub knows about you. And remember your part of the deal."

  Laila nodded. "I'll feed you for a year at least."

  "And I want some dresses, and some beads for bracelets."

  "You'll get them. I'll visit you again in a week with your first payment. If Beelzebub visits you before then, I want answers."

  Kayleigh winked. "He'll visit before then. And he'll speak, trust me."

  Laila hesitated for a moment, then hugged the girl, surprised at herself. "Thank you, Kayleigh. I hope we can be more than just business partners. I'd like to be your friend." Shocked at herself, Laila realized that she meant those words, was not using them merely to enlist an ally. Perhaps she saw a bit of herself in this lost, dejected girl, another outcast and survivor.

  "Goodbye, Kayleigh," she said, then spread her wings and flew. It was time to meet Angor.

  * * * * *

  The sounds of battle came from outside, but Beelzebub did not feel like getting out of bed. Not when Bat El lay by his side, her head on his chest, her arm and leg tossed over him. Every day now, it seemed, his brother sent angels to harass his demons and act like pests. Michael's full attack on the fort had not yet come. For now, he's just trying to annoy me. Beelzebub refused to be annoyed. Not today. Why should he let his brother pester him so?

  He kissed Bat El, who still slept despite the clanging of steel and demon grunts outside. Perhaps they were both so used to the sounds of battle, it took more to wake them. He kissed her good morning.

  "I'm going to leave you here for a few days," he said when she opened her eyes.

  "Good," she said. "I've grown tired of you already."

  They made love as the lines of sunrise through the shutters crept across the floor, and then Beelzebub stepped out of bed. He strapped on his ancient breastplate, black iron filigreed with gold, and strapped his greaves onto his shins and vambraces onto his forearms. The left vambrace was still dented from the sword blow Bat El gave him the day they met.

  Beelzebub remembered the day he acquired the armor. The Romans had just destroyed Jerusalem, Hell was young, and there were whispers that Armageddon was near. Lucifer had sent him to visit Jerusalem's destruction, to see if angels were emerging. Beelzebub found Michael standing among the ruins, wings unfurled.

  "Go home," Michael had said. "It's not this year."

  The archangel wore new armor in the style of Roman nobles, glittering, the breastplate lined with silver. His wings were spread wide, just as brilliant, and his halo glowed. Look at that, Beelzebub thought. He got all dressed up for the occasion. When Armageddon does arrive, I won't let an angel out-style me.

  "Nice armor," he said. "Know where I can get my own?" And so he found the blacksmith, and had his own armor made, the same as his brother's, but black and gold.

  Standing by the bed in the Crusader castle, Bat El looking up at him, Beelzebub buckled the last piece of armor. I always wanted to be like you, big brother, he thought. It's a shame I'll have to kill you soon.

  "Where are you going?" Bat El asked, the sunlight on her hair.

  He strapped his sword onto his waist and kissed her. "To visit my brother."

  With that he left the room. His demons had orders to keep Bat El in the fort. Shackling her in the dungeon would be safer, but Beelzebub hadn't the heart to chain her again. He had the feeling that this time the angel wouldn't try to escape.

  Sooner or later this war will end, and I'll have to decide what to do with Bat El. Beelzebub knew Zarel would never accept the angel as a concubine in his court. She'd kill the girl as soon as he turned his back. Beelzebub sighed. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

  Out in the courtyard, his personal guard awaited, thirteen archdemons of white scales, their eyes pale orbs the size of saucers. Brilliant like angels they were, for they were forged with drops of angel blood. Their fangs and claws were long, their malice endless.

  "My lord," said their chief and saluted.

  Beelzebub saluted back and began to march into the countryside, the sea crashing behind. The thirteen archdemons followed. Out in the fields, an army stood, rolling into the distance. Tens of thousands of demons raised their shields in salute, a sound like the gates of Hell slamming.

  A fireball flew over the army and landed before Beelzebub. Zarel. His archdemon wife smiled and kissed Beelzebub. "Good morning, Beelzie, my love," she said.

  Beelzebub smiled. She was in a good mood today, and beautiful in the dawn, her hair aflame, her scales glinting. That made Beelzebub happy. He kissed her. "Good morning, dear. Shall we head out?"

  "Let's."

  In the past two days, Beelzebub's spies reported that Michael had been moving troops, mustering three divisions in Jerusalem. He plans to attack this fort, Beelzebub thought. Lucifer would have stayed in the fort and let Michael crash against the walls, but Beelzebub had always preferred a swift offense. I'll catch Michael while he's still polishing his swords.

  Of course, there was the possibility that Michael didn't intend to attack the fort at all, that he was simply trying to lure Beelzebub out, or maybe planning an attack on Hell itself. Those didn't sound like actions his brother would take, but Beelzebub reminded himself that it wasn't just Michael he fought now. Laila was there too. The girl was unpredictable, and Beelzebub knew to expect sur
prises today.

  They marched along the cracked human highways, tens of thousands of demons snaking across the Holy Land. The sea crashed behind them, angry under livid clouds. Ahead rose sandy hills. In the afternoon they reached the outskirts of Jerusalem. Among those ancient ruins ahead, Michael and Laila waited, Beelzebub knew. He camped his army in the hills to wait for night; in darkness they would attack. They dug pits of fire around the city and raised columns of flame and smoke. They fed upon raw meat, drank bloodwine, and slammed fists against shields of jet.

  When the sun disappeared behind the hills, Beelzebub blew a horn, and the army of Hell charged into the ancient city.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Laila flew over the lake, wings outstretched, until she saw a shadow snaking under the water. She descended in circles toward the lake.

  "Angor!" she called.

  The archdemon raised his head from the water, scaly and covered with algae. He squinted his red eyes at her, and his tongue darted from his mouth. "Laila," he grumbled.

  "Well, aren't you a regular Loch Ness monster," she said with a crooked smile. She landed on his head and sat there, cross legged. "I've come to call on that favor you owe me."

  He snorted, the water rippling around him. "I do you no favors. I help you; you keep your grubby angel hands off my daughter. That's the deal."

  "Yes, yes," Laila said with a sigh. "Angor, I'm going into Limbo. I need you to dig the way there."

  He rolled his eyes to stare up at her. His tongue lolled, slimy and bloated. "The hellfire would burn your angel blood."

  Laila shook her head. "Angor, I hope your claws are sharp. You've got a lot of digging to do."

  * * * * *