Flaming Dove: A Dark Fantasy Novel

by Daniel Arenson

  Beelzebub put a finger under her chin, moving her face up toward his, and kissed her, a kiss that tasted of ash and her tears. "I know that, sweetness. I know. But I can't let that happen to you."

  She cried. "Why not? I want it."

  Beelzebub shook his head, tears stinging at his own eyes. He felt his fingers tremble and he ran them across Bat El's cheek. "You cannot imagine the pain of banishment, of this curse, of being cast away from Heaven. It would destroy you, Bat El, it would kill all joy and goodness within you. You are good, Bat El, and blessed, and loved by God. I won't let you give that up."

  She trembled. "I would give it up for you. Take me with you to Hell, and make me your bride there. Let's forget about Zarel, forget about this war. Let's just be together."

  He shook his head, both their tears mingling, his hands in her hair. He kissed her cheek. "I won't let hellfire make you evil. I love you, more than anything, and that is why I let you go. I return you to Heaven, to God's love. And if ever I will claim this world, if ever I invade Heaven and launch war upon God, I promise to leave you a place there. To leave a part of Heaven where you can remain an angel."

  She sobbed, her body shaking. "Heaven and all of its light would be dark to me, if I must live without you."

  "And Hell will feel cold and empty without you with me, but it must be done. We are demon and angel, Bat El. We were not meant to be."

  Beelzebub shut his eyes. I am half-angel, Beelzebub, Laila had said to him years ago. It can never be between us. She had left him then to his rage and anguish, and Beelzebub shook his head, here in this dungeon, crying with Bat El. He finally understood. He knew that Laila still loved him, had left him because it was best for them both. He knew now what it was like, to give up one you love because you love them.

  Bat El was, perhaps, the only woman he truly loved, fully. For no other woman would Beelzebub grant clemency to Heaven. For millennia he had striven to destroy God's realm in the sky. For you, Bat El, I disavow this quest. "Live in Heaven," he whispered to her. "Live there as an angel, full of light and goodness and godliness. This is what I grant you."

  He led Bat El up the stairs, out of the dungeon, into the hall. She leaned against him as she walked, hair tousled, tears on her cheeks. She moved wearily, trembling, holding his hand. Beelzebub and Michael made the swap upon the fort walls, the rain falling against them, the waves crashing against the boulders, the armies of demons and angels watching.

  "No," Bat El wept when Michael took her arm, pulling her toward him. She looked back at Beelzebub, weeping, and her eyes told him of her love. Then she buried her face against Michael's breastplate, and he stroked her hair, looking over her head at Beelzebub, his eyes cold.

  Zarel, freed from her cage and chains, stood by Beelzebub, looking at her husband, at Michael, at Bat El. For once the Demon Queen was speechless. The rain sizzled against her hair of flame, and her eyes carried a haunted, perplexed look.

  Beelzebub took Zarel's hand—clawed and scaled, yet delicate.

  "Come, Zarel," he said and kissed her cheek. "Let's go home."

  Chapter Twenty

  A knock came at her door. Standing in her hall, hands resting upon the pommel of her sheathed sword, Laila nodded. The demon doormen creaked open the doors, revealing a sparkling archdemon, resplendent in his snowy scales, his insect wings fluttering.

  "Belial," Laila said. "Welcome back." She removed her hands from the pommel of her sword, the torchlight glimmering in her vambraces. As she moved toward the archdemon, her velvet black cloak murmured. Between the towering columns of her hall, she could see ash swirling and demons fluttering.

  Belial bowed his horned head before her, drool dripping down his fangs to sizzle against the marble tiles. "I spoke to Beelzebub, and he accepts. You will duel Zarel, as you asked. They will meet you a week from today, at dawn in the desert."

  Laila nodded. "Good."

  Kayleigh sat on the floor between the columns, sketching portraits of Limbo on a sketchpad. Hearing the exchange, she stood up and walked toward Laila. The girl wore a burgundy dress, and her hair was cleaner than it had ever looked. She eyed Haloflame, which hung at Laila's waist. "Are you sure, Laila?" she asked. "We can still run away."

  Laila closed her eyes, sudden doubt filling her. Was she sure? Was she ready? The answer was "no" to both, she knew. Yet what choice did she have? I spent my life running and hiding. I can't escape my fate, this battle I was destined to fight.

  "No, I'm not sure," she said, more to herself than to Kayleigh. "But I will face her nonetheless, and if she kills me, then so things were meant to play out." She opened her eyes. "Belial, prepare a thousand shades. No, five thousand. And a couple archdemons. Carve the shades new shields, and forge them new swords. Put a black wolf's head on them; it will be Limbo's sigil. In seven days, we rise to the world."

  "Yes, my queen," said the archdemon, bowing. He left the chamber, scales glinting in the torchlight.

  With Belial gone, the hall seemed dark, too silent despite the sounds of demon armies outside. Laila stood between the columns, watching the countless fluttering shades, the towers spreading into the distance, the bonfires like stars. The sounds of Limbo—hissing demons, creaking beasts, gurgling rivers of lava—played endlessly, and the smells of sulfur and smoke filled her nostrils.

  Kayleigh stepped up to her. "What now?" the girl whispered.

  Laila looked at her. "Now," she said and drew her sword, "I train."

  She locked the doors to her hall that day, keeping everyone outside, even Kayleigh. Only Volkfair remained with her upon the dark marble tiles, growling as Laila drilled with her blade. For a week she drilled, halo flaming, sword spinning. She somersaulted between the columns, blade glimmering, imagining that blade digging into Zarel. Remember what Michael taught you, she told herself, over and over like a mantra. I can do this. She slept on the floor of her hall during the nights, holding her sword like a lover, imagining that she slept in the desert where she once lived. Things had been simpler then. She missed those times so badly, it ached more than her muscles after a day of drilling.

  The last night, after six nights on the floor in her cloak, Laila left her hall. She stepped into her bedchamber, high in one of the fort's towers, commanding a view of Limbo's craggy landscapes, a million steeples and canyons. Tomorrow morning I might die, she thought, sitting on her canopy bed. Just when I finally found a home, they want to take it from me. Just as I find happiness, they want to kill me.

  Volkfair lay on a rug by the fireplace. Sensing his mistress's fear, he climbed onto the bed and licked her cheek. Laila hugged him.

  "Dearest Volkfair. You've always been my best friend, my fiercest sidekick, my wisest companion. Should I do this, Volkfair? Should I face her again, or should I run? She almost killed me the two times we fought. The third time, she might finish the job."

  Volkfair showed his fangs, as if he understood her words.

  Laila lowered her head. "Yes, Volkfair, I know. A wolf does not run from a fight, and I am a wolf maiden. I'll face her, Volkfair. I know you'll be there with me."

  She stripped off her clothes and examined herself in her tall, gilded mirror. Scars covered her body, from all her battles. Some of these scars Zarel had given her. But her body was still lithe, strong, young and fast. She flexed her claws. Remember what Michael taught you. You can do this. You are Laila, of the night.

  She lay on her bed, Volkfair's fur warming her, but could not sleep. She kept seeing Zarel's flaming figure in the darkness, claws outstretched, maw drooling. It was past midnight, and Laila still lay awake, when a small voice whispered behind her door.

  "Laila, are you awake? It's me, Kayleigh."

  Laila opened the door, revealing Kayleigh in her night tunic, hair mussed. "I couldn't sleep," the girl said. "I'm scared."

  The girls climbed into Laila's great canopy bed and lay together, Volkfair by their feet. Thus they could finally sleep, comforted by each other's presence, until horns blew outside, sign
aling a new day.

  "It's time we go," Laila said softly, touching Kayleigh's arm. The girl moaned and opened her eyes, which filled with fear.

  Laila dressed with care that morning. The world will see me for the first time as Queen of Limbo, future queen of all Hell. I must look the part. She wore leather boots sporting stylized steel claws, leather pants, and a black iron breastplate shaped as her body. Around each forearm she strapped a steel vambrace, spiked and glittering, and pinned her velvet black cape with its ruby clasp. Her wings gleamed, and when she snarled, her halo burst into flame. At her waist she wore Haloflame, forged in Heaven to kill demons, and Volkfair growled at her side.

  All of Hell will be mine, she swore, standing in front of her mirror. I will take your throne, Beelzebub. I am done running.

  Her entourage waited outside her fort upon the plains of Limbo, three archdemons and five thousand shades. They carried their new shields, emblazoned with the black wolf's head, her sigil. I will arise to the world in splendor that poets will sing of. Standing before her army, Laila drew her sword. The blade hissed, and she gave it a whistling swing, then held it aloft.

  "Let's go."

  They flew down tunnels, moving through darkness toward the surface of the world. Two shades carried Volkfair. Two others carried Kayleigh. Soon they emerged into the desert, ash and sand veiling the sky.

  Here was a mountainous land south of Jerusalem, beige and golden and dead, a rolling landscape of dunes, mountains, canyons. Biblical prophets would wander this dry land, and upon a mountain rose one of the humans' ancient forts. Masada was its name, built thousands of years ago. Here did the Jews fight the Romans in the last battle of their tragic rebellion. Here, in the court of this crumbled fort atop the mountain, would Laila make her own last stand.

  The armies of Heaven and Hell were already there, sandy in the desert landscape. Heaven's troops lined up north of Masada's cruel, towering mount. The forces of Hell stood to the south, scales glinting, breath burning. They came to watch the duel, Laila knew. Flying over the mountain, Laila could descry Michael standing at the head of his troops, Bat El by his side. Beelzebub stood among his own camp, but Zarel was nowhere to be seen. Not yet. But she'll emerge soon.

  Laila and her troops bivouacked to the east of the mountain. They raised tents to protect them should the clouds release the sun. Heaven, Hell, Limbo. The three armies stood still under the ashy desert sky, strangely silent. Sand blew in the wind, tangy against Laila's lips, filling her hair.

  "Prepare my tent," she told one of her sergeants, hand on the pommel of her sword, her cape flapping in the sandy wind. "We set camp." Soon she and Zarel would fight. First she must rest, meditate, pray to whoever might listen.

  The shades raised her tent, its walls thick leather. Laila sat inside, cross-legged, her drawn blade on the ground before her. In the shadows, she lowered her head, letting her hair fall over her eyes. She licked her dry lips, suddenly hesitant, then spoke in a soft voice.

  "God," she said, paused, and licked her lips again. "It's me, Laila. I haven't prayed to you often. I know that I am an outcast to you, demon spawn, forever banished from your kingdom, forever cast aside from your family, your love." She stared at the gleam of her heavenly blade, then raised her eyes. "Half a demon I am, evil and monstrous. I've killed and I've sinned, but I've done goodness too. Angel blood flows through these veins, forever burning against my demon blood. If that counts for anything, even for you to listen to my words today, please, God, lend me strength. Lend me strength to kill the Demon Queen. Lend me strength to usurp Beelzebub. I'm not one of your flock, God, and I never will be. In time, if I rule Hell, I might even become an enemy to you, maybe even your greatest enemy. But for now, please God... fight with me today."

  No one answered. No booming voice from heaven, no sparkling godlight. A good thing, I suppose, Laila thought with a sigh. Godlight would only burn me. I've always been alone, I've always counted on myself, nobody else. I don't need God. I don't need anyone to help me. I have Volkfair, that's enough. She reached over and ruffled the wolf's black fur.

  "We've always been alone, you and I," she said to her companion. "Two lone wolves. But not for much longer. If I can do this today, Volkfair, we'll have our home in Limbo. We'll make it a good home, for both of us." Tears stung at her eyes. The wolf licked her fingers, and she kissed him. "I promise you that, Volkfair. I'll build you a park in Limbo, full of trees and game, and you will be king there."

  She rose to her feet, blade in hand, and stepped out of her tent. Belial stood there, her burly archdemon, his white scales glinting in the desert, his horns long and sharp. "I want to speak to my sister," she said to him. "I must see Bat El before I go to this duel. Please, Belial. Talk to Michael. See if Bat El will meet me here, in my tent, before the fight." She put a hand on Belial's shoulder. Her hand seemed so small against him, delicate, fingers short. "Belial, do not bring her with violence. See if she will see me in peace."

  Belial nodded his scaly head. "I will speak with them, Laila, my queen." He took flight, insect wings fluttering.

  Laila returned to her tent and waited in the shadows, sword drawn, trying to push away her fear, her doubt, her pain. She hated the chill that ran through her. I finally found a reason to live, and I will face death again.

  Soon she heard a voice outside. "Laila. I'm here."

  Laila opened the tent flaps. Bat El stood there in the sand, dressed in white, a cowl drawn over her head. A golden broach, shaped as a flower, was pinned to her breast. She had always loved flowers, Laila remembered.

  Bat El seemed timid, eyes lowered. The last few times Laila had seen her sister, she had seemed overbearing, brimming with idealism, love, pious self-righteousness. Today Bat El wore diffidence like her cloak, her hands clasped, her eyes peeking from her cowl. What happened to her in captivity? Laila wondered, deciding not to ask. It no longer mattered. Her captivity had ended. Perhaps this whole war would end today.

  "Come in, Bat El," Laila said softly, putting her arm around Bat El, guiding her into the tent. The sisters sat on the ground. Bat El—white in her woolen tunic and hood, her hair blond and glowing, eyes blue, swan wings pure, a creature of light. Laila—dark, scarred, clad in black, her eyes aflame. Yet which one of us is truly more aligned with Hell? Laila wondered, remembering the stories she had heard of Bat El's love for Beelzebub.

  Bat El raised her eyes. "Laila. How are you? Are you okay?"

  She nodded. "Doin' great. You?"

  Suddenly smiling, Bat El lowered her head. "Small talk, huh?"

  "Yeah," Laila said, licked her lips, and shifted. "Bat El, I... I guess you're wondering why I wanted to see you. I'm not really sure what to say now. I guess, well... you know, I might die today. Wait, don't... don't try to contradict me, don't try to comfort me. Today is something I must do, something I can't run from. But Bat El... in case I die today, I wanted to see you first."

  Bat El shifted close to Laila, leaned against her, and embraced her. She smelled of honey and flowers. She kissed Laila's cheek, like she would when they were girls. "I love you, sis."

  Laila leaned her head against Bat El, her older sister's arms warm around her. The godlight that glowed from Bat El's hair and skin didn't even burn her today, and Laila closed her eyes, feeling safe. "I love you too, Bat El," she whispered, and was surprised to find that tears filled her eyes, flowing down to her lips. Made of blood were her tears; the tears of fallen angels, cursed, banished from heaven. "I'm so sorry, Bat El," she said, voice trembling, shocked that she should be crying so. She never wept like this. "I'm sorry."

  Bat El caressed her hair. "Sorry for what, Laila?"

  Laila held her sister. "I'm sorry that I'm like this. That I'm... deformed, to you at least. That I'm half demon, and evil, with these tears of blood that stain your clothes, with these bat wings that don't glow. I'm sorry I could never love you properly, like a real angel would. I'm so sorry."

  "Laila!" Bat El said, still embracing Laila. "Don't sa
y that. How could you say that? I couldn't love you any more, even if your wings were those of goslings and your halo of glowing good light. You know that."

  Laila wiped her eyes, trembling. It felt good to cry like this. She had not cried this well in many days, not since her days in exile, running through the forests with Volkfair. She looked into her sister's eyes. "You were always good to me, even when I was monstrous. When I was little, and living with the angels on Earth, you brought me toys when you visited from Heaven. I remember. I always looked forward to your visits, and when I ran from the angels, ran into the wilderness, my only regret was that I wouldn't see you again." She held Bat El's hand. "You've been a good sister. I'm sorry I was always such a little devil, in more ways than one. I'm sorry I never got the chance to spend more time with you, to get to know you better. You're the only family I have. I'm scared, Bat El. If I die today, I want you to know that I love you. You and Volkfair are the only ones I love."

  Bat El seemed ready to reply, when a demon scream came from outside, ruffling the walls of the tent. "Where is she? Bring her out."

  Zarel.

  Bat El paled, and Laila tightened her lips and took a deep breath through her nostrils. She took the hilt of her sword. "It's time," she whispered.

  * * * * *

  Bat El flew from the tent, the desert sprawling below, a land of endless dunes and canyons and mountains, lifeless but for the armies of angels and demons. The fortress of Masada rose upon the mount, beaten and crumbled. Bat El landed by the courtyard of the fortress ruins. Not much remained of Masada these days, two thousand years after the Romans destroyed it. Crumbled walls, chipped staircases, vestiges of columns and doorways, a dusty courtyard. Not much more. The bricks and cellars seemed like living things to Bat El, almost as ancient as fallen angels. Sand blew in the wind, and ash swirled in the sky. From here upon the mountain, Bat El could see the dunes and stones undulating for miles, as far as she could see. A dead, beaten fort in a dead, beaten land.