Fallen Halos

by Erin Hayes

  How did a gangly, scruffy boy like me end up being friends with these two girls?

  “Yeah, Pop?” I call out, getting to my feet.

  “Time to go,” my father says. “Mr. Ramazanov will bring Maysa next time they’re in Derweze, so you’ll see her next time.”

  I remember now. We dropped off deliveries from Derweze to the Lodge every other week. Maysa and her father would come to us in Derweze for the other weeks, so that they had a steady stream of supplies for the Lodge.

  I look to Mr. Ramazanov, Maysa’s father, and give him curt nod. “Sounds good. Thank you for having us, sir.”

  Jennet’s blue-eyed gaze is on me, intense, before it shifts to Maysa. “Planting a fig tree?”

  I never figured out how she knew it was a fig tree.

  Maysa grins up at Jennet. “Yep.”

  “I hope it grows,” Jennet says softly.

  “Rahym, go help get the horses ready. We need to leave as soon as possible.” Father sniffs the wind. “The Door is going to be full inferno tonight.”

  I nod as I hurry to the stables and help a servant saddle our horses to the carts. I’m cognizant that I need to conserve energy. Derweze is still fifteen miles out, and I don’t want to fall into Hibernation before then.

  Maysa’s gone when I lead the horses out. In her place, Jennet stands over the place where she planted the seed. Her eyes glow with an otherworldliness as she turns to me. The light from them abruptly goes out as she smiles at me.

  “I hope it grows,” she says. “You know how much Maysa wants it to.”

  “Yeah,” I say, transfixed by her, doubting what I had just seen. “What were you doing?”

  Without another word, she pushes her way past me, and I’m by myself as the fig tree sprouts, its leaves growing at an impossibly fast rate. The trunk wraps around itself, twisting and growing as the fledgling plant turns into a tree that throws me in the shade.

  I hear familiar laughter behind me—Beste—and I whirl my head at the sound, trying to locate it, to see my daughter one more time.

  But the Hibernation overtakes me as the orange flickering from the Devil’s Teeth grows in intensity. I collapse on my back to see the fire raining down from the sky. It catches the world around me in a blaze that blinds me. The heat scorches my skin, and I hear screaming.

  Impossibly, even though the Hibernation has overtaken me, I know it’s me.

  You never could stop it. You tried everything you could.

  And I watch as the tree—the tree that Maysa planted and that Jennet had spent some of her power helping to grow—catches fire.

  And I wake up with a strangled cry. As I can move, it must be after midnight, but it’s still dark outside, far enough from sunrise that no one else expends the energy to stir at my outburst. Sweat sticks my shift to my body. Someone took the energy to pluck me off the ground of the bar and put me in a bed at the Lodge in Derweze. Someone cared enough about me that I wouldn’t spend the night in filth.

  “Hey.” I look over to see Jennet on a chaise across from me. “Are you all right?”

  I swallow thickly as I give her a nod. “Yeah,” I say. “Just nightmares.”

  She offers me a sad smile. “We all have those. It’s a part of living in this world.”

  “I had a dream.” I watch her. “Do you remember when Maysa planted that fig tree?”

  Jennet nods. “Yes,” she says softly.

  “Did you…did you do something to help it grow?”

  She meets my eyes and gives a slight nod. “Yes,” she says, even softer. “Just a small spell, even before I knew I was a witch.” She shifts away from me, as if self-conscious that her secret had been found out. “But…I didn’t want her hopes being dashed. We had enough of that growing up.”

  I close my eyes. “Thank you for that,” I whisper.

  There’s a pause before Jennet replies. “Anything for Maysa.”

  Chapter 14

  “Rahym? Rahym, are you all right?”

  It’s two days later, and I blink a couple times and turn my head toward the person speaking to me. The younger witch, Fatma, is watching me intently from the back of a cream-colored horse. The witch’s big brown eyes watch me curiously, concern etched into her beautiful features. Like Nury, there’s an innocence about her, like she truly believes that we’ll get through this on the other side.

  “I’m fine,” I say through dry lips.

  No, you’re not.

  No, I’m not fine.

  We’re a hill away from where my Lodge is—was—and all I can think about is the fact that I’m so close to my home. Where I spent the happiest years of my life with Maysa and Beste. And now it’s burned to the ground.

  I’m not sure I can do this.

  You have to. Everyone is counting on you.

  We suddenly take our horses perpendicular to the worn path that runs by my Lodge. Toward the Door to Hell. Away from my memories.

  And toward your death.

  The change in temperature is almost immediate. With every step toward the Door to Hell, the heat inches up degree by degree. I’d almost forgotten how oppressive the heat can be, even before you enter the Door.

  It’ll be the last thing you feel.

  I want to shout at the voice in my head to shut up and leave me in peace. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

  “—hym? Rahym?” It’s Nury this time as he brings up his horse next to the young witch and me.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat again, steering my big brown bay away from them, wanting to get away from their concern and their eyes. I kick my horse to a canter to catch up with Nakir at the front of our group. The horse is named Alion, which must be an ironic name, as it means “friendly,” and this guy is definitely not friendly. He huffs in irritation at me and pulls at the reins, fighting me the entire way.

  He’s a headstrong asshole. Which I think is part of the reason I was paired up with him. Everyone else seems to be getting along with their horses except for me and friendly Alion.

  “C’mon,” I mutter to him, bringing up alongside Nakir.

  The angel peers over at me. “Rahym?” He looks behind us, as if trying to figure out what’s happening. “What’s wrong?”

  “I want a new horse. This one is broken.”

  Nakir bursts out laughing. “That’s not how it works.”

  “Why not?” I click my tongue in anger as Alion tries to veer in a different direction. “He’s going to wear himself out fighting me the entire way, and he’s going to drain my energy doing it. Hence—he’s broken.”

  “It’s just because he can sense that you’re irritated,” the angel chides. Both Alion and I snort at the same time in answer, and Nakir grins. “You’re two of a kind.”

  I focus on my anger toward the beast, because it helps me take my mind off the Lodge that’s so close by. Maybe Alion being as stubborn as a mule will be a good thing. And maybe that’s why Nakir paired us up.

  Maybe he gave you a horse that acts like a child because you act like a child.

  “Heaven knows you need to learn patience,” Nakir adds amusedly.

  “Heaven knows you need to learn humility,” I shoot back as Alion decides to trot at a diagonal trajectory, just because he’s being an asshole. Nakir’s gaze turns soft as he watches us.

  “Yes,” he murmurs, his expression wistful. “Yes, I do. Had I learned that, we would have been successful years ago.”

  And suddenly we’re both silent as we reflect on the past. On the Halos that we lost three years ago.

  Rahym Tezel. Killer of conversations.

  “I think about them all the time,” Nakir says softly. “About what I could have done differently to save them. To save Maysa and Beste. I was…cocky.” He rakes a hand through his short, black hair, ruffling it in the front. “I just…I wish…”

  Wishing doesn’t change the past.

  I clear my throat uncomfortably. “What’s Heaven like?”

  We clomp along in silence as he mulls over his words
before answering. Finally, he sighs and glances back at me. “To be honest, what I remember of Heaven is probably a lot different than what it is now. I fell a long time ago.”

  “Why?” I blurt the question out before I can stop it.

  Rahym Tezel. Initiator of awkward conversations.

  Nakir doesn’t mind me prying, though. I guess he owes me that much. “I fell in love with a human woman.”

  “Oh,” I say. I should have guessed. Even though I’d considered myself a good friend of his back with the original Halos, I’d never heard this story from him. How an angel of God fell to Earth and ended up cursed with the rest of our unlucky lot.

  “Her name was Irem—Heaven.” He grimaces at the memory as he rubs at his back, where I know the stumps of his wings still bleed beneath bandages that he wears every day. Still hurt him. “She was my heaven. And I’d gladly fall again for her. But she was painfully mortal. And we both know how mortality can take those we love from us.”

  He sighs and sits back in his saddle, his horse not even flicking an ear in irritation. Meanwhile, Alion gives me the evil eye.

  “Did you…?” I lick my lips. “Did you start a family with her?”

  Nakir shakes his head. “No. Angels can’t have families. Not like that. I didn’t know that I was immortal back then. Thought I’d join her after my time was up here. Apparently, my time must not be up yet.” He huffs angrily, glancing up at the sky. “I guess I’ve been roaming here just for this opportunity. To save us from this curse.”

  I nod to the sword strapped to Nakir’s back. “Do you really think that the Sword of Jan is enough to break the curse?”

  “I’ve been carrying this thing for thousands of years. It’s the only thing that can kill a demon. It can stop Abaddon,” he says with such conviction, I flinch. “It will stop the curse. I know how precious life is, Rahym. I know you think I didn’t mourn the Halos we lost. I know you think I’m leading this group to their deaths as well.” He nods at the riders behind us.

  I don’t reply, because he knows me so well.

  “But trust me when I say,” Nakir says, giving me a meaningful glance, “that after seeing so much death and destruction in my life, I know there is still a world worth saving here. And I’m willing to risk my life to see it returned that way. What’s been broken can be fixed. Even hearts.”

  I follow his gaze towards Jennet as she rides point with her group of witches. She talks with them, her smile exuberant, just how I remember it from our childhood. I know what he’s getting at, but I don’t know if I can bring myself to admit it.

  That maybe there is life after a broken heart.

  “Why did you join Halos this time around?” Nakir asks me point blank.

  My lips are dry as I try to speak. But I can’t take my eyes off Jennet. “I…”

  He doesn’t wait for me to string together a coherent sentence. “You haven’t given up on living yet. Even though you’ve convinced yourself you have.” His jaw tightens. “Neither have I. Even after thousands of years.”

  I look back at him, feeling that sensation in my chest again. Hope?

  Shit, you’d better hope not.

  We crest another hill, where the heat gets even more intense, and even breathing gets harder to do. How the hell did I use to work as a miner here? It feels almost alien to me, like this is a place completely separate from Earth.

  Before us, the Door to Hell opens up in a wide crater. It’s a deserted wasteland that stretches as far as we can see. Fires spew uncontrollably, spitting out of cracks in the soil. There are some shaded areas—the Door Stops, where travelers can find respite for a time—but it’s barren, desolate, and lifeless. I don’t even see any demonlings roaming, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. I learned a long time ago that demonlings can be hiding even in the sand.

  And at the very edge of the horizon, beyond the haze, is the dark tower that stretches up from the far edge of the crater, like a scar on the plains.

  Abaddon’s Watchtower. The source of the curse.

  No one’s ever been there and lived to tell the tale.

  “I remember the days when there wasn’t a tower there,” a voice says, joining us at the lip of the crater. Emre pulls his mare up next to mine, and he gestures toward the hulking structure.

  “I remember those days, too,” Nakir says grimly.

  I have trouble trying to conceive of a time where I didn’t have Abaddon’s Watchtower. I’ve lived in its shadow all my life, had nightmares about it when I was child. And as a full-grown adult. It’s haunted every single movement I’ve made my entire life.

  “How do we even know that’s what caused the curse?” Nury asks as he steps by us. The others are catching up to us now, the whole mood somber as we see the journey before us.

  “Because,” the female named Rabia says, her jaw clenched, “it showed up with the curse.”

  Emre nods. “It just appeared out of nowhere when we all fell victim to it. And the Door to Hell became…well, this…” He spreads his hands out to indicate the wasteland before us.

  Here, with all of the Halos, I feel like this is the calm before the storm that we’re about to get swept up in. I lean into Nakir, so that he’s the only one who can hear my question.

  “Do you really think we can do it? Do you think we can break the curse?”

  Nakir meets my eyes and gives me a slow nod. “We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  Chapter 15

  I can’t imagine how much hotter Hell must be, because being at its Door is like trying to live in a brick oven. The heat is ever-present, ever-oppressive, and ever-fucking-irritating. It feels like I’m breathing through a straw and like my skin is blistering from the heat. Sweat drenches me, making me feel like I’ve just been dunked in a vat of hot water. My ears burn with the dry wind, a low roar that overtakes every other sound.

  There’s no way to escape it. Even Alion has stopped fighting me and is trying to just keep one hoof in front of the other. We all are.

  And then there are the fires that pop up all over the place. I try imparting some helpful tips to the Halos, but it feels like I’m just talking to myself. Literally.

  “You have to keep your eyes on the ground. Fires will break through where the earth is thinnest. You’ll feel your horse slipping a bit before it erupts, so you have a few seconds to get out of the way.”

  Thanks. One good bit of advice.

  “Demonlings hide in holes in the ground, unless they’re on the move. And if they are, you’ll see the sand they kick up.”

  Unless they’ve gotten smarter at hiding those trails.

  The Halos have fallen silent trying to conserve their energies. If it weren’t for the curse, I think we’d still be silent. It takes too much to do anything other than focus on not passing out from heat exhaustion.

  But I fight it, because I want to. I’m not a smart man. Stubborn, maybe, but not smart.

  Hibernation isn’t too far away, either. I can sense it always there, taunting me. If we take one step out of line, then we’re dead.

  Hell, if you take one hair out of line, you’re dead. And no one will mourn you.

  I wonder how much mental energy that other voice of mine takes up. Imagine how much more I could have done in my life if I didn’t have to silence that damn thing every three seconds.

  You needed the company.

  I snort.

  “Sena!” I hear Jennet cry. “Sena!”

  There’s an answering thump as we all turn to see the elderly witch fall off her horse, unconscious from the Hibernation. Luckily, Kerem is near enough to catch her before she falls all the way to the ground. He gives a rough grunt as he takes on her weight, and I can tell that he’s fighting off the Hibernation as well.

  We’ve reached our limits too quickly. Too fast. At this rate, it will take us days to get to the Watchtower.

  “Rahym,” Nakir says sharply, looking at me. He’s been keeping Alion and me toward the front of the group. I’m suppo
sed to be leading them, after all. Because I’m some sort of expert on the Door. “We need to find a Door Stop. For the night.”

  Right. For the night. I’ve spent a grand total of two nights in the Door to Hell before I had to find my way back to civilization. I pull the map out of my satchel, where I’d earlier added to it with all of Door Stops that I can remember. Even being here right now, I can tell that the map is either horribly out of date, or the mapmaker didn’t know the area well enough to make a great map.

  Then again, no one knows the Door at all. They’ve all died.

  I gulp back the rock that’s somehow wedged its way in my throat. “There’s one about a half-mile…” I fumble for a moment and pull out the compass. Sweat drips on both the compass and the map, smearing the ink to near obscurity.

  Hopefully we won’t need to stay at that Door Stop.

  “A half-mile that way,” I say, pointing in a northwest direction. “According to the map, at least.”

  Nakir narrows his eyes.

  “I’ve stayed there myself,” I tell him to add credence, although that’s a lie borne out of desperation to get us moving. I’d never been to that particular Door Stop before, and I don’t know why I bent the truth, but there it is.

  I think he knows it’s a lie, too. But he gives a gruff nod and points the way.

  That’s enough for everyone to spur their horses. I nicker to Alion to follow, and he doesn’t protest. Time and energy is leeching from everyone as we hurry, our predicament bearing down on us like the heat.

  For a horrified moment, I don’t see anything that resembles a Door Stop, and I wonder if I’ve misled the entire group toward something that doesn’t even exist. If so, then I caused their deaths this time. I’d be just as responsible as Nakir.

  I let out a relieved breath as the shaded area comes into view, obscured by a dune that blended in with the rest of our stark surroundings. It’s a small one, but it’s large enough for us to spend the night and keep the horses safe.

  “We spending the night there?” Murat shouts, giving me an angry glare.

  If he doesn’t like it, he can spend it where he wants.