by Erin Hayes
Nury nods and spurs forward, bringing Fatma and her riderless horse with him. Emre and Murat follow him, drawing their weapons as they do so. Are the demonlings that close?
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
I don’t have time to deal with demonlings, the uncontrollable fires, an injured horse, and Rabia—all at the same time. And to make matters worse, the ground continues to split, following a zig-zagged line ahead of them.
Sena, Kerem, Jennet, and Nakir stay behind, their horses pawing at the ground, panting with the burst they just exerted. Sena reaches out a hand and sweeps it to the side. Farther ahead of us, I see that the fires ahead of the others are extinguished.
“I can’t hold it for long,” Sena says with gritted teeth. “Hurry!”
“Kerem!” Jennet shouts, commanding the male witch. He swings a leg over his horse and drops heavily to his feet. Still on its side and screaming from the fall, the horse eyes Sena, the white of its eyes showing as Kerem advances on it.
“I don’t know if I have enough to heal them both,” Kerem says, glancing up at Jennet, as if asking for permission. I grasp my reins in fear—he’s asking for Jennet’s energy.
No.
She doesn’t question it as she jumps down and advances to Kerem and Sena. “I’ve got you,” she assures the male witch, with gritted teeth. A quick glance at Nakir and me. “Make sure to get us to the Door Stop.” She knows that they don’t have enough to heal Rabia and the horse and make it to safety.
The angel nods but anxiously glances over his shoulder at the horizon. I think the demonlings are close. He doesn’t say it, but I know his meaning.
“Do what you have to,” he says.
I know that Nakir is strong, but I don’t trust Jennet’s life in his hands. Glancing nervously at Sena, who’s holding the fires at bay, I jump off Alion as Jennet grabs Kerem’s shoulder. Her eyes close in concentration, the ripple of the muscle in her jaw showing how hard she is focusing. A purple glow encapsulates both her and Kerem, and he reaches forth toward the horse. A red power emits from his hands as he massages the injured beast’s flank.
The animal froths at the mouth, trying to escape Kerem’s hands, which only make his injuries worse. And they are bad, I see now that I’m closer. The horse is burned badly, its rear back leg twisted in an unnatural angle. It should be put down with that kind of a break. The scent of burned hair and flesh hits my nose, and I fight the urge to gag.
Rabia is trapped underneath the horse’s weight, grimacing as she pushes the bulk of him off her.
“Calm down,” Kerem tells her serenely. “I need to get the horse fixed.”
Rabia shoots him a shocked look, and I recognize it—that he’d expend the energy healing the horse before healing her. But in her pain, what she doesn’t realize that if they don’t heal the horse, she’s as good as stranded. We need all the available horses in riding order.
Sweat breaks on Kerem’s brow, and it’s not from the heat of the desert.
“How far out are the demonlings, Nakir?” Jennet asks, her eyes closed. Her hands on Kerem’s shoulders start to shake.
Nakir has the telescope pointed on the horizon. “Just hurry.”
Jennet’s lips pull up in a grim smile. “That bad, huh? Kerem?” Jennet has always had a sense of humor even in the worst of times.
The big man grimaces for a moment. “Al…most…”
The horse huffs and gets to its feet, nearly trampling Rabia, Kerem, and Jennet in the process, it’s so spooked. It neighs and attempts to rear back, but Nakir grabs the reins and hushes it quietly. I don’t know what power the angel has over the horse, but the beast quiets down.
Lucky bastard. My hand holding Alion’s reins starts to feel sweaty.
Meanwhile, Rabia lets out a strangled cry, and we all see why. Her pelvis is crushed, and there’s no way she’ll be able to move without her limbs being healed, too.
How much energy do the witches have left?
Kerem furrows his brow and reaches forward, bringing that red energy to Rabia’s hips. She looks too pale, too white. She’s going into shock from being crushed. Her eyes close, and then she goes completely limp.
I feel the sand shift beneath my feet.
“Sena,” I whisper in warning, too afraid to move, too afraid to draw a full breath. If we move too much, it could cause the ground to open up faster. But if we don’t move—
“I…I can’t…” the older woman whimpers.
Kerem’s gaze flicks to me just as Jennet gasps, her body giving out beneath her. She spent all her energy. She collapses into the dirt next to Kerem, unconscious, but her eyes wide open. Kerem’s expression turns from curiosity to pure horror. There’s a tremble to his hands as he draws back, meaning that he’s fading too.
We’re stuck out here.
“Nakir—!” I start, turning toward the angel, just as the shifting stops. Which is not a good sign.
Uh oh.
You’re telling me.
Horses start screaming as the ground opens up around us, fires sprouting like weeds, the tops of the conflagration taller than even me. It starts to my right and spreads as the ground shatters around us. I jump away as the dirt crumbles beneath my feet, and the flames catch my trousers on fire.
No time or energy to put it out, because we’re being surrounded by fire. I surge forward as the burning cracks in the ground zag their way to Jennet. My Jennet. I throw my body in front of hers, meaning to take the brunt of the blast, but Sena throws her hand out, and I feel a pop at my back as the air pressure changes, keeping the fire from us.
Sena’s eyes are huge as she looks down at me. “Run!” she whispers hoarsely.
Before she, too, collapses, right off her horse. Nakir is there to catch her and throws her body over his own saddle. Not the best way to carry a person, but it will suffice.
“Get out!” the angel snaps at me.
Panic brings me to my feet again, and I take Jennet with me as the fires continue their path. Bright-hot agony hits my back and my legs at one point, and I have to grit my teeth against the pain.
Not enough time to hurt. Not enough time to get rid of fires.
Apparently, those should be numbers two and three on today’s list. On top of saving Jennet any way possible.
My past refuses to allow me to let her die on me.
I sling her over Alion and pull myself up in the saddle, just as Nakir picks up both Kerem and Rabia, the former faring only slightly better because he’s awake. The angel helps the male witch into his saddle and hits the rump of the animal, hard. The horse whinnies unhappily and gallops off in the distance.
Toward the Door Stop.
More fires erupt around us, and I keep looking around us, unsure if I should go or if I should help Nakir more. There’s still Sena, Rabia, and their horses who have unconscious riders. At what point do I turn tail and run?
“Think you can make it to the Door Stop?” Nakir asks as he throws me the straps to Jennet’s mount.
Thank god, I caught them without trouble. Jennet lays untethered to Alion, and she is so still. So defenseless.
Hold on to her, I tell myself, and it’s my own thoughts that tell me that. Hold on to her. Don’t let her go.
“Yes,” I say with a nod, sounding more confident than I feel. “I’ve got her.”
For now, at least. And I’ll do everything I can to keep it that way.
Nakir easily mounts his big stallion, even while carrying both Rabia and Sena, and he still manages to grab the reins of their horses.
Show off.
Crazily, I smirk.
“Let’s go,” Nakir commands, not addressing my expression, and he snaps the reins. His bay surges forward, and I follow suit, heading toward the Door Stop. We just have to make it. Kerem’s horse is ahead of us, nearly there.
Nearly there.
I completely forgot about the demonlings that are advancing on us. Shit, shit, shit.
This is why going into the Door to Hell is such a bad
idea.
We’re never going to make it.
Chapter 19
It starts as a high-pitched shriek I can feel growing all the way down my spine. A demonling spotted us, and the other demonlings join in the eerie cry. Once again, the moon-like landscape has obscured them from our sight.
And there are a shit ton of them. Hundreds. If not a thousand. So many, their ruddy skin seems to blend together to create a sea of evil and death. I can’t see them clearly—the telescope would help with that—but I can certainly smell them.
One stands at the front of the horde, and I’d bet the Lodge that it’s the same demonling from last night. The one that glared at me as if promising to come back and kill me.
These fuckers are good at following through on their promises. And if they attack the Halos because of me…all because I dared a demonling to attack…
“Nakir!” I shout. Because what else am I supposed to do? What the fuck can I do against a horde this big? Hell, even the Door Stop won’t keep us from harm. We’d be lucky if they didn’t trample over it.
The angel sees the horde and doesn’t hesitate as he draws Jan, the angel sword, from the scabbard on his back. It sings as it’s freed.
Even though our lives are on the line, I can’t help but stare at the beautiful weapon. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen it—Nakir doesn’t exactly take it out that often to show it off, and for good reason. In the scabbard, it’s a spectacle. Outside of it, it’s a thing of beauty.
It’s about fifty-two inches of heavy Damascus steel gleaming in the sunlight. Ancient designs twist and run down its length, and the hilt and pommel shimmer with gold.
The thing must weigh a ton, but Nakir wields it like a butter knife.
Then, absurdly, he swings one leg over his horse’s saddle and drops to the ground. Like he wants to take this horde on himself.
“Take them to the Door Stop,” Nakir yells to me, slapping his horse’s rump. The animal takes off, carrying Sena and Rabia with it. “Protect the others!”
I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do against hundreds of demonlings. Especially when my own strength is fading and it’s only about three in the afternoon. Even if I could keep them at bay, there’s no way that I’ll be able to protect myself until midnight.
No freaking way.
“Nakir—”
“Just go!” he shouts. He rushes forward, swinging the sword in an upward arc with one hand.
I’m paralyzed for a moment, watching him take on the horde. The demonlings must have noticed the lone man running toward them, because they surge forward like a blight racing through the landscape.
One angel against hundreds of demonlings. The odds are impossible.
And here I am, just a lowly man with a very important witch across my lap and two riderless horses that I somehow have to lead away from the clash and to safety.
What else am I supposed to do but run?
So I do.
I grit my teeth and kick my heels into Alion’s side, willing the animal to run forward toward the Door Stop. Alion obeys, following Nakir’s bigger horse, Sena and Rabia miraculously still on its back.
I feel Alion’s gait slip underneath the pounding of his hooves, and we shift slightly.
Shit.
The ground doesn’t even crack before it spews hot fire, blocking our way. Alion rears back with a scream, and I hang on for dear life.
And, because I’m a useless son of a bitch, I fall off with Jennet on top of me. The wind gets knocked out of me, and a groan escapes my lips as I roll onto my side.
Fucking bad luck.
I blink a few times as the two images swirling across my vision struggle to combine into one, and I wince as something gooey falls on my forehead. Then I see why. There’s a damned demonling that has broken off from the rest of the group, and he grins over me, his drool dripping in thick globs. As my eyes focus on him, he holds up a bone to pound my skull in.
Definitely won’t be able to mark off Survive.
Never thought it would go this way. Then again, I’m not sure what I expected. I always knew I was going to die in the Door to Hell. Just wish it were from a more…pretty…being. This demonling is so damn ugly.
The blow never comes.
Thick, hot blood sprays me in the face. Not mine. Too thick and black to be my own. A relieved whoosh escapes my lungs, the most I can manage at the moment.
The demonling blinks, as if in surprise, before its top half slides off its hips and legs with a wet squelch, and it collapses to the ground in two pieces.
Dead.
Murat steps over Jennet and me, wielding a sword with both hands. He gives a toss of his head toward the Door Stop. “Run,” he says gruffly.
Somehow, I get to my feet, carrying Jennet with me. Murat’s eyes flick to her before his face hardens. We share an unspoken agreement between us, that he’ll buy us enough time to get to the Door Stop. He may not like me, but he cares enough for Jennet to save my ass, too.
Thank you.
Jennet’s body feels so limp as I haul her over my shoulder, and her head dangles over my back. Alion keeps running in front of me, and I spot Nury emerging from the Door Stop to intercept him and keep him from continuing the run.
Emre runs toward us as well, carrying a duo of knives at the ready to stand next to Murat to meet the enemy head-on. Nakir stands even closer to the horde as they rush our group, facing them like a lone hero.
I have to help them.
“Nury! Take her!” I shout. The younger man catches Jennet as I hand her over to him. “Protect everyone here!”
“What are you going to do?” Nury asks, his eyes wild.
I draw my yataghan, which seems like such a small, inconsequential weapon against such a huge enemy. But it’s all I’ve got.
“Just protect them,” I mutter, turning back to Nakir and the others. I use my thready energy to jog back to Emre’s and Murat’s sides. The old, hardened warrior glances at me and nods approvingly. I don’t know why, but I grin.
I must have lost what was left of my mind somewhere in between the fall from my horse and all the fires opening up.
Are you so sure about that?
I’m never sure about anything these days.
Nakir widens his stance, holding out the incredibly heavy blade with only one hand. I have no idea how he’s doing it, because my hands are so sweaty. I have to use both my hands to hold my light yataghan, otherwise, it’d slip out of a one-hand grip.
Ahead of us, the sea of demonlings surges our way, and…
Nakir slashes the sword once in an arc parallel to the ground, and the force from the strike catches the demonlings in the front of the wave across the middle. For a moment, the demonlings stop and sway before blood spurts from wounds across their middles. A hundred of them go down all at once.
The power of a fallen angel.
I’ve never seen Jan being used this way before. Hell, until this moment, I really thought it was more of a showy ceremonial piece, that when Nakir confronted Abaddon, he’d just flash him with it and that would be that. After all, it was too big. Or so I thought.
Why didn’t he use this power before? Why didn’t he use it to save Maysa and Beste?
I cry out at the thought, but everyone else is too stunned to take in what Nakir had just done. The humans facing the horde. The horde themselves. Even Nakir, who breathes heavily from exertion, but he’s coiled up, ready for another attack.
The demonlings’ hesitation is short-lived, however, and they move forward in succession, this time glowing orange with elemental fire. More prepared this time. Ready to incinerate us.
Nakir sweeps again, bowling over another hundred or so in a spray of blood and gore. Screams and wails cut through the landscape, ugly sounds from ugly creatures.
“Nakir didn’t even touch them,” Murat says in amazement.
“Hope he can keep this up,” Emre mutters, looking to our left. I follow his gaze, where I see some stragglers
who think they’re cleverer than the others that are headed our way. “Hope you’re ready, too.”
I swallow nervously. “Sure.”
I’m not.
In the back of my mind, I’m trying to calculate how much strength I have left. Not a lot, and especially in the face of so many demonlings. Minutes maybe. Not enough to make a meaningful dent in the army coming up against us.
“We’re going to die,” Murat says hopelessly, echoing my own sentiments.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Emre asks, giving him a wide grin.
Murat’s frown deepens. “I think I’ve had plenty of adventure already.”
There are no more heroic words as the enemy engages us, hitting Emre first, who hacks and slashes his way through them, like the battle-hardened warrior he is. Murat and I stand back to back, wielding our weapons in front of us.
These demonlings are cleverer than the others, because they stay back, throwing elemental spells our way, which causes Murat and me to dodge and split up. So much for having each other’s backs. Even though I don’t like Murat that much, I’d rather have him at my back than open air.
“My kingdom for a bow and arrow,” I mutter before the Lodge flashes in my mind of what was left of “my kingdom.” They did that. This asshole gaggle of demonlings.
Maysa.
Beste.
My life.
My purpose for being. Gone.
And now I see that Nakir had the power to stop it.
The rage blinds me again, and I scream as loudly as I can as I run and leap into the fray, hacking at anything that gets in my way. The rage is hot, and there’s fire all around me, but I keep slashing and slicing.
They’re why I’m facing the world alone. Why I’m broken and will never get the pieces put back together. I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill all of them. I don’t know how, without having magical powers or without an angel sword.
But I am going to destroy every last one.
Starting with these.
What have you been doing for the past three years?
I’m not going to let my inner voice shame me. Not when it’s taken everything I have to not lose myself.
