We are a few feet from the alleyway now. Seeing what is about to happen, I leap the short distance with Ashur, as the flaming car is hurled through the air toward us. The sides of the adjacent building guard us from the wreckage and hot flames that explode from it.
We are both laid out on the ground. I’m on top of Ashur looking down on him. “That was a close call,” he says, slightly grinning. It’s apparent he is no longer dazed. I roll off him as he rises to his feet. He helps me up; I try not to give away my injury by covering my cringe. “Thank you for your help,” he says. “But I’ve got this now. I will lure him away. Are you okay getting to the shop on your own?”
“I can handle it,” I say. “Just go.”
“Be careful,” he says. Taking my face in his hands, he kisses me. Then stepping back, he casts his wings downward, launching into the air. Hovering above, he looks into the distance toward the creature. “Hey pig face,” he says. “You missed.”
I roll my eyes. Seems Ethan taught him some trash talking. The thought of Ethan brings a different kind of pain, this time to my heart. I don’t allow the thought to sink in, now is not the time. I have to get the sword. Pressing against the sides of the buildings, I make my way toward my destination. At the end of the alley, I can see the sign for the shop swinging by one chain across the way. I’m about to make a break for the entrance, when something grabs me by the arm and pulls me to the ground. I turn to scream, but there is a hand over my mouth. Looking up, I see the face of Ethan.
“Shhh.” He scans the street. “They’ll here you.” He lets me up and points off to the side where a group of wild dogs have congregated.
“What are you doing here?” I exclaim in a whispered scolding tone. “I thought you were dead.”
He starts to speak, but then stops. Thinking for a moment, he proceeds. “I’m not exactly mortal,” he says.
“Are you an angel too?” He shakes his head. “Fallen angel?”
“Not that either,” he says. “They call me the Anathema, a cursed one.” He glances uneasily in the distance. “Look, can we talk about this another time? I promise I will tell you everything. For now, we have to get out of here before they catch our scent.”
“I have to get to that shop,” I insist.
“You’re kidding,” he says. “They’re sure to see you.”
“It’s crucial I get in there. I’ll just have to make a run for it.”
“You’ll never make it inside, and that’s assuming the door is open when you get there.” Ethan thinks for a moment. Sighing first, he continues, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll lead the dogs away. Once they’re at a distance, you run for it. If you can’t get in, you forget about it. Because I don’t know how far they will get before they realize you are there.”
“What will you do?”
“I guess I’ll have to play dead again.” Grinning, he stands and makes his way to the center of the road, while I remain hidden. It’s not long before the dogs notice him, but to ensure their attention Ethan begins to yell. “Hey doggies, shouldn’t you be on a leash or something.” Soon the whole pack is after him.
Seeing my chance, I dart for the shop and up the steps toward the front entrance. Grabbing the door handle, I pull, but it doesn’t budge. I put my weight against the door and slam my shoulder into it, making a loud thud, alerting two of the wild dogs who stop. I freeze, hoping they will overlook me, but it is no use, they have already seen me. Frantically, I begin pounding on the door as the agile beasts spring toward me. It isn’t long before they are at the base of the steps, leading to the shop.
I press my back against the door as the dogs circle around me. Then, inexplicably, it swings open, and Ben steps out holding some charm of feather and bone. “A talisman to wart of nasty things like clay men,” he says, extending it toward the dogs. “Very handy you know.” He pulls me into the shop and shuts the door.
Inside, I notice that the door is surrounded by candles with their wax flowing onto the hardwood floor. At the base of the door, symbols are painted in what appears to be blood. “Will that keep them out?” I ask.
“There is more than one way to protect oneself,” the shopkeeper says. “I believe we’ve had that conversation before, regarding that charm around your neck.”
“A lot of good it’s done me so far.”
“Some of the most powerful charms are specific to only one purpose,” he says. “But that purpose can be quite devastating.” He looks out the window at the dogs still circling around the entrance.
While he is looking through the window, I quickly glance over the shop for any signs of the sword. It’s exactly where it was before, sitting on the counter. Somehow, I have to get to it without alerting Ben. So I continue the conversation. “I thought you made an arrangement with them to protect me.”
“I guess they feel no need to uphold their end of the bargain, now that you have unleashed Sorath,” he says. “On a lighter note, it’s good to see Ethan back on his feet. For now at least.”
“You knew he wouldn’t die?” I am taken aback by his remark. Though, I am interested in understanding his motivations, I cannot forget my true objective. Casually, I make my way to the counter.
“Of course not, he’s Anathema,” he replies.
“What is Anathema?” I continue to look at the shop keeper, trying desperately not to let my intentions show.
The shop keeper is busy tidying the broken dishes and other object that has fallen to the ground in the midst of the evening’s calamites. As he works, he says, “It depends on who you talk to. Some, like the angels, see the Anathema as simply cursed ones who have devoted themselves to the acts of evil. But they’re always so one-sided.
“Then who are the Anathema?” I press myself against the counter, trying to make it seem that I am simply perusing the objects. I do not look at the sword so as not to draw attention to it.
The shopkeeper glances up from the pile of shattered glass in front of him. “They are just what their name implies, cursed. Some, by their own choice, but in the case of your friend Ethan, misplaced rage.” He shakes his head as if recalling something. “It’s a shame what happened to his family.”
Edging along the counter, my back is nearly facing the sword. “So what is the curse?”
“Immortality,” Ben says as he scoops the pieces into a garbage pail. “I know it doesn’t sound like much of a curse, but it is accompanied with an unrelenting darkness that grows within them. Some become so far gone that they become beasts. Others, like Ethan, try to fight it, thinking that their selfless service to mankind will save them. Futile really. We’re all beasts in the end.” He turns and stoops down over another pile, giving me an opportunity to grab the weapon.
Spinning around, I go for the sword, but it’s gone. Turning, I see Ben standing in close to me, the sword in his hand. He presses the blade along my cheek while eyeing me. His face is just inches away. “Thought you could come in here and steal my things.” He chuckles. “Though, I do appreciate the conversation. Don’t get many good conversations where I’m from.” He presses up against me. “You really believe you can defeat him, don’t you.”
I push along the counter to get away, spilling over jars and scattering trinkets. Ben follows with the sword pointed toward me. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you already know,” he says as if playing a game. He laughs. “You mortals don’t catch on to quick do you.”
“You’re not mortal?”
“Mortal? No. Though this body certainly is. Borrowed it from a man named…” He pauses for a moment. “Sullivan, I think. He was a true believer as well. Thought believing in me would get him somewhere. I guess that’s why everyone believes. They want something they know they can’t have. Religious believers want salvation—forgiveness—a life beyond this. He wanted power. He’ll get it too. Only the power will destroy him.”
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“You really should study your Bible,” he says as he paces around me. “
I…,” he continues as if introducing himself on stage, “I am the one who ascended to the highest. Who dared try to take the glory of God, and led a third of the host of heaven with me as I fell.”
“Satan,” I say. The thought of all that has been spoken of this infamous being strikes images of unimaginable terror.
“Yes, Satan,” he exclaims while clapping his hands in exhilaration. He seems to sense the apprehension in me. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you. Not like others around here. I’m here to help you.”
“But why would you help me?”
“I know what you’re thinking. Satan, the prince of darkness, the most evil of them all. I do grow tired of all the stories that man conjures up to describe me.” He cringes as he thinks. “Those so called religious people who conjure me into some sort of vile monster, have to exaggerate my evils to make there’s so much less. The truth is we are the same. We are motivated the same. We have the same desires. The only difference is that I accept what I am while they secretly despise it in the form of me.”
He twists the sword making it glint in the candle light. He seems to be contemplating something. “You see, I am an opportunist,” he says. “I see an opportunity and I grab it. This is no exception. What I do to help you, I do to help myself.” Taking the sword by the top of the hilt, he lets the bladed end fall to the floor in one elegant motion, and then rests on it as if it were a cane. “Sorath and I aren’t on the best of terms. We had a falling out when I betrayed him. Has it in for me he does.”
I say nothing, still confused.
“Sorath is a true believer. He believes he can make a better world. It is what gives him purpose. I, on the other hand, believe only in what will get me ahead.” He leans forward on the sword and looks at me intently. “How do you think I ascended so far? Oh, the angelic council was more than happy to promote me. Glad to be rid of the beast, Sorath. After all, a vacancy opened up after he was….well, demoted.”
“So you want to use me to kill Sorath?”
“I want more than that,” he says. “But the rest will have to wait. The end of the world is a more pressing matter at the moment.” Pulling the sword up, it seemingly springs into his hand. Tucking it under his arm, he shows me to the door. The dogs are waiting at the step.
He hands the sword to me. “Take it. But remember only one angel can wield that sword, Abbadon, the destroyer.”
Clasping the sword, I notice that despite its size, it is relatively light. The angelic letters shimmer, exposing their guarded secret. Taking a deep breath, I glance nervously at the circling hounds. “What about the dogs,” I ask.
“With the sword in your hand, they won’t bother you.”
“Are you sure?”
“They know whose sword it is.” He gives me a slight push forward. I stumble my way down the stairs toward the dogs. Ben is right; they back away submissively as if by command.
From behind me, I hear his voice. “Good luck,” he says. “Don’t bother stopping by again. I won’t be here. I’ve grown tired of this musty flesh. It spoils my taste in finer things.” The door slams and I am left alone with the dogs. Down the street I can hear a commotion and see an arching flame that looks curiously like the large donut sign from the town bakery. It spins through the air with one edge ablaze and into the street ahead of me, bouncing several times and rolling past me. The now skittish dogs flee before it. From the direction of its source I see the hulking frame of Sorath. There is no sign of Ashur.
I swallow my fears and begin the long walk to what will ultimately be my death. In my heart, I keep a hope that Ashur is still alive and I will not have to do this alone. As I approach Sorath, I remain unnoticed. He is preoccupied with something in the rubble. Reaching down, Sorath pulls out the struggling frame of an angel. Ashur struggles against him, but Sorath has him in his fiery grip.
The sight deadens me to all fear, leaving me with only one motivation—to save him. Without hesitation, I run at the beast with the sword over my head. Though I have never wielded a sword before, the movement seems natural. In one swooping motion, I plunge it into the thigh of Sorath. The creature screams with agony, dropping Ashur. Angry, he swings his arm back, hitting me square in the chest. I am knocked back. The blow is so severe that I let go of the sword. I hit the ground hard, throwing my head back into the asphalt.
Ashur rips the sword from Sorath’s wounded thigh. Immediately, it comes to life, glowing as if ignited with a spark. It burns furiously, with a brightness that nearly blinds me. As the flames twist down the hilt and along his arm, Ashur too looks as if he is burning, his eyes dark red embers in a sea of hot lapping fire. Sorath charges at him, taking swipes with his right and then with his left, but Ashur dodges and darts into the air.
Sorath thrusts his arm into the ground as if it were liquid to him. Pulling his hand out, he reveals a sword. Hot molten earth boils up around the blade, burning red like a metal that has just been forged. As he swings it, the last drips of magma are flung in the direction of Ashur, temporarily blinding him. Taking advantage of the situation, Sorath launches toward the angel. Soon they are both in an aerial battle above the town. Each clang of the swords rains sparks down upon the blackened street below.
Sweeping back away, leaving a distance between them, they float for a moment. Then with a flicker of their wings, they charge straight on toward each other. The collision creates a shockwave that rumbles throughout town, shattering windows and setting off car alarms. Trying to keep my eyes fixed on Ashur, I see a small figure falling like a fiery comet toward the earth which lands with a boom a few yards away from me. The impact knocks me from my feet.
I struggle to stand and race over to the crater. Looking over the edge, I see Ashur. He isn’t moving, but from the heaving of his chest I can tell he is still alive. I see his sword lying nearby and try to approach it to pick it up, but the intensity of the heat is too much. Stepping back, I hear the crunching of asphalt and turn to see Sorath looming above me. He would probably have taken no notice of me had I not been standing between him and his prey, the angel. Before I can move, he raises his sword and brings it across, knocking me squarely in the chest and throwing me back toward the ground. The flame from his sword burns all around me, but does not scorch me.
Dazed and incoherent, I see Ashur’s face torn in anguish, his eyes burning with a darkness that I had not seen before. It is similar to that of Sorath’s, like a black sun. He takes up the angelic sword and throws himself towards the beast. Sorath raises his blade to block Ashur’s strike, but still stumbles backward. Seeing an opening, Ashur slices down through Sorath’s shoulder and back up through the torso. Sorath rolls forward to the ground, gripping the wounded limb. Ashur hovers above him, ready to strike the fatal blow.
At this point, the pounding in my head grows, and my vision darkens. Still, I see the look in Ashur’s face in that final moment. It is not anger or furry like it had been before. It is absent of all emotion, as if he is not there at all. The Ashur I know is gone and something else has taken his place. He raises the blazing sword overhead, his intentions clear. There will be no mercy for Sorath. As the sword falls, all fades to black.
Chapter 20
It is strange to be so certain of death and yet to charge headlong into it without restraint. That is what love does to us. Whether it is the love of a cause or the love of another, our hearts drive us beyond what our courage is able, to the very brink of annihilation where all is black and nothing exists. And yet, the story never ends there.
I feel my body ascending as it is lifted from the ground. A ringing in my ears subsides into a muffled cry. “Kyra.” I open my eyes gingerly as the first rays of a new dawn greet them. The blur of colors that surround me take form in the face of Ethan. He is cradling me in his arms.
“I thought you were dead,” he says.
“Funny, I remember thinking the same thing about you,” I murmur. My chest is aching and the pain from the broken ribs is digging in where he is holding me. I crin
ge. Seeing my pain, he releases.
I look at my chest, expecting to see a gaping hole where Sorath had struck me, but I see only my mother’s locket, broken open with the lock of hair exposed. The strands of hair catch in the early morning breeze, floating softly into the distance, and then burst forth fire until the last of them are devoured in the flames, leaving no trace. Just ahead of it, I see Ashur standing over the body of Sorath, the sword ablaze in his hand. Sorath takes one last shallow breath before expiring. With his last exhalation, the body explodes into a fiery furnace that consumes it, just as the lock of hair was consumed.
Slowly I stand, my body protesting through convulsions of pain. Ashur is intently watching the last ember of what is left of Sorath burn out. I stagger to him and put my hand on one of his wings. The touch alerts him, and he turns abruptly. He glares at me with red eyes like hot coals. His whole complexion is a dark fire erupting. The look is fiercer than even Sorath’s. I stumble back, afraid. Then I notice his face soften and the darkness fade, revealing the Ashur I know.
Angel Realms 01 The Dawn of Angels Page 23
