Angel of Darkness Books 6-10

by Mackenzie Morris

  "Forgive me, Jaylen."

  Jaylen glared at him for a second before lowering his blade. "I do not support racism of any kind. Now, what is Amari's condition?"

  "The assistant healer decided to take up caring for her again after the senior one gave up. Remarkably, Rilan was able to lower her fever enough for her to gain full consciousness again. That boy truly has a gift. And he saved the baby."

  He could have sworn his heart momentarily stopped. Jaylen set his sword down then took a breath. "Baby?"

  "Yes, Amari is at least three months pregnant."

  Things just got more complicated. "Has anyone seen Xair Korvin? Maybe a raven flying around the tents? Anything?"

  "Nothing, sir."

  "Fine. I want you to break up the angels and take away their oatmeal. Then I want every soldier to be on high alert and search for any ravens or angry Ka'taylin men."

  "Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

  Just out of curiosity, Jaylen pulled his leather coat on then followed the soldier out of the tent. He groaned once he spotted the mass of black feathers and flying grey oatmeal. The dusty ground was covered in smeared oatmeal, maple syrup, and brown sugar. Two of the angels were pushed out of the ravenous group, and instead of fighting to get back in to reach the pot, they dropped to their knees and began licking up the blobs of oatmeal from the mud. The angels were yelling and shoving each other just to stick their hands deep into the pot and shovel out handfuls of the sticky mush. It was the most bizarre sight Jaylen had ever seen. And he had been to Hell and back.

  Then Jeremiah himself dove into the mass of hungry angels. His blond hair was caked with oatmeal and dark maple syrup streaked down the side of his face. Nimiel was there, too, crawling around the legs of the others and catching what they dropped like a timid puppy begging for table scraps. Sticky black feathers, rose petals, and globs of oatmeal flew around the camp, much to the amusement of the soldiers who were gathered around just to watch.

  But they were doing more than watching. They had a table set up as one of them took money and gave out slips of papers. Jaylen walked over to the table and raised an eyebrow. "What is going on?"

  "We're taking bets."

  "Is this entertaining to you?"

  "You bet it is! How often do you get to see Heaven's defenders crawling all over each other like a school of piranhas? It's great!"

  Jaylen was not sharing the soldier's enthusiasm. He grabbed the edge of the table then used all his strength to flip it over, sending money and papers flying. He shouted at the wide-eyed soldier. "Clean this up immediately. Everyone who is standing around here is now on disciplinary duty. After this mess is picked up, every soldier here is to run one hundred laps around this camp in full armor while carrying all of your weapons and gear. If you stop, you receive lashes ten times the number of laps you failed to finish. Now, get moving."

  As the soldiers immediately got to work, Jaylen turned his attention to the squabbling angels. "Trevor Treylan, where are you? Get out here."

  Trevor, shirtless and with his pants around his knees, ran out of his tent. He hurriedly fixed his pants and wiped the pink lipstick from his neck. "You called for me, sir?"

  What a mess. Jaylen pointed at the angels. "Fix this."

  "What in Aldexa is going on here?" Trevor scratched his head, his messy brown hair one giant rat's nest. "What do you want me to do about it?"

  "Something. Jeremiah and Nimiel are in there too. I have no one else who even cares about stopping this madness."

  "What are they doing? Is that oatmeal?"

  "Yes, it's oatmeal. The angels love it."

  "Why oatmeal?" Trevor asked.

  "I have no idea. They're devouring our food. Stop them."

  "How? They don't even seem to notice we're talking about them. Let them continue. If they run out of oatmeal, then they will have to stop eating. Then you can have the soldiers clean this up. That's the simplest way to end this . . . whatever this is."

  As much as Jaylen hated to admit it, Trevor had a valid point. "Trevor, stay out here and just make sure they don't kill each other."

  "Will do."

  "Who were you in your tent with, anyway?"

  "Brinx. Who else?"

  "She's back? Tell her I want a full report from her spies. I swear, this entire operation needs an overhaul. Everyone needs to do their jobs!"

  "I'm on it." Trevor went back into his tent.

  Jaylen screamed as he tore at his hair. This was not the way things were suppose to go. Nothing was working. Was no one going to even attempt to stop them?

  As Jaylen watched the group of angels in complete disgust, he noticed something that made his already upset stomach more squeamish. Zeriel was in the very center of the angel hoard. He picked up the black pot of oatmeal and tried to fly off into the sky, but the other angels grabbed his legs and pulled him back down into the rabble. The pot flipped over, spilling all of the steaming oatmeal to the ground and putting out the fire. What started as a ravenous group of angels gathered around a pot became a slippery sticky mass of wings and flesh as they all dove to the ground and wrestled each other. They ripped at their clothes and tossed them away into the mud. Some bit each other or pinned them down as they rolled around in pure ecstasy in their own drool and oatmeal.

  "Funny stuff, huh, Jaybird?"

  That voice. Jaylen turned around to see the burly man with dirty blond hair and red-orange eyes in a black cloak. The man's amused grin revealed his long white vampire fangs. "Father."

  "You don't seem pleased, son. I thought it would be amusing to see what a little vampire crystal would do when added to the oatmeal. Turns out, angels love the taste."

  Jaylen's left eye twitched as he clenched his fist. "Doran! You did this?"

  "No. I'm joking. It was a joke, Jay." Doran patted his son's shoulder. "I have no idea why the angels are nuts. Stop doing that with your eye. Are you having a stroke?"

  "Ah!" Jaylen screamed as he stormed off. "Screw you and screw the angels. I'm done. Come find me when someone gets some idea about how to solve all of this. I can't do it alone!"

  "Jaybird, come back here and talk to me. Let me help."

  Jaylen ignored his father. He was done with all of them. If this is what it meant to be king, then he didn't want it. Let the porridge-brained feather people have their oatmeal wrestling match. He didn't care anymore. This problem was far over his head. Without anyone helping him, there was nothing he could do on his own. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stay there.

  A soft cooing sound, a whispering like a gentle breeze through the leaves of tree or a far-distant solitary cricket's chirping, spoke to him. "Jaylen, calm down."

  Jaylen stopped in his tracks. He instantly grabbed the emerald pendant that hung on a gold chain around his neck then held it up to his lips. "Kato? Kato, can you speak to me?"

  The gemstone began softly vibrating, so softly that he would have missed it if he hadn't been holding against his lips. Kato spoke again. "Sometimes . . . if I have enough energy."

  "Kato, don't leave me. I need you. Please. I love you. You have to stay with me!"

  "No, Jaylen. I am dead. You . . . you have to let me go."

  He clutched the pendant closer as the first roots of grief finally began to embed themselves in his soul. "I can't."

  "Mourn."

  "W-what?"

  Kato continued. "Mourn for me then carry on. I cannot return to you, dearest. As much as I love you, even love cannot defy fate."

  "Kato? Kato, just talk to me a little while longer."

  The vibrations in the emerald faded to nothing and the voice was silent.

  With a deep breath to hold back the growing sea of emotions, Jaylen slid the emerald pendant back inside his shirt. Perhaps Kato was right. Maybe he did need to forget and move on. But he was not ready for that step, not yet. However, Jaylen knew that standing there yelling at a dormant emerald wasn't going to accomplish anything. He still had to run this camp to the
best of his abilities. Jaylen started back towards the middle of camp, but saw the angels rolling around in their lake of oatmeal. No. That could wait. First, he had to make amends with Xair to the best of his ability. Jaylen turned towards the healer's tent. If he could not presently apologize to Xair, he would instead take care of Amari. It was the least he could do for his friend.

  * * *

  Rows and rows of deep purple eyes stared at Xair as he followed Zilon through the makeshift camp in the middle of the Cavinil Desert. Hundreds of tents, made of whatever materials and fabrics they could find, were stretched out along the banks of a small shallow lake where the pure Ka'taylin women filled clay vases to bring them back to the camp. Their dark skin shimmered with the white runes of their husbands. Unable to leash demons themselves, the female Ka'taylins would adorn their skin with the white tattoos in order to reflect the runes of their husbands. It was reassuring to see that daily life was able to continue even this far away from their homeland.

  Xair's thin cotton short pants, knee-high sandals, and loose flowing white tunic made him look less like the would-be sultan of Ka'tayl and more like a desert trader. The fabric was much rougher and thinner than the expensive silks he usually wore. Though, he did blend in with the rest of his people now. If that was what they were wearing, then he would wear it with pride.

  Ulon skipped along beside Xair, his tiny sandals kicking up the warm sand. "Xair, the men are watching you."

  Xair stopped and faced the crowd of men. He raised his hand to them as he addressed them. "Hello, my people. You all know who I am. You all know what I have done. Yet you still allow me to be here among you. It is that welcoming and forgiving quality that makes me proud to be Ka'taylin. You are my people and I will be the leader you need. With the death of my mother, the previous sultana, I hereby take up my responsibility as your sultan. I will ensure that you are all taken care of and provided for."

  "Then we can rely on you to do what is best for everyone." Zilon went to the crowd of men then returned with a polished wooden box. "Here."

  Xair took the box and opened it. He grimaced as he examined the contents. Inside was a rusty-handled scalpel, a short serrated knife, two metal spikes, a branding iron with a flat end, and a roll of gauze bandages. "What are these for?"

  "For the ritual of cutting, of course. Being our sultan of such power and Ulon's closest male family member, it falls on your shoulders now to perform it. Don't worry, though. We will walk you through it if you have forgotten."

  "I . . . uh . . ."

  Ulon's already gigantic eyes grew even larger as he stared at the instruments in the box. He pulled on Xair's shirt as he timidly whispered to him. "Xair . . . are you going to use those on me?"

  "Come now, Xair. Let us get Ulon into the ritual tent. Prepare him while I gather the elders." Zilon pushed Xair and Ulon into the empty tent then left.

  Xair set the box on the solitary wooden table in the middle of the room before turning to Ulon. "I am so sorry, Ulon. If there was a way to get you out of this, I would do so in a heartbeat."

  Ulon looked up at his brother with his concerned violet eyes. "Will it hurt?"

  Xair slipped the boy's tunic off. "Yes. It will hurt a lot. I'm not going to lie to you about that. Please remove the rest of your clothes."

  After Ulon had undressed and stepped out of his pants, he wrapped his arms tightly around Xair's waist and clung to him. "I don't want this. Xair, please don't hurt me. I thought you were nice. I thought you were my friend!"

  Xair gritted his teeth as he picked the boy up and laid him on the wooden table. "This has to be done. Don't you want to look like all your friends? Don't you want to look pleasing to your future wife?"

  Ulon only shook his head, sending his tiny white braids back and forth across his shoulders. "Xair, don't. Please. Please don't."

  "Grab onto the edge of the table, okay? Be brave. Be a good Ka'taylin man." Xair picked up the roll of bandages then placed it into his brother's mouth. "Bite down on this if you have to scream. Sola's rays . . . I cannot apologize enough, Ulon."

  Zilon peeked inside and smiled. "Are you ready?"

  "No."

  "It will be fine, Xair." He left then returned a moment later, followed by the elders who lined the walls of the tent. They stood there, eagerly awaiting their sadistic show. Glee and excitement glimmered in their eyes. One of the elders dragged a small brazier in that was already filled with glowing orange coals. He took the branding iron out of the box and placed it into the brazier where it began to grow hot.

  "Perfect. Give that a minute to heat up properly." Zilon clapped his hands together. "This is truly an honorable occasion. Feel free to begin the ritual with the scalpel whenever you are ready, Xair."

  With an unsteady hand, Xair reached into the box then slid out the scalpel. He held it up in the air. The razor-sharp edge glinted in the single ball of mage-glow that hovered above them in the top of the tent. The longer he stared at it, the worse his shaking became. Xair looked down at the small boy on the table who was trembling violently. Ulon's eyes were clenched shut, but a tear streaked down the side of his face.

  Everyone was silent and reverent for a few minutes until one of the elders crossed his arms. "Is there a problem, Sultan?"

  "Yes, yes there is." Xair placed the scalpel down on the table. "I can't do it."

  "What? Why not?"

  "This isn't right. I cannot do this. No boys should be subjected to this torture."

  "Are you saying that you do not value this ritual?" Zilon asked.

  "No, I do not. This is barbaric. We are better than this."

  "For thousands of years, all of our male children have undergone this ritual. It must be done."

  "Why?" Xair removed the bandages from Ulon's mouth then helped him sit up.

  "What do you mean?"

  "What is the purpose of cutting and burning like this?" Xair asked, smoothing his brother's braids. "Why cause so much pain? Even as an infant, this is incoherently cruel."

  "Ridiculous. Your claims are strictly based on speculation, Xair. All of us here had it done to us and we do not remember it."

  "But you were not six years old. Ulon will feel everything and it will be more painful than it would have been as a baby. Do you want to do that to him?"

  Zilon placed his hands on his hips then glared at them. "It is necessary."

  "As long as I am your sultan and as long as I am still breathing, I will make sure that no more boys have to go through this mutilation. That is final." Xair picked Ulon up then carried him to the back of the tent. "Come on, Ulon. Let's get you dressed."

  Zilon forcefully stepped in front of them and held out his arms. He kicked Ulon's clothes out of reach. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "I am doing what needs to be done. No one is going to harm my brother. If any of you have a problem with it, you can-"

  Screaming and gunshots shattered the stillness of the ritual tent. One of the women stumbled into the tent, clutching her blood-soaked dress to her abdomen. "Slavers. Northerners. Run."

  Xair instinctively pushed Ulon behind him then pointed towards the tent flap. "Everyone, get out there and protect your women and children. I don't care what you have to do. Kill any Northerners who try to get near this camp. We cannot afford to lose anyone."

  "Yes, Sultan." The men shouted in unison as they drew their purple glass daggers and ran out of the tent.

  Ulon whimpered and tugged on the hem of Xair's tunic. "Brother, I'm scared."

  "Shh, Ulon. It's okay. I want you stay in here and hide under the table. Cover yourself with a blanket and remain as quiet as you can, okay? I won't let them take you. I promise."

  Chapter 11

  The screams filled the desert air, accented by the popping of gunfire and the sickening slicing of leather whips colliding with flesh. The babies cried as their mothers clutched them against their chests while they ran from the horses. The riders were faster. The men sent the butts of their rifles at the wo
men, sending them falling to the ground and leaving them just vulnerable enough for the slavers to snap their iron shackles shut around their wrists.

  Xair ran. He panicked. He should have tried to use his magic or summoned some demons to help them all, but he had never been in a situation like that. All he could think about was getting away from the attackers. He was running as fast as he could, but something wrapped around his ankles and tripped him. Xair yelped as he lost his balance from the bolas binding his legs together. In a desperate attempt to free himself, he pulled at the ropes that were attached to heavy weights on the ends, but he was too slow.

  Thinking quickly, he held up his hands and attempted to turn into his raven form. Nothing. A devious laughter filled his mind, one he knew all too well. Krivel. Xair rolled over and started crawling through the blowing sand in order to get away from the slavers, his ankles still bound by the bolas. As he crawled, he cursed under his breath and pleaded with the demon. "Krivel, don't do this, you bloody orange-wearing bastard! Stop messing with my magic!"

  His pleading and cursing did not last long. A muscled slaver with a bushy black beard and a scarred eye caught Xair by his ankle and dragged him back towards the edge of the camp where wagons with iron bars were already being filled with crying children. Xair kicked at the man, but he was being pulled too quickly to do much. He covered his face with his hands to protect himself from the sand and gravel that scraped along his body. He screamed, but that only made the grime and dirt in his mouth worse. His nose and eyes were caked with the coarse sand as the stones ripped through his clothes and punctured his skin. Just when he thought for sure he was going to die from suffocation, the slaver lifted him up and tossed him forcefully to the ground. Xair rolled to a stop where he hit the wagon wheel.

  Spitting out hot sand and blinking away the dust from his eyes, Xair slumped back against the side of the wagon wheel and sucked in a much-needed breath of fresh air. Through stinging eyes, he looked down to see his clothes ripped and shredded. The tattered garments were accented by stripes of bright red blood from the multiple cuts and scrapes he suffered. His ankles were aching from the weights, but he did not have much time to cope with it. Before he could take another breath, he was hoisted up to his feet and pushed back against the bars of the wagon.