Mara snapped her fingers and Andrew immediately whipped out a notebook. “Commandment Six,” Andrew muttered to himself, “Thou shalt not be bureaucratic fusspots.”
Lalael opened his mouth to protest this, then closed it and sat back in his chair.
“That's quite apt, actually,” Lucien said, marveling. “I approve of that commandment.”
“We don't want any sacrifices, nor do we require any.”
“I would kill for a –”
Lalael interrupted this. “Lucien, be careful what you say,” he snarled, suddenly looming over the Fallen.
“I was just saying I wanted a –”
“I said no.” Lalael's wings snapped out of nowhere and arched menacingly – all their clothes had been modified by the seamstresses (they had admitted that was probably a reasonable expenditure of resources). Mara and Andrew were silent. This was the first show of great power from their god that they had seen since... ever.
Fire flickered just out of sight around Lalael, and his wings crackled with energy. “If you say one more word, those two are going to run off and make it happen no matter how ridiculous it is. Don't say you wish you had a bowl of mango sherbet, don't say you want your entire wardrobe made of silk, don't even wish for a chocolate-coated peanut. Nothing. Not one word.”
“I am perfectly content and I want for nothing,” Lucien said to the humans, although he did not take his eyes off of the angel. The air around Lalael sighed slightly, and the angel seemed to shrink back to normal size as he tucked his wings away. Mara and Andrew sagged with disappointment.
“Leave us,” Lalael commanded, sitting back down and picking up the census. “We will discuss the other issues alone.”
***
“No, 'Lael, I keep telling you—”
“And I keep telling you to Stop Calling Me That, but it never works either.”
“You've only said that – what, twice or something –”
“Your lordships?” Andrew said, peeking past the half-closed door.
“Andrew, tell this bastard he's being an idiot,” Lalael demanded amiably.
“Your mother was being an idiot,” Lucien amicably countered.
“I don't have a mother, Lucien, neither do you. So you are being an idiot.”
“Your mother was being an idiot,” Lucien repeated.
“We don't –! That doesn't make any sense! For goodness' sake, Lucien!”
“Your Lordships?” Andrew ventured again. “Um. There's someone out here to see you. He – Er... She – Um? Well, this... person wants to talk to Lalael,” he finished halfheartedly.
“If it's those girls who want to know something about some kind of great rite and using two athames – ” Lalael began.
Lucien finished: “Just tell them that we told them last time to please stop because we don't understand what they're asking about, and that it doesn't need to go into the suggestion box either.”
“No, it's not them, she... Er. He?” Andrew glanced behind himself with consternation. “It's someone who won't tell me what they want with you except that they want to see Lalael.”
The gods sighed and dragged their thrones into the center of the room with an air of woeful resignation. “Send whoever it is in, then, Andrew,” Lucien said, flapping his hand at the priest. “Now, Lalael, I –”
“Your Lordships, with all due respect, presenting your visitor, the Angel Jocelin,” Andrew said, with a bow and a flourish towards the door. Lucien and Lalael abruptly stopped arguing and stared at the door, stunned. Andrew flung it wide.
“Lord – Lady – Um. Angel Jocelin, our most prestigious gods...”
“Give it a rest, Andrew,” Lucien muttered, sinking down in his chair a bit. Where were his daggers? And was he about to be attacked and killed? And could he count on Lalael to back him up in a fight against another angel? And how many weapons did Lalael have on him right now?
“Lord Lalael and Lord Lucien,” the priest finished.
They both got a very strong impression of gold.
Jocelin was the very definition of androgynous beauty. Neither recognizably male nor female, as far as anyone in the room could tell, and this was emphasized by the long white cloth tied about the angel's hips in the ancient Egyptian style: Jocelin's bare chest was smooth, flat, neither muscled nor unmuscled, entirely unmarked: No navel, no nipples.
They stared as Jocelin stepped delicately into the room as if too good for the floor. The cloth skirt billowed and clung about Jocelin's legs as if it was alive as the angel performed a movement that was somewhere between a bow, a curtsy, and a disdainful half-kneel.
Lalael and Lucien suddenly felt drastically under-dressed. Perhaps Mara had been on the right track with those ceremonial robes.
“Our comrade, Honored Angel Lalael,” the angel said, “We thank thee for thy hospitality.”
“Um. You're welcome, Honored Angel Jocelin,” Lalael said nervously. “Why don't you get up off the floor? Andrew, bring a chair for our guest, please?”
“Pray tell, Angel Lalael –”
“Just call me Lalael, really.”
“Such a travesty could never occur, Angel Lalael!”
“Of course, Angel Jocelin, you're absolutely correct.” Lalael was already cowed.
“Right,” Lucien said, drawing it out into several syllables. “Lalael, you know this...” The Fallen paused to debate gender and gave up a moment later. “Person?”
“No, Lucien, but Honored Jocelin IS an angel, so... We'll be hospitable. Obviously. We'll offer everything we have to our honored guest.”
Jocelin's hair, long, loose and wild, tumbled down the angel's back in inky tangles. His or her or their or hir wings were out, perfectly groomed to a pale gold, which gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Pure and perfect blue were Jocelin's eyes, nearly light enough to be white, framed by gilded lashes.
Lucien found himself noticing the angel's feet – small, delicate, perfectly formed, and all over the angel's skin faintly glowed with an inner light, as flawless and golden as the rest.
“Angel Lalael, who is this honored companion of thine?”
“Andrew introduced – Well. This is Lucien. He's... a... another god... Like me... I guess...” Lalael trailed off, wringing his hands.
It was fortunate that Lucien knew for a fact that this angel, sitting beside him all fussed, was the same who could kill a Naga at fifty paces with a bullet to each eye before it hit the ground dead, and he could do it with any of the minimum of four firearms Lucien was just assuming Lalael had within arm's reach at any given moment. He would have had his doubts otherwise. “'Sup,” said Lucien, and lounged with all his might.
“Lucien, please,” Lalael hissed. “Honored Angel Jocelin, my most sincere and humble apologies. Our high priest is unfortunately ignorant in the formalities of the Celestial City. As he said, I am the Angel Lalael, formerly of the Heavenly Army, hailed on earth as the Lord of... well, whatever they want me to be Lord of this week, really. And my honored companion is Honored Lucien – technically dishonored, I suppose, but I'd rather not stand on this particular formality – Fallen Angel and formerly of –”
“Fallen!” shrieked Jocelin, drawing a short-sword from who knows where or possibly nowhere. “Demon! Honored Angel Lalael, this thing of depravity and sin hath captured thee!” The air around the angel's shoulders shimmered as the air of the room was distorted by wings beginning to manifest.
The angel didn't complete the manifestation, just sat there with wings half-realized, and Lalael and Lucien froze when they realized that the energy released wasn't being reabsorbed to bring Jocelin's wings into the open, a dangerous and bizarre thing for an angel to do at the best of times. It was like turning on a gas stove without igniting the propane, or opening a faucet that ran with liquid uranium. Aimless energy set on the loose like that could cause mutations, or madness, or – well, a lot of things that were wrong, but it was incredibly damaging to the angel's own self. Lucien really didn't want to think about the f
irst (and last) time he'd seen loose energy like that snowball.
“I haven't captured anyone!” Lucien protested when he shook off the horror caused by the angel's carelessly unbound aura. “I didn't even kidnap him, I just sort of followed – ”
“Thou hunted him! Gave chase through the forest, we'll wager, until yonder Honored Angel fell to his knees of exhaustion and thou did unto him unspeakable –”
“No no no, he was walking, and I thought he was being a bit silly. The portals had closed while we were arguing, and he followed me, really.”
Lalael put his head in his hands.
“Attacker! Verily thou pulled blade upon him while he was weary from his great and noble slaying of the slime of the Seventh Circle, for the bravery of –”
“Actually, he attacked me too. And called me names. Are all angels like that, Lael?”
The angel whimpered in reply.
“Anyway, he was running from the battle and I just wanted to talk. He climbed MY tree,” Lucien explained.
“One of the Sko Meala's own would never flee! The Army of Ríel is a fierce foe in battle and a gentle – ”
“Yes, alright, that's nice, Jos.”
Jocelin looked briefly aghast.
“Do not call us that, scum! Our name and title is the Angel Jocelin!”
Lalael had gone pale.
“Yes, Jos, that's fine; have fun referring to yourself with the royal we. Now how about you sit down and tell us how the hell you got here before Lalael faints.”
“Most Highly Honored Angel Jocelin,” Lalael burst out. “You must forgive Lord Lucien. He's touched in the head, you know?”
“Hey!”
“And he's not very bright in the first place, unlike your Honored self.” There was a pause, during which Lalael wrung his hands and did his best to look humble and apologetic.
“Very well!” Jocelin declared, wings half-manifesting again. Both Lucien and Lalael shrank back. “As the wise say, 'Opei eforrnune shkeri e shekri, opei eforrnune vurra e voura vir.'”
Lalael was strongly taken aback, but only for a moment. “That's right!” he said brightly, “And to further offer my regret at his unfortunate condition and to show our hospitality, I shall order the minions to prepare a feast.”
“We would be honored to attend, for your sake, and for the sake of your elia, Angel Lalael,” Jocelin said, bowing again. Lalael flushed with pleasure, and Lucien could only assume it was at the use of the formal 'you'. Lalael opened the door with a little wave of his hand and bowed in reply.
“Andrew shall escort you to your accommodations. Lucien and I must send out word for the arrangements to be made.”
“We thank you for your courtesy, Honored Angel Lalael, but prithee, tell these humble guests of thine, why do you betray That Which Is Unspoken with your disloyalty, and what purpose does a lowly half-wit like yonder demon serve?” Lucien ignored this. He had long since decided to dislike Jocelin.
Lalael paused. “Well, the humans put us in charge because we're the only ones who really know what to do... So technically, we didn't have a choice about betraying the Powers or not, you understand. And Lucien's just there for... decoration. Um. If that's okay with you.”
“Our ponderings have abated, Angel Lalael.”
“Good, now go with Andrew, Jos – Um. Honored Angel Jocelin.” The angels kissed cheeks in the manner of Ríel high formality, and Jocelin exited with another bow. Lalael slowly shut the door and leaned against it. “Oh my god.”
“You must not take That Which Is Unspoken's name in vain!” came a shout from the other side of the door.
“Yes, Honored Jocelin, thank you for reminding him, he appreciates it!” Lucien called back. “Sit down, Lalael, and tell me what in the seven depths of Rielat that was.”
“Apparently, that's what's known as a Jocelin,” Lalael said weakly.
“Why?” Lucien demanded.
“Because. Please, easier questions,” Lalael begged, rubbing his forehead.
“Why is Jocelin...” Lucien struggled for the right word, and completely failed to come up with anything even close to correct. “Why did his – her – it – Ektesh, pronouns are the worst. Why did Jocelin's energy feel strange? And what was that weird thing with the wings? Have you met... that person before?”
“One! Question!” Lalael hissed.
“There, that's better, back to your own snippy self. Drink?”
“Wine. A bottle. I'm sick of drinking whey and water.” After the wine had been acquired and the angel had uncorked and began drinking right from the bottle, he began talking. “First off, I'm pretty sure Jocelin's insane.”
Lucien nodded. “Bat-shit crazy would explain a bit.”
“It's not just the talk. The – lack of – well, Jocelin doesn't seem to be fully aware of Jocelin's physical body. One... wonders things.”
“One wonders what other anatomical inconsistencies Jocelin might have after what was going on there with the wings.”
“Well, yeah, but why didn't Joscelin's physical body align with whatever Jocelin's mental identity is? It's – I mean, they do that automatically when we're formed in the Fire. It's supposed to just happen so everything cross-references and agrees properly with everything else.”
“So what do we do with Jocelin?”
“Apparently, we throw a banquet. Oh god. A banquet. It's going to be a banquet of entirely cheese. We don't have the resources for this.”
“No, no, not entirely cheese. We have a can of cashews and six bags of dried apricots and a whole can of cranberry sauce to go with the cheese,” Lucien said soothingly. “We'll make it work. I'll call in Mara.” He went to the front door and stuck his head out. “Hey, you there! Fetch the Priestess. Yes, Mara. Just Mara, please. No no, I really don't want to see Allison or Paul at the moment, thank you, and if you bring Dave anywhere near me, I'll have Lalael shoot both of you at dawn.”
Lalael heard the follower talking excitedly.
“No, er – What's your name? Esme, right – No, I won't sign your autograph book! Fetch Mara. I just said I – No, I'm not going to bless your dog, either. Dogs are an abomination in the eyes of this god, got it? Unholy. No dogs allowed. Now if you don't fetch Mara, I'll have you excommunicated, Esme. Or our equivalent thereof.”
More faint chatter.
“Because they drool and they don't wash themselves. Cleanliness is next to godliness and all that. Now go get Mara.” Lucien slammed the door. “Vengeance help me, some of those girls are up to no good at all.” His eyes darkened in annoyance. “Getting ideas into their heads. Uppity chits.”
“Be nice to them, Lucien,” Lalael said, rubbing his head again as the headache returned. He really, really felt for Michael at the moment.
“Doesn't help, makes them Suspect something.”
“Suspect what?” The forehead rubbing stopped as Lalael looked towards the Fallen in consternation.
“Not a clue. Not wanting a clue, either, what with those looks in their eyes.”
“Oh, Light save us, not the looks.”
A sharp rap on the door, then Mara let herself in.
“You met the angel, my lords?”
“Yeah. And Mr. Formality here has promised... Jocelin a feast in welcome.”
“Ah,” she said. A crinkle formed between her eyebrows. “What sort of feast were you expecting, my lord?”
Lalael sighed. “What's today, Mara?”
“Past the solstice. I forget what day. Might be the new year already. Full moon is in two days, though.”
“Make up some kind of holiday to have a feast for, then.”
“Yule,” she said promptly.
“...Sure. That. Sounds good. Two birds, one stone. Good for morale, and you're all about morale, right? We may want to actively gather converts, ones with their own resources. More chickens, maybe.”
“Then we could maybe manage soufflé,” Lucien said, nodding. “Or Hollandaise sauce. But do we have a fondue pot?”
“Just fin
d people who have things that produce more than they eat. We'll take them under our wing for the winter, give them food and shelter and all that.”
“Nice one, Lael. Wing. Heh.”
Lalael clenched his jaw momentarily and brushed it off. “How are food supplies? I should have asked last week, but since no one's come crawling to me in starvation yet...” Lalael trailed off.
“Everyone's supposed to be keeping a small plot of cold-hardy plants. As long as we don't get a hard frost, we might get something out of them soon, my lord. And there's notes in the Box for you to bless the plants when you have an opportunity.”
“Everyone keeping a small plot won't cut it, Mara.”
“Of course not, sir, but they've been keeping us from getting scurvy. Barely.”
“I thought you could only get that at sea.”
Mara gave Lucien a dry look. “Anything else? Some people want to go scrounge for food in town... Go on raids, you know. Fondue's all well and good, but we're missing vehicles for the cheese.”
Lalael sighed and nodded. “Make sure they're all carrying concealed weapons, and tell them to look as peaceful and nonthreatening as possible. Take the wagon and Patrick's horse. They have eighteen hours and if they're not back, we'll send a team to find them.”
“And spread the Word of Lucien,” Lucien added.
“You mean the Word of Lalael. Besides, you talk a lot. You have more than one word.”
“I'm sure,” Mara cut in, “That our missionary volunteers will think of something.”
“Get them out on the streets, then. And go back to that motel and bring the rest of the mattresses over if they're still there.”
“How much space is left?”
“Not too much. We've got the satellite houses packed, and some are even staying in the motel already, but it's six miles away. At last count, you had a hundred and six and one-quarter believers.” Two bewildered faces turned towards Mara. “One of them isn't quite convinced yet.”
Lalael nodded. “Take a memo.” Andrew appeared out of thin air with his notebook. He was never out of earshot of Mara. “Ready? 'Note to selves: Perform godly acts. Water to wine? Rain of frogs? Walking on water?' End memo.”
In the End Page 16
