Twixt Heaven And Hell

by Tristan Gregory

  Unbeknownst to the mortal watchers, the eyes both of Hell and Heaven had taken note of the battle. The Choirs were content to wait – Aethel was in little danger of defeat. Hell saw a prize – this Seraph had not been defeated in many ages of the War…

  Decisions were made in the infernal pits. Help would be sent. Aethel would be brought low.

  With a crash of hellfire, a second Demon exploded into the world.

  ***

  In Bastion, the globe room was abuzz with the news; Angels and Demons fighting in the hills above Threeforts, for no apparent reason. There had been no battle to assist; Why would a demon stray so far into the lands of Bastion, where its presence could earn a momentary victory at best?

  Arric was speaking with the commander of Fort Turast, who had personally witnessed the event. It was dark there now – the Aeonians had been locked in their battle for almost twelve hours.

  “There are now multiple Angels, and Demons,” the face in the globe said. “I have not seen anything like this in all my life, Arric. The entire horizon is alight.”

  “Stay within the fort, keep yourselves safe. There is nothing we can do in this.”

  The connection was cut, and Arric turned from the crystal in confusion. There seemed to be no explanation for this fight. The Battle of Threeforts was long over. What was to be gained by the demons for this incursion?

  Arric worried, though. It could be no coincidence that the site of the present disturbance was the very place Darius had meant to lead his Gryphons towards. Had they reached it? What had Darius done to incite this? What could Darius possibly have done?

  Whatever else was going on, it was clear the fight had reached some sort of parity. Arric had long believed that the Aeonians only sought to correct a gross imbalance in a battle. Once the situation reached a state of relative uncertainty; they were content to wait upon the outcome – upon chance! It was contrary to all reason, but then the behavior of those beings need not be contingent upon what humans considered sound reasoning.

  Arric left the globe room, moving slowly. Too much was changing in the War, and too quickly.

  As he turned a corner on his way to his chamber, Makaelic was suddenly before him. The power of his presence now washed over the Council leader, though it had been completely absent only a moment before. Caught by surprise, Arric bowed hurriedly, a deference which Makaelic returned with more grace.

  “Makaelic!” Arric greeted the Seraph. “You honor me.”

  “You are troubled, Arric,” the Angel replied, in acknowledgment and explanation.

  With a nod, Arric asked the question on the minds of every wizard in Bastion. “What is happening in Threeforts?”

  “The cause for the Demons’ presence is not yet known to the Choirs. We are puzzled at their attack, as well. The battle will not endanger the soldiers in the valley,” Makaelic finished simply. Arric did not seek to question the pronouncement – an Angel simply knew.

  “Darius was supposed to be there, Makaelic. Has he… did he cause this somehow? Is he safe?”

  There was a pause before the Seraph’s reply. The Angel’s head bowed slightly, as if in thought.

  “Darius lives. He is yet in danger, but he lives. This only, we know. Other answers must wait upon the battle.”

  “Thank Heaven,” Arric breathed in relief. So long as Darius lived, Arric could spare himself much worry. That man seemed to thrive in danger. “And thank you,” Arric said.

  Makaelic departed down a side corridor that led to storage rooms within the Crown – though of course that was not the Seraph's destination. It was still a mystery, the exact manner in which the Choirs entered and exited the mortal world. It was one of those things the Angels never spoke of, and the wizards had not yet found reason enough to ask.

  Arric turned back the way he had come. He would share Makaelic’s revelations immediately. Now that he was no longer preoccupied with worry for Darius, he had returned to his more usual consternation with the man. Whatever had caused the present disturbance in the mountains, Darius was sure to somehow be at its root.

  ***

  There was a fire crackling nearby, throwing shadows over the trees all around. As his eyes cracked open and he began to rise through the fog of oblivion, Darius became aware of two things – hunger, and pain.

  His head hurt, and the low light of the fire made his eyes ache. He let them close again. His arms hurt, the stinging pain of many light shallow wounds. Most of all his leg hurt, throbbing in sharp agony with every beat of his heart.

  He had no memory of being hurt, but he was familiar enough with pain. This was not the first time he had woken, disoriented, by a campfire – he was sure of that. He had been injured; no matter. His men would see he was cared for until an Angel could set him aright.

  Darius had clawed enough of the way towards consciousness to groan at the pain. He heard footsteps nearby, someone coming closer. Braving the firelight, Darius again opened his eyes.

  A face appeared in his vision, but too blurry to make out. Gentle hands felt at his neck, pressed learnedly to his head; a healer’s hands. He was in an army camp then. That was well.

  “He is awake,” the face announced. “His fever has broken.”

  Darius came a little more awake. It was a woman's voice! There were no women in the camps. Where was he? Where were his men?

  His vision cleared more as he struggled to focus. It was indeed a woman before him, though no woman of Bastion. Her features were exotic, with sharp cheekbones beneath large, almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was dark, and decorated with what might have been small, carved pieces of shell and bone.

  Darius attempted to ask where he was, but it came out only as mumbling, even to his ears. The woman placed a finger to his lips and shook her head. “Save your strength, wizard,” she admonished. “You need it all.”

  More footsteps, and another figured crouched before him. This time the face was familiar – it was Pollis. In a moment his cousin joined him. Both wore relieved expressions.

  “Glad to have you with us again, Captain,” Pollis said with his customary grin, though there was still worry etched into his face.

  “Water,” Darius tried to say. He was hungry as well, but did not think he had the strength to eat. The presence of his soldiers had quieted his worries – they seemed at ease with this strange woman, and so Darius would not trouble himself over her.

  Again his words had come out unintelligibly, but the woman seemed to understand his need. A ladle was soon presented to his lips and Darius drank as greedily as his scant strength allowed.

  Though weariness was still heavy on him, Darius pulled himself into wakefulness. He could not remember what had happened to him, but a memory of dread had returned to his mind like a crow roosting above a graveyard. Around him he saw more of the Gryphons moving about the trees, most concerned with the daily, mundane tasks of the camp. Some, noticing him up and aware, dropped what they were doing to come and greet their captain on his return to consciousness.

  As the crowd gathered, the woman who tended him flicked annoyed hands at them. “Cha! Give him space! He needs good air.”

  “What is your name?” Darius asked her. Though the most urgent questions in his mind were far from concerning her, it was obvious she had been caring for him. Ignoring her would be distinctly ungrateful.

  “I am Shara, wizard.”

  “She knows your name too,” Pollis said. “She just doesn’t use it.”

  Darius managed a smile. “Thank you for your help, Shara. I’m sure I don’t know the extent of it, but thank you.”

  She did not respond. Shara reached below Darius’s vision and withdrew some sort of cloth soaked in a reddish liquid. “If you will not sleep,” she said. “Wear this on your brow.” After wringing the cloth until it was merely damp, she set it on his head. “And chew these,” she handed him a few thick, unfamiliar-looking leaves. Without anymore words she rose and left, pushing her way through the ring of soldiers who watched her go w
ith bemusement.

  Darius too watched her go with some confusion. Shaking his head, he faced Pollis and asked the question foremost in his mind. “Where are we?”

  “About six leagues north of Threeforts, captain.”

  They had gone high into the mountains, then. With the forest around him Darius had no clear view of the distant surroundings. This far north, they must be a substantial height above the valley.

  “Why?” was his next question. “I don’t remember being injured. Where was the battle?”

  Pollis blinked. “You don’t remember anything?”

  “My last is of waking up in the hills overlooking Fort Turast.”

  Pollis looked about at the rest of the Gryphons, all of which were exchanging similar glances.

  Pollis began the retelling, with others offering details along the way. Darius found the dread that clouded his mind confirmed.

  As the three soldiers had run with their wounded Captain, the battle had only grown – Angels and Demons falling from the sky and appearing from the air, and their battleground had expanded. Soon the forest itself was being burned and crushed beneath the tread of fell beasts as they bit and snarled at the Angels. Further and further into the forest the Gryphons had carried Darius, until the three soldiers who bore him could go no further. They rested for a time, while the din of the great combat carried up the hills, the growls of Demons sharing the air with the Angels’ song. More of their comrades had come across them, and together they continued their flight. Trying to turn towards Bastion would take them straight up the side of the mountains, and they had no wish to go back towards the battle.

  “Not too far from here, Shara and her people found us,” Emanuelle said. “They were wary of the noises coming up from the valley, and didn’t want us to come any farther.”

  “She changed her tune when she learned our leader was a wizard, though,” Pollis finished.

  That puzzled Darius. Shara had not seemed overly friendly to him, and her use of the word ‘wizard’ sounded very nearly contemptuous.

  Darius asked about Shara’s people, but the soldiers did not know much. They lived nearby, but though the Gryphons had been patrolling the area, they had found no evidence of a village. The tribesmen whom the Gryphons had seen seemed to be hunters and warriors, watching warily from the forest. Shara was obviously their leader.

  Perhaps a tribe which had resisted relocation to Bastion, Darius concluded. It happened from time to time, though he’d thought most of the mountain peoples had heeded the call. Shara was obviously familiar with Bastion – she spoke their language almost without accent. She must have been taught.

  Since his first conscious thought, Darius had been looking around for his lieutenant. Robert was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Kray. A small, hopeful part of his mind said that Robert may well be out patrolling, or heading to the valley to contact Bastion. Kray, on the other hand… he would have stayed close, Darius was sure of that. Finally, he asked the question whose answer he dreaded.

  “Robert and Kray. Have they been seen?”

  There was a pause before the answer, which told Darius all he needed to know.

  “Robert is dead, captain. I saw him myself,” answered one of the soldiers. He had sorrow in his eyes.

  Darius nodded slowly. “And Kray?”

  There was less certainty in the man’s voice this time. “I can’t be sure, sir. The Demon attacked him, like it did you. We saw him fall, but – “

  Darius stopped the man with an upheld hand, and the wizard noticed for the first time that there were bandages on his arms. He rubbed them gently in an effort to relieve the itchy, burning pain he only then became aware of. Several of the other men showed similar bandages, and he noticed as his vision continued to clear that Pollis and his brother had faint scars on their faces.

  Still Darius could remember nothing of the attack, no matter how his head cleared. It grieved him greatly that he could not bring to mind how or why Robert had died. He could only hope the memories would return.

  Without thinking, Darius attempted to swing his legs off of the makeshift cot he lay on, to stand and pace and think as was his habit. The throbbing which he had pushed to the back of his mind intensified and made him gasp at his unwise movement. Throwing back the field blanket that covered him, Darius saw that his left leg was splinted securely and heavily bandaged.

  The pain was making him woozy, and one of his men pushed the leaves Shara had given him into his hands again.

  “Chew these sir, they help with pain.”

  Darius did so, popping one of the thick, pulpy things into his mouth. After a short moment he wanted to spit it out; the taste was vile, and the feeling of the sap or pulp was somewhere between curdled milk and meat gristle. He forced himself to keep chewing, and the numbness that eventually came also brought with it renewed fatigue.

  The Gryphons had waited for three days before Darius first awoke. Though he spent less and less time asleep afterward, his full strength was slow in returning. He ordered a small party of soldiers down to Fort Turast to notify Bastion of their location and condition, and he also sent out groups of men to locate any stragglers from the Gryphons. Most of his men had been accounted for, and surprisingly few had been lost to the Demon's assault. It was unlike a Demon to be so... focused.

  The memories did not return, though Darius now felt clear-headed. He tried to turn his full attention towards recuperation, but the death of Kray, and moreso Robert, weighed heavily on him All the more because he could not remember them. Though he knew it a silly notion, he felt guilty at the lack, as if it were a personal failing.

  Though he had hoped their camp was far enough from the fighting to allow an Angel to bring him healing, none came. Perhaps the recent actions of the Demons had made them more wary.

  However, the woman, Shara, seemed to have a great deal of experience mending injuries. She went about dosing Darius with herbs and applying poultices daily. The shallow cuts on his arms were nearly invisible now, and no longer troubled him.

  Despite her help, Darius’s fever returned – something Shara had seemingly anticipated. She was often beside him at night, making him chew those foul-tasting leaves. One night, when the mountain air had a chill to it that betrayed the approaching winter, Darius lapsed into a bout of violent shivering that wracked his body and set his teeth noisily chattering.

  Shara had Darius’s men move him closer to the fire, and cloaks and blankets were piled atop him. Deep in the night as Darius drifted in a feverish half-sleep, a cold, damp wind nearly blew out the flames; but then they rallied and grew, bathing the ailing wizard once again in warmth.

  Darius looked in confusion at Shara. It was she who had saved the fire. His muddled mind had barely felt it, but there was no mistaking her now. Shara commanded magic. She was a wizard.

  She saw his eyes turn warily to her. Without speaking she re-soaked the cloth upon his head.

  “How?” Darius asked.

  A shadow of her earlier disdain crossed Shara’s countenance, but she did not answer.

  "There are no female wizards," Darius said in confusion, repeating what the wizards had long held to be true, though they had no explanation for it. "There have never been."

  Shara shook her head without looking at Darius, but she finally answered: "You have so much arrogance. You think you know so much."

  Now she did look Darius in the eye, leaning closer to his face with a challenging stare.

  "Where do you get all this learning? From the Angels – but the Angels are not of this world. They do not know this place. My people lived here, in these mountains, before the Angels came – we remember this, though it was long ago. We know more of our home, and ourselves, than they."

  Darius gazed at her in fevered confusion. "You don't like them."

  It was foreign to him. How could someone not like the Angels? They healed and comforted and protected.

  A guarded look filled Shara's eyes, but she did not keep silent.

&
nbsp; "The Angels are very beautiful, and wonderful. They still visit my people. They heal sickness and hurt, and comfort the grieving of widows. They sometimes ask us to leave our home and come to your city. But they do this so we can fight the War they brought."

  "They did not bring the War!" Darius protested, though his weakness robbed his words of much of their conviction. "They came to defend us."

  Shara's gaze remained on him, though she did not respond immediately. Finally, she simply said, "You think you know so much."

  She tended him a moment more. Though Darius tried to get her to keep talking, she said nothing. She gave him more leaves to chew – Darius had nearly become used to the taste – and left him.

  He brooded over what Shara had said. There were dark ruminations in that conversation, and for some reason Darius could not simply dismiss it as the suspicious rantings of a wild woman. In any case, it was a welcome change to his constant brooding over Robert's death, and Darius chewed over Shara's words even as he chewed the leaves that sent him to sleep. When he awoke, the conversation he had had in his fevered state dissipated like a dream, and Darius would not remember it for a long time after.

  Eventually his health returned, and this time Darius felt truly on the road to recovery. The soldiers he had sent out had all returned, and nearly every Gryphon was accounted for.

  The battle between the Aeonians had been over for weeks. A massive area of the plateau where so recently the Gryphons had camped was churned ruin, trees smoldering and crushed, grass torn up in long furrowed rents where clawed feet had gouged the ground in their terrible charges at the Angels.

  Darius did not know which side had been victorious in the end. He was not sure it mattered. Even if the Angels had driven off their opponents, Kray and Robert were still dead. The Enemy – the human Enemy – had not stood to gain the land which the Angels and Demons had fought over. Even if the Angels were defeated, they would be back in time. Angels and Demons were almost never truly destroyed. They fought until forced to flee or until they were banished from whatever battlefield the War had chosen at that moment. In time they returned to the conflict.