Rebel Angels

by Libba Bray

  I don’t know what to believe anymore.

  The cathedral stands like something that has existed for many years. It has to be the Temple. What else could it be? Down on the shore, a small rowboat sits waiting, as if we have been expected.

  “Gemma?” Felicity asks.

  “Yes,” I say, tucking the amulet away. "It must be the Temple.”

  With a yelp, Felicity runs sliding down the hill to the boat. In the distance, the magnificent cathedral beckons with a thousand lights burning. We untie the boat and push off from the shore, paddling toward the isle.

  Out on the water, it grows foggy. Night rolls in suddenly. The cries of the gulls are all about us. The moat that separates us from the Temple is surprisingly wide. I look up through the haze and, for a moment, the towering church seems no more than a ruin. The yellowy moon bleeds through one of the cathedral’s tall, hollow windows, glinting off the shards of glass that remain there like a beacon calling in a wayward ship. I close my eyes, and when I open them again, it is still magnificent and whole, an enormous monument of stone and spires and great Gothic windows.

  “It seems deserted,” Felicity says. “I can’t imagine anyone living there.”

  Or anything, I want to say.

  We pull the boat ashore. The Temple sits high on the hill. To get there, we’ll have to take the steep stairs that have been carved into the rock.

  “How many do you think there are?” Ann says, peering all the way to the top.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” I say, and start climbing. It is rough going. Halfway up, Ann has to sit to catch her breath. "I can’t do this,” she huffs.

  “Yes, you can,” I say. "It’s just a bit farther. Look.”

  “Oh!” Ann says, startled. A great black bird flaps close to her face and takes a perch on the steps beside us. It’s some sort of raven. It caws loudly, making gooseflesh on my arms. Another joins it. The pair seems to dare us to go on.

  “Come on, then,” I say. "They’re only birds.”

  We push past them to the top of the steps, where we are greeted by an enormous golden door. The most beautiful flowers have been carved into it.

  “How lovely,” Ann says. She puts her fingers to the petals and the door opens. The cathedral is vast, with ceilings that soar high above us. Everywhere, candles and torches burn.

  “Hello?” Ann says. Her voice echoes, Hello, ello, lo.

  The marble floor tiles have been laid out in a pattern of red flowers. When I turn my head one way, the floor seems dirty and chipped, the tile broken in chunks. I blink and it is again shining and beautiful.

  “Do you see anything?” I ask. Anything, thing, thing .

  “No,” Ann says. "Hold on, what’s this?”

  Ann reaches for something in the wall. That part of the stone crumbles away. Something skitters across the floor and lands at my feet. A skull.

  Ann shudders. "What was that doing there?”

  “I don’t know.” The hair at the back of my neck prickles in fear. My eyes are playing tricks on me, because the floor is going chipped again. The beauty of the cathedral sputters like the candles, flashing from majestic to macabre. For a second, I see another cathedral, a crumbling, broken shell of a building, the shattered windows above us looking eerily like the empty sockets of the skull.

  “I think we should go,” I whisper.

  “Gemma! Ann!” Felicity’s voice is high with fright. We run to her. She holds a candle close to the wall. And then we see. Embedded in it are bones. Hundreds of them. Fear screams inside me.

  “This is not the Temple,” I say, staring at the bones of a hand stuck fast in the crumbling stone. I’m chilled as I realize the truth. Stick to the path, maidens. "They led us astray, just like Nell said they would.”

  Above us, something scurries. Shadows run across the dome.

  Ann grabs my arm. "What was that?”

  “I don’t know.” Know, know, know.

  Felicity pats the quiver on her back. The scurrying comes from the other side. It feels close.

  “We’re leaving,” I whisper. "Now.”

  Suddenly, there is movement all around. The shadows flit across the top of the golden dome like giant bats. We’re almost to the door when we hear it: a high-pitched keening that turns my blood to ice.

  “Run!” I shout.

  We bolt for the door, our shoes clacking across the broken mosaic floor. But it is not enough to drown out the hideous screeching, growls, and barks.

  “Go, go!” I scream.

  “Look!” Felicity shouts.

  The darkness of the vestibule is moving. Whatever was above us has gotten to the door before us, trapping us here. The keening dies down to a low, guttural chant. "Poppets, poppets, poppets . . .”

  They step from the shadows, half a dozen or so of the most grotesque creatures I have ever seen. Dressed to the very last one in tattered, filthy white robes over ancient chain mail and sharp, steel-toed boots. Some have long, matted hair that trails over their shoulders. Others have shaved their heads bald, the cuts still fresh and bloody. One fearsome soul has but one long strip of hair in the center of his head, running from forehead to collar. His arms are ringed in bangles, and about his neck is a necklace made of finger bones. This one, the leader, steps forward.

  “Hello, poppet,” he says, smiling hideously.

  He offers his hand. His fingernails have been painted black. There are deep black lines inked up his sinewy arms, thorny stems weeping tears of pitch. They end above his elbow, where fat red flowers bloom in a band around his arm. Poppies.

  Nell’s words swim back to me: Beware the Poppy Warriors.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  THE SHADOWS MOVE. THERE ARE MORE OF THEM. Many more. Far above us, they perch on railings and rafters like a flock of gargoyles. One dangles a mace on its chain, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum. I am afraid to look at the man in front of me, but at last I do, into eyes that are rimmed by black kohl in a diamond shape. It is like looking into a living Harlequin mask.

  My throat’s gone dry. I can barely stutter out a greeting. “H-how do you do?”

  “How do we do what, poppet?”

  The others laugh at this, a sound that gives me chills.

  He steps forward, closer. He’s got a crude sword that he uses like a walking stick, his hand clenched about the handle. Every finger wears a ring.

  “We’re sorry to have intruded . . .” My mouth is too dry. No other words come.

  “We’re lost,” Felicity croaks.

  “Aren’t we all, poppet? Aren’t we all. My name is Azreal. I am a knight of the poppy, as are we all. Ah, but you haven’t told us your names, fair ladies.”

  We say nothing.

  Azreal clucks his tongue. “Oh, that won’t do at all. What have we here? Ah, I see you have made friends with the forest folk.” He pulls the bow and arrow from Felicity and lays them on the ground. “Foolish poppet. What did you promise-omise them?”

  “It was a gift,” Felicity says.

  The crowd breaks into a hiss of a chant. “Lies, lies, lies, lies . . .”

  Azreal grins. “There are no gifts in the realms, poppet. Everyone expects something. What does such a sweet lass do with such a dreadful gift? Tell me, poppets, what were you looking for? Did you think this was the Temple?”

  “What Temple?” Felicity says.

  Azreal laughs at this. "Such spirit. ’Twill be almost a shame to break you. Almost.”

  “And if we were looking for this Temple?” I say, heart beating fast in my chest.

  “Well, poppet. We’d need to keep you from it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you bind the magic? No, poppet. Then we’d have none wandering near us. No one to play with.”

  “We’re not here to bind the magic. We want what you do, a piece of it,” I lie.

  “Lies, lies, lies, lies!”

  “Shhh,” Azreal says, spreading his hands, wiggling his fingers. "The Poppy Warr
iors know why you’ve come. We know one of you is the Most High. We can smell the magic in you.”

  “But . . . ,” I say, trying to find a way to reason.

  He puts his finger to my lips. “Shhh, no negotiating. Not with us. Once we break you, we can suck the magic from your very bones. A sacrifice. ’Twill give us fierce power indeed.”

  “But it dooms you,” Ann whispers.

  “We are already doomed, poppet. No use crying over spilled blood. Now, which of you shall we offer first?” Azreal stops before Felicity. “Such games we could play together, poppet.” He trails his sharp fingernail down Felicity’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. “Yes. You would be such good sport, my pretty pet. We’ve found our first offering.”

  He grabs Felicity’s arm and she falls to her knees, terrified.

  “What can I offer you?” I shout.

  “Offer us, poppet?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Why, to play our games, of course. We’ve no quests left to us, no crusades. Only games.”

  He claps, and two of the beasts grab hold of Felicity.

  “Wait!” I shout. “This is hardly sporting, is it?”

  Azreal stops the men. "Go on,” he says to me.

  “I propose a game.”

  Azreal grins, giving his face the appearance of a death mask. “I am intrigued, poppet.” He snakes his hand around my neck, caressing it, as he whispers into my ear. “Tell me, what sort of game?”

  “A hunt,” I whisper.

  Azreal steps back.

  “What are you doing?” Ann warns.

  I keep my eyes trained on Azreal’s. If I can get us together, I can make the door of light appear, and we can escape the Poppy Warriors. Azreal claps again, breaking into a delighted cackle. The Poppy Warriors follow suit. Together, they sound like the birds we heard on our way across.

  “A most sporting offer. Yes, yes, I like it. We accept, poppet. The hunt shall whet our appetites. Do you see that door?”

  He points to an arched iron door at the far end of the cathedral.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “It leads to the catacombs below, and five tunnels. One leads out and away. Perhaps you’ll find it. That would be magic indeed, poppets. We’ll let you start.”

  “Yes, but we shall need a moment to confer,” I say.

  Azreal waves a finger at me. “No time to wish for the door, Order priestess,” he says, as if reading my mind. “Yes, I know all about it. Your fear lets us in.” He shakes his hands over us, as if sprinkling fairy dust, his bangles jangling in an echo. “See if you can find the tunnel. Go now, poppets. Runrunrun.” He chants it to us like a benediction.

  “Run. Run. Run.”

  The Poppy Warriors pick up the chant—Run. Run. Run— till it bounces off the cathedral’s walls like a great roar. “Rrruuunnn! Rrruuunnn! Rrruuunnn!”

  As if shot from a cannon, Ann and I break for the door.

  “Felicity!” I shout.

  She’s stopped to grab her bow and the quiver of arrows.

  “Clever, poppet!” Azreal yells. “Such spirit you have!”

  “Go!” she screams, catching up to us. We waste no time. We push through the heavy door into a long corridor lined with candles.

  “Give me your hands!” I shout.

  “Now?” Felicity screeches. “They’re right behind us.”

  “All the more reason to leave at once!”

  We join hands, and I try to concentrate. The most terrible, primal howls and screeches echo in the huge cathedral. They are coming after us. In seconds, they shall be through the door and we don’t stand a chance. My whole body shakes with fear.

  “Gemma, make the door of light! Get us away!” Ann screams, nearly hysterical.

  I try again. A piercing shriek unnerves me, and I lose my train of thought. Felicity’s face is wild with fear.

  “Gemma!” she cries.

  “I can’t do it. I can’t concentrate!” I say.

  Azreal’s singsong voice rings out. “There’ll be no magicagic here, poppet. Not when we’ve such games to play.”

  “They’re keeping it from us. We’re going to have to find another way out,” I say.

  “No, no, no!” Felicity whimpers.

  “Come on! Look everywhere!” I shout. We stumble along the corridor, patting the walls, searching for some escape. It is gruesome work: my palms rub across chips of bone and teeth. A bit of hair pulls away in my fingers, and I gag with fear and revulsion. Ann screams. She’s found a skeleton shackled to a wall, a warning of what’s to come.

  “Ready or not, poppets, we’re coming for you!”

  Oh, God. My trembling fingers find a handle. It is part of a small door that nearly blends into the wall.

  “What’s this?” I say. The door opens with a creak, and we come close to tumbling down a long rope of perilous steps. They snake around the wall, ending far below, where the room opens into five tunnels.

  “This way!” I shout. Felicity and Ann step in and we push the heavy door closed, bolting it shut. Under my breath, I mutter a silent prayer that the wooden plank we’ve slid into place holds fast.

  “Stay against the wall,” I say, peering over the edge. Ann’s boot sends a stone plummeting. It takes many seconds for it to hit the floor—a long way to fall. Quickly but carefully, we make our way down. It is like descending into hell. Torches cast an eerie glow on the wet, rocky walls. At last, we reach the bottom. We’re in a circle that branches off into tunnels like a five-pointed star.

  Tears streak Ann’s face, mingling with mucus from her dripping nose. Her eyes are wide with fear. “What now?”

  The shrieks of the Poppy Warriors drift through the crevices of the bolted door. They batter it mercilessly, the wood splintering in deafening cracks.

  “We must find the tunnel that leads out.”

  “Yes, but which one?” Felicity says. The tunnels, lit by torches, flicker with shadows. Five tunnels. And we’ve no idea how long each one is—or what is waiting for us at the ends.

  “We’ve got to separate. We’ll each take a tunnel.”

  “No!” Ann wails.

  “Shhhh! It’s the only way. Each time we come back to the center. If you find the one, shout.”

  “I can’t, I can’t,” Ann cries.

  “We stay together, remember?” Felicity says, invoking the words we spoke in my room at Spence. It was only two weeks ago, but it feels a lifetime away.

  “All right, then,” I say.

  I grab a torch from the grisly wall, and we enter the mouth of a darkened tunnel. The flame illuminates the few yards in front of us and nothing else. The light falls on the rats that scurry at our feet, and I have to stifle a scream. We push on until we reach a dead end.

  “This isn’t it,” I say, turning back.

  A high-pitched keening echoes off the walls. It bounces around the bones of the dead, those unfortunate playthings of the Poppy Warriors. I would give anything to escape that awful sound. Above us, the door has been battered, but mercifully, it still holds fast.

  The great black birds we saw outside circle us in the catacombs. Some have perched on the steps. Others flutter to the ground, cawing. The second tunnel yields another dead end. Ann’s sobbing openly by the time we have stumbled through the third tunnel, the weak light of the torch showing no way out.

  Azreal’s voice drifts down to us. “I can hear you, my pet. I know which one you are—you’re the plump one. How will you run from me, my beauty bones?”

  “Ann, stop crying!” Felicity shakes Ann, but it does no good.

  “We’re trapped,” she sobs. “They’ll find us. We’ll die here.”

  The keening of the Poppy Warriors has turned to growls and squawks, like a reverse hunt in which the animals corner the humans. The sound makes my skin crawl.

  “Shhh, we’ll find it,” I command, leading us back to the open circle. More birds have arrived. The air is thick with them.

  “Only two tunnels left,” Azrea
l calls out. How does he know that? He isn’t at the door. Unless there’s some other way in, a way only they know.

  My heart beats wildly, and I fear I shall faint, when Felicity shouts, “Gemma, your amulet!”

  It glows dimly beneath the fabric of my dress.

  Ann stops crying. “It must be showing us the way out.”

  Dear God, yes, a way out! With frantic fingers, I pull at the necklace, but it’s stuck on the lace of my dress. With one hard yank, I pull the amulet free. It sails through the air and skitters across the floor, landing somewhere in the dark.

  “We’ve got to find it. Quick, help me look!” I shout.

  The cavern is dark. We’re down on hands and knees, hunting for anything shiny. My heart’s a hammer swung hard and fast. I have never felt such fear. Come on, come on. Find it, Gemma, that’s a good girl. Keep the fear from your mind.

  Something glints in the dark. Metal. My amulet!

  I rush to the spot. “I’ve found it!” I say.

  My hand reaches down, but the metal doesn’t come up in my hand. It is attached to something. A steel-toed boot. It takes shape under my fingers as a scream lodges in my throat. When I look up, I see Azreal glowing in the torchlight.

  “No, pretty pet. I’ve found you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THE GREAT BIRDS CAW. THERE IS A HUGE FLAPPING of wings as they leave their perches. As they fly down, they change shape, becoming men, until they are the Poppy Warriors, surrounding us, cutting off all escape.

  Seeing my shocked expression, Azreal explains. "Yes, it was the Order that cursed us so for our games. It’s been so very long since we’ve had such beauties to play with. So long since we’ve been able to visit your lovely world and bring back pets.” He entwines my hair around his fingers like laces. His breath is hot in my ear as he leans in close. “Such a very, very long time.”

  My throat’s dry as kindling, and my legs tremble.

  “I don’t think this will do you any good now,” he says, dropping the lifeless amulet in my hand. “Now, who shall we play with first?” Azreal stops in front of Ann. “Who would miss you, pet? Would anyone sighedy-sigh over one more lost maiden? Perhaps if she were the fairest of them all. But this is no fairy tale. And you are not fair. Not fair at all.”