“I don’t care, Larin, if I can help you in any way, you know I will! You know Gee and I will do anything we can – ”
“Stop, Kaila,” I said. “Think about your families. This goes deeper than you could ever understand. Please. If you love them, you’ll protect them too.” I found I wanted desperately for their safety. Gee’s enormous, loving family. Kaila’s beautiful siblings and proud parents. Safe. Warm. Loved. I wanted that for them more than I’d wanted anything in my entire life.
“I love you, Kai. Tell Gee, too,” I said, aware that Kaila was weeping. I hung up the phone before she could say anything further.
I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t actually intend to do anything. I was just going to sit, hoping to disappear into the dust I felt my heart was becoming.
Suddenly there was a rustling just beyond the bins where I hid. I jumped up, ignoring the searing aches and pains in my body. Just then, a face peeked around the corner, and a figure came into view.
The old woman from the warehouse. I felt as though I should have been shocked, and wondered briefly how she’d found me, but these days were full of mysteries with questions that had no answers. I stared at her, and she looked upon me kindly. I sensed no danger, just a strange aura of calmness radiating off her and towards me. I found, absurdly, that I wanted to fall into her arms.
“Come with me, child,” she said gently, reaching her hand towards me.
I took it.
I had no idea where we were going, and I limped slowly behind the old woman whose clothes were just as tattered as mine. She held my hand gently, giving me the occasional reassuring squeeze. I looked ahead, wondering where she led me. For some reason, I didn’t feel the need to ask.
We arrived behind the back of one of the smaller warehouses in the complex. It too appeared to be abandoned, but my newly refined senses told me this was not the case. I sensed others like me, and a shudder ran over my body. I recoiled, but the woman gripped my hand tighter, and I found I could not break the bond. The strength of her grasp was otherworldly, though she did not attempt to hurt me.
“Let me go!” I cried, pulling.
The woman was suddenly different. She was the same in the sense that she appeared as an old woman, but a radiance glowed within her, changing her entire demeanor. I sensed a warmth and a peacefulness. There was no threat within her, despite knowing she was more than human.
“Child, do not fear,” she said, reaching out with her other hand to give me a reassuring pat. “There are none here who would harm you. Come.”
Knowing I had no other choice, and compelled by some force pushing me ahead, I went with her inside.
I covered my eyes to the sudden light within. Various fires burned in a small space, lighting the place considerably. In the middle of the warehouse stood the white-haired one from the fight with Ephreim. He had sharp features and was younger than I had anticipated. His eyes blazed like steel, reflecting the light in a strange way. I was reminded of light hitting the water at dusk, the way it shone. Serene – but powerful. Beside him stood four others I presumed were present during the scuffle. I didn’t recognize her face, but I recognized the short-cropped haircut of the woman who had ordered me to stay down. She was presently staring at me with a look bordering on hostility, though mingled with curiosity. Three other men stood behind, both staring at me with an equally intense gaze of curiosity. One of them stood protectively close to the woman, seemingly to shield her. Something about the look of her told me she didn’t need his protection.
Their eyes all mirrored that of White-hair, metallic hues that flashed in the firelight.
What struck me though was their wings. The same as mine, black as night. Just as naturally a part of them as any other piece of their bodies. My wings shuddered in response as though trying to communicate their need to each other. The others stood still, their wings hanging gently behind them, relaxed yet vigilant. They all wore strange cloaks of grey and white, cut in a strange fashion to allow their wings the freedom of movement. Below the cloak was only what could be described as armour. Breastplates with a strange insignia. A symbol of a star shining behind a sword with a serpentine hilt. Above the sword was an upside-down crescent.
I looked behind me quickly, suddenly afraid this was a trap. That Ephreim was about to leap upon me, but seeing nothing there, I turned back to the others. Their swords were hanging on their belts at their sides and not in hand. I looked at White-hair suspiciously.
“Who are you?” I asked so quietly I was sure they wouldn’t have heard me.
No one moved or responded. White-hair regarded me with a look that changed suddenly to expectation.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said in that strange, youthful voice. I knew he was older than he seemed. Perhaps much, much older.
I looked at my side, to where the old woman stood. I realized she was still holding my hand and I looked into her eyes. Whereas before they were old and watery, riddled with cataracts and the ravages of age, her eyes were suddenly shining brightly. That strange metallic sheen was not there – she was different from the rest. I still felt her aura of tranquility as it projected towards me, calming me. I resisted it, but she squeezed my hand and shook her head.
“You are safe,” she said, nodding to the others. She turned around and made her way back the way we had come. I felt an impulse to rush after her, to stop her. But I knew this would be useless. She left through the doors as quietly as she had entered and disappeared into the night.
I turned back around, still afraid. The others hadn’t yet moved, but White-Hair nodded towards an individual in the back. He struck me with his flaming red hair, and I noticed something different in his demeanor. Something lighter. He walked towards me, holding out his hands.
“It’s true, Larin, you’re safe,” he said, and he smiled.
“How am I safe? How is any of this. . .” I looked around wildly, then back around at the group before me. “How do you know my name?”
“Get rid of that thing,” White-hair said, ignoring my question and referring to the coverings around me.
“Don’t touch me,” I said to him, to all of them.
“Don’t be afraid, Larin,” the red-headed one said. “I promise, we mean you no harm. We are here to protect you.”
“Protect me?” I laughed, “Protect me from. . .you? From whatever the hell this is?” I gestured wildly at them, and then at myself, and behind me at my wings.
“Will someone tell me what is going on before I completely lose my mind?”
“We’re here on the orders of the Council, and that’s all you need to know for now,” White- hair said kindly but firmly. “Now get that thing off.”
The red-haired one pulled at my wrappings, ripping the twine off at the same time and releasing my wings. They reacted instinctively and thrust outwards and upwards. Reaching, flexing, stretching. I felt such an immediate relief that I nearly wept. I leaned my head back and sighed at the instantaneousness of the gratification. The sense of freedom.
Remembering myself, I snapped back to reality and commanded my wings to lower themselves. They did, reluctantly, wanting to flap and shake away the memory of their confinement. My muscles twitched, automatically adapting and balancing the rest of my body. I was reminded again of the strangeness of my transformation. How natural my body felt when I allowed it to do what it needed to do. I felt myself wrapping my wings around my body, as though in protection. Shielding me from whatever threat there may be ahead.
The others were now glancing at each other, strange looks ranging from cautious expectation to perplexation. White-hair, however, continued to stare directly into my eyes.
“Odd indeed,” he said to himself.
“What’s particularly strange about all of this?” I asked sarcastically, but genuinely curious. I pulled my wings tighter around my body, folding my arms closely around me beneath
them.
“You shouldn’t have such control so close to your awakening. In fact,
the command of your wings goes far beyond what you should be capable of at this point. Tell me,” he asked, “do you feel ill?”
Ill. I laughed.
“What kind of a ridiculous is question is that?” I snapped. “Of course I do. I feel sick with everything that has happened to me. I watched my brother die. Someone mercilessly slaughtered my father. The cops think I did it. My life as I know it is over.” I felt tears threatening but channelled the misery into anger.
“So yeah, I’m not feeling great right now,” I said angrily. “Now if you don’t tell me what the hell you want, or what you’re planning to do with me, do me a favour and just end this now.” I opened my wings wide, along with my arms. I truly invited their swords at that moment. I was so desperately sad, so frightened, and so exhausted, I felt I had nothing left inside me other than desolation and a fervent desire for peace.
The others flicked looks of surprise amongst themselves, and I could see them struggle with the desire to all speak at once. White-hair continued to look at me, unmoved by the display.
“Do you feel ill?” he asked, again. “With fever? Sickness of the body, not of the mind,” he said. For a moment I thought he was mocking me, but I realized he was completely serious. The others looked at me with great interest and expectation.
“N...no,” I said reluctantly. “I’m just completely exhausted. I’m so. . .” I became aware of just how exhausted I was. I’d barely slept in days, and the events I’d been subjected to had more than taken their toll. “I just want to lay down.” I found I had an uncontrollable desire to close my eyes and did so, swaying slightly on my feet. I nodded my head up sharply, forcing my eyes open and blinking hard to stave off the exhaustion. The red-haired one grasped my arms, holding me steady. He placed a cool hand against my face and nodded at White-hair.
“She’s cold,” he confirmed.
The others all started speaking at once.
“Tristan, what does this mean?” the woman asked over the others, who all seemed to be clamoring for answers. White-hair - or Tristan, turned his head slightly and raised a hand but did not change his expression.
“We have come for you, Larin. I have some but perhaps not all the answers you seek. You must speak with the Council, now,” Tristan said, walking slowly towards me.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I replied, just as a tremendous crashing noise happened overhead.
Ephreim.
Ephreim and at least six others with him, all attired in robes of blood red. Ephreim’s was darker than the others, and I could smell his bloodlust from where I stood. My vision blurred immediately in sudden, irrepressible terror.
“Ephreim!” Tristan shouted, and the others drew their swords quickly. “So, it is true. Who is your informant?” he demanded, while I dropped to my knees, quaking in fear. I was frozen. I couldn’t have moved if you had set me on fire.
“Shut up, Tristan,” Ephreim snarled, “You do not compel answers from me!”
“I know that, Ephreim. You only obey the calls of your master, like a dog. You’re a puppet. When Azrael has what he wants, when he finds the Disc and the First, you will be discarded as though you are nothing. Do not fool yourself into thinking otherwise,” Tristan responded, calmly but severely. Ephreim grinned evilly in response, his dark eyes blinking with blackness.
“We’ll see about that,” he said.
I have no idea what happened next. I fell over onto my side, shutting down. My body had gone days in such a state of adrenaline and terror, my mind had simply had enough. I laid there, listening to the sounds of the ensuing scuffle. There were crashes, yelling. Yet there was also something graceful about the movements. I could note through heavy-lidded eyes the way they danced around each other, listening abstractly to the sounds of their wings as they whooshed in response to the movements of their players.
I closed my eyes, unable to stay conscious any longer. It had all been too much. If I died here, so be it. They would be doing me a favor.
Ephreim was not looking forward to the inevitable.
Arriving back at Solomanta with three fewer of their numbers, he had resigned himself to the fact that he was in store for great punishment, or worse. The black city came into view, and he noticed the splattering of wings below as they sparred and parried, the clinking of their swords audible from far above.
Ephreim flew into the center keep, landing roughly before the throne room. He walked forward, past the curious eyes of the court, and knelt at the base of the staircase. Azrael was sitting at the top, hunched over in a manner that suggested he already knew what he would hear.
“Come!” he shouted, and Ephreim stood and walked up the staircase towards his master. He kept a respectful – and safe – distance as he knelt down yet again.
“Why do you come to me empty-handed, Ephreim?” Azrael barked, standing up. “And why are there so few of you returning? I warn you, choose your words wisely, for I have completely lost my patience with your ineptitude!”
“My lord,” Ephreim began. “The informant led us to the place where the others waited, and the girl was there. However, my soldiers. . .”
“You mean, my soldiers!” Azrael yelled enraged, “soldiers in my army who are now fewer in numbers thanks to you!” Azrael rose to his feet, approaching Ephreim in a terrible, menacing fashion. Ephreim resisted the urge to recoil. He knew that his only chance at salvation now was not to show any weakness. He considered his words, carefully correcting himself.
“Yes, my lord. Apologies. Your soldiers were surprised by their numbers. We did not know that Tristan would be among them,” Ephreim said, referring to the leader known for his skill in battle. “They escaped with the girl and left one of their own as a distraction. It wouldn’t have been enough, but the Order had sent one of their hags along for the capture of the girl. It was not anticipated, and we were not equipped to stop her enchantment quickly enough to prevent their escape. We killed the other left behind,” Ephreim finished, allowing himself a small smile. As unsettled as he was to report his failure, he enjoyed killing one of their lot. Every time.
Azrael struck him hard across the face, leaving three deep gashes. Ephreim flinched in pain, turning his head back around and staring at the ground. He made no move to stem the flow of the blood as it dripped off his chin and onto his robes.
“Smile again,” Azrael hissed, and Ephreim said nothing in response.
Azrael waited a moment, scowling at Ephreim. He turned and walked back to his throne, reaching down and pulling out his sword from the place where it rested at his side. Ephreim continued to stand still, making no move to plead for his life. He knew to do so would quickly expedite his departure from the mortal world. Azrael turned slowly around, and the occupants in the court whispered nervously amongst themselves.
“SILENCE!” Azrael shouted, and an immediate stillness fell over the room.
He walked forward towards Ephreim again and held his sword up to his eyes, turning it this way and that as the dark light of the place shone off its immaculate surface. He stroked the sword from the serpentine hilt to shaft, his finger coming to rest at the tip before suddenly turning it around 22on Ephreim. Just as Ephreim thought he was about to be cut down, Azrael spoke again.
“I am incredibly disappointed by your incompetence, and you will face punishment soon. For now, I have use of you. Do not interpret this as mercy,” he warned.
“No, my lord. I would gladly die if it would be your will. I am greatly shamed by my failure and unworthy to be your Commander any longer. I will help you train my successor, if you would but give me the opportunity, my master. I live only by the grace of your greatness,” Ephreim said humbly. He meant it. He was thoroughly Azrael’s creature.
“Shut up with your platitudes,” Azrael said, still very angry. “As if they were anything of worth to me.”
Azrael gestured to one of the Guard, and they came forward quickly. He said something in low tones, and the guard nodded smartly and turned on his heel,
walking off. Ephreim watched the exchange uneasily.
“My lord. . .” he risked, looking back to see Azrael scowl in response.
“Quiet,” Azrael snapped.
They stood still for several moments, and the guard arrived back with another creature in chains. This one bore the gray and white robes of the Citadel and had clearly been beaten to within an inch of its life. The guard threw him down at Azrael’s feet.
“Stand up,” Azrael commanded, and when the creature failed to do so, Azrael took his sword and thrust it into its left shoulder. The creature cried out but refused to stand.
“Does this beast wish to die?” Azrael asked, and the court laughed evilly below. Yet still, this creature refused to yield. “Vessel, I asked you a question!” Azrael stabbed it in the other shoulder before allowing an opportunity for response. He was rewarded by another cry of pain as the vessel fell backwards, writhing.
“While you were off, failing yet again in your task,” he said, looking angrily at Ephreim, “the informant handed this creature over to receive our hospitality. Tell me, beast,” Azrael said, kneeling down low, “how does it find the comforts of our beautiful city? Have we been treating it in the kingly fashion it so deserves?” This was met with more laughter from the beings assembled in the court. The creature moaned, laying on its back, shaking from pain. “Does it wish for us to give it a pillow? Perhaps a nice cup of wine?”
Once the laughter died down, Azrael flicked a hand at the guard. Two came forward and pulled the creature up to its feet.
“What does the Council want with the girl?” Azrael growled, wasting no further time toying with the creature before it. When it still refused to speak, Azrael punched it roughly in the stomach. The creature doubled over, gagging.
“I will never tell you anything!” he shouted, shaking from weakness and blood loss.
Azrael shrugged and walked behind the creature, grabbing roughly at one of its wings and laying the flat end of the blade on the back of his shoulder, far enough forward to reach the creature’s line of vision and clarify it what he intended to do.
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