Heaven’s Fallen
Benjamin Medrano
Heaven’s Fallen by Benjamin Medrano
© 2019 Benjamin Medrano. All rights reserved.
Contact the author at [email protected]
Visit the author’s website at benjaminmedrano.com
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Cover Art by Nguyen Uy Vu
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For my friends, my family, and my beloved.
Foreword
This book has surprised me at every turn. First, in getting as far as I did on it while working on my primary projects, then by taking twists and turns I didn’t anticipate. Heaven’s Fallen was spawned from several older story ideas I’d shelved, but which had some plot seeds which I wanted to use in the future. It appears that the future is coming sooner than I expected, though.
To be clear up front, Heaven’s Fallen isn’t completely self-contained. It’s going to be part of a trilogy, and there are going to be many unanswered questions at the end of it. The story is also dark in some ways, which shouldn’t be surprising when demons are major characters and it’s set in the hells.
I hope any of you who choose to read this enjoy the book. I certainly enjoyed writing it!
Benjamin Medrano
Prologue
Agony seared through Isalla as the wind whipped by her face in a dull roar that suppressed all other sound. Pain radiated from the numerous wounds she’d received, most notably from her back, but also from a half-dozen other wounds and the virulent poison that seeped through her body like dull flames. Worst of all was the collar around her neck, its spikes buried in her flesh as it slowly pumped more of the poison into her.
If Isalla still had her wings, she might be able to redirect her course somewhat, or even get help, but Haral had taken pleasure in severing them with a flaming sword that cauterized the wounds. The poison steadily weakened Isalla as well, and with the tendons severed in her arms and legs, her limbs were worse than useless for trying to change her course as Isalla fell from the clouds.
The fall was long, and if she could have, Isalla would have cursed the traitors who’d ambushed her. As she fell through the towering clouds, the light abruptly shifted, growing duller and more muted as the clouds changed. She’d left the heavens, Isalla realized, trying and failing to swallow her saliva. The traitors obviously didn’t want her dying in the heavens, as they’d dropped her in a location that connected to the mortal world. Anger rushed through her in waves, but the anger was threaded with fear. Fear of what Haral might be planning.
Yet there was nothing Isalla could do as she watched the clouds of the mortal world around her pass by, until they opened before her to reveal the approaching vistas of the ground below, from towering, green-swathed mountains to rolling plains with the glittering ocean in the distance. It was as she looked directly below her that Isalla’s fear grew yet again, for there wasn’t ground beneath her.
Directly below her was the heart of the mountain range, and the vast, cavernous cone of a volcano yawned open before her… yet one without lava within. The smoke rising from it came through yet another portal, and at last Isalla realized what Haral’s plan for her truly was. She’d fall through the gateway into the lower planes, into the very hells themselves, and there was nothing Isalla could do to stop it. If anyone used magic to look for her, it would appear as though she’d gone on a foolish crusade into the lands of their enemies.
Isalla struggled, trying to change her course, but her arms simply flapped uselessly at her sides as panic grew within her. She plunged into the sulfurous smoke, and she began to cough, agony spiking through her with every breath that passed. Unconsciousness would almost be a blessing, but it eluded her.
She fell into the volcano, helplessly watching as she closed on the portal, seeing the winding paths and roads which demons took into the mortal world pass by. She braced herself as best she could as she plunged through the ink-black portal, and into the sulfurous clouds of the hells.
The skies here were different than those of the heavens or the mortal world. The world was darker, with the skies a deeper crimson, while the clouds were nearly black. Below her, she could see the expanse of one of dozens of immense, magical mountains that pierced the sky of the hells and gave the demons access to most of the portals into the mortal world.
A magical gust of superheated air hit Isalla, and she grunted in pain as it caused her wounds to flare with agony again, her eyes watering as she was magically shunted away from the mountain and sent spiraling outward over the dark landscape.
At last, Isalla’s fall was nearing its end, and she felt her stomach tightening as she descended toward the ground like a falling star. At least the end would be quick, she hoped, though the sheer length of the fall had almost been worse than being killed by a demon. As she descended toward a huge forest, Isalla closed her eyes and braced herself for the end, anguish rushing through her at the thought that she’d never have the chance to stop the psychotic zealots who were in the heavens.
The impact of a branch against her shoulder sent Isalla spinning, and she tried to scream in pain, only to have it cut short by the collar. Isalla’s mind was swimming, the poison even hotter in her veins as she braced herself… then stopped.
“Now, just what do we have here?” a woman’s sultry voice asked curiously.
Isalla opened her eyes, barely retaining consciousness, and found herself hanging motionless in the air just a few feet from the rocky ground, streamers of purple light wrapped around her. She was in the middle of a forest of black trees, and she looked up at the speaker… and if anything, her terror grew even greater. And with it, something inside her snapped.
A woman stood nearby, the purple light extending from her fingers. She was beautiful, with pale skin and deep violet eyes, but it was the narrow purple horns extending from her brow and the swaying tail behind her that truly terrified Isalla. The robes the woman was wearing were black and shrouded much of her figure, but her hair shimmered almost like obsidian in the light as she looked at Isalla curiously, her purple lips pursed.
And then, as despair overtook her, Isalla lost consciousness at last.
Chapter 1
It was almost a surprise to wake up. Even more surprising to Isalla was that the pain which had been afflicting her had receded, and she couldn’t feel the venom at all. She was laying on something soft, and as she twitched a leg, she felt something silky over her. The somewhat rougher material around her neck and on her back concerned her, though, and she could smell something odd. It might be soup, but that seemed strange to her, so she opened her eyes just a crack.
The room she was in was small, so small that just opening her eyes she could see where each of the dark planks of wood on the ceiling reached the walls. Despite her natural ability to see in far less light than most people, Isalla had trouble making out the room, and she winced, opening her eyes fully as she shifted onto her side slowly, more surprised that she wasn’t tied down or otherwise restrained. She felt incredibly weak, which worried Isalla, but she frowned as she looked at the rest of the room.
There was a small wooden stool next to the bed, along with an end table, while the bed itself was barely wide enough for a single person. Between the table and the bed, the room was almost completely full, and Isalla’s gaze drifted to the door, and to the brass knob holding the door shut. The hinges were on the outside, and she couldn’t see a keyhole, which concerned her. She vaguely remembered seeing
a demon just before she lost consciousness.
Just as she was debating whether to try standing up, the door suddenly opened, and the warm light from outside the room caused her to flinch back. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light, was the same demoness. The woman’s eyes were hard to see, and she was holding a steaming bowl in one hand and a basket in the other. The woman looked at Isalla and smiled, not showing her teeth. The demon was terrifying, especially considering Isalla’s situation.
“I thought I sensed you waking. You’re a most unusual guest, and I must say that you made quite the entrance. If I’d been a moment later, it would have been too late for you,” the woman said, her voice oddly smooth and seductive as she set the basket on the table, along with the bowl. “I’ve never had an angel as a patient before, either.”
“G-get away from me!” Isalla exclaimed, her voice breaking slightly as her throat barely cooperated, sending a spike of both pain and fear through her as she tried to force herself up and back against the wall. “If you don’t, I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Drool on me?” the demoness asked mildly, folding her arms in front of her, an eyebrow arching curiously as she looked at Isalla, who flushed in embarrassment. “You’re so weak I believe most children could overpower you, but even so, if you keep straining yourself, you’re going to snap your ligaments again. With as difficult as it was to put them back together the first time, I might just leave them that way.”
“W-what?” Isalla asked, feeling distinctly off-balance, then she glanced down to see obvious bandages on her arms and wrists. With trembling fingers, she slid one aside to see the swollen flesh below it, along with the angry red line where the blade Haral had wielded cut through her skin. It was partially closed, and she looked up at the demoness in disbelief as she asked. “You… you healed me?”
“Angels,” the demoness muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she snagged the stool with her tail, pulling it into a better position, then sat down. “Yes, I healed you. I also kept you from making an enormous mess in the forest nearby when you landed. Now, lay down, hm? I need to see how your back is healing. Those were the worst of your injuries, and there’s nothing I could do to repair that much damage.”
“B-but… but you’re a demon. Why would you…” Isalla floundered, and her eyes widened as she thought of another possible motive. “You’re just going to sell me to some demon that’ll sacrifice me, won’t you?!”
“You angels are just so bigoted, aren’t you?” the woman replied, glowering at Isalla for a moment, then gestured at the door. “Fine. If you really want to accuse me of something like that, you can leave. I won’t stop you, though I doubt you’ll make it more than a few dozen feet or so in your condition. Never mind saving your life when I kept you from splattering across the forest floor, I also neutralized the toxin which was going to liquefy your muscles and heart before it could kill you, but I suppose this is the gratitude that I should expect from an angel.”
Isalla stared at the woman for a long moment, disbelieving, and yet at the same time she felt herself begin to calm down. Finally, she asked hesitantly. “Then you… you aren’t going to hurt me, or sell me? Why not? Isn’t that what demons do?”
“No, demons don’t do that. If we did, there wouldn’t be any of us left. Those who go to war, maybe, but not the common demons who live here from day to day. Do your people do nothing but perform work for others selflessly?” The demoness demanded, her voice almost cracking like a whip and causing Isalla to flinch. “As for doing anything to you? I could do anything I wanted to you right now, and you couldn’t stop me. You aren’t strong enough, and you’ve been laying in that bed for three days. I could’ve done anything I wanted to you or drugged you so that you wouldn’t be able to wake for as long as I liked. I chose to save your life because I’m the local healer, nothing more.”
Looking into the woman’s violet eyes, slowly Isalla began to realize the woman seemed to be telling the truth. The idea of a demon not wanting to hurt her or enslave her was… unbelievable. After the decades she’d spent fighting against demons, it was preposterous, and yet here she was, with one having rescued her from certain death and healed her. As much as Isalla’s instincts screamed that she should take the offer to run, she also knew the woman was right. Isalla’s muscles were trembling even after the threadbare effort she’d made to press against the wall. It was doubtful that she’d make it more than a few dozen paces out the door. Between that, her reactions, and everything else, Isalla’s cheeks flushed as shame began to overwhelm her.
“I’m… I’m not entirely certain I can trust you. Everything I’ve experienced says that I shouldn’t… but you’re right. I am weak,” Isalla admitted nervously, and slowly took a deep breath, then laid down carefully, her arms almost giving out beneath her. “It… you scare me. I’m sorry.”
“As nervous as the angels who cut the wings from your back?” the demoness asked, not touching Isalla yet, her eyebrows raised as she sat back, tapping the table with a single, violet fingernail.
“W-what? Why do you think angels cut… cut my wings?” Isalla gasped, her eyes widening and a thread of pain going through her as she instinctively tried to flex her wings, prompting the injuries to throb and anguish to rip through her.
“Oh, please. Your wings were perfectly severed right where they joined your back, cauterized such that they left no stumps. Furthermore, most demons have claws or fangs,” the demoness replied derisively, baring her teeth to reveal two sharp canines, though they weren’t that prominent, and continued as Isalla winced at her biting tone. “None of your injuries were from either, and considering the number of injuries you sustained, that beggars belief. I know most demons would be curious about how you’d taste, especially a young, beautiful angelic woman. Now, the poison… that is of demonic origin, but the method of administering it was foolish. The poison weakens in contact with iron, and they used iron spikes in the collar. No demon would use it that way. No, that means that whoever did this to you was either an angel or a mortal. The precision indicates angel.”
“You know a lot about this sort of thing,” Isalla replied, swallowing hard. She did consider trying to conceal who’d attacked her for a moment, just to keep it from a demon, but abandoned the impulse after a moment. “But you’re right, it was angels who hurt me.”
“Of course I am. I’ve seen about any injury the hells can inflict on someone over the centuries, so I’ve gotten used to identifying where the damage came from. Yours are a bit more unusual, but not unheard of,” the woman replied, carefully peeling one of the bandages on Isalla’s back away. It must have been attached with some type of adhesive, Isalla realized, cringing as she felt the air wash against the injury. “Hmm… they’re coming along fairly well, considering. I expect you’ll have scars, despite my herbs and how cleanly angels are said to heal, but at least they’re healing. The scars can always be dealt with later. I’m going to wash the wounds, then apply bandages again. Try not to move too much, or to try flexing your muscles. It could open the wounds again.”
“I’ll try, but it’s difficult,” Isalla replied hesitantly, watching the demon dip a cloth in the bowl, then gasping as the soft cloth ran over her back. It stung, but from the warmth she suspected the water in the bowl had been boiled recently. That was slightly reassuring, since it reminded her of what some angelic healers did.
“That which is good for you is rarely easy. Do try, though,” the woman replied, continuing to work, her movements surprisingly gentle.
For a long minute, the room was silent, and the angel felt herself relax marginally. Eventually, Isalla asked, “What did you mean about the poison? I didn’t really have a chance to know what it was doing…”
“That was a toxin called warrior’s end. It’s an extract of a particularly nasty plant from one of the jungles, and it causes the muscles of the victim to slowly atrophy and liquefy over the course of several hours,” the demoness replied softly, her words causing Isal
la to flinch in horror, but the woman continued speaking as she continued the treatment gently, then set aside the cloth and picked up another, along with a jar. “Some demon lords use it as a painful method of execution, as it leaves the victim looking wizened and old before their heart bursts. More commonly, it’s used to weaken particularly violent or strong prisoners or enemies. It isn’t easy to acquire, that much is for certain… it likely will take you months, at best, to regain your strength. You’re fortunate that I had the antidote, at least if you like living.”
“I am. That’s just a horrible poison to inflict on anyone,” Isalla said, cringing internally, then letting out a gasp of relief as the woman dabbed something cool onto the injuries, easing the discomfort radiating from them.
“It is. There’s a reason why I have the antidote. I try to always keep some on hand, just in case,” the woman agreed, spreading the liquid slowly. “I’m about done here, then we can get you something to eat, if you’d like.”
“That… would be appreciated,” Isalla admitted, feeling a little guilty about her suspicions. Even angels had to eat, and she hadn’t been terribly polite. She hesitated, then offered softly, “I’m called Isalla. What about you?”
“You can call me Kanae,” the demoness replied, pulling out some bandages. “Now, let’s get this done, shall we?”
There was something odd about Kanae, Isalla thought, and it wasn’t just that the demoness wasn’t trying to hurt her. It was something that Isalla couldn’t place, though, but for the moment she put it aside and tried to relax, even if her discomfort and fears made that difficult.
It wasn’t as though she could do anything else, yet.
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