Flaming Dove

by Daniel Arenson

  He helped her to her feet, and she stood shakily.

  "She would have killed you if I hadn't done it," Beelzebub said. "She'd kill you if she knew the truth." The torchlight danced in his black armor and dark eyes.

  "And what is the truth?" she said, struggling to make her voice stern, though her throat was still parched.

  "That we care for each other," he said. "You and I. Maybe even love each other."

  She blew out her breath in frustration, tears still on her lashes. "I feel nothing toward you but hate, pity, and scorn that your wife rules you so, that you dare not defy her. I never imagined that the King of Hell would let himself be henpecked."

  He looked into her eyes, no anger in him. "I'm sorry," he said. "That's all I can offer. I imprisoned you here to save you from Zarel, and my apology is all I can give."

  "So why do you unchain me now?"

  He took her hand and began leading her upstairs out of the dungeon. She moved slowly, weak, her legs shaking.

  "I sent Zarel south to train an army to reclaim the neighborhoods we lost in Jerusalem. She went gladly, hoping she might get a chance to kill Laila. If there's anyone she wants to kill more than you, Bat El, it's your half-sister."

  Bat El glared at him. "Laila will not die easily. I hope she kills Zarel."

  Beelzebub sighed. "You know what? Sometimes I do too."

  They reached the top of the stairs and entered the fort's main hall. Afternoon light streamed through the windows and Bat El shut her eyes. I'm like Laila now, she thought. The sunlight burns me.

  It was good to know that Laila still lived. Bat El had never seen much of her younger sister. When Laila had been born, Bat El was very young herself, only just blossoming into womanhood in Heaven's meadows. She remembered holding the tiny, screaming baby with bat wings and fiery eyes. Laila's skin had turned red in the godlight, and she had not stopped screaming until Bat El suggested bringing the child down to Earth.

  Armageddon had just begun in those days, and Earth rose in flame, millions of angels and demons destroying it in war. Bat El had wanted to take Laila down to the world herself. "I need to look after her," she said. Yet her father had refused. Gabriel had taken Laila down to Earth, where the baby's skin healed and she finally stopped weeping. The archangel placed Laila in Raphael's care, hoping that the great healer could cure the evil within her.

  Instead, Laila escaped when she was only six, starting her long, lost exile. Standing in the fort's hall, Bat El dared open her eyes, though the light still burned her. She looked at the wall where Michael's portrait had once hung. The demons had removed it, but Bat El could still see the painting in her mind.

  "Look after her, Michael," she whispered. "Please, God, protect my sister."

  Beelzebub let her bathe then, and gave her fresh clothes and a hairbrush, and fed her grilled vegetables, cheeses, breads, olive oil, and wine. By evening, Bat El felt more like her old self, but worry for Laila, Michael, and the others still gnawed on her.

  "Zarel converted your chamber into a guard tower," Beelzebub said when night fell. "Come with me. Let's get some sleep." He led her down a hallway into a chamber that held an oak bed, a desk, and a nightstand topped with candles. Through stone windows, Bat El could see the sea.

  "I think this used to be Michael's bedroom," Beelzebub said. "I've made it my own. The bed is comfortable enough for what you'd expect to find in an old fort. It's large enough that we can share it, at least until Zarel returns."

  Bat El began to walk away. "I will not share a bed with you."

  "Wait, Bat El." She paused and turned back to face him. "No funny stuff," he said. "I promise."

  She shook her head. "You sleep on the floor."

  "Why should I have to sleep on the floor?"

  "Then take me back to the dungeon," she said.

  Beelzebub sighed the deepest sigh Bat El had ever seen. He began taking off his armor. "Fine. But I get the blanket, then."

  He lit a candle, and soon Bat El lay on the large oak bed. Beelzebub lay on the floor by her, covered in the blanket, his breathing deep and rhythmic. Bat El lay still, watching the candle. It had been so long since she lay in a real bed, and it felt heavenly, but she could not sleep.

  "Beelzebub?" she whispered. "Are you awake?"

  He did not respond, and the blanket rose and fell as he slept. Bat El shut her eyes and tried to count sheep, but the sheep became demons in her mind. An owl hooted outside, and Bat El started. She rolled onto her side and hugged herself. She was cold. Why did I let Beelzebub keep the blanket?

  She stepped out of bed to close the shutters, and saw bats flying outside like tiny shades. She shivered, closed the shutters, and returned to bed, but could not sleep. Instead she found herself watching Beelzebub's blanket rise and fall, rise and fall, like the waves outside the window.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, Bat El told herself as she crept out of the bed to lie beside Beelzebub on the floor. He seemed not to wake as she wriggled under the blanket to lie against him, her head on his chest, her limbs wrapped around him. She lay against him, warm, hating herself. She could kill him in his sleep, she knew. She could grab his sword from the wall and drive it through him. I could end this war right now.

  Yet she only cuddled against him, eyes moist. She hated herself. She was weak. She was a betrayer of Heaven.

  She was in love with Beelzebub.

  * * * * *

  "It's time to invade Hell," Laila told Michael.

  The two walked over the ruins of Jerusalem, bricks and dust and pebbles under their boots. Volkfair walked by Laila's side, black and silent. Around them, angel troops moved about the wreckage, raising tents, digging trenches, clearing rubble. Since Zarel had destroyed the church, leveling half the neighborhood with it, Heaven had been fortifying these streets. Not much was left—only ruins and bodies—but it was enough. With Zarel fled, her demons dead, Heaven's forces were spreading across the city, conquering street after street. Soon Jerusalem would be theirs.

  But for how long? Laila wondered. It was only a matter of time, she knew, until Zarel returned with the might and wrath of Hell.

  Michael shook his head, his lance tapping against the ruins as he walked, as if it were a staff. "That's why I lead this army, not you. Your mind is full of stupid ideas."

  Volkfair growled, and Laila patted him, soothing the wolf. "How long do you really think you can hold onto Jerusalem, Michael?" She stepped over a fallen column. "Zarel is already mustering an army to drive you out. For twenty-seven years, you and your brother have been slugging it out, and neither one of you is close to winning this world. If you want to win Earth, I must take over Hell, then retreat its armies. That was the deal, remember? You help me usurp Beelzebub, I retreat into Hell and give you Earth." She bared her fangs and her halo ignited. "It's time to take the battle to Beelzebub's home front. To hit him where he hurts. I must carve out a chunk of Hell and start claiming territory there, not just here on Earth."

  Two sparrows alighted on Michael, then fled when they saw Laila. The archangel watched them fly away. "You visited Hell once, as I recall. The hellfire boiled your angel blood, nearly killing you. The place is toxic to anyone from Heaven, even to half-angels like you. We might as well invade a sea of acid."

  Laila smiled. "Hellfire can be extinguished. Holy water can put it out. I plan to extinguish all hellfire when I take over."

  "There aren't enough buckets in the world to carry enough holy water into Hell," Michael said.

  "I don't need buckets. I'm going to dump an entire lake on them."

  Michael sighed. "Laila, have you been hitting the bottle lately?"

  "Well, yes, but that's beside the point. Look, Michael. Hell is nine circles, right? Limbo, the first circle, is just ten miles under the surface of the world. It's only about thirty miles long, another thirty wide. I've been there, Michael. It's a small circle, really just a portal into what lies below, but it can be enough. If I take over Limbo, I'll have a foothold in Hell, and then w
e can really get the ball rolling."

  Michael stopped walking and sat on a fallen column. He rubbed his neck. "Where in your crazy plan does this lake of yours come in?"

  She drew Haloflame, which hung over her back, and gave it a few whistling swings. "The Sea of Galilee. Jesus walked upon the water there, they say. The whole bloody lake is holy water. We carve a tunnel from the lakebed down into Limbo, and drain a cubic mile of holy water onto the bastards. That should put out the hellfire long enough to invade and take the place. It won't harm the rest of Hell, but if we can take Limbo, well...." She grinned. "Beelzebub would be pissed."

  "Laila," Michael said, "this is reality. Your idea is fantasy. To drain a lake of holy water onto Limbo would mean digging a sloping tunnel that's over twenty miles long and at least a hundred yards wide. Even if you had a thousand construction workers, it would take years."

  She sheathed her blade. "Oh, I think we can dig this tunnel in a day or two."

  "Not with a million shovels. If you had God himself digging, you wouldn't get it done in two days."

  She smiled crookedly. "I don't need God. I just need an old friend who owes me a favor." She spread her wings. "Muster a few divisions, Michael, as many as you can spare. I'm going to need them. I invade Hell in two days."

  With that she took off, flying north, the smile never leaving her lips.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Zarel flew over her army, bat wings flapping, surveying the troops. She had gathered them in the desert upon a rocky field, rows and rows of demons, glinting red under the cruel sun. Zarel herself burned as a second sun, surveying the shades, these troops of claws, fangs, horns, drooling grins. Five divisions she had gathered among the dunes, fifty thousand shades, a force greater than the world had seen in years. Five archdemons commanded the divisions, beasts the size of whales, their eyes and mouths dripping lava.

  Zarel licked her lips, grinning as she circled over the army. I'm coming to kill you, Laila, she thought. Twice she had almost killed the young half-breed. Nothing would stop her this time. With fifty thousand troops, she could overtake Jerusalem and kill Laila, maybe even kill Michael. Then this world will be ours. Then Beelzebub will have no more use for Bat El, and I can kill that girl too.

  Flames rose from Zarel's mouth when she thought of the angel, Gabriel's daughter. She clenched her teeth and shut her eyes, fiery tears just stinging at them. Why does Beelzebub hurt me so? Why can't he love me the way I love him?

  "I love you, Beelzebub," Zarel whispered as she flew. "I love you so much. Why can't I have your love for my own? Why must I share you?"

  She remembered their wedding in Hell. They had wed in the Ninth Circle, the deepest and hottest pit of Hell, in a tower of polished jet. All the fallen angels who still lived had been there. Moloch, the ruler of Limbo, had given them goblets of lava to drink, sealing the bond between them. It had been a strange day, Zarel remembered. Lucifer's grave had still been fresh, and Laila had just escaped into exile, the armies of Heaven and Hell hot in pursuit, scouring the world for the girl. Battles raged above ground, and the guests exchanged uneasy looks throughout the ceremony.

  "He still loves the half-breed," Mammon, the fallen angel of greed, whispered to Moloch that morning. Zarel overheard, but pretended not to, facing a wall to hide her tears. Beelzebub loves me, she told herself. And if he does not, he will learn to.

  She walked through the Ninth Circle that day, lost in her thoughts, gazing upon the rivers of lava and the columns of hellfire. Bred in the Ninth Circle was she, where all the greatest archdemons were forged—daughter of Angor, a great demon, a rising power in Hell.

  When she had been a child, fallen angels whispered around her that some day, she might grow to become a bride to Lucifer. "Some day," they would tell Angor, "your daughter will be queen." All her childhood, Zarel believed them, believed she'd grow up to marry Lucifer, and hated the thought. Lucifer frightened her. His eyes were always wroth, his grin always cruel. One day, the King of Hell had visited their home to speak with Angor. Zarel cowered in the corner that day, but emerged when her father commanded her to come forth, to serve wine to Lucifer, to curtsy before him.

  Zarel served Lucifer the wine, but did not curtsy, more because fear paralyzed her than any show of defiance. Angor wanted to beat her, but Lucifer only laughed and caressed her flaming hair. "Sweet, demonic child," he said and kissed her scaly cheek.

  That night, Zarel dreamed that she was married to Lucifer, forced to serve him wine, to endure his caresses and kisses. That nightmare haunted her for years. She had always thought that Beelzebub, Lucifer's lieutenant, was far more handsome. The fallen angel—brother to Michael—often visited their home to speak with Angor, and always brought her presents: glowing firegems, blades of rippled steel, or animal skulls filigreed in gold. He had always been her favorite among the fallen angels.

  "I've always loved you," she whispered, watching the fifty thousand demons below in the desert. "I've loved you all my life."

  How she had rejoiced when Beelzebub killed Lucifer and proposed to her! Blinded with joy she had been. Let the fallen angels whisper that he still loved Laila. Let them whisper that she was only a consolation prize. Beelzebub would learn to love her like he loved Laila, Zarel told herself over and over.

  He had made love to her the night after they married, in flame and passion and screams that made his fortress tremble. The next morning, he was gone to Earth to fight his war, to fight against his brother Michael. They rarely spent nights together since.

  "Do you love me?" she asked him countless times, and he said he did, and she believed him, could see the love in his eyes. When they made love, he loved her, she knew. He confessed his love over and over in bed, when she ignited the flames within him. So why did he cheat on her? Why did he seek pleasures so often with other women?

  "That is just his way," Moloch once said to her when she came to him for consolation, tears on her cheeks. "You can't change him, Zarel. He is thousands of years old and set in his ways."

  "I thought I could change him," she said to Moloch in his fortress in Limbo, the First Circle of Hell. "I thought he would be only mine."

  Moloch, dressed as always in his black cape and scale armor, had poured her more wine. "Back when we were in Heaven, Beelzebub wouldn't let anyone tame him, not his older brother, not God. He and Lucifer were the wild ones among us. Do you know, even in his angel days, Beelzebub couldn't curb his appetite. He'd sneak down to Earth with Lucifer, sometimes with Michael and Gabriel too, and go chasing human girls. God, he loved the human women. I lost count early of how many he knew." Moloch shook his head, his long black hair swaying. "He does love you, Zarel, but he is Beelzebub, and Beelzebub he will remain. My advice to you is to bear it and not try to change him. Be grateful that he loves you, that he made you his queen, and stand by him. There is nothing else you can do."

  But there was something she could do, Zarel knew. She could hunt down her husband's paramours and kill them. One day, not long after they married, Zarel learned of a human girl, only sixteen years old, who Beelzebub had found on Earth and impregnated. The girl was one of the few humans left in those years, a survivor who lived in a hovel somewhere in Europe. Zarel had heard demons who served with Beelzebub speak of the girl, and she left Hell, found the girl, and clawed out her throat.

  I'll do the same to you, Laila, Zarel swore as the demon army hissed and howled below. And she knew that Beelzebub was sleeping with Bat El too. She could see it in her husband's eyes. I'll kill both sisters. Soon enough, there will be no humans or angels left in this world. Then Beelzebub will finally be just mine.

  * * * * *

  Laila flew over the Holy Land, out of Jerusalem, heading north over the wooded Carmel Mountains. Thin clouds covered the sky, veiling the sun, and the air was cold up here. Laila's cloak did little for warmth in the sky, and she found herself wanting a hot campfire, a fresh kill, and Volkfair by her side.

  Why did I ever get involved in this war? As
she flew, Laila reached over her back and caressed Haloflame's hilt. Because she was so powerful, many assumed that she loved to fight, that she was a bloodthirsty warrior, a terror. Nobody knows that all I really want is some peace, a nice fire, maybe a good book if I can find one.

  Laila regretted flying. She should have walked, or maybe found an old car she could repair and drive. That way she could have brought her wolf. She missed him. Soon she could see the Sea of Galilee ahead, where Angor waited, and Laila suddenly feared to see him.

  I'm tired of facing demons and angels. I'm sick of it all. I just want to drink and sleep. It had been too long since she'd drunk herself unconscious. During training with Michael, she had no time to think, to feel anything but weariness, and now, her training complete, the old anguish crept back in. I'm scared to invade Hell, she realized. She was scared to see Angor again, scared that Zarel was hunting her, scared that Bat El was in danger, maybe dead. Why do I always have to be so afraid?

  There was a town by the lake, Laila remembered, long abandoned by humans, a place where she sometimes camped when wandering the north. During her exile, she had spent many days wandering these northern hills, miles from Jerusalem. When she spotted the ancient town, a heap of ruins that dated back to biblical times, finally destroyed in Armageddon, Laila began to descend. I'll face Angor soon. First I need a drink.

  She landed in the hilly town between stone houses. Silent, her sword over her back, she wandered down the cobbled alley. Between the buildings, she could see the rest of the ghost town sprawled over the hills, a mix of ancient buildings and newer structures, some toppled, others burned by old fire. Few humans lived here, she knew, only a handful of survivors who locked themselves indoors most of the time. Stray cats and dogs raced across the weedy streets as she walked, fleeing her.

  The cobbled alleys were so narrow, the roofs of the ancient houses almost touched. Hundreds of these streets snaked over the hills, an undulating landscape of broken cobbles, crooked homes, ancient temples, and wild pines. Several goats wandered the town, and Laila even glimpsed a skinny human child flee down a street and disappear through a doorway. The town was silent, the only sound the birds and goats. In the distance beyond the hills, Laila glimpsed columns of fire and smoke; armies of angels and demons warred there.