Their eruption in the throne room caused a general chaos. They had burst from a side door into a crowd. Damon swore and maneuvered to turn and avoid trampling anyone. He managed to align the horses with the front doors. People threw themselves out of their path. He snapped the reins.
They burst from the palace. Damon immediately angled them to the side, where the stairs became soft inclines. They ran down and found themselves in the front gardens. He avoided the statues, the ponds, and the trees and found his way back to the main path.
The guards were on high alert. Further away, at the other end of the esplanade, dozens of men were pushing the gates closed.
“Hang on, you two,” warned Damon.
They did and grabbed onto him too. Damon barked an order, and the horses burst into a frantic gallop. They passed the temple, the library, the villas. People stared and pointed. The gates kept closing, but they were too big, too heavy.
They reached the outer wall and burst out of the palace grounds with a yell of victory.
Damon didn’t slow down until he reached the city. He took a side street, then another, and then a smaller one, until the chariot could not go further.
“What do we do, now?” asked Soromeh.
“They’ll be looking for a chariot, so they’ll patrol the larger streets,” said Damon. “Let’s continue on foot.”
They hid the chariot in an alley. Iram untied Damon’s wrists, while Soromeh dug into the travel bag. She grabbed two nomad tunics.
“Put it on,” she told Damon. “And by the gods, hide your hair.”
Iram removed his golden bracelet and placed it in the bag. When both Damon and Soromeh were dressed, faces and hair veiled, they started walking.
“Cicero?” called Soromeh.
Hermes appeared above them. Damon startled, grabbed Soromeh by the arm, and pushed her behind him.
“Calm down. He’s on our side,” she said. “I think.”
“That’s—that’s the god Hermes,” blurted Damon.
Hermes winked at him. Soromeh twisted out from Damon’s grab and stepped forward, to ask a question. She did not expect Hermes to hug her, lifting her from the ground in his enthusiasm.
“Little princess! What a show! What an escape! I haven’t seen anything like it in centuries!”
She kicked him. “Let me down!”
He did so and, immediately after, grabbed Iram’s shoulders to kiss him on both cheeks.
“Iram! Such courage! Such determination!”
“Cicero,” Soromeh tried to interrupt, “we need a place to lay low—”
“Go to the Hebrew neighborhood, I know a family that can hide you,” he said, distracted. “Sir Damon! The way you jumped in the chariot, hands tied—you had me swooning! You’re a hero of legend!”
Damon threw an incredulous glance at Soromeh. She ignored them both, grabbed Iram’s hand, and started walking.
Chapter 19
Gabriel’s Tears
Dewei opened his eyes. He was sitting at a wooden table. One hand held a quill; the other flattened a parchment. It was half covered in neat, tidy writing.
There was an identical table to his right, another to the left, rows of desks where hundreds of angels worked in silence. The walls were full of shelves holding books, scrolls, and tablets of clay and stone. There was too much light.
An angel sat in front of him. She was focused on a book, her dark hair in a simple braid. Her skin was too pale, thought Dewei. She had a warm bronze complexion that contrasted with her clothes, but she was still too pale.
“Naími?” he asked.
Her eyes flew over the page, her finger traced the words.
“...Terathel?”
She raised her head. Too pale, he thought again. Her nose was too small; her cheeks, too soft. Her mouth was too delicate. Her eyes looked the same but felt different.
“I think I found something,” she whispered.
“You shouldn’t search for such things,” he heard himself say. “You can’t doubt the words of the Archangels.”
“But sometimes their words make no sense,” she said. “I think I found it, Cassiel. I think I know where we come from.”
“No!” he shouted. “Terathel, stop your research. I’m begging you! Keep silent! You have no idea the pain this will bring you!”
She went back to her reading without hearing him. No other angel raised their head either.
“Please, stay silent,” he whimpered.
He begged her until he had no voice left. Eternity went by, and Terathel kept searching. Dewei could not change that.
He found himself in the Archangel council room. There was only Raphael, there, holding several books. Standing on the floor rather than sitting on his throne, he looked approachable. Kinder.
“Thank you for coming to me with this,” he said. “I will speak to Terathel.”
“Be merciful,” Dewei said. “Please.”
“Dangerous ideas have to be nipped in the bud before they have the chance to spread. You acted for the greater good. The Lord will be thankful.”
Dewei closed his eyes. Terathel never came back. Her name had been forgotten by everyone.
When he opened his eyes, there was only darkness. He existed in a place where nothing was supposed to exist.
He was in Limbo.
At first, he panicked, but frustration won over. He found no sense in what had just happened. Limbo was emptiness, eternal lack of life. Where immortals went to die.
And yet, he was here. And so was the guilt he brought with him, filling the void.
He tried once more. “Terathel?”
Silence.
“...Naími?”
The cries of a child. He wanted to turn around to look for them, but they came from everywhere and nowhere at once. He focused on the sound and found himself in a tiny house with clay walls.
A woman was yelling. A child was crying. The woman’s words were unintelligible. She pulled her child by the hair and threw her on the straw pallet. Took a leather rope and started whipping. The child curled into a ball, hid her face in her hands, yelled at the top of her lungs.
“Shut up!” howled the mother. “Stop crying!”
Dewei stood there. He couldn’t speak; he couldn’t move.
The scene shifted. The child was still curled in a ball, this time next to a dusty path. Her skin was bruised, her eyes dry. She was older.
He leaned down, for he could move again. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she recoiled like a wild animal.
“We need to get her out of there,” said Harouk, behind him.
“We should speak to her mother,” said Silas.
“She’s the one who left her like that!”
“We can’t steal a human child.”
“It would be easy to—”
“Silence,” ordered Dewei. “She’s scared.”
He looked at her. In his memories, Naími was terrified. This one was furious.
He had found her.
Like he had brought his guilt, Naími had brought her pain. He could feel it, oppressing, all around. Even now, on the silent path, he could hear the yells, feel the agony of a light too bright to bear.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn't have betrayed you. I shouldn’t have spoken to Raphael. I shouldn’t—”
“It’s too late,” she interrupted with the voice of a child. “Why are you here?”
“I promised I would find you.”
“…You did. Are you going to stay?”
“If you want me to.”
He sat down. She kept her eyes on him for a long time.
“And if I don’t want to stay here?” she asked.
“Then I’ll go with you.”
She pushed herself up and folded her long awkward legs in a scribe position, mirroring his.
“I don’t want to stay,” she said again. “There’s my mother, over there. And that way, there’s the light. But this, here, this is the day you three fo
und me. It doesn’t hurt as much.”
He frowned. “What light are you talking about?”
“That’s where the Archangels imprisoned me,” she whispered. “In a place where the light is so harsh that it burned my wings. I could see it even if I closed my eyes. They said I had to face the power of the Lord, that it would teach me the truth, that it would bring me back on the right track.”
“I won’t let them have you again.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I promised I would find you, and I’m here.”
After a long moment, she raised her arms, slowly, afraid to ask. Like the first time, he held that child and swore to protect her.
Around them, the memory went on.
“Do you want me to carry her?” asked Harouk.
Dewei shook his head. She was too thin and too frail. He would feed her more, would spend years cooking red meat, but he knew she would never lose that scrawny silhouette, that there would never be fat over the taut muscles, that her elbows would remain too pointy and her cheeks too hollow.
He wanted to rewrite everything, forget the mission, and simply let her live and love and run.
“It’s too late,” she said, once more. “Get me out of here.”
“Where should I go?”
“Just walk. We’ll get there eventually.”
He walked.
* * *
The sun was setting over the Egyptian capital. All through the city, people returned from work and spent time with family and friends. But the Hebrew neighborhood was silent. People spoke in whispers, hiding inside, doors locked and lamps extinguished.
The patrols had multiplied overnight. They picked houses at random, forced their way in, and searched every corner. Sometimes they found young children, hidden in chests, under the straw, in the walls. The soldiers grabbed them, killed them in front of their families, and threw their small bodies in the river.
At first, people fought back. After many, many deaths, they stopped. Now they lowered their heads when the patrols walked by.
Hermes flew over the neighborhood, feeling powerless. He approached a house, similar to all others, with its roof half covered by a canopy made of banana leaves. Soromeh sat on a straw pallet, brushing her hair. Damon, dressed and covered like a Hebrew man, monitored the streets. Only his eyes were visible, and that was already too much.
Hermes landed and became visible to humans. Damon immediately unsheathed his sword. Soromeh threw her comb.
“Stop appearing out of thin air!” she yelped.
Hermes picked up the comb. “Please forgive me, little princess. I forgot how nervous humans can get. This entire part of town is on high alert.”
“It’s understandable,” said Damon. “Not a day goes by without the patrols killing one of their children. It’s a matter of time before they find Amram and Yocheved’s.”
They found nothing to say. Soromeh went back to brushing her hair. Hermes raised an eyebrow.
“Still not done? You started before I left.”
“It’s harder without the oils,” she grunted. “I need to braid it, after, but I only have leather ties to fix it in place instead of combs.”
“I thought the women of Egypt wore wigs, to be honest.”
“Most of them do, yes. You get bugs and ticks if you don’t take constant care of it, so they shave it off and wear wigs. Most of them don’t have an army of servants to help them every morning.”
“But you don’t have that anymore, little princess. Why not cut it?”
She raised her chin. “They took everything from me. They won’t get my hair.”
She started brushing with renewed anger. Hermes let her and approached Damon, who bowed.
“Sir Damon, you don’t have to do this every time.”
“You are a god of Mycenae. I will give you the respect you are owed.”
Hermes took off his hat and imitated the bow, with a touch more sarcasm. “Then I should bow to you since you’re a prince in these lands.”
“I’m not a prince in these lands anymore, so you can stop that, please—”
“But then, you are also a prince in my lands! You are heir to the throne of Mycenae, am I right? Your eldest brother rules. You could easily overthrow him and claim the throne.”
At that point he had forgotten all about bowing and teasing, overcome with curiosity. Damon turned away and looked at the northern horizon. Hermes thought he looked the part of a tragic prince, standing tall and proud, his uncovered blue eyes wearing the weight of the world.
“I love Egypt, and I love her king,” he said. “But both betrayed me and chased me out of my home. I need to think of Soromeh.”
“Come to Mycenae,” tempted Hermes again. “I have quiet regions under my protection, a piece of littoral land covered in olive trees. The little princess could run wild. There’s only a fisherman village nearby. No kingdoms to rule or kings to fear. You would be at peace.”
Damon could almost feel the sea breeze. He was brought back to the present by Iram appearing on their street, walking fast. He climbed the exterior stairs to join them on the roof. Soromeh dropped the comb and threw herself at him.
“You said before sunset!”
He kissed her brow. “Apologies, my Soromeh. I hurried, but it’s hard to avoid the patrols.”
“Do you have any news?” asked Damon.
“Only bad ones, sire. All the roads are watched. The guards interrogate all Hebrews, but also all foreigners. They’re looking for Soromeh and yourself.”
“What about the river?”
“Even worse. All boats who leave the city are inspected. They imprison anyone who is caught hiding fugitives or children. There’s a rumor that some can still be convinced, but the prices are high.”
“We have enough to pay for our passage, but not to bribe the guards as well.”
“We can’t stay here much longer,” said Soromeh. “Yocheved and Amram have enough trouble hiding their kid. They would be thrown in prison if a patrol found us too.”
Tomorrow, whispered a voice.
Soromeh turned around. There was no one behind her. The others did not seem as if they had heard anything.
“Tomorrow?” she repeated.
“It’s possible,” said Damon. “Iram can find us a passage in the morning, and we can use the chaos at the end of the day to reach the Nile.”
“Soromeh?” asked Iram.
“No, it’s nothing. I just thought I heard a voice,” she said. “I’m all for leaving soon. Waiting makes me nervous.”
She went back to brushing her hair but couldn’t get rid of a bad feeling.
* * *
Harouk woke up underwater.
He panicked and beat his legs and wings frantically. Hands grabbed him by the arm and pulled him upright, until his feet touched the ground. He stood, both head and shoulders above the surface.
He took a moment to gather himself. At first, he thought he was under the night sky, but realized that the stars were actually glowing insects on the ceiling of a cavern. Their blueish light reflected on the tranquil waters of an underground lake.
“Harouk.”
He turned and saw Silas, who raised both hands in peace. Harouk immediately called for his sword, but nothing appeared. He tried to lunge himself at him but had to stop after two steps, exhausted.
“I’m not your enemy,” said Silas.
“You… you… Dewei…”
Harouk tried to gather his breath. His limbs and wings were too heavy.
“Dewei needed to get into Limbo to find Naími.”
“Why should I believe you? You obey Michael!”
“You’re wrong. He’s not the one I serve.”
He pointed to a small island in the middle of the lake. There was an angel kneeling there, head lowered. Harouk couldn’t see who it was in the darkness but recognized the alabaster carafe in her hands.
“Gabriel?” he muttered. “What is she doing here?”
The Celestial Conspiracies Page 29