by SM Reine
Raphael, the great healer, placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Answer me, Michael. How are you?”
Michael turned to face Raphael, youngest of the three brothers. Those brown eyes of his always look so sad, Michael thought. “I’m fine. You worry too much.”
“You are tired.”
“I’m a soldier. Soldiers get tired. We keep fighting, even so.” Michael shook his head. Raphael was a healer, a divine being of piety and peace. He, Michael, was lord of God’s hosts, the ultimate warrior. We will never understand each other, he knew.
Even as children, thousands of years ago, the brothers never got along. Michael, the oldest, the responsible one. Beelzebub, the middle child, reckless, the prankster, the trouble child. Raphael, the youngest, studious and reflective. Sometimes Michael couldn’t believe the three shared blood. In their youth, Beelzebub was always sneaking down to Earth and getting into trouble, Raphael would lose himself in meditation and prayer, and he—Michael—was always the one to take care of things, to look after his younger siblings. Looking down over the ruins, Michael lowered his head. Yet I was never able to look after Beelzebub. I was never able to help that one.
“We have wine back in the camp,” Raphael said, holding his staff, gazing down upon the ancient walls and houses, these structures that had stood for two thousand years. “There is honey bread too, and figs. Join us, Michael. Your troops will be glad to see you. There will be no more fighting until dark.”
Michael sighed. “I’m thinking. I can think here during the day. It’s quiet.”
“Wisdom flows from our hearts,” Raphael said softly, “from our faith, from the godlight within us, from God’s grace. Leave thinking to the devil.”
Michael couldn’t help but smile despite himself. “The devil is in this land. God is up in Heaven. So let me do my thinking.”
Raphael pulled a flask from his robes. He handed it to Michael. “A shot of spirits, at least?”
Michael sighed. “You do know me.” He took a swig—perfect smooth rye—then handed the flask back to Raphael, who took a nip of his own.
The spirits warm in his stomach, Michael looked back down toward the ruins. Every house there hid a demon, he knew, and underground... under those cobblestones and fountains...
“He’s down there, Raphael,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, never removing his eyes from the city. “Underground, he carved himself a network of tunnels and chambers. He waits.”
Raphael took another swig from his flask and handed it back to Michael. Michael drank again, the spirits burning down his throat. I needed that drink. For a moment the two archangels gazed below, the only sound the distant waves.
“Can you defeat him?” Raphael finally asked.
“I don’t know,” Michael said. “He’s a big one, and old.”
Staring down to the city, he could imagine the archdemon hidden, sleeping underground, burning in the tunnels. It had carved those tunnels twenty years ago, made a home under Caesarea, and stayed there, waiting, claiming the city. For twenty years, he kept us out, Michael thought. They needed the city. They needed this town between north and south, a town linking sea and dunes, a town where demons festered, growing stronger every night.
“I know what you’re thinking, Michael, but it won’t work.” Raphael lowered and shook his head, long dark hair waving in the breeze. He held his staff tight, his robes flapping.
“She’ll do it,” Michael said.
Raphael shook his head again, more firmly this time. “Laila will not go underground for you. Not for all that’s in Heaven or Hell would she do this, would she face what lurks there.”
Michael gazed upon his armor, his lance, these things of war. “That’s what you don’t understand, Raphael. She doesn’t care for anything in Heaven or Hell. She cares for Earth.”
Raphael sighed and shrugged his wings. “An Earth still unclaimed by Hell or Heaven, maybe. An Earth where one side wins would become inhospitable to her. It’s either hellfire or godlight then. Either one would burn her.”
The sun had begun to set as they talked, golden upon the waves beyond the ruins. Its light kindled the cobbled streets, weedy walls, the aqueducts, the crumbling amphitheatre. Soon darkness would fall. Soon their time would come. Michael shielded his eyes with his palm, staring down at the ancient city, seeking some movement, some sign of them.
“It can spew lesser demons at will,” he whispered. “It sends them up through cracks in the street. Have you ever seen it, Raphael? It’s like a great reptile, of wings and smoke, flames in its eyes and nostrils.” Only twice had this archdemon risen to strike at them, both times destroying their forces. Most days just its presence, its evil and its servants, kept them at bay. Its name was Angor, and it was among the oldest horrors of Hell.
“No, I’ve never seen it, nor do I wish to,” Raphael said. “I’ve seen the bodies of angels it killed, bodies even I could not resurrect. I know what it can do. If you send Laila to it, it will kill her too. This is a being beyond even her power.”
Michael nodded and folded his wings around him, suddenly cold. “Perhaps.” Sometimes—most times, these days—Michael thought he should bite the bullet, go underground, and face the being himself. But he knew that he could not risk his life; not he, commander of God’s hosts. If he should perish, who would lead Heaven’s armies? If he died underground, it would be too great a triumph to Beelzebub.
Michael sighed. Yes, that was it... just prudence. He needed another drink. One of these days, I might have to just go underground and do it, and risk be damned.
Unless... unless, of course, he could still get Laila to do the dirty work for him.
“There are only two beings on this planet who could face Angor and possibly, just possibly, survive,” Raphael said, those eyes endlessly sad, as always. “One is you, Michael. The other, yes, is Laila. But before you send the child to her death, Michael, look long and hard into your heart.”
With that, the great healer, Raphael the archangel, stepped off the column and walked down the hill, moving back to the barracks. Left alone to gaze upon the ruins, Michael nodded, the wind in his curls.
We’re going to need to get Laila over here.
+ + +
Bat El lay in bed, just about to drift into sleep, the first feathers of dreams tickling her, when the commotion began. Outside, she heard angels shouting and armor clinking, and soon the alarm bell rang in the tower, clear ringing that filled the fort, pounding against Bat El’s temples.
“Back, devil!” an angel shouted outside. It sounded to Bat El like the voice of a young angel, new on Earth, frightened.
And what am I, if not a young angel new on Earth, frightened? Bat El wondered as she raced downstairs. I am Gabriel’s daughter. Yes, forever must I blaze bright to be seen in that shadow.
Shouting and running footfalls came from the fort’s main hall, and Bat El burst into the room. At the sight, she felt the blood leave her face. A score of angels from The Wrecking Balls platoon stood in one corner, pointing spears and swords toward the ceiling in the opposite corner. Their glow bathed the room in light, but could not penetrate a blob of shadows which filled that high corner. There, darkness clinging to her, Laila hovered, wings spread. In those shadows, the shadows that never left the half-demon, Laila’s eyes burned red and her fangs glistened. She seemed to hold something large in her arms, but it was hard to see in the darkness.
“Leave this place, daughter of demons,” Nathaniel demanded below, clutching his spear.
Laila fixed her eyes of flame on Bat El. “Sister dearest,” the half-demon said, “call off your troops, will you? I’ve killed several times tonight already, and I don’t feel like killing again.”
“Lieutenant!” Bat El barked, turning her gaze to Nathaniel. “Lower your spear. Angels! Disarm yourselves. Laila has not come here to harm us. If she had, you’d be dead by now.”
Cursing under his breath, Nathaniel obeyed, lowering his spear. The wingless angel prepared to sp
it, seemed to remember that he stood indoors in the presence of Gabriel’s daughter, and swallowed. He bowed his head curtly, his one eye staring at Bat El with a look that said, This time I obey, but never order me around again, and I don’t care who your dad is.
“You heard the Captain,” he grumbled, turning to his soldiers. “Lower your weapons, angels. The half-demon is welcome here tonight, it seems.”
The angels complied, lowering their spears, but kept a close watch on Laila. Bat El stepped toward her half-sister, arms outstretched.
“Laila,” she said. “Welcome.”
Laila hovered down from the ceiling, the shadows still wreathing her, and laid her burden upon the floor. Bat El finally saw what it was, and she gasped. Her sister’s wolf lay at Laila’s feet, his breath shallow, blood coating his black fur. Bat El covered her mouth with her hand, looked up at Laila, and saw that bloody tears covered Laila’s cheeks. Fear filled the half-demon’s fiery eyes, and claw marks ran across her shoulder, bleeding.
“Dear God,” Bat El whispered. Laila got herself into a fight again. It was a bad one this time.
“Can you do something for him?” Laila said, voice low, careful. She still didn’t trust this room full of angels.
Bat El knelt before Volkfair. The wolf gazed up at her with glassy eyes, and Bat El placed her hands in his fur. She shut her eyes, breathed deeply, and concentrated, letting her energy flow between the wolf and her hands.
She opened her eyes. “His life force and will are strong,” she said. Laila had retreated into the corner and covered her head with her hood. The glow of angels hurts her.
“I know,” Laila whispered, and Bat El could almost cry, for she heard godly love in the voice of her sister. Such love could only come from her angelic side. “He is a strong one, my dearest Volkfair.”
“I will do my best,” Bat El whispered with a tremulous smile, her own love filling her, love for her sad, outcast sister. She took a deep breath and focused, praying to God to heal this beast, to send godlight and grace into the creature. As she prayed, sending love and life into Volkfair, her skin and hair glowed, a soft glow of Heaven. Light pooled between her fingers.
Laila hissed at the light and pushed herself further into the shadows, turning her head away, so as not to look upon the glow. Her fists clenched at her sides. The godlight burns her demon blood, Bat El thought, but no demonic blood filled Volkfair. All wolves were God’s creation, Bat El knew, smiling as she passed her hands through the black fur, as the wounds closed, as light and life filled Volkfair’s eyes.
The wolf rose to his feet, shook his fur, and licked Bat El’s palm. His yellow eyes gazed at her, and Bat El wondered how she had once so feared the creature. A look passed between them that told Bat El that now, and forever, the wolf would be her friend.
Laila stepped forward, still shielded in her cloak and hood, and Volkfair moved to stand by her. Two warrior comrades together again, Bat El thought, and gazing into the shade of Laila’s hood, where red eyes burned, Bat El knew: There is more that she came here for.
“What is it?” Bat El whispered, for she saw somberness and horror she had never before witnessed in her half-sister.
Laila took a step forward and pulled the hood back from her head, her face pale and bloody, her eyes burning. “Take me to Michael,” she said.
+ + +
Zarel swooped down from the church clerestory, caught a demon that fluttered by, and pulled it to the floor. She tore out its throat with her fangs, then shook her head, splattering blood in all direction. She ripped into the dead body with her claws, tossed back her head, and howled into the darkness.
Standing in the pulpit, perusing a dusty old volume, Beelzebub flicked up his eyes. “Zarel, calm yourself,” the fallen angel said wearily. “Please.”
Zarel shot him a venomous glance and growled, drool and blood dripping from her maw. The blood was hot, fresh, igniting flames within her. The bloodlust burned through her, making her vision red, blurry. She hissed, smoke rising from her nostrils to veil her eyes.
Beelzebub shook his head with a sigh and brushed sparks off his breastplate. “We won’t have any demons left if you keep killing them.”
Three more demon bodies lay strewn across the church, shredded with fang and claw. “A thousand more demons fill this church,” Zarel said and licked her lips, savoring the taste of demon blood. Beelzebub could not understand, she knew; no fallen angel born of Heaven could truly understand a demon forged in hellfire. He could not understand how the flames forever burned in her. “I’ll kill as many as I like.”
“The only one you were to kill is Laila, and you failed,” Beelzebub said.
His words hit her like a slap. She screamed, her hair crackling and raising sparks, and leapt into the air. She smashed an old statue of a saint, shattering it, scattering stones across the floor. She leapt again, flipped through the air, and landed before Beelzebub, hissing, claws drawn. “The girl fled. I was close to killing her.”
“And yet she got away,” Beelzebub said, staring at her levelly. He was the only one who’d dare stare at her levelly. “Now step back, Zarel, or you’ll burn my book.”
Zarel lowered her head, feeling tears gather in her eyes to seep over her scales, bloody. “Why do you hurt me, my lord?”
Beelzebub sighed again and slammed the tome shut. Dust flew. He stepped down from the pulpit, approached Zarel, and embraced her. His old Roman breastplate, blackened from fire, felt cold against her. She tried to push him away, hissing, but he held her firmly. Finally she relaxed and leaned her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him. He smoothed her flaming hair with his clawed fingers.
“I love you, my husband, my eternal king,” she said.
“And I love you, Zarel, forever.” His wings wrapped around them like a cocoon.
“I failed you, Beelzebub. I let you down. I know.” Her eyes lit up; she could see their flames reflected in Beelzebub’s breastplate. “But I will not fail again. Send me on the hunt, and I will bring her back. When I’m done with her, she will be begging for death.”
Beelzebub shook his head, released his embrace, and stepped toward the altar. He placed his hands between the burning candles and leaned forward, as if lost in reflection.
“She will seek refuge with Michael,” he said, voice low. “It’s likely she’s in his camp already. If you fly into that fort, Zarel, you will not leave it alive.”
Zarel growled. Does Beelzebub doubt my strength? She felt rage fill her. She was among the greatest archdemons in Hell. I am Zarel, Queen of Hell. I fear no one. “I fought the legendary Laila,” she hissed, “and she fled from me. There are none among the angels with power enough to harm me.”
Beelzebub shook his head, the candlelight dancing on his armor. “You could beat Laila in a duel, here in my court. If you fly to her now, Michael will be with her, and Raphael. That’s Laila and two archangels, and thousands of troops surrounding them. Even you cannot take them on, Zarel.”
Zarel leapt onto the altar and slammed her fist down, raising a shower of wooden splinters, sending candles flying. “So you’ll just let her join Michael?”
“We don’t know for certain that she’ll join him.”
“She will, now that we tried to kill her. She knows you killed her dad, and she wants revenge. She wants your throne. If she joins Heaven, she could shift the tide.”
Beelzebub grabbed Zarel’s wrist, and she snarled and struggled to release herself, but could not. There were none whose strength eclipsed her own, except for Beelzebub, she knew. That is why I married you. That is why I love you. Still she struggled against his grasp, screeching, flames rising from her nostrils.
“First of all, Zarel, calm your temper. This church is our home now, and I’ll not have you destroy it. If you do not calm yourself, I’ll chain you to the floor again.”
She growled and hissed, snapping her teeth, trying to bite him, but he held her back. She knew her words had touched a nerve. She could see it
in Beelzebub’s eyes. He knows I’m right. Since Armageddon, Heaven and Hell had beaten each other into a bloody, uneasy standstill. With Laila returned, that would change. With Laila fighting for Heaven, Michael would gain the advantage. We cannot allow that.
“She is not untouchable,” Zarel said, smiling caustically, the demon blood still smearing her face. She could feel the cut Laila had given her lip, where her own blood had beaded. She made me bleed. Very few can do that, girl. She felt the exhilaration, the bloodlust, the power burn inside her. Finally she had an enemy worthy of her, someone to kill beyond these shades, these weak demons who filled their church. Zarel flapped her wings, rising into the air, tongues of flame dancing around her. “She can be killed, even now, even if she fled to the angels. And I will kill her, Beelzebub. Very soon, I will kill Laila.”
+ + +
Laila and Michael walked among the ruins of a human city, black and red ash hiding the stars. The night was silent, the only sounds their footfalls over rubble. Scattered fires burned among the ruins, vestiges of war, or maybe cooking fires of human survivors. It was hard to imagine any survivors in this town, Laila thought, gazing around. The place was a pile of bricks, twisted metal, and fluttering shreds of burnt cloth. As she stepped over a broken tricycle, her boots scattered the bones of a human child.
“A lovely place you brought us to,” she said, wrapping her cloak around her. Volkfair padded beside her, sniffing at the ruins, maybe smelling skeletons buried beneath the rubble. Dust flew around them.
“A private place,” Michael said. “We can talk here.” He stepped around the rusty frame of a burned bus. “It’s been a while, Laila,” he said, the godlight of his halo gilding his wings. “I’m glad to see you again. I’m sorry about what happened last time. I wanted to tell you that.”
Wincing in his glow, Laila swallowed and tightened her jaw. “I don’t need your apologies,” she said. She spotted a skull in the rubble and kicked it, sending it to clank over the ruins. Does he think that could make up for it? He dragged me into Heaven, claiming it could “heal” my demon side, saying I needed to visit my family, the home of my mother. The godlight had burned her then, and the song of harps drew blood from her ears. She had fled, hurt and frightened, until she fell from the clouds to crash into the sea, shivering. Laila clenched her fists. “Your words mean nothing to me now, Michael.”