The Fallen

by R. L. Drummond

  The boy’s breath burst from him in tiny gulps, unable to bring any more air into his lungs, for the arrow that had burrowed so deeply into his chest robbed him of strength. He lifted a trembling hand and touched the black feathers with shocked numbness, his displaced mind finding the feathers so beautiful and glossy. He then stared up at the sky, unblinking yet still seeing and it seemed to him that he could feel everything around him, so tortured his body had become.

  When he heard the soft crunch of boots upon the grass, his already wide eyes widened considerably and for all that he wanted to madly scrabble away with the fear that had enveloped him in its icy grip, his body couldn’t move. All he could do was watch the bowman approach, his white hair blowing softly in the breeze and as he raised the murderous black bow once more, the boy held what little breath was left in him.

  Silver eyes flashed solidly as the deadly arrow thudded home deeply into the boy’s chest beside its twin and as Belial’s servant stalked forward with unblinking resolve, the life had already faded from the boy’s ruined body. A bloodless hand reached for the scroll held tightly in the boy’s grasp and with a single, harsh tug that ripped the messenger’s last duty from him, Belial’s servant hissed emotionlessly. He unfurled the scroll with economic precision, heedless of the blood that tainted the words upon it like the blood that stained the lush grass below.

  Belial’s champion read the message within and if he had had it in him he would have grinned triumphantly; for not only had he discovered his quarry’s location, but he had thwarted their plans. But only a single thought flared briefly in his mind as he turned and speared his lifeless eyes on the smoke that billowed thickly on the distant horizon: he had to tell his master of his findings.

  The man lowered his bow until its lower limb nestled softly among the tufted grass that hushed in the breeze and, with a slight bowing of his head, he reached inside himself into the pool of Dark that swirled a thick miasma of poison within his being. He felt the presence of his master then, his incredible Dark resonating deeply with the Dark he had gifted him with, and as the soldier’s quicksilver eyes glazed over blankly, he awaited the voice of his demon prince.

  In the roiling mist that was his master’s Dark, the soldier was granted a vision of flashing images that melded into the visage of Belial, surrounded by the harsh flare of firelight and ripping screams of terror.

  “Ah, my champion…” Belial said mockingly amid the cacophonous massacre that swarmed around him, his voice a whisper that echoed within the void of the soldier’s body, “You have news for me.”

  The soldier’s mouth cracked with the barest of hisses in acknowledgement, a small answer to Belial’s statement of confidence, and his soulless, silver eyes fell upon the courier’s message. Through his servant’s eyes Belial read the instructions within and wicked, jagged teeth flashed with feral victory in a dark grey face.

  “Your moment has come, old friend.” Belial said, “Go ahead to Dahlia and give Tellan the rendezvous he has asked for. Do what you must to keep the Asgardians distracted long enough for my arrival, but only engage them directly if there is no other alternative. Do not fail me on this…I must have my prize.”

  “Yes, Sire.” Belial’s champion hissed raggedly.

  The vision of Belial faded from the white haired man’s sightless eyes and as he stood straight once more, he rounded his shoulders and crushed the message in his fist. He carelessly pulled the arrows free from the boy at his feet and as he returned the deadly missiles to their brothers upon his back, silver eyes flashed across the hasty hoof prints that scarred the ground. The soldier left his kill behind without further thought and strode into the distance with a gait that suggested his stamina was boundless. But rather than head in the direction of his fleeing prey, he made for the trade road instead, instinctually knowing that even on foot, he would reach Dahlia in good time.

  And from the blazing pyre of what was left of The Cauldron, Belial turned with a grin as he remembered the sensation when his blade had severed Baldur’s head. How sweet a victory it had been; he could still feel the heat of the angel’s blood on his hands, the warmth of his Light as it had fled his body. Belial wished he could relive that moment again and again…

  But there would be others. He thought with a growl of anticipation as he passed his gaze over the remaining survivors of this filthy village, every one shrieking and fleeing from his bloodthirsty army that raged through them, Once I remove that fucking nuisance Jenko…Tellan will be mine.

  Tellan…oh how he would suffer before Belial set his Light aflame. He would keep him alive for as long as his mortality would allow, years, decades if he was careful. What suffering the angel would endure…he would break him and make him beg, make him his plaything until he had nothing left in him that could hold back the crashing force of the demon’s Dark.

  But first…he had to find the girl. Belial had been genuinely shocked when she had opened a gateway to make her escape back in Ilema, and he wondered if she had been aware of what she was doing at the time. Either way it confirmed to him that she could be pressured into using the gift that he needed, that he desired for himself.

  And soon, Belial thought as he mercilessly thrust his demonic long sword into the cowering villager that whimpered at his feet, the realms will finally become mine.

  The merchant city of Dahlia sprawled along the dusky horizon like the open jewellery box of a princess, its resplendent towers, glistening domes and twinkling waters more wondrous to Reya’s astonished eyes than her guardians’ descriptions. The haze of what had been a humid afternoon shimmered the spires that pierced the sky imposingly, so tall and slender that Reya could imagine they really did reach the heavens. Every weary clop of horse’s hooves brought them closer to this magnificent spectacle, and with the breeze that hushed delicately through their clothes and hair came the scents of exotic spices Reya had never smelled before. She smiled in awe as they passed beneath Dahlia’s enormous and elaborate entry archway, its stonework not only hewn into perfect smoothness, but intricately decorated with thousands upon thousands of gilded cherubim that gazed adoringly down at the travellers. Reya gasped at its incredible splendour as they led the horses along the main road of Dahlia’s bustling commerce and, as she turned back around in the saddle with another gasp of wonder, her eyes darted among the sea of faces that greeted her.

  Tellan chuckled at her awed expression as she drank in every detail, her eyes so big that they could have fallen out of their sockets. Reya marvelled excitedly at how different everyone was; she had no idea people could have skin of such different colours, and the voices with which they spoke sent her ears spinning with curiosity. She wondered what they said to one another as they walked along – some voices musical and lilting, some rapid and guttural – and the more she studied these people, the more she realised that some spoke with a common tongue that was still alien to her ears.

  “What language are they speaking?” She asked Tellan eagerly, even while her eyes still darted along her surroundings with childlike awe.

  “There isn’t a name for it, not really.” Tellan answered affectionately as the two Asgardians carefully negotiated their horses down the well maintained road, “The merchants use it for business, and I suppose the people who have come to live here adopted it themselves.”

  “It’s made up?”

  “You could say that.” He said and as Reya turned her open mouthed face towards him, he shrugged and continued, “So many people from different places come here, all of them with their own languages and customs. You can’t make a sale if you can’t understand someone, so it makes sense when you think about it.”

  “Can you speak it?”

  “A little, but not as well as Jenko. He’s had more experience in…business transactions than I have.”

  Reya’s head instantly whipped around eagerly and asked Jenko beside them, “Will you teach me?”

  Jenko laughed at her naïve exuberance, “Someday, perhaps. But it’s not just wor
ds you need to learn: look closer.”

  Reya did as Jenko said and when the horses passed a cluster of people in the street haggling over a merchant’s wares of beautifully embroidered cloth, she tried her best to see beneath the insistent warbling and shouting that was apparently part of business. She grinned when she realised that the people used hand gestures as well as speech and as money exchanged hands rapidly, she wondered how on earth anyone could make any sense out of such bustle.

  “It looks…complicated.” She finally said and Jenko chuckled softly at the skewed expression of disappointment that filled her face.

  “Once you learn the important gestures and what words go with them, it’s not too bad.” Jenko responded with a kindness that he couldn’t help but feel he was reluctantly warming to, “As long as you can ask for something, say yes and no and accept terms, you can get by well enough.”

  “How do I do that then?”

  Jenko grinned, “Just keep watching.”

  “What if I get it wrong?”

  “You’re a smart kid, you’ll figure it out.”

  Every few hundred meters brought new sights and sounds to Reya’s already overwhelmed senses, a never–ending plethora of intoxicatingly strange vibrancy that left her gaping. Every single wall was covered with some form of merchandise: exquisitely woven rugs, gleaming silverware, sugar dusted confections and heady perfumes; all of them calling tantalisingly for Reya’s attentions. There were huge tarpaulins laid upon the ground here and there covered in shoes, baskets, furniture – even livestock – and Reya couldn’t help but think how tame the marketplace back home had been.

  She could have laughed at how excited she had always been back then, that the highlight of most visits was seeing what flavour of caramel was on the toffee apples this time. But here it felt as though there would be all kinds of flavours, all she had to do was choose. But how to choose…She thought in wonderment as Tellan gently encouraged their horse onward, through a plume of musky incense that burned from the largest copper brazier she had ever seen before.

  The road widened the further along they trotted and, with the passing of a wagon laden high with barrels and cloth, came the incredible revelation of Dahlia’s main port.

  “Wow…” Reya gasped in astonishment as she stared at the thronging spectacle before her.

  An enormous square surrounded by elaborately carved arches and walkways bustled with more activity than Reya had ever seen in one place before; so many clothes and robes of different colours and textures clustered so tightly together. But as thick as the crowd was, they moved together synergistically, never colliding like salmon swimming upstream. And through the throng of bodies, she could see there were several podiums, all with a man or woman upon it shouting that curious merchant tongue at the people gathered around.

  “What is this place?” Reya asked, astonished at the volume these people spoke over the already noisy bustle of the city dwellers.

  “This is the world renowned Herald’s Square.” Tellan replied as he pulled gently upon his horse’s reins and brought them to a stop. He dismounted and as he reached up for Reya’s waist, he continued, “See the people on top of the podiums?”

  “Yes.” She replied as he helped her down.

  “They tell the news of the world to everyone.”

  “The…the whole world?” Reya gasped incredulously.

  “That’s right.” Tellan answered with a grin, “Politics from Suria, fashions from the western continent, exchange rates here in Dahlia–”

  “The destruction of Ilema.” Jenko finished at a low murmur as he dismounted and stood between them.

  Tellan nodded grimly at Jenko’s grave addition, “You see, Reya, everything that happens outside of Dahlia affects the commerce here, and vice versa.”

  “How? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Well, let’s say the King of Suria decides to put a heavy tax on pepper.” Jenko began.

  “Pepper?” Reya asked dubiously, “Why would he do that, it’s only pepper.”

  Jenko grinned as he regarded her naïve expression, “Pepper doesn’t grow naturally in Suria and people always want what they don’t have. So to get it there, there has to be trade negotiations from other cities and countries that do grow it. But everyone growing it has to make a profit. And with such precious cargo, piracy can become a problem, so–”

  “Pepper suddenly becomes very expensive?” Reya guessed.

  Jenko’s eyebrow hiked in surprise at her intelligence, “Exactly! And because every trader wants a slice of that particular pie…” He encouraged.

  Reya thought for a moment before she answered confidently, “Trade becomes competitive, in both buying and selling.”

  “See, you’ve got it!” Jenko exclaimed proudly with a firm pat upon her shoulder, “If you listen to the Heralds and know how to play the trade game, a person can become very wealthy indeed.”

  “But…” Reya began dubiously, “What if the King doesn’t keep the tax, what then?”

  “Then it becomes a gambling game of stock.”

  Reya stared at Jenko for a moment until she shook her head in new confusion, “Sounds a little too unstable for me.”

  “That’s commerce, my love.” Jenko replied and as he leaned forward with a roguish wink, he confided, “And that’s why the smart money is in smuggling.”

  Reya huffed guardedly and murmured, “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Ha!” Came a sudden, sharp call from a woman clothed in a richly embellished red robe and as Reya turned at the sound of the voice, the brown skinned woman pushed off the wall and walked up to her.

  Reya stared as the woman looked her up and down with shrewdly narrowed eyes, and gold bangles jingled upon her wrists as she gestured at her. A garbled flow of merchant language followed, punctuated with more gestures and Reya glanced up at Jenko in question.

  Jenko responded in kind, his fingers and hands flashing with every smooth syllable and roll of his tongue. But his response left the woman shaking her head and when she reached out for a lock of Reya’s hair, she smoothed its ends avariciously between tattooed fingers.

  When the woman spoke again there was a tone of appreciation in her voice and with the emphatic hand gestures that followed, Jenko’s expression became thoughtful.

  “What? What is she asking?” Reya asked, suddenly alarmed.

  Jenko gestured at the woman briefly before he said to Reya, “She wants your hair.”

  “My hair?!”

  “Yes. She’s Khufri, a people from the desert territories in the eastern regions. All her people are dark skinned and dark haired; blonde hair is highly coveted there.”

  Reya’s mouth fell open and she clamped her hands against her head protectively. “No!” She exclaimed hotly.

  “You sure? You could make a fortune here.”

  Tellan sighed in irritation and stepped neatly in front of Jenko to relay the somewhat rudimentary gestures and speech that told the woman no deal was to be made.

  A few more mutual gestures followed, but when it became clear to the woman that Tellan would not budge, she simply bowed and extended a hand, palm towards him. Tellan responded in kind, pressing his palm against hers briefly before he spoke the garbled language again.

  “What are you doing, Tellan?” Jenko asked wearily.

  “Selling the horses.”

  “Why?”

  “Keeping them is as good as painting a target upon our faces. And selling them is more manageable than a stable.”

  The woman hiked an eyebrow thoughtfully and as she walked around the horses, she gestured and spoke in such a manner that Jenko rolled his eyes. “You could at least haggle for them, Tellan.” He chided with a mutter of derision.

  “We didn’t pay for them in the first place!” Tellan hissed in return, softly and out of earshot of the woman who still inspected the horses thoroughly.

  When she came before Tellan once more, she bowed deeply and extended a hand palm upwards, but Jenko co
uld see the controlled expression upon her face that told him she thought she had won herself a healthy prize for next to nothing. But with Tellan’s own bow and pressing of his palm upon hers, the deal had been made, and the woman counted a small pile of coins into Tellan’s waiting hand.

  Jenko then leaned sideways and muttered surreptitiously into Reya’s ear, “That’s a classic example of how not to trade in Dahlia. She got those horses for a fucking steal.”

  The woman bustled away quickly with her new horses in case Tellan changed his mind and as soon as he turned, Jenko shrugged and said louder than he had spoken with Reya, “She’s probably going to sell those on for double the profit, you know.”

  “As is her right.” Tellan said as he placed the coins into Jenko’s palm, “But at least we can buy something to eat now.”

  Reya’s stomach then growled in response and with a hot blush upon her cheeks at how loudly her body had proclaimed its hunger, she clutched her midriff and said enthusiastically, “Oh, yes please! I’m so hungry!”

  Jenko laughed in response and with a hitch of the coins in his fist, he set off towards a nearby stall that smelled so richly of spiced cream and saffron. Even from here the sizzle of deliciously seasoned meat made Reya’s mouth water terribly, and when Jenko returned with three small parcels, she readily snatched at his offering with feverish hunger.

  After they had finished the meal – Reya was never quite sure what it had been, so hungry that she had devoured it almost without tasting it –the three fell into silence. Reya’s wide eyes flashed around her kaleidoscopic surroundings with enthralled interest, watching the comings and goings of Dahlia’s diversity with an astonished wonder that never diminished. So entranced she was, she didn’t register the air of apprehension that had crept upon Tellan and Jenko both. And when Jenko eventually turned slightly towards his companion after another hour of waiting, the pair stared with focused intent upon the milling crowds.