by Brian Fuller
“Shujaa, Andromeda,” Helo said, “find a good nest and provide overwatch on this area. Sparks, Speed to the sentries. You see anything bad, get back here. Got it?”
Sparks nodded and Sped away, swirling snow in his wake. All around him, Ash Angels scrambled to reach predetermined defense points, teams calling out to each other. A couple minutes later, a drone spiraled out of Faramir’s tent and into the sky.
“What do you want me to do?” Melody asked.
“Stick by me,” he said.
“Always.”
“Let’s go see what the drone’s got.”
Finny jogged back into camp, and they all went into Faramir’s tent. A poster of Cindy Crawford in cutoff jeans was pinned to the tent wall, and a stack of comic books lingered under Faramir’s cot.
Melody glanced at the poster. “Really?”
“Oh!” he said. He reached toward it like he was going to pull it down.
Helo pushed him back down into his camp chair. “Focus on the drone. Don’t want it hanging in a tree.”
“It’s got obstacle-avoidance tech,” he said. “You couldn’t—”
“Just drive the thing,” Helo said.
Two controllers were attached to a thirteen-inch screen that showed the drone working its way down the road, ruts filling with snow. A blur zipped by, heading back toward camp.
“On my way back,” Sparks said over comms. “You’re not going to believe this. The sentries are gone. No sign of them.”
Helo’s bad feeling doubled. “Come to Faramir’s tent.”
In a few moments, Sparks slipped into the tent, black uniform mottled with snow. “Nice poster,” he said, shaking the snow out of his hair. “Like I said, no sentries, but what there is . . . it’s the weirdest damn thing I’ve ever seen. It’s—”
“That,” Faramir said.
As one they leaned in toward the screen. It was weird but totally Avadan. Two draft horses, both white as the snow, pulled a giant enclosed wagon down the snowy track. Its driver was plump and wore the top hat Helo had seen Avadan wearing before. But it wasn’t Avadan’s face. This man had a round face and sported a mustache worthy of an English gentleman, and, unlike Avadan, his ensemble actually matched, dark suit and bow tie straight from the 1800s. A white flag of parley had been attached to the front corner of the wagon.
“What the hell?” Helo said.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Sparks said. “He’s got a black—not red—aura.”
“A Sheid!” Faramir said.
“Let me finish, dear,” Sparks said irritably. “A dark aura like a Dread’s, but black instead of red. There’s a Ghostpacker riding it, just like a Possessed, but his eyes don’t have the red pinpoints.”
“What is that thing?” Finny said.
“I don’t know,” Helo said. He changed the channel on his comms. “Archus Mars, you seeing this?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Do you want us to hit it?”
“Not yet. You read the side?”
“Faramir,” Helo said, “give us a look.”
The drone lurched. The driver tipped his hat toward it. In garish yellow letters, the side of the wagon read, “Avadan’s Traveling Surprises. A Show for Innocents and Angels.”
“Copy,” Helo said. Innocents. Avadan would bring them as protection. “Can we pop the driver? That flag of truce is just a distraction.”
Silence fell for a few seconds before Mars gave the order. “If you can get a clean shot on the driver, take it. It seems to be part Sheid and part Possessed. I’d like to see what happens.”
Helo gave Andromeda and Shujaa the green light. “How far out, Faramir?”
“Quarter mile,” he said. “Won’t be long.”
Helo kept his eyes on the screen, everyone on edge like they were watching a horror film and waiting for the moment when the monster jumped out and slashed someone. The wagon traveled at a plodding pace, the driver dawdling like he was out giving newlyweds a carriage ride through the city. The late-spring forest slowly changed into a winter wonderland, tree branches slumping under the weight of the dumping snow.
Two shots rang out. Shujaa and Andromeda letting the driver have it from wherever they had concealed themselves.
The image of the driver warbled for a moment, like the drone’s camera had glitched, but the driver returned to normal and snapped the reins like nothing had happened. Andromeda and Shujaa fired twice more with the same result. The driver—whatever it was—didn’t disintegrate and re-form as a Sheid would. Rather, it warped and bent in almost a plastic fashion.
Over comms, Shujaa stated the obvious. “It’s no use.”
“Finny,” Helo said, “you got C4?”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Bring it but wait for my order. If he’s really got innocents, we’ll need to isolate him. Faramir, send the drone around and make sure there isn’t an army of Dreads about to knock on our back door. Everyone else, on me.”
They stepped out into snow already an inch deep. The horses’ breath steamed from their noses as the wagon pulled even with the Sicarius Nox campsite and headed up the road. It rocked back and forth precariously on the uneven ground, but the driver—evil spirit along for the ride—kept his head forward, a festive smile playing on his lips.
But as bizarre as the scene was, it was the feeling that accompanied the driver that turned Helo’s heart to lead. Despair. A promise that whatever bright future you might envision for yourself would soon be murdered in cold blood. He glanced at Melody, finding her staring at the wagon with narrowed eyes, her lips a thin line. She could feel it too.
“It’s coming to you, Mars,” Helo said. “We’re coming in behind it.”
They followed the wagon up the road. The back of the wagon had two sturdy doors with no windows. Two heavy iron handles locked with a thick chain and massive lock banged against the doors with every bump and sway.
“Shujaa, Andromeda,” he said, “reposition so you have eyes on the wagon. Andromeda, keep your scope on the driver. Shujaa, keep a bead on the back of the wagon in case he’s got something bad in there.”
Helo hadn’t felt a Sheid’s presence when it drove by. Like Mars, he couldn’t tell if the wagon’s sign—A Show for Angels and Innocents—was a description of the wagon’s contents or the title of some sick performance to come. Or maybe it was insurance to make sure the Ash Angels wouldn’t torch the wagon before the driver did whatever Avadan had sent him to do.
After a couple of tense minutes, the wagon arrived at the small clearing where the road ended and command’s tent complex began. The driver pulled back on the reins with a “Whoa there, boys,” to the horses. All around the clearing, Ash Angels took up positions behind tree trunks. If the driver noticed the veritable forest of weapons pointed at him, he didn’t care. He laid the reins on the seat and dropped spryly to the ground.
Flanked by two Michaels, Mars was the only member of the Archai still at the command tent. They had cleared the tables of all the tablets and books, and Archus Ebenezer and Archus Magdelene were nowhere in sight. A contingency, no doubt, but even having Mars there was a risk. The Grand Archus wasn’t one to back down, but the AAO was literally at stake.
The driver sauntered lithely to the front of the horses, who whickered nervously, maybe sensing the evil spirit attached to the driver’s back. The driver bowed, his coattails flipping up. Then he removed his top hat, arcing it in a grand gesture to the audience as if they had come to see juggling or dancing bears.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I thank you for your warm hospitality and welcome you to Avadan’s Traveling Surprises, a show sure to bring shock and awe to the faces of all brave enough to view it. Since you were so courteous as to visit me in my stronghold, I thought it only polite to reciprocate and visit you in yours. It is your privilege to be the first to witness this spectacle before it becomes popular and goes international!”
“Who are you?” Mars barked, face a scowl. Helo doubted he’
d have patience for Avadan’s eccentricities.
The driver smiled as if he not only expected this question but was delighted it had been asked.
“My dear Archus Mars, I am whoever I wish to be!”
The driver’s appearance warped. Now he was a medieval king with a long, thin face. “I am King Richard the Third,” he said in a perfect English accent. Warp. Now a beautiful woman in a sleeveless Greek dress. “How about Helen of Troy?” Warp. “General Patton.” Warp. “Genghis Khan!” Warp. “Grand Archus Mars!” Warp.
Now he was the driver again. “For now, I am Avadan the Entertainer, the bringer of surprises! I’ve got one just for you. Do you wish to see it?”
Helo frowned. Avadan had guts coming into the middle of a camp full of Ash Angels. The fact that he felt no fear in doing so did not bode well.
“We aren’t going to play your stupid games,” Mars said. “What do you want?”
Avadan extended his hands and twirled around to take in the crowd. “Why, I wish to entertain!” Then the cold hazel eyes of the driver fell on Helo. He smiled and brought his gloved hands to his mouth in an expression of delight. “Helo! The Angel Born! Come to see my performance. I am honored!”
He bowed and then walked toward the rear of the wagon. “Let us bring forth the first surprise!”
Helo got the sudden urge to find out what Angel Fire could do to this creature. He raised his hand and let loose a stream of divine flame.
It hit, Vexus streaming off Avadan like he was a Sheid, the evil spirit on his back squirming around as if in pain. But Avadan proceeded like the Angel Fire was no more than a light breeze. Something glowed underneath the sleeves of Avadan’s coat, a reddish-orange color bright enough to shine out onto the snow.
Helo extinguished the attack, and the glow died with it. Could anything touch whatever Avadan had become? Helo blasted the fiend with Glorious Presence. Nothing. He might as well have hit him with a Nerf dart. Maybe they could try Hallowing the ground and then hitting him with Angel Fire.
Avadan took his time. Was he stalling, waiting for his army to arrive, or was he really that confident the Ash Angels couldn’t hurt him?
“Faramir,” Helo said, “you see anything?”
“No,” Faramir reported. “It’s clear out there to at least a mile. He’s really by himself, unless he’s got a bunch of Dreads in that wagon.”
Avadan conjured a large key in his hand, forming it from Vexus. He slipped it into the lock and turned it. The lock popped open with a squeal, and the chain tumbled away from the door handles, then coiled on the ground.
“Now,” Avadan said, “no peeking. Wouldn’t want to ruin the show.”
“I don’t like this,” Sparks said, spitting on the ground. “I say we nail him with everything we’ve got.”
“We will,” Helo said. But Avadan had to know they would. What made him so sure he would survive?
With a gloved hand, Avadan opened one door to the back of the wagon a couple feet. It was dark inside, but in a moment, a red aura appeared and a male Dread jumped to the ground. No eyes. No ears. No tongue. Archus Ramis.
Avadan shut the door. “Behold your first surprise! I give you a gift! As much to the Ash Angel Ramis as to me you owe your downfall. His guilt, as you can imagine, is deep. His self-loathing without equal! A man broken and defeated, friendless and alone. Hated. A pariah! Who here will speak for him?”
A yell reverberated from the woods, then Argyle was Speeding toward Avadan and unloading his BBSG in rapid succession. Bam! Bam! Bam! Angel Fire ammo came out of the barrel in gouts. Avadan raised his hand against it, the glow shining from beneath his sleeves.
“Stand down!” Mars yelled.
Again Avadan’s form warped when shot but immediately snapped together again. Argyle’s aura flared, his fist pounding down at Avadan with what must’ve been Strength. It looked like he was hitting a sack full of gravel. Avadan’s hand shot out and grabbed Argyle’s neck. Smoky Sheid fire glowed, and Argyle’s head and body separated. Avadan kicked the head aside like a soccer player making a casual pass to a teammate. Helo felt Melody’s hand digging into his arm.
“A friend, perhaps?” Avadan said, staring at an insensate Archus Ramis. “I guess even the worst of us has at least one. So, are you—”
“What do you want, Avadan?” Mars said. “Tell us now, or we come after you with everything we have.”
Avadan raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Now, now, don’t be hasty. You’ve already given me what I want most: an audience! But before the guns start blazing and explosions rend the air, you may want to consider the other fragile surprises I have in my wagon. Let’s have a look, shall we?”
He returned to the rear of the wagon, cracking the door again. This time he threw it open wider. “Come on, now,” he said in a soothing voice. “Don’t be shy. It’s time to come out and tell everyone what a good host I’ve been.” He extended his arms.
Helo clenched his teeth, his stomach plummeting. One by one Avadan lifted three children—two girls and one boy, each around seven or eight years old—to the ground. Dirty gags stopped up their mouths, and fearful eyes squinted against the light.
“Come stand by the pretty horses,” he said, guiding the children forward with gentle nudges to their shoulders.
Helo stiffened. Jeremy, the kid from Colorado. He was the last one in the line, face full of terror, tears running down his dirty cheeks. What was Avadan doing with a bunch of kids? Were they all Attuned? Either way, this had to end right now before Avadan did something awful. Sparks and Finny had Speed. So did he. They had to snatch the kids and run.
“Melody,” Helo said quietly. “Start singing something.”
“What?” she asked.
“Just do it. Sparks, first kid. Finny, second. I got the third. Meet by the river where Aclima passed on.”
Avadan had lined the trembling kids up in front of the horses perfectly equidistant from each other like he was about to have them dance. Ramis stood dumbly by, head tilted toward the ground. Then Melody’s voice broke into the air, clear and holy, singing “Amazing Grace.” Avadan flinched and turned a sour glance toward her, the evil spirit squirming again.
“Go,” Helo said.
Chapter 28
Zion’s End
As one they dashed forward so fast it caught the distracted Avadan off guard. Helo grabbed Jeremy around the waist, ready to carry him off like a football. Then a black, torching wave pulsed out from Avadan, and it was strong, stronger than any torch Helo had experienced. And different. His knees buckled, but he forced them straight, stumbling, his mind swimming.
He would fail. These kids would be killed. Jeremy would be killed. The black torch hit his heart with the weight of a tank, whispered to him that his every action was pointless. He fought it off, clawed his way out. He would not succumb to this.
His vision cleared. He had stumbled maybe five steps away from Avadan. To add to their trouble, the black desecration pulsing out of the last Dread Loremaster was already filling the area. Helo thought there would be gunshots, but nobody in the clearing was standing anymore. Melody had crumpled to the ground on her knees, hands by her ears, fighting whatever the darkness wanted her to believe. Everyone else was face-first on the ground like they’d been hit on the back of the head.
Besides Melody, only the three kids and Avadan had power of movement. The two girls were tangled in the arms of Sparks and Finny and struggling to get out from under the fallen Ash Angels. Helo set Jeremy down. “Run down the road. Run as fast and as far as you can.”
“You!” Jeremy said, recognition dawning on his face. “Help me!”
“Run.”
Jeremy took a stumbling start but fell hard, his feet slipping in the snow. Helo Hallowed, but Avadan jumped to the top of the carriage. The dark desecration kept spreading like a wildfire even without him having any connection to the ground. To Helo’s Ash Angel vision, it looked like smoky glass overlaid the world, a lens coloring everything c
orrupted and hopeless.
“You made me put my audience to sleep!” Avadan griped from on top of the carriage. “Now only you will witness this new trick. Of course, as an Angel Born, you appreciate learning about new powers, new tricks you can do. Watch one of mine!”
A tendril of darkness spread from his palm, not the fiery tentacle Shedim used. It sped like an arrow and punched into the back of Jeremy, who had barely stumbled a few yards. Jeremy fell and froze, eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream for a mother he would never see again. Like a puppet, Jeremy got up and turned to face Avadan, then stood stock-still. From underneath the sleeve of Avadan’s jacket, the fiery glow on his arm had sprung to life. Even stranger, the desecration seemed to flow backward for a moment, pulling back into Avadan.
Helo shot Angel Fire at the wicked monster, the only result the squirming of the evil spirit and the steaming Vexus. Helo dropped his useless weapon. Battling this man was his destiny, and he had to do it now. Jeremy’s eyes had turned pure black, a swirling, dark mist gathering around the boy like a cloak. Helo darted forward and Strength jumped at Avadan. He would tackle him right off the top of the carriage. After he powered off the ground at a full spring, he ignited Toughness.
But when he hit Avadan, it reminded him of when his brother had built a snowman and dared him to knock it down with his best tackle without telling him he’d built it around a fire hydrant. Helo hit Avadan hard and bounced off hard, caroming off at a weird angle and ending up on his back on the ground.
Avadan peered down at him. “Making snow angels would be a bit cliché, wouldn’t it, Helo? But behold my new creation!”
Helo could feel it already. A Sheid. Somehow he had converted Jeremy into a Sheid without going through the entire heart-eating ritual. He’d only used Vexus transference. Morphed to look like a soccer player in shorts and a green shirt, the Sheid stood still, as if awaiting orders.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” he crowed. “Who needs Dreads to do their dirty work? Not I! If only Cain could see me now. My father always did think small. Now excuse me while I make another.”