by Debra Dunbar
Epilogue
The sun was at its highest point, offering no relief for any creature foolish enough to be out midday. Iguanas, normally basking on rocks, were nowhere to be seen. The goats that climbed along the seaside cliffs were hidden away in caves.
The angel stretched his wings over the red dust, watching it cling to the taupe colored flight feathers. The feel of the heat, the dry, red, sandy dirt reminded him of somewhere else. Of course, he could never be in this form there. The blasting winds would tear apart this soft flesh even before the radiation cooked through skin and bone.
This place was enjoyable. Even though he never fully committed himself to a corporeal form, he could still feel the bake of the sun on skin, the scrape of rock on his wings, the bright light causing his dark eyes to water slightly. He frowned, wondering for a moment how the demons could stand it. How could they endure the constant onslaught of sensation that a deep physical form brought? He could barely endure this.
He looked up to see a man approaching him. It was another angel with dark spiked hair and wings of pure white. He looked down at his own wings with their swirling colors of cream and taupe. The scars were barely visible after all this time. He could feel them though, aching deep beyond the muscle and bone to the spirit part of him. It had been so long ago, but the scars still felt like fresh wounds.
"Brother," the dark haired angel acknowledged as he walked up to the seated figure.
Gregory rose. "Brother."
The dark haired angel shuddered slightly as he took the offered hand and clasped it. Shimmering, he shifted into a female form, although still with the short dark spikes of hair.
"Female?" Gregory asked.
The woman grimaced. "You're very much to the right at the moment, and it is uncomfortable not to have balance between us."
Gregory frowned. Was he? He was often accused of being too far to the right, but not so much that he caused such discomfort that others to feel the need to change. It was her. She was so very far to the left, and he'd just gotten used to balancing in her presence.
"Brother, what are you doing?" the woman asked, sitting down on a large rock. Gregory sat too, in a silent agreement that this would be an informal family meeting and not a confrontation.
"What kind of horrific binding did you do with that demon? Why didn't you kill her? And now you've killed Althean. Brother, you are creating enemies left and right. You're lucky everyone is too scared of you to take action."
Gregory smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. He was well aware that his three remaining brothers were happy to stir the pot and spread doubts about his competency, about his sanity.
"I'm also lucky that I have such loyal brothers to watch my back," he said
"Seriously," the woman urged. "Why didn't you kill her?"
Gregory shrugged. "I thought she'd be useful in hunting Althean. They have skills. I think I may use her in some other projects before I kill her. I might as well since I took the time to bind her."
At least he lied better than that irritating cockroach of a demon. She'd surprised him, acted very un-demonic in protecting her human toy by jumping on him and smacking his head on the ground. It made him curious about her. No, it made him wonder with a fleeting hope if maybe there was some spark in them, something left of the angels they used to be. It was a whim he'd indulged in, with horrible consequences.
"Brother, there are rumors about the binding. Rumors that it is too in the flesh, tied to sensation, that it binds you as much as it binds the demon," the woman said.
"She was not easy to bind," Gregory interrupted. He paused, realizing that he sounded defensive. "I haven't bound a demon in ages, and I was very angry at that moment. Yes, the binding is flawed. I will fix it as soon as I have the time."
Angry was a mild word for what he was at that time. It wasn't the first time he'd let his temper get away from him with disastrous results. He'd always struggled with anger. And pride. It seemed over the ages that he been giving in far too much to sin and too less to virtue. Funny how that happens.
"But if you, too, are bound, Brother?" The woman let the question hang in the air.
"No. She's just a baby, and far too Low to have any idea of how to use a bound angel," he insisted.
But she wasn't Low. All that raw energy, and that perfectly formed human flesh with her spirit embedded deep and tightly contained. Such potential hiding in a dirty little cockroach. It was a shame she'd not live long enough to realize that potential. Not that it mattered. Even if she did somehow manage to survive, she'd never bother to expand her knowledge and skills. Demons only wanted to roll around in the muck of sensation, and play frivolously in the physical world. Such a waste.
"Besides," Gregory added. "I don't plan on having her live more than a year or two."
"What? You don't plan on walking her around Aaru on a leash, like a pet?" The woman laughed.
"She'd just pee on the carpet," Gregory said, amused.
The woman waved her hand. "Enough about this filthy creature. Why have you not formally reported on Althean's death? The longer you wait, the more the factions accuse you of wrongful murder."
"As soon as I am able," Gregory assured her. "I gave Althean a chance to return on his own, or be banished to Hel with the demons and he refused either option."
The woman laughed. "You seriously gave him the option of being banished with the demons? Like he was going to choose that? Wow, you must have been pissed. Still, I can't believe you actually killed him."
Gregory couldn't believe it, either. Again, it was anger. Blinding, white hot anger - not that Althean attacked him, but that he'd so injured the little cockroach. Just thinking of it brought up the urge to pulverize something, smash it into the rocks.
"Althean attacked me," he replied.
"Come on." The woman grinned. "You could have subdued him, taken him down. You dusted him."
"He would not back down," Gregory insisted. "I had no choice. He was determined to be a martyr for his cause."
Probably. Not that Gregory had given him a chance.
"Was it the demon?" the woman asked. Gregory stiffened. "Did she kill Althean? Are you covering for her?"
"No. I told you she is Low," he said.
They sat in silence for a few moments. The dark haired angel let her eyes trail along Gregory's outstretched wings, shifting her own white ones so they swept the red dust in a pattern of lines. Picking up a wing, she admired the red dust clinging to the bottom edges.
"We cannot go back in time, Brother," she said sadly, affection in her voice. "Even if we could, I'm not sure it would be right. What's gone is gone. They are not angels anymore, they are demons, and we cannot bring back our loved ones by indulging in reckless fantasy."
Gregory nodded, looking out along the shore. His brother was right, but encasing himself in stone, trying to petrify the hurt inside hadn't helped either. Still, something deep inside him felt like it was chipping away at the hard edges. Like it was trying to get out. He wasn't sure if he should let it. When he meditated on it, he saw a laughing imp playing with lightning, or sometimes his younger brother, also laughing and playing with lightning. But she was not the brother he still mourned. That was foolish thought.
The red haired angel stood and stretched his wings once more.
"There will be no reckless fantasy," he assured his brother before gating away.