Blood and Feathers

by Lou Morgan

  “Wait... you’ve met him, haven’t you? You’ve met the Morningstar. He spoke to you, didn’t he?”

  “Sort of. I think it was more an opportunity to size me up. I used to have a form-teacher at school who looked at me like that. Mrs Evans. Everyone said she was probably the devil. Maybe she was.”

  “Fascinating as this little detour down memory lane is, don’t you think you’re missing something?”

  “Probably. If I knew that, I wouldn’t be missing it, would I?”

  “Ha-bloody-ha. Try this: why didn’t he kill you?”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t he kill you? All he’s wanted – and I do mean all he’s wanted – for years, centuries: it’s been to defeat the Descendeds. To break them. To end them. You’re the best chance they’ve had yet to stop him, and you’re telling me that you just walked up to him and he had a clear shot at you... then he let you walk away? Why?”

  “Gwyn...?”

  “Gwyn? Lucifer’s not afraid of him; don’t you go relying on that. Lucifer’s not afraid of any of them. Except Mallory, perhaps. You’d have to be entirely mad not to be afraid of Mallory.”

  This was news to Alice. “Why?”

  “Because he’s insane. That’s why. What do you think got him exiled in the first...” He tailed off. “You don’t know what he did, do you?”

  “Should I?”

  “Ha!” His laugh this time was sharp. Triumphant. His wings shivered behind him as he shook his head. “Looks like your guardian angels aren’t telling you everything. I wonder, has it crossed your mind what else they might not be sharing?”

  He was still laughing as he walked on ahead of her, towards the frozen figures.

  They stretched on, endlessly: their eyes open and iced over, staring into nowhere. Row upon row upon row of them. She stepped between the first two rows, her head feeling increasingly crowded and uncomfortable. It wasn’t just that she could feel them, the people around her, it was that they looked as though they could move at any moment. just snap out of it and step away. Of course, it wasn’t likely, but still...

  The man to her left had red hair and a short, untidy beard. Lumberjack shirt, blue jeans. Barefoot. A gold ring hung around his neck on a chain and Alice found herself reaching for it. She stopped, pulling her hand back, but Abbadona nodded.

  “He won’t wake up, you know. He doesn’t care.”

  He sidled off to peer at a nearby woman and Alice caught the ring between her fingers, drawing it closer. The outside was scratched and dented, the inside worn smooth. A woman’s name was engraved around it, just visible, and Alice wondered where she was – whether she was here, whether she was missing him. She looked at the woman on her right: could that be her? It didn’t seem likely, however hard she tried to picture them together. This one looked like she might be a bit too high-maintenance for him – designer clothes, for sure, and haircuts like that didn’t come cheap. But she, too, was barefoot and her toes curled in on themselves against the cold. Her eyes were open and blank like all the others, and her make-up had been smudged; smeared, even. Just behind her stood another woman, younger, her hair tied back from her face and her brightly-coloured raincoat looking horribly out of place. A dog lead dangled from her hand, an empty collar still attached. None of them were exactly the kind of people Alice had expected to find in hell, but then it wasn’t quite the hell she had expected, either.

  Alice had never given much thought to hell, but she had a few ideas about it. Pitchforks sprang to mind, and horns, and fire. Somehow, heat had become an integral part of this vague mental image. But the cold? The cold was worse. Whenever she thought she was getting used to it, she breathed a little too deeply and felt it creep inside her, making her eyes water and her lungs burn. And it stayed there, the cold – twisted itself through her ribs like a weed, rooting somewhere she couldn’t reach. She hoped this plan worked, and soon. Hanging around too long didn’t seem like a good idea.

  Something moved at the edge of her vision and she jumped, whirling towards it.

  There was nothing there, just the endless rows of bodies.

  Maybe she had imagined it. She was, after all, in just about the creepiest environment imaginable with no idea how she was going to get back and only a Fallen angel for a guide. It didn’t exactly make for a relaxing day out. But no, there it was again: a movement at the very corner of her eye, barely seen, and this time, she heard it. It was a whispering, whimpering sound: almost inaudible, barely human. For the first time since she had walked into hell, Alice cracked, and taking a deep breath, she opened her hand. The flame was there in an instant: shifting across her palm and rolling around her fingers. It felt good, like release. The only sign Alice had that these bodies were still occupied was the pain rolling off them, the terror. They were all so frightened, and despite their numbers, they were all so alone – and Alice was standing there, soaking in it. Drowning in it. Letting even the slightest portion of it out meant she had space inside to breathe again, to think.

  There was a rattle of wings behind her and she looked round to see Abbadona nose-to-nose with the redheaded man. Without taking his eyes off him, he said, “It’s only the Ghasts. They’re nothing.” He blinked, and was about to turn away when he spotted the fire boiling inside Alice’s hand, and his eyebrows shot up. “Fuck me. Look at you now. Really are one of them, aren’t you?” And he took a step back, apparently measuring her up.

  Just like that, their own personal balance tipped, and while she was still afraid of him, now he was almost certainly afraid of her too.

  “Here’s a suggestion,” he said, his voice suddenly wheedling. “How about you point that somewhere else, and I’ll take you on past the Ghasts?”

  “Ghasts?”

  “They’re...” he paused, considering his answer. “Well, once upon a time, they were you.”

  He beckoned to her, and hurried through the lines of people, weaving in and out, back and forth, then stopping so sharply that she almost piled into him, getting a mouthful of spiny feathers into the bargain. She spat the taste out of her mouth: soot and oil and dust. Peering past his wings, she saw what he was talking about.

  It was a figure, of sorts; hunched over and lurching between the ranks ahead of them. It was grey, all over – its clothing, its hair... even its skin. As Alice watched, it stopped in front of a man in a torn suit and ran its hand across his face, skimming his eyes and brow with its fingertips. Abbadona leaned back slightly and whispered to her through his wings. “The Ghasts keep an eye on the Damned. They tend their dreams, make sure things are running smoothly.”

  “But what are they?”

  “I told you: they used to be you. They’re half-borns. Only they work for us.”

  “They joined the Fallen?”

  “What? Everyone’s entitled to make a choice. I promise you, there’s plenty of people who’d rather die than be stuck with Gwyn.”

  “Can’t imagine why,” she said quietly. Then, to him, “And you’d be able to help with that, no doubt.”

  “Not exactly. You see, the problem is the Ghasts are trapped here, just like we are. They’re only half-borns, so they don’t last long. What you’re looking at is a Ghast who’s been down here a while. You remember what I said about the hell-chill? That’s what it does to a half-born.” He nodded towards the shuffling figure, which must have heard him, because it suddenly turned to look at them. Or at least, turned its face towards them, as Alice realised it couldn’t see them, however hard it tried. Its features were ruined: the mouth twisted, the cheeks sunken, and where its eyes should be were two bloody balls of ice. It stared at them with its empty eyes, then as suddenly as it had turned, it looked away. Abbadona shivered. “Give me the creeps, they do. But you stay down here long enough...”

  “That’s what it’ll do to me?” Her voice felt thick and claggy, and the cold sensation that settled in her stomach had nothing to do with the temperature.

  “Eventually. Not the eyes, though. The Descend
eds did that.”

  “Wait, the angels? The angels put out their eyes? Not the Fallen?”

  “What can I tell you? They don’t like it when people don’t want to play on their team. And you can always rely on Gabriel for a bit of old-school wrath and vengeance.” He watched as the Ghast ambled on down the line, stopping here and there to peer at one of the faces it passed. “We should try and avoid running into too many of them,” he whispered. “Just like everyone else down here, they’ve got a direct line to Lucifer. He doesn’t generally listen to them, but if enough of them start chirping up, we’re going to have a problem. Or you are, anyway. I’m only taking you through a couple of levels. After that, you’re on your own. That’s the Twelve’s turf down there, and I’m just not that stupid.”

  “Gentleman, aren’t you?”

  “I try my best.” He dropped into a mock-bow and stalked off.

  Alice stared after him, past the people crowded onto the Plains. Even as they dreamed, their fear spilled out around them. It inched its way towards her like dark smoke, and the single consolation she had was that the fire busily raging inside her kept the hell-chill at bay. Most of it, anyway. She followed Abbadona, who – despite everything he had said about keeping a low profile – looked for all the world as though he was out for an afternoon stroll; his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders back, and... “Are you seriously whistling?”

  “Just as demanding as you always were, aren’t you?” He spun on his heel and jabbed his finger towards her. “You remember, Alice, you’re on my ground now. I know the rules down here, and you don’t. All it takes is one word from me...”

  “And what? I’m willing to bet that you’ve got a lot more to lose than I have. Who do you think would be more valuable to Lucifer: a half-born from Michael’s choir, or one little Fallen who’s snuck out and done a deal with the angels? He’s got hundreds of you, but as you say, there’s only one of me.”

  Abbadona’s mouth opened, then closed again and he scowled at her. “You want to be careful talking like that. Dangerous road to start down. It’s that kind of attitude that lands you somewhere like this.”

  “Thanks for the advice. You understand why I don’t believe a single thing you say, right?”

  “Believe me or not; doesn’t make it any less true,” he said. “But whatever. I’m done standing around chatting. Besides, the next level’s my favourite. That’s the really fun one. This is just the warm-up.” His eyes twinkled at her, and it struck her that he meant it. He didn’t want to get out of hell because it was hell. He liked it. He just didn’t like everything that came with it.

  “You’re a monster.” The words caught in her throat. The world spun, and it was full of lies; of pain and loss and hate and fear. He pulled a face, pouting. Mocking her.

  “Monster? Really? I haven’t even shown you where we keep the kids yet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Knock, Knock

  VIN STARED UP at the Bone-Built Gate and let out a low whistle. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they didn’t want to see us. I’m actually kind of hurt.” His head tipped back as he tried to follow it all the way to the top, but he quickly gave up. “They might as well have just hung a big sign out the front that says ‘Fuck off.’”

  “I think they did,” said Mallory, running his hand across one of the bones. He sat down in front of the gate and stared at it, glumly, one hand reaching under his jacket for his flask.

  Vin paced up and down behind him. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be here: those rules you mentioned...?”

  “Screw the rules.” The cold had even crept into Mallory’s drink, making him shiver as it went down. He didn’t enjoy the feeling. And no, they weren’t supposed to be there, but it didn’t exactly seem as though the Descendeds were playing by the rules any more, either.

  “YoU’RE NEEDED.”

  “Am I, now?” Mallory had not been surprised by Gwyn’s voice coming from the other side of his room, nor by the lack of warning before his appearance... or even a simple greeting. What did surprise him when he looked up from his book was that Gwyn was in armour, his wings bristling with sparks. “What’s this? Suit at the cleaners?”

  “I said you’re needed.”

  “And I heard you. What you didn’t tell me is where, or why.” He folded his arms.

  “Are you challenging me?”

  “No, I’m just waiting for you to tell me what you want. You could start by explaining... that.” He pointed at the armour. “Off to war, are we?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?” Mallory paled. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “She’s on her way, Mallory. It won’t be long before someone notices her. They’ll all be watching.”

  “And you know how thrilled I am about that.”

  “You say you have faith in her? Good. Then you don’t need to worry about her. You’re confident Alice can complete her task, and if you are, then so am I. But that alone is not enough. This was always going to be a two-pronged attack. With Alice on the inside, we have the perfect opportunity...”

  “We can’t destroy hell, Gwyn. It’s impossible. Lucifer’s too deeply embedded.”

  “Maybe not. But we can certainly inflict enough damage to keep them occupied licking their wounds for a while.”

  “This was supposed to be about the balance; about restoring things to the way they should be, not trying to tip it in our favour. It can’t be done.”

  “Yes, it can. Don’t you see? Now, it can. Think, Mallory. Think what we could do!”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I won’t have any part in this. It’s wrong. You know it is.” Mallory picked up his book again, but Gwyn clicked his fingers and it crumbled to dust in his hands. Mallory sighed. “Great. Now I’m never going to know if they get together at the end.” He brushed his palms together and stood up, looking Gwyn up and down. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Gwyn, but I’m asking you not to do this. Please.”

  “The orders come from Gabriel.”

  “Of course they do. There’s no-one else stupid enough to come up with a full-on assault on hell. Except you, maybe. You don’t think they’ll be expecting us?”

  “Knowing there’s a half-born running around inside hell should focus their attention elsewhere relatively quickly. And believe me, Mallory, they will know. However careful she is, Lucifer will sniff her out. The rest is up to her.” He narrowed his eyes at the Earthbound. “So I hope you trained her well.” He paused, examining his fingernails. Against his armour, the gesture looked absurd. “If you have a problem, of course, you can always take it up with Gabriel...”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Mallory picked up his gun, tucking it into his belt. Even across the room, he could feel Gwyn’s satisfaction. “Tell me, Gwyn: you want to take the war to hell, into hell? What happens to the ones who die down there? Because you know the Fallen won’t be kind. They don’t even have to work at it to kill us, if we go in there. It doesn’t matter if we’re Earthbound, Descended or even Archangel. And then there’s the rest of it: get stuck down there and death would be a blessing, so what happens to the ones who get left behind?”

  “They get left behind. But if we take the Gate, we even the odds. They will have no shelter.”

  “Neither will we.”

  “You’re not listening. In hell, we have no shelter. If they kill us, we die. But destroy the Gate...”

  “The same thing happens to them. No reboots, no do-overs.”

  “Quite.”

  “But they’ll be desperate. And there’s a lot of them – the damage they could do...”

  “Collateral damage. Acceptable losses, given the stakes. And if you’re weak enough to let the Fallen take you, I’d argue that you deserve everything you get.”

  “That seems a little... cruel.”

  “Remind me, Mallory: isn’t it you that’s always talking about duty; about your job as a soldier? Yes? So here
’s a suggestion: go do it, before I take your wings for good.”

  “SO, ERR, HOW are we going to do this, then?” Vin had wrapped his wings around himself as best he could. Anything to keep out the cold. The tips of the feathers were slowly turning brittle with frost.

  Mallory sat and stared at the Gate, cradling his gun in his lap. “I have no idea.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Other People

  “OH, LOOK. MORE steps. Goody!”

  “I’m sorry. If you’d called ahead, we’d have had lifts installed.”

  “Wait. You hear that sound? That’s my sides, splitting.”

  Alice rolled her eyes. She was bored with Abbadona’s barbed comments, she was tired and she was cold. She had no idea where she was going, what she was going to do when she got there, or even what kind of place ‘there’ might be. It was all starting to feel a little...

  “Hopeless?” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at her. “That’s the angel juju wearing off. You see, you spend long enough with them and the world gets all shiny. Anything’s possible when you see it through an angel’s eyes, and you’re an empath, aren’t you? So you get a double-dose. And now you’re down here...”

  “Nothing seems possible. I get it, thanks. I’m just sick of all these sodding steps.” She peered over the edge of the staircase. “How much further?”

  “Not far now.”

  “I can’t see anything down there,”

  “I know. I told you this level’s fun.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll see. Sort of.”

  He chuckled, and turned his back on her again.

  HE WAS RIGHT, though: she had felt so confident, so sure of herself. They had told her she could do this, and she’d believed them. Mallory had made her believe them. But the further she went, the colder she got, and the more uncertain she became. What if they had been wrong? It was possible, wasn’t it? What if, for all their talk, she was just Alice, and there was nothing special about her at all? What if she failed?