Flaming Dove: A Dark Fantasy Novel

by Daniel Arenson

  Her halo crackling with fire, she turned back to face Kayleigh.

  "I will rise to the world and meet her. I will meet Zarel in duel." She once swore to Angor that, while he lived, she would grant clemency to Zarel. But Angor is dead now, like so many others in this war. Everything is changing.

  Kayleigh joined Laila by the columns and stood, muddy, watching the craggy horizons of Hell. "Would she agree to fight you?"

  Laila nodded, caressing the pommel of her sword. "She will. If she refuses, she'd think herself a coward. So would everyone else. She will agree to duel me. She would prefer to kill me herself, with her own claws, rather than nuking this place. If she kills me, she'd even get Limbo back whole." Laila closed her eyes. "It's the only way. Beelzebub would agree to it too. If Zarel kills me, he loses me as an enemy, and can go ahead and conquer the world. And if I kill Zarel, well... he'll be equally happy, free to pursue my sister in peace. It's a win-win situation for him." The air suddenly seemed hot to Laila, too heavy in her lungs. She forced herself to take deep breaths.

  Kayleigh took Laila's hand and squeezed it. "Can you beat Zarel?"

  "I don't know. But I have to try." Laila opened her eyes and looked upon the human girl. "It's in my destiny to face her. It has been this way since I returned to Jerusalem. She knows it and has been waiting. I can't escape this fate."

  Kayleigh bit her lip. "But Laila... even if you do kill Zarel... what's to stop Beelzebub from nuking Limbo anyway?"

  Laila squeezed Kayleigh's hand back and forced herself to smile. "I'll take care of that. I know what to do."

  That is, if I survive, she added silently. The armies of demons swarmed outside, shrieking through the darkness. The two girls stood between the columns, watching the landscapes of Hell, silent.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The earth was still fresh over Raphael's grave when Michael began mustering a force to reclaim Beelzebub's fort.

  He moved grimly between the troops, silent, gripping his lance. His officers dared not approach him, and his glower, they whispered, could cause baby angels' wings to fall off. Michael did not care if troops whispered, did not care that Laila had abandoned him and ruled, silent and still, in Limbo. He cared for only one thing.

  Bat El.

  "I will get her back," he swore over Raphael's grave that evening. "I will make her one of Heaven again. I won't let her become a fallen angel, turned dark and cursed."

  The grave was silent, covered with stones and flower petals, but Michael seemed to hear his baby brother's voice in his mind. Is it for her sake that you want Bat El back, or for your own? Michael shut his eyes, kneeling over the grave, lance in hand. He was a soldier. He had no emotions, certainly not love. Why would he love Bat El? The girl was thousands of years younger than him, infinitely less experienced and wise. If I do feel love toward her, I'll bury that feeling. I'll feel no love now, only hatred toward Hell. I am a soldier. That's all I've been for thousands of years. You, Raphael, were the one who loved and healed. I came to this world to kill.

  And yet the thought of Bat El's eyes and pink lips still filled his mind.

  A month since Laila claimed Limbo as her domain, Michael stood upon a steeple, staring down at rows of angels among Jerusalem's ruins. Tens of thousands of troops stood there, wings spread, gilded armor dusty, swords drawn. Their banners flapped feebly in the ashy wind, white and gold. Standing above them, Michael raised his lance, and they shouted, a battle cry that rattled the city, sending birds into flight.

  I'm going to get you back, like it or not, Bat El, he thought, taking flight. His troops followed in formation, tens of thousands darkening the sky. Michael felt blood pounding in his ears, as if a fever claimed him, or perhaps bloodlust. The thudding of angel wings was like thunder. Glints of dawn broke through the clouds, kindling their thousands of blades. They burned red, as if already bloodied.

  Soon he saw the sea. The waves rose high, blue-gray tipped with foam, the clouds veiling them. The Crusader castle rose above boulders and stones, a sentinel over the beach, fluttering with demons. Did the men who built this fort ever imagine that, a thousand years later, demons and angels would fight over it? Michael narrowed his eyes and flew down toward this ancient pile of stones.

  Beelzebub's demons met them head on, thousands shooting upward, claws drawn. Angel swords flew, demon fangs bit, and blood rained upon the beach below.

  "Zarel!" Michael shouted as the battle raged in midair, demons and angels swirling and killing, countless wings flapping. He thrust his lance in every direction, clad in light, spearing endless shades, their blood splashing against his arms. He remembered how Laila would fly into battle, guns blazing, grenades flying, fighting like a human. Michael clenched his jaw. Would Laila emerge to fight with Heaven, or would she remain in Limbo without fulfilling her end of the bargain? You swore you'd kill Beelzebub for me, Laila. You better get your butt back up here soon.

  "Zarel, Demon Queen of Hell!" he shouted, voice hoarse. "Come out and meet me."

  Hellfire blazed, and with a crackle and smoke, Zarel the Demon Queen shot out from the citadel, a fireball. Screeching, she launched into battle, tossing aside angel bodies. Michael narrowed his eyes and flew toward her.

  "Get her, now!" he shouted, and ten seraphs doffed their cloaks behind him, bursting into blinding light. The light fell upon Zarel, and she screamed, burning. Michael shouted at the top of his lungs. "Now, while she's blinded!"

  They crashed into the Demon Queen, Michael and ten seraphs, stabbing with blades and lance, blinding her with godlight. The archdemon screamed, wreathed in flames, clawing and biting. Her hellfire burned bright, singing Michael's hair, burning his eyes. Still he fought on, slamming his lance into her scales as she screamed. Zarel's claws lashed in all direction. One seraph fell dead, soon another, then a third. Michael grunted and kept stabbing, and the seraphs hacked at Zarel with blades that dented her scales. Her screams were so loud, Michael thought they would break his eardrums. Two more seraphs fell dead to thud against the distant ground.

  Three seraphs grabbed her from behind. She spun to claw at them, and Michael swooped forward and drove his gauntlet into Zarel's head. Blood flew, and Zarel's eyes closed. She growled, and Michael slammed his fist again. He felt her nose crush under his blow, and he grunted. His gauntlet broke, and he thought he might have broken his knuckle.

  "Tie her up," he grunted. The surviving seraphs grabbed Zarel's unconscious body. "Use heavy chains, lots of them. Quick, before she wakes."

  They descended to the ground, demons and angels battling above, blood raining. Between mossy boulders, Michael and his seraphs wrapped the unconscious Zarel with chains. They bound her legs together, her arms behind her back, her wings to her body. They placed an iron muzzle over her mouth, and finally shoved her into a cage.

  Michael surveyed their handiwork and nodded with satisfaction. "Good job, boys," he said to his seraphs.

  Zarel was waking up, moaning. Blood dripped down her muzzle. She blinked weakly, shook her head, and her gaze found Michael. Smoke rose from the muzzle as she snarled.

  "Let me go, angel," she hissed.

  Michael stared at her, lance in hand, the battle still raging above. "In good time."

  Spreading his wings, he grabbed her cage and lifted it, flying with it over the beach. The fort's tower rose before him, mossy and craggy, bleak under the veiled sky. Demons and angels battled around it, feathers and scales flying, blood splashing. Zarel's cage was so heavy, Michael could barely lift it, but he ignored the pain in his muscles. The pain of Raphael's death, of Bat El's betrayal, of Laila's disappearance all eclipsed any physical pain Michael could feel this day.

  "Beelzebub!" Michael shouted hoarsely, Zarel dangling beneath him in her cage. Rain began to fall, pattering against the cage, soaking Michael's hair and feathers. Zarel's flames raised steam that flowed across him, and he tasted ash running down his face. "Brother!" His shouts were hoarse, like the cries of a dying beast. "I have your wife! If you wa
nt her, show yourself."

  The rain pattered, crashing against the fort, the armies, the sea and sand. For a moment the battle seemed to die, all angels and demons staring at Michael and the captured Demon Queen. For a moment the only sound was the rain and thunder.

  Then, with a thud of wings and crackle of flame, Beelzebub, demon lord of Hell, emerged from the fort's front gates, flying into the sky. The fallen angel's wings spread wide and black, and the rain pattered against his blackened armor. He stared at Michael with eyes of flame.

  "Hello, big brother," he said. "You have taken a liking to my wife, I see. I never knew you were into romance, but if you like her so much, keep her. She's all yours."

  Zarel hissed in her cage. "Beelzebub, damn you."

  Beelzebub shrugged. "My brother has always had trouble meeting women. The only way he can get a lady is to chain her up. So I'll humor him."

  Holding the cage with one hand, Michael pointed his lance at Zarel's neck. "Enough of this." He grunted. "Beelzebub, shut up, or watch me kill her now."

  Beelzebub sighed. "You won't kill her, Michael, we both know that. She's worthless to you dead, so cut the games, cut the threats, and in God's name get a shave and a haircut, you look like you're the hostage here." The fallen angel flapped his wings, sending droplets of rain flying, and rubbed his neck. "I was just in the middle of a nap, so please, make this short. What do you want, Michael? What do you want for her? This fort? A few barrels of bloodwine? Me to do your laundry? Name your price and let's be done with."

  Michael stared at him through the wet strands of hair that hung over his eyes. His voice was so hoarse, it sounded more like a grunt than words. "You know what I want. Bring her out."

  Beelzebub snorted. "Bat El? The girl's on my side now, brother. She's no longer my hostage, but my willing accomplice. She's useless to you."

  "Damn it, Beelzebub!" Michael shouted, hating that he let his temper claim him. He pushed the spearhead against Zarel's neck. "Bring her out now."

  Beelzebub stared back, eyes flaming, for a moment all amusement gone from his face, leaving only sternness. The fallen angel then spun around, flapped his wings, and disappeared back into his fort.

  Michael descended to the ground and dropped the cage with a groan. Zarel struggled against her bonds, the rain steaming over her, but could not free herself. Michael's entire body ached. Rubbing his arm, he shoved his lance into the ground and sat on a boulder. The battle was dying around them, each army retreating to its ranks, glaring at the other side.

  "What now?" asked one of Michael's seraphs.

  "We wait," Michael said, the rain running down his face.

  * * * * *

  Laila sat in darkness, curtains drawn. She had found this bedchamber in Moloch's fort, high upon a tower, a simple room where she could live with her thoughts, alone, in silence.

  I have slain demons and angels. I am strong. I am a legend. But can I kill Zarel?

  She remembered the first angel she had killed. She had been sixteen, living in the forests as an animal, never speaking, running with wolves. Rain poured that evening, washing across the forest, and thunder rolled. The smells of mud, water, and wet leaves filled the air, thick. Laila sat in a small cave, a mere burrow not much larger than her body, cloak pulled over her shoulders. Little light remained, and Laila sat, chewing on dried boar meat, watching the rain fall outside. The sounds of raindrops and thunder placed a calmness within her, and she chewed slowly, staring outside.

  It is good this way, she thought. Among angels, demons, humans, she felt the war of demon and angel blood within her, the sizzle of good and evil. Here, light fading, the sounds of a storm around her, the smell of rain in her nostrils, she could sense some peace. It was good to be alone, an animal living in a cave, chewing dried meat, watching the rain, no worries within her, nobody to love, nobody to hurt.

  Someday, she knew, one of the brothers would win this war. Beelzebub, field commander of Hell's armies, might kill his brother Michael and fill this land with hellfire. If Michael was the victor, godlight would wash over the world. In either case, she, Laila, would die. Godlight would burn her demon blood, hellfire her angelic blood. Sometimes Laila found herself yearning for that day. Her own war was fought within her heart and veins; would death free her of its pain? Laila did not know. Should she die, would her soul still wander the world, banished from both Heaven and Hell, or might she finally find the respite of nothingness?

  Lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the trees shuddered under the sheets of rain. Rivulets ran between stones, sweeping over the hills. The light was almost gone when Laila saw the figure moving among the pines, cloaked in gray, a hood pulled over its face. She put her food aside and sat watching the figure roam, a staff in hand. When it looked toward her, she saw that it glowed softly. An angel. The angel seemed to sniff, then came walking in her direction, balancing over slippery stones. Laila considered running, but only briefly. This was her cave, her forest, her time of rest. She would not run from some angel.

  "Laila," he said to her, smiling, walking up to her cave. "I have searched for you for many days. Mind if I squeeze into your cave?"

  She bared her fangs at him, a wolf disturbed in her den. "Come one step closer, and it'll be your last."

  His smile only widened, and he reached out his hands toward her. The rain pattered against him. "You will return with me, Laila. Michael demands it. You turned sixteen this month, didn't you? You are old enough now. I am drafting you into Heaven's army. You will fight with us against Hell."

  With a crackle, her halo ignited, and she flexed her claws. "I see that you've still not taken a step closer. Do you dare not?"

  With a shrug, he took another step toward her.

  She leapt upon him then, claws drawn, sixteen years old and cornered, defending her den like a beast. He was an old angel, strong and smart, and he fought well. They fought upon the mountains until the breaking of the day, through rivulets and trees, over stones and carpets of pine needles. With dawn's light, she finally slew him, biting into his chest, ripping out his flesh. She raised her head to the dawn and howled, blood on her mouth, a howl which sent birds fleeing and shook the trees.

  "I am Laila!" she shouted, voice hoarse, tears on her cheeks. "I killed an angel." Thunder boomed and lightning rent the sky.

  In her chamber in Limbo, Laila lowered her head, her hair falling around her face. That had been a dozen years ago, and she had slain many angels and demons since. And soon... soon I will face Zarel, my greatest battle. Laila reached out and caressed Haloflame, running her fingers over the wolf's head pommel.

  * * * * *

  Beelzebub walked across the hall, rainwater dripping down his armor, his wings, his sword. Shades watched him from the shadows.

  "Hmm," he said to himself. This was an interesting development. Michael was showing some brazenness, unusual for the tired old warrior. Beelzebub couldn't help but smirk. Did Bat El ignite some fire in the old dog? Did Michael miss the sight of her pink lips, or maybe the way her body moved beneath her tunic? Beelzebub sighed, his own thoughts of Bat El making him pensive. He didn't want to give up the girl. Well, Michael, you do have me in a bind, I admit that much. Well done, brother.

  At the end of the hall, he stepped down the stairwell into the dungeon. He took a torch from the wall, unlocked the heavy door, and stepped into the darkness. Bat El looked up at him from the shadows, chained to the wall, as always when Zarel was around. Her hair was knotty, her skin ashy, her face gaunt.

  "Hello, Bat El," he said softly.

  She sighed and lowered her head, eyes moist. "What do you want, Beelzebub? Leave me alone."

  He knelt by her and touched her hair. "I'm sorry I had to lock you down here again. It was for your own safety, you know that. If I treated you as a mistress, Zarel would kill you. The only way I could keep her claws away is to lock you here."

  She glared at him, though her eyes seemed so weary, there was little fire to them. "So why visit me now? Is i
t sex you want? Do Zarel's scales grow old, and you crave some angel flesh?"

  Ouch. Beelzebub had not expected that. Then again, did you expect she'd welcome you with love and kisses? He unlocked her chains, and she moved slowly, wincing and rubbing her muscles.

  "Zarel is gone now," he said. "Michael captured her in battle. He wants a swap. You for her."

  The torchlight danced in Bat El's blue eyes. "And what will you do?"

  Beelzebub sat down with a sigh. Bat El sat beside him, and Beelzebub caressed her knotty, ashy hair. He put an arm around her. "I don't want to let you go," he whispered. "But I'm going to make the trade."

  Bat El lowered her head, suddenly crying. Tears ran down her cheeks, leaving white lines through the ash that covered her. "I don't want to leave you, Beelzebub. Zarel is gone now. Let her stay with Heaven. Let her stay in Michael's camp. We can be together now, Beelzebub." She took his hand and kissed him, sobbing. "Please. I love you. Don't send me away."

  Beelzebub winced, her words grabbing his heart and squeezing. "I love you too," he whispered, holding her. "More than I ever loved anyone." He meant it, he realized. He had not realized it until now, but looking at Bat El, he knew it was true. "I wish I could make you my wife, make you a throne, a crown, a great queen. I'd give up all other women, all other lusts, for you, Bat El, if only I could. But I can't."

  A sob fled her lips, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, her arms around him. "Why not? If you love me, make me your queen. I would leave Heaven for you, Beelzebub. I would become a fallen angel for your love, let bat wings replace my swan ones, let fangs grow from my mouth and claws from my fingers, let my halo fall off, all for your love, Beelzebub. For you I would do this, I would give up God's grace for you." Her tears wet his chest.