by C. L. Roman
Fomor leaned back against a nearby tree, one foot braced against the trunk, the other flat on the ground. The members of his unit stirred restively and for a single breath, a shade of doubt chased the rage from Gant’s features. Then it was gone. He pointed a shaking finger at Volot.
“He was given orders to take to Fomor. But he never told the captain anything about it. We should have been in Par-Adis, fighting alongside our brothers and sisters. We should have been…”
“We would have been destroyed ourselves,” Fomor interrupted.
Another silence greeted the calm statement.
After a moment Volot made as if to deny Gant’s accusations, but Fomor’s look stopped him. “I think the time for secrets is over, Lieutenant,” Fomor said and stared hard at Gant. “As is the time for half-truths and misinformation.”
He scrubbed a weary hand over his features. “You all have the right to know. It’s true, Dolosus called Volot in and gave him orders to bring to me. We were to assemble by the Crystal Sea for our assignment. When an explosion collapsed half of the colonel’s office on top of her, Volot chose to keep the orders to himself.”
A tumult of angry protest broke out. Fomor allowed the shouting to run its course before he continued.
“What Gant does not know, however, is that Dolosus was one of Lucky’s recruits. Her job was to gather in units loyal to Sabaoth and send them into ambushes where they could be overcome by enemy forces superior either in number or power, and thereby taken out of the main battle.”
Jotun was the first to speak. “So – Volot’s disobedience saved our lives.”
Fomor shook his head. “No, the plan was completely unsuccessful. Sabaoth redirected each unit before it could be ambushed.” A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “Lucky was a fool to believe anything could be hidden from El-Elyon.”
“As were we,” Adahna whispered.
“As were we,” the captain agreed. “So you see Gant – though Volot cannot be excused for his duplicity – in the end it really made very little difference. We were destined for this place by Sabaoth. There was no escaping it.”
“Bellator told you all of this when he passed sentence on us,” Jotun said, “but you said nothing. Why?”
Fomor smiled sadly. “I thought about it,” he admitted. “But, try as I might, I could see no profit in telling you. Volot acted, as he thought, to protect us. Telling you would earn him your distrust, perhaps even your hatred and it would change nothing.” He shrugged, “And then too, I thought, how could I be angry when I had Danae? I would not change my circumstances now for anything. Would you?”
Jotun looked troubled, but could not find it in himself to disagree.
Gant felt differently. “Your circumstances,” he grated. “Yes, I see your point. You have everything you never knew you wanted. Of course that doesn’t help others who aren’t so lucky – does it?”
“Gant— ” Adahna laid a placating hand on his arm, but he shook her off.
“She lies in a box, Fomor! She doesn’t decay but she doesn’t breathe, doesn’t laugh or speak and I…” his words hung on a sob, “I don’t even have a sword to destroy the monster who did this to her.”
Fomor looked at him helplessly. “Gant, I…” he began, but the younger angel turned away.
Volot shot a glance at the captain and then at the remaining four in turn. Jotun’s expression was hard, but Adahna’s gave him hope that he might eventually be forgiven. Phaella refused to look at him at all. His gaze came at last to rest on Gant’s grief etched form.
He felt the pommel of his own weapon under his palm – felt the familiarity, the sure knowledge that it was as much a part of him as his own arm. He pulled it slowly from its sheath, heard the susurration of steal against hardened leather, held the bright metal upright before his eyes.
“Gant,” he said. The other angel rounded on him savagely, and was stunned to see Volot spin the blade, neatly invert and offer it to him, grip first. “I would give my life to undo the wrong I’ve committed – lacking that I deserve to die for my betrayal; though I know even that isn’t enough to make up for what I’ve done.”
Gant took the sword slowly, almost as if he wanted to refuse but couldn’t help himself. Volot released the blade and, burying his fingers in his tunic directly over his heart, ripped the fabric in two, baring his neck and chest. “After I’m gone, use my sword to go after Benat and restore Sena.” Tears of sorrow and regret stood in his eyes. “And please, I know I have no right to ask, but please, take care of Shahara for me.”
Gant stared at him in confusion for a moment. Revulsion warred with horrified temptation for what seemed like an eternity to both of them. Adahna started forward but was stopped by Fomor’s hand on her shoulder. Phaella and Jotun looked on calmly, waiting. Then Phaella turned and vanished in a shower of sparks.
The movement broke the spell. Gant reversed his grip on the sword hilt and raised the blade into the air. With a cry that shook the air around them he gripped the handle with both hands and buried half the scimitar’s length into the earth between Volot’s spread feet. Volot swayed slightly and went pale with relief, but made no other move.
“Tempting as it is, your destruction will not bring Sena back to me,” Gant snarled.
“But perhaps this might.” Phaella reappeared through the Shift. In her outstretched hands lay a sword. Gant looked at it in surprise.
“That is Sena’s blade,” Gant whispered. Phaella said nothing, only continued to hold it out to his trembling touch. The sword felt warm in his hand. When his fingers closed around the hilt he could have sworn he felt a welcoming hum sing through the steel.
A grim smile tugged at his sister’s lips. “It wants revenge,” she said.
He looked up at her and took the blade into his possession. “It wants justice,” he corrected and sheathed the sword.
After a small silence in which everyone seemed to want to look anywhere but at each other, Adahna cleared her throat.
“I uh – Captain, I’d like to volunteer to stay here and see the burial through with Phaella.” She looked over at the younger angel, but Phaella made no protest.
In the end it was decided that Adahna and Phaella would stay in the village with the humans to protect them. The dead had to be attended to and the humans would be of little use against Molek in any case.
“And, Gant, if Benat is with Molek…” Fomor paused.
Gant tensed, ready to refuse any order that didn’t include Benat’s extinction at his hands.
“If the dog is with his master, you will retrieve the heart by whatever means necessary,” the captain finished.
Gant’s eyes glittered with anticipation and Phaella had to turn away from the nearly feral smile that twisted her brother’s mouth.
“With pleasure, sir,” he said.
“Volot, check that village – if our adversary was there, it’s most likely that he’s gone by now. His recent battle against us should have taught him humility, but arrogance was ever Molek’s weakness and there is a slight chance that he hasn’t fled.”
“Fomor, I…” Volot held out a hand to his friend and the captain took it.
“What’s done is done. It was wrong, in both cases.” Fomor said. Volot flushed and dropped his gaze. “But we haven’t time for recriminations now, and we are, none of us, perfect.” Fomor moved his hand to Volot’s shoulder and shook him lightly. “Just make sure you exit the Shift a good distance away from the village. If he hears you he might kill the children before we can get to them.”
The lieutenant gave a half bow of acknowledgement, turned, stepped and was gone.
Fomor continued handing out assignments. “Phaella, scout the area around Nephel’s village. If we are wrong about this other village you may be able to determine which direction the demons took.”
Without a word, Phaella vaulted into the air, shot eastward and began flying in ever widening circles over the ruined village.
“Adahna, you stay here, just in c
ase,” Fomor looked toward the tents where Danae and her siblings carried out their sad work. “Jotun, Gant and I will dig the graves while we wait for Volot and Phaella to return.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“You let it get away!” Molek hurled a candlestick, candle still attached and burning, across the cave. One less flame lit the already dim cave as the candle extinguished itself against the lesser demon’s shoulder. Benat hunched against the pain and danced sideways, trying to avoid the second stand and its attendant candle. It slammed into his thigh an instant later. Hopping and cursing, he moved to put more distance between himself and his enraged master.
A red haze clouded Molek’s vision. He gripped the table and with a mighty heave flipped it end over end across the cavern. The black quartz slab screamed the last few cubits across the floor on its side, slammed into the wall with a thunderous crash and split in two. The three-year-old boy laying on it was hurled across the room, smashed into the wall, slid to the floor and lay still at last. Astarte made a moue of irritation and hurried over to poke at the body.
“It was not Benat’s fault,” the lesser demon protested. “The Master had it within his grasp, it was his talons which passed through its flesh as through a mist. If the Master cannot…” skittering sideways, he ducked behind the remains of the table as another candlestick blazed towards him.
“Master, please,” he shrieked, “if you could not hold it, how could Benat?”
The groveling continued as Benat covertly eyed the swaying curtain of his sleeping alcove. He didn’t want to leave the girl behind, she was far too entertaining, but then again, a toy, no matter how tasty, wasn’t worth his life. It was time he and Molek parted ways.
Molek’s anger began to cool as he watched his daughter pouting over her ruined snack. Offspring were so cute at that age.
We will have to move. Discarded and dishonored by the Most High, these members of the Host might be, but they have proven themselves lucky, if not significant, foes. And this one – he hurled a candle at Benat, but negligently, more to keep him off balance now than with real violence – has shown himself less than helpful when he was most needed. It is time to sever the connection between us and move on. Still, Astarte is too young yet, to help move the food. She’ll need to be helped through the Shift herself. Benat would have to be allowed to live until they reached their new living quarters.
The last of the red haze cleared from his mind and Molek put down the last candlestick instead of throwing it. “You are right.” The calm tone pulled a wary glance from Benat as Molek continued, “I should not expect something of you that could not be done. You are forgiven.”
“Oh, thank you Master, thank you.” Forgiven? Benat snorted and shoved his few belongings into a pack and then slid it onto his back. Far more likely a stay of execution, and a temporary one at that. Weak Benat may be, compared to the “great and mighty” Molek, but stupid – no. Watch for the chance, that is the key. Watch for the chance and escape with the girl and the pendant.
“Quit mooning about and light the candles. Whatever that thing was, it saw us and we need to move.” Molek’s irritation resurfaced as he pondered the necessity of moving; something he hadn’t planned to do for at least a month more.
“Of course. Master is so wise.” Benat nearly chuckled again as he obeyed, lighting candles and then hustling around the cave gathering the things they would take with them. With a sly glance to make sure Molek wasn’t looking, he strapped Gant’s sword to his own pack.
A smart man takes what he can, while he can. He fingered the pendant once more. Smart, very smart it had been to forge the locket with his own blood so that none could take it from him. Grabbing up a huge cloth bag, he pushed the first shivering victim inside, ignoring her cry of pain when his talons scraped her face.
The locket – his fingertips sizzled as he remembered the pain of holding the blood covered, still beating, heart in his bare hands. But Benat learns quick; he made the locket with his own blood and now no one else can touch it. He chuckled over the memory of Molek’s one and only attempt to take the locket from him. Oh how he howled! For the pain, yes for the pain, but mostly for rage.
The laugh was stifled by a shudder as he recalled how close Molek had come to killing him in that moment. He thrust the fourth child, a boy this time, into the bag. The child fought hard, kicking and biting, screaming his defiance until Benat rapped his head against the stone floor. Molek didn’t want them damaged, but he didn’t have to deal with their nasty little teeth. Be damned if Benat will let the food chew on him, he thought with grim determination. Grimacing, he yanked the drawstring closed, wrapped the end around the neck of the bag and knotted it.
Grabbing up a second bag, he shoved the remaining children inside. With a covert glance at Molek to make sure he was still helping Astarte gather her things, he hoisted the bag with its wriggling, moaning contents onto his shoulder and scurried across the cave for his toy. Better to move now, than later. Once we get to the new place, Molek will have no need of Benat and it will be too late.
He thrust aside the curtain and jerked his thumb at the cowering figure inside. “Get out here girl. It’s time for us to go.” Greasy laughter slid past his lips as he looked at her. “You don’t want to miss the party.”
Her eyes glazed with fear and loathing, the girl huddled further back into the alcove.
“Hurry up,” he hissed. “We have to go before…”
“Before what, Benat?” The voice was quiet, pleasant almost, but Molek’s talons dug painfully into his shoulder. “You aren’t thinking of deserting me, are you?”
“N–n–no Master, of course not. But the girl is reluctant. She fears you, I think.” He slid a subservient grin sideways and tried unsuccessfully to ease himself free of the other demon’s grip.
“Fears me?” Molek laughed and a chill crept up Benat’s spine. “No need for that, is there dear?” He looked at her intently and smiled. Benat marveled anew at his Master’s skill in twisting reality. The girl saw a handsome, kindly face, beaming at her with love and reassurance, but Benat’s perception showed him both the projection Molek created by his own will, and the truth; a visage twisted by hate and malice, supremely ugly, vengeful and violent.
The child smiled back at Molek and inched her way towards him, casting fearful glances at Benat with every movement. His own control over her had disappeared with the first touch of his teeth on her neck, but Molek could still hold her captive with a glance. He huffed in disgust and grabbed the girl to him before she could twist away.
“She’s mine! You said I could keep her.”
Molek’s grip on his shoulder tightened and Benat winced but did not release the girl. The master demon steered his captive, toy, bag and all, back into the center of the cave where Astarte waited next to the first batch of food Benat had packed.
“So I did, so I did. Well, not to worry. I always keep my word. She’s yours.” The “for now” was left unspoken, but Benat could read it in his eyes. He gripped the girl and the bag tighter as Molek hoisted the first bag onto his shoulder. Slammed together like so many stones inside a closed fist, the children inside screamed in terror and pain but Molek ignored them, positioning the bag as a man might a sack of flour without ever letting go of his subordinate’s shoulder.
Molek glanced at Astarte and smiled. “Come along darling. Just like last time, stand very close to your Papa and hold onto my arm. Don’t let go, no matter what, all right?”
“Of course, Papa,” the child smiled back at him revealing fang-like teeth behind the pink, baby lips.
Thus burdened, the trio stepped into the Shift.
***
Evening brought no good news to the unit. As the light faded around the little cluster of houses, the women worked together to provide a meal no one had the heart to eat.
As expected, Phaella had found no traces of Molek or Benat around the village.
Volot’s expedition had been equally fruitless. The cliff-side vi
llage continued as before, but the caves above it were empty. After an hour’s search he had picked up the stench of spilled blood and followed it to a cavern deep within the mountain.
Here he found the three dead children in a cave that looked as if some wild beast had gone mad in it. The curtains were shredded, the pillows gutted. The blood stained table lay on its side, broken in half and useless. Molek has left me nothing to do but return the bodies for burial, he mourned.
There was nothing to tell where Molek had taken his captives. Gant asked for, and was given permission to return to the area to see if he could pick up their trail somehow.
“Apparently,” Volot said, “the traitorous fiend was more than a little irritated at Danae’s intrusion, but not so much as to damage his appetite.”
At Danae’s stricken look, Volot opened his mouth as if to take back the thoughtless remark, but Fomor placed a restraining hand on his arm.
“It wasn’t your fault Danae; they were dead before you got there,” her husband pointed out.
The three were sitting around the remains of the evening fire, the others having retired for the night. The dead had been buried, finally. After digging the graves the angels had helped with the washing and preparing of the bodies, but the task had been enormous, had, at times, seemed endless. Exhaustion had overtaken most of the company. Danae’s guilt was the only thing keeping her upright.
“One wasn’t, the little boy on the table was still alive,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “If I had thought to look sooner…”
“He took the children as a portable food source that couldn’t fight back,” Fomor cut in, standing to pace back and forth in the fire’s flickering light. “They were as good as dead when he left the village.”
“I said her name,” Danae insisted, hands clenching tight on her knees, body hunched against a pain that went deeper than the physical. “Even I know better than to say her name.”