by Erin Hayes
“Rahym!”
Through the din in my ears, I hear Murat’s voice. Somehow, I managed to get far ahead of them, deep into the throng of demonlings, and I avert my attention back to them for a split second, seeing them running up to me, fighting their own demonlings along the way. The demonlings cast fire spells, and us humans’ only defense is dodging their attacks.
I cough, choking on blood that isn’t mine. I’m covered in it, and the realization tempers my anger because it’s disgusting, and I wonder if the blood is in any way poisonous. I wipe it away with the back of my hand, the smell of the demonlings filling my nostrils.
Showers are scarce out here. If I survive this, I’m going to smell like demonling corpse for a long time.
“How many?” I pant as I whirl around. I hack my yataghan in empty air, as all of the enemy around me are dead. Did I do that?
I swallow thickly, hoping that it’s saliva and not something else. “How many are left? How many demonlings are left?”
“Nakir—” Emre starts, and I follow where he’s looking. I blink, confused, as the angel is standing by himself, piles of vanquished demonlings around him. He’s covered in blood like I am, and the only part of him that’s not covered in gore is his eyes. He glances back at us and flashes us the ghost of smile before his legs buckle beneath him and he collapses. The hero of the hour, reduced to being unable to hold himself up.
Welcome to life with the curse.
Murat sighs and combs his hand through his hair. “Well, shit. Who has the strength to drag him to the Door Stop?”
I let out a shuddering breath. “Not me,” I whisper. The ground tilts beneath me, and it’s not one of the fires sprouting from the earth. I’m staggering as my own hibernation takes over.
I fall face-first into the fine sand.
Hopefully there are no more demonlings out here. Because if there are, we’re fucked.
Chapter 20
Like usual, my strength snaps back into my body, and I push myself up onto all fours, reaching for my weapon. Right on cue, my heart is pounding faster and faster, like it wants to abandon me and retreat back from the desert.
Because I’m still in the Door to Hell. Hell, I’m still right where I collapsed earlier. Were we that close to dying that no one could pull me to safety? Or were we just at that point all along?
My fingers find the yataghan, and I close them, feeling the ivory handle of the blade. It’s gummy, as I hadn’t had the chance to clean it before I succumbed to the hibernation.
I’m almost confused for a moment as I frown at the bodies surrounding me. It’s dark outside, the middle of the night, and the only thing that gives away the bloody landscape around me is the moonlight glinting off their ruddy skin.
So many demonlings and pieces of demonlings. And they all smell so stinking bad.
Imagine if you had died along with them. You’d be spending an eternity with that stench.
I’d rather not imagine that, thank you very much. Because that is way too damn close to the truth. It’s way too close to what could have happened out here.
“Rahym!”
I whirl at the voice, wildly wielding the yataghan in front of me. I don’t trust much of what happens when I first wake up. Too many people try to take advantage of you, and well, look at where I just woke up.
Not exactly a nice comfy bed.
Jennet halts a few feet from me, holding up her hands placatingly. “Relax,” she says softly. “It’s just me.”
I’m so battle-ready right now that it takes everything I have to loosen my grip on the blade and bring it down. I force myself to focus on her, on her face, and how she looks as bone-tired at me.
“What happened?” I ask. “What time is it?”
She regards me for a moment before sighing. “It’s just after midnight.” She crosses her arms in front of her body, putting up a physical barrier between us. That doesn’t escape my notice, despite the fact that my mind is firing at a million miles a minute. “Everyone is waking up from their hibernation,” she says almost sheepishly.
“Everyone?”
She lets out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah. It was close this time. Too close.”
Too close indeed.
I glance around me, seeing Emre and Murat groaning as they start to stir. They had collapsed right alongside me, a testament to how close we were to losing this battle. Beyond us, I can dimly make out the shape of Nakir as he shakes off the effects of his hibernation. There’s no joking, no joviality to waking up.
We’re simply alive, when it was too close for comfort.
I lick my lips and look around. “So no one was awake until now?”
“No,” Nury says, making his way out to us. His eyes are somber and sad as he casts his gaze down in shame. Why, I’m not sure. We’re all alive right now; isn’t that what counts? “I’m so sorry,” he says softly. The night air is so still and quiet, I can hear him clearly. “I was at the Door Stop when I saw you guys fall. And I knew that I could make it out here and survive and protect Fatma and—”
“It’s fine,” Nakir says with a heavy sigh as he stalks his way back toward the Door Stop. “We’re all alive now. You were protecting our most important, precious asset.”
His eyes are on Jennet as he says that, and I feel something flare to life within my chest. Jealousy? Over calling Jennet precious?
Yes, that is exactly what you’re feeling. Which is a damn sight better than feeling depressed.
Shit, I don’t have the time or energy for jealousy. Especially since I know that Nakir is a fine specimen. If he suddenly decided that he wanted Jennet as his lover or wife or whatever it is that angels have with mortal women, then there’s nothing I can do.
I’m just Rahym Tezel. Failed Lodge owner. Widow. Father to no one.
I suck in a shuddering breath as I push myself to my feet. “We’re lucky we’re not all dead,” I snap at Nakir as I pass him. Jealousy, apparently, turns me into an asshole.
I like the taste of it in my mouth.
Nakir only chuckles. “Luck has everything to do with it.”
“Don’t be coy,” I snap. “You have the lives of all of us in your hands and you’re treating this like some sort of daytime outing? Shall I get you some tea or something?”
The angel narrows his eyes at me before shaking his head. “What’s gotten into you, Rahym?”
I throw up my hands, not understanding what’s gotten into me, either. All I know is that we nearly died out here. Died, and for what? Some sort of misplaced sense of adventure? The belief that we are the ones destined to save the world?
I realize now that it’s impossible. In the shadow of the Watchtower, which I can see smoldering in the distance, we’re still so far, still tired, exhausted.
That goal seems impossible.
I’m a fool. Nakir is a fool. We’re all fucking fools out here, because we’re up against odds that are impossible. With the curse, we’re at a huge disadvantage, and with all of the monsters roaming around the Door to Hell, we’re fighting against a never-ending stream of shit.
And at the end of it all, we’re no better than shit on the bottom of someone’s boot. Abaddon’s boot, most likely.
“Why was that the first time I saw you using Jan like that?” I snarl at Nakir, lashing out with the only thing I have that makes some sense. “Why haven’t you used your sword like that before?”
Nakir gives me an incredulous look. “It hasn’t been needed like that before. And it takes a lot out of me.”
“You could have done that to save the other Halos.” I grit my teeth. “You could have saved Maysa and Beste with it.”
Understanding dawns across his face. “You were there,” he reasons. “You saw what happened. There was no chance. I—”
I try to reason with my own mind. When I had last journeyed into the Door to Hell with Nakir, we hadn’t been attacked with such a huge force as today. And we were headed back to the Lodge on the very last vestiges of our
strength to warn them of the wildfires and get them out of there. I had collapsed only a few yards from my wife and child and heard them scream as the fire surrounded them and the rest of the Halos.
Somehow, I had been saved. And for what? So that I could die doing the same exact thing?
Luck.
Fuck luck and fuck everything to do with that. I want answers. I want my life back. I want something worth living for. And right now, the only thing that I can grasp with my panicked mind is that Nakir could have done something—anything—and he didn’t.
I thrust my hand toward the Watchtower. “Why not zap your sword over to the Watchtower and slash it to bits? You seem to be pretty damn good at it.”
I see the ripple of the muscle along his jaw, and the intensity heightens within him, burning at me. I refuse to budge.
“Rahym—” Emre says, reaching out for me. I shrug away from his grasp.
Nakir and I still hold each other’s glare, and it could have been the two of us at that moment, for all I knew. “You know I did everything I could,” he whispers. “I never would have—”
“Fuck you,” I snarl as I storm toward the Door Stop. So much wasted energy on this conversation and my barely contained anger. But I don’t care. Why care when all Nakir has to do is swing that sword? Why have the Halos at all?
I storm my way to the Door Stop, pushing past a stunned Jennet.
“Rahym!” she calls after me, but I ignore her. “Rahym!”
“Don’t,” I hear Nakir telling her. “He needs to grieve in his own way.”
I don’t want to admit that he’s right. My eyes burn with something like tears, and I blink furiously to keep them at bay as I walk into the relative safety of the Door Stop. Nury, Fatma, and the others watch me with apprehension. Even Rabia, who grimaces and fights to sit up with her pelvic injuries, watches me warily as I head to the stone outcropping, away from the others. I’m sure they don’t want to be around a half-crazed man any more than I want to be that half-crazed man.
I just want to feel happy again. And it won’t ever happen again.
I curl up on the floor, facing the wall, and try everything I can to fall asleep. It takes all too long, and even sleep isn’t restful.
I hate the Door to Hell.
Fingertips brush my cheek, fluttering gently. I float on my dreams, trying to place the touch. Maysa used to wake me up like this. She’d feel the edges and curves of my face in order to commit my physique to memory. So many times, I woke up in bed with her just watching me as the pads of her fingers brushed my cheek.
I remember that those fingertips didn’t have calluses, as Maysa never did get wizened and roughed up by the world around us. She’d work as hard as possible, but her skin remained soft. And her smile never faltered.
These fingers are callused, however.
It’s not Maysa.
I open my eyes to find Jennet sitting next to me as I had been sleeping. She freezes as I look at her, as if she were embarrassed at being caught during the intimate act. Her expression is a little fearful as our gazes meet. Then she glances away from me as her hand leaves my skin, leaving me cold and shivering.
How could her touch do something like that to me?
“It’s nearly sunrise,” she whispers, nodding to the east. “We should get a move on.”
Get a move on.
Right. How?
I sit up and look around the rest of the campsite as the Halos go about their duties, making sure the horses are stocked, gathering up everything. We didn’t exactly make camp here, but we still clean up and try everything we can to hide our tracks.
Kerem is leaning over Rabia, and I see the power glowing in his palms as he continues to heal her wounds. She glares at him, like she wants to rip off his face. After all, he had saved her horse before saving her. I’m sure that does a lot for her self-confidence.
“I guess Alion will be happy,” I mutter, combing a hand through my hair. “Another day of suicide missions. Maybe he’ll run off when I die.”
“Rahym.” The hurt note in Jennet’s voice makes me look at her again. Her expression is pinched, like she’s in physical pain herself. She takes a breath and takes my hand in both of her own. “What happened out there? Between you and Nakir?”
“We nearly died,” I say. “That’s what.”
“But we’re still here.” Our gazes meet, and she softens, smidge by smidge. “We’re still fighting.”
“For what?” I whisper. “Is the cost worth it?”
Jennet licks her lips as she mulls over her answer before she finally speaks. “Yes.” She closes her eyes, as if pained. “It’s worth it. Because if it keeps families together—if it keeps one man from losing himself to grief—then it’s worth it. No one should ever feel powerless.”
She’s talking about you.
“And you believe that we won’t feel powerless if we win?” I ask. Big if there, but I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.
She wets her lips again, averting her eyes. “Yes. I hate what the curse and the Door to Hell have done to you, Rahym. I know…I know I left before anything could have changed between us, but…you have to keep fighting.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Her lips catch mine, soft and supple against my unyielding mouth. I freeze against the contact, my eyes widening as I take in everything that’s happening in this very moment. Jennet, my friend from childhood, whom I haven’t seen in nearly two decades, is kissing me. Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation in a very emotional way. She’s trying to will me back to life.
If I’m completely honest with myself, then I would acknowledge that my chest is swelling with something like…hope…
And it’s all because of her.
I don’t move. I can’t move. Because the last person to kiss me like this and put her trust in me died. And there’s no way I can put Jennet through that. Hell, there’s no way I’d survive that.
She pulls back. “There are always reasons to keep fighting.”
I can’t say anything. I don’t move. I just watch her, stunned.
A pained expression crosses her beautiful features as she gives herself a quick nod, as if she’s shaking off the moment and burying it in the sand of this Door Stop.
But it did happen. And I don’t know what to make of it. We can’t be anything more, because that makes both of us liabilities. That would ruin Maysa’s and Beste’s memories. And if everything crumbled around me and I lost myself, it would ruin me from the inside out.
And that’s something I can’t handle.
Jennet takes it in an entirely different way, though. She nods and gets to her feet. “Don’t give up, Rahym,” she warns me. “Don’t you dare give up.”
She walks away, leaving me alone. I groan and comb a hand through my hair, realizing that I still have dried demonling blood on me. Jennet had kissed me even though I’m at my dirtiest, smelliest worst.
Maybe we’re all losing our minds out here.
Nakir is getting his horse ready, and he’s watching me intently. I’ll have to face Nakir sooner or later. But right now, I just can’t.
Not with a desert of emotions and mine fields between us. I…can’t…
I get to my feet and walk over to Alion, who regards me with one wide eye.
“Don’t you judge me either,” I groan to my horse.
Alion responds by lifting up his tail and pissing all over the ground, including my boot. Great. Now I’m covered in demonling blood and horse piss. If this isn’t Hell, then I don’t know what is.
Chapter 21
The day goes by relatively uneventfully. We just ride our horses as the sun beats down on us, moving from one horizon to the other. We take turns, having one person on watch, while the rest of us are tied to our saddles, ready to be alert at a moment’s notice. Even Rabia, with her injuries from the night before, is quiet, and she doesn’t snap at anyone.
We don’t cross paths with any more demonlings as we travel across the hot, sandy desert. N
o more wildfires sprout.
Small blessings.
I remain quiet, lost in my own thoughts as I steer Alion at the back of our group. He is decidedly an asshole today. Pissing all over my feet was just the start of him doing everything possible to let me know that he’s unhappy with the status quo.
“You and me both, horse,” I mutter, unimpressed.
Ahead of me, Nakir looks back at me, as I’m the first one to have spoken in a while. I glare back defiantly at him, still smarting from the night before, as he swivels around in his saddle to face front again. He clacks his reins, and his horse moves ahead.
I guess I’m just like Alion today. I’m not in the mood for anyone’s shit or sympathy or what the hell else you have in the desert like this.
But Nury hangs back, the innocent bastard, and falls into step beside me. “What was it like?” he asks. “Being a miner out here?”
I frown at him, not really following what he’s saying. “What do you mean?” I attempt to wet my lips with my dry tongue. “It was exactly like working in Hell.”
Nury nods. “Yes, but…” His eyes sweep the dunes and hills around us, his expression wavering between suspicion, worry, and terror.
Ah, so that’s why he’s asking. The poor man is frightened out of his mind.
Well, aren’t you as well?
No, I have zero fucks left to give.
You know that’s not true. Why would you be so concerned for Jennet’s wellbeing, then?
I have no answer for that. And I realize that Nury has been patiently waiting for me to answer him, to give more insight into the lives of the men who’d risk themselves for money.
“Some days were better than others,” I say finally. “Mining natural gas has always been dangerous work, and our bosses knew that. You didn’t always have to work within the Door to Hell in order to get paid. So many days were spent with deliveries, recuperating, and being around those you cared about.” I snicker. “Come to think of it, they must have done that to keep us coming back. You always knew why you faced Hell.”