Fallen Halos

by Erin Hayes

  I suddenly see Jennet’s optimism and her hope with everything. It doesn’t seem impossible anymore. Not when there’s wonderful things in this world. Not when I have her.

  I close my eyes. Thank you, Maysa.

  Thank you, Jennet.

  Just as I sit down next to Jennet, there’s a scream at the entrance to the Door. It’s not demonlings.

  It’s Murat.

  His scream is suddenly cut short, followed by a painful gurgle. The horses whinny in fear at the noise, possibly smelling something on the air that I can’t.

  I spring to my feet and look for my yataghan among my belongings on the floor. It takes entirely too long to find my weapon, but I pull it up and out of the sheath as I round out toward the front of the cave.

  “What’s happening?” Fatma cries, getting to her feet. “What’s—”

  I shush her, trying to put myself between the entrance and the three witches. I exchange a glance with Nakir as we head to the front of the cave. He draws out his sword, wielding it in front of us.

  He gives a knowing nod as he steps out in front of me. I look at Jan, the sword gleaming in the dying light as Nakir pads ahead. Kerem rushes by me, obviously intent on healing Murat.

  If it’s not too late. That just puts him closer to danger.

  “Jennet,” I say, turning around. “Stay back with Fatma.”

  She gives a nod, her eyes fierce as she puts herself in front of Fatma.

  I’d been fearless before when I thought I had nothing to live for. But now, as I follow Nakir to the front of the cave, I’m terrified. I don’t want anything to happen to Jennet. Not now, not when we’ve just found each other.

  Nury grabs his own weapon, a scimitar, and falls into step beside me. He looks terrified as well, but I recognize his expression. He’d do anything to protect Fatma.

  Here’s hoping that we are up against something that we can defeat.

  Kerem is sitting in front of Murat, who had been run through with a spear, effectively pinning him to the wall. That must have been the first scream. Then someone—or something—slashed his throat all the way to his spine, killing him. Blood spurts from the wound.

  There’s nothing to be done. Kerem can’t heal him if he’s dead.

  The male witch sits back with a curse under his breath and rubs his hands on his face.

  “The weapons look like they’re from demonlings,” Nury says, glancing to me. “But…”

  “It’s not just demonlings,” Nakir says from the entrance. His voice is low, dangerous. He sounds pissed. I follow him to the lip of the Door Stop and look down at the horde below us.

  Firelight highlights the edges of the army. There are fewer demonlings here than the horde that attacked us, but these are bigger, meaner, more battle-hardened. It’s like the Door to Hell held back this group for when we were most tired.

  How the hell did they sneak up on Murat when he was keeping watch and where Fatma couldn’t sense them? Magic?

  Or is something else masking them?

  I may see why. At the front of the pack is the biggest demonling I’ve ever seen. He’s even bigger than Nakir, his red skin almost scarlet. His black hair is tied back, and his eyes are as black as coal, including his irises.

  But the thing most disconcerting about him are his wings. Demonlings don’t have wings, at least not any demonlings that I’ve seen. So why is he different? The wingspan is about twelve feet, with sinewy, leather skin wrapped along thin bones. I’m not sure if the wings are able to hold him aloft, but they’re imposing enough.

  I get a feel for what Nakir would have looked like as a fully-fledged angel before he fell from heaven.

  The huge demonling’s eyes are locked on Nakir as the two of them have a staring match amongst themselves. Finally, he takes a burlap sack from the demonling next to him and tosses it our way. The sack hits the sand and bounces once before whatever is inside it rolls out.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick. In a bloody heap, Rabia’s head rolls out and faces us, her mouth open in a permanent scream.

  She had been decapitated during her travels with Emre. And just as I wonder what happened to Emre, the old, wizened soldier steps out from the huge demonling’s shadow and crosses his arms as he looks up at Nakir.

  “What the hell is happening?” Nury whispers beside me.

  Nakir clears his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you here yet,” he says, “Abaddon.”

  Suddenly, I know why the demonling in front of us is so huge. Because he’s not a demonling at all.

  This is Abaddon. The Demon Lord who has cursed us for the past fifty years. The entire purpose of our journey. So close, and yet so impossible right now. We’re far outnumbered by manpower and by numbers.

  There’s no way we’ll win.

  Abaddon grins up at Nakir. “Hello, brother. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  Chapter 25

  I stare down at Emre, unable to process what the fuck he’s doing standing next to the Demon Lord like he is. Bile twists in my stomach, threatening to upheave as it hits me.

  “You betrayed us,” I say blandly. “You sold us out to the Demon Lord.”

  There’s apology floating in the old man’s eyes, even as he looks up at us. It takes me a moment to understand that. That he’d feel remorse after what he did. “I did what I had to do,” he says.

  “You had to betray us?” Nury exclaims.

  Kerem comes to our side. Three men, plus three witches, against Abaddon himself. I don’t like our odds, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him anywhere near Jennet. Not while I’m still alive.

  “What was the deal?” I say through gritted teeth. “When did you make it?”

  Emre lifts a shoulder. “The deal was if I help Abaddon dispose of the Halos then he would grant my family a pass at the curse. Release them from it.”

  “I thought you didn’t have family,” Nury says dumbly.

  “Oh yes,” Emre says. “An ailing wife, and my kids and grandkids are stuck in this…thing…this curse. There’s no way we could have succeeded.”

  “No,” Nakir says. “There was no way, especially with you sabotaging us.”

  I blink, feeling my entire body go cold. “When the Lodge burned down,” I whisper. “That was you?”

  Emre averts his eyes. “Nothing against you, Rahym,” he says softly. “I really liked you. I just did what I had to do.”

  I clench my fist. “It has everything to do with me,” I growl. These assholes are the reason I lost everything. From the fires and the demonling attack to the wildfire storm—how much of that was Emre being in contact with Abaddon? How many times did he betray our position or our state in order to get on the Demon Lord’s good side?

  “Tell me,” Nakir says, his voice low and dangerous, “were you the one to kill Rabia, or was that one of these other fuckers out here?”

  Even from this distance, I can see Emre swallow uncomfortably. That’s all the answer that Nakir needs. He swings the sword toward the soldier, the blade cutting through the air. Simultaneously, Abaddon holds up a hand. The attack gets blocked by an invisible barrier that only sparks and hisses at the strikes, effectively protecting the demon and the horde.

  All of them except for Emre. I see as the arc slices through the man at the neck. He blinks confusedly for a moment, his mouth working painfully. Then blood spills from a cut on his neck as his head slides off it and onto the ground. The rest of Emre collapses afterward.

  Decapitated. A fitting way to kill the man who betrayed us and cut off Rabia’s head. Nakir believes in second chances up to a point, but this took it too far for him. I can see his fury boiling just below the surface.

  I don’t feel any sadness for Emre. Too much energy wasted.

  “So glad you were able to take care of that,” Abaddon says, his low, powerful voice rumbling throughout the landscape. “Good help is so hard to find these days. Especially when anyone can betray you at the drop of a hat.”

  “Well, he sav
ed us the rest of a long, hard trip,” Nakir shoots back. “Because, well, he brought you to us.” And he grins at the Demon Lord, his smile too sugary sweet for it to be natural.

  Abaddon reflects the grin in his own face, only this one is more sinister. Demon and angel, squaring off against each other. “Well, I’m here now.” He spreads his arms open wide. “What do you want?”

  Nakir raises his blade. “Your death!”

  It is the first time I’ve ever really seen Nakir lose his cool. He looks like a demon himself, baring his teeth.

  He rushes forward, and Abaddon smiles almost serenely as he draws his kilij from its scabbard. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  A loud clang rings through the night as the two swords meet. Even though Nakir’s sword is huge compared to Abaddon’s kilij, the demon’s weapon holds up to force of the bigger blade. The two tussle, dodging parries and attacks.

  It’s a fight between two extremes. Nakir against the bigger Abaddon. Abaddon’s kilij against Jan. They move at such speeds that I can barely keep up. Nakir swings the blade up, but Abaddon catches it, beckoning Nakir forward, teasing him as he coaxes the angel forward, deeper into the throng of demonlings.

  I look down at them, blinking as I had been so distracted. The horde sneers up at us as one, daring us to fight them.

  Waiting.

  For what?

  Jennet’s still within the Door, her power nearly dwindled. As is mine. As is all of ours. Including Nakir.

  How much has he done today? I was so preoccupied with Jennet all day, I don’t know what state anyone else is in or how much energy they have left. We’re facing off against these demonlings, and Nakir is unable to use the same attacks he did the other night when he hacked through hundreds of demonlings at once.

  Without that, we’re sitting ducks.

  He’s using up everything he has against this demon. The rage is blinding him to it, and I don’t know if there’s any way I can pull him out of it.

  Maybe, if I can just get to Nakir…

  Go.

  I don’t need to be told twice.

  I run down the hill, noting how much slower I’m moving compared to the angel when he crossed the same distance.

  “Rahym!” Nury yells behind me. “Rahym!”

  I don’t hear him as my yataghan clashes with the kilij. Abaddon blinks at me, as if in surprise that I’m down here. Hell, I’m surprised myself, but I roar and rear back, swinging my sword in a downward arc as I meet Nakir’s eyes, telling him in my gaze when I want him to do. I’m not the greatest swordsman, not by a long shot, but I can make a difference in a fight like this.

  I see the angel smirk, completely in tune with me.

  That’s right, Nakir.

  I just need to distract Abaddon long enough for Nakir to make the final killing blow. Now we’re on one side, battling against the torrent of strikes from Abaddon. And for one crazy moment, I think we are pushing him back, away from Jennet and the rest of the Halos.

  This is what I’ve been working toward for most of my life. This is the end of the journey. And if I can just hold out long enough…

  I hear more clangs as Nury and Kerem join me, roaring their own battle cries as they clash with the demonlings. Outnumbered, so damn outnumbered, but so close in this final moment. We can do this.

  We just have to hold out.

  I hear a clang unlike any other before it, and I stupidly flinch while trying to figure it out.

  What the fuck was that?

  I have no idea. What the hell.

  Crazily—stupidly, dumbly—I watch as Nakir’s sword, Jan flies through the air, yards from our battle. There’s a hand attached to it, still holding on.

  Nakir’s hand.

  I glance back at the angel, who stands stiffly, but there’s nothing holding up his limbs anymore.

  He’s empty.

  I haven’t seen the angel lose his energy like this ever. Usually he’s so reserved, so in control. And now, seeing it happen at the worst time possible, a hysterical feeling overcomes me at the absurdity that something horrible like this would happen now.

  Not now. Not now!

  Nakir meets my eyes, and I see the light leave them as he topples to the side.

  Okay, yes. This is happening now.

  Angel down.

  Without thinking about the consequences of it, because the alternative is that much worse, I drop my yataghan, spurring my muscles to move for the angel sword. There’s surprisingly no one to intercept me on my way—maybe they’re being distracted by everything else, including an angel falling before their very eyes.

  I make it to the sword, reach for the handle, pull, and…

  It doesn’t budge.

  I blink once as a different kind of panic sets in.

  Fuck. No, no, no, no.

  I try to lift it again. The sword, so big and heavy, is immovable. Which is impossible, because Nakir carried it on his back wherever we were. I always thought it was heavy, but Nakir never had trouble, so I figured there has been something to make it lighter than it seemed. After all, he wielded it like it was a steak knife.

  And now that I’m trying to lift it, the damn thing won’t move at all.

  No, please lift. Please lift. Please lift!

  I get to about an inch off the ground before everything fails me, my energy leaves me. As I fight to stay awake, I see Abaddon in my line of sight, chuckling darkly as he hefts Jan, like it weighs as little as Nakir always made it seem. He holds it in one hand, examining the length of it, trying out the weight of it.

  He makes it look easy.

  “Poor human,” he croons. “What interesting creatures you are. You’re willing to sacrifice so much to make your lives easier. Don’t you know that I’m a prisoner on this plane as much as you?”

  Even though I can’t move, I watch in horror as he stalks over to Nakir with the sword.

  This can’t be happening. This just can’t—

  He drives the sword right through the angel’s chest. The angel, having his energy depleted, doesn’t even make a sound as I hear the sword break through his rib cage, straight to his heart.

  No.

  I hear someone screaming or sobbing. It sounds like Jennet. She can’t be out here. They can’t see her. Not like this.

  It’s not Nakir’s name that she calls. It’s mine.

  “Rahym!”

  Abaddon stands over me, something akin to pity on his face. Then, wordlessly, he lifts a blade—his kilij, I realize, the angel sword still stuck through Nakir’s chest—and drives it right through my own chest.

  Chapter 26

  “This can’t be the end for you. You know that, right?”

  The voice is familiar, so close to me that I can reach out and touch it. It reverberates throughout my soul, bringing me back to some of the best times in my life.

  “Maysa,” I whisper, reaching out toward her.

  Her face appears within my hands, beaming at me, although there’s something akin to sadness there.

  “My love,” she whispers, turning her cheek into the palm of my hand so she can kiss it.

  Guilt ricochets through me as I watch her, so unexpected. I hiss in a sharp breath. When I’m with Jennet, the world feels right. But when I remember Maysa too much, I…

  Our eyes meet.

  “Don’t.” Maysa says the word so softly, I flinch. “Don’t you dare feel guilty about living your life, Rahym.”

  “I—”

  “Trust me.” A smile pulls at her full lips. “Both Beste and I want you to be happy.”

  I open my mouth to say something to her, but there’s a familiar giggle, and I turn, almost in shock at the young girl who flings herself into my arms.

  “Daddy!” Beste cries, and I stand, holding her, shocked.

  My throat closes up, and I wonder how I ever lived for three years without Beste to hold onto. To have her call me Daddy or to have me check under the bed for demonlings. My baby girl is in my arms, and I don’t ever w
ant to let her go. Her hair feels so real against my palm, softer than my hair and the same color as Maysa’s.

  How can you ever say good-bye to her, Rahym?

  How indeed. Beste’s scent fills up my senses, a mix of figs and honey soap. I close my eyes and inhale it deeply. How did I ever forget even a tiny bit of what she smells like?

  Maysa chuckles and puts her hands on her hips as she regards us with an amused smile. “As you can see, we’re both doing fine, Rahym.”

  Still clutching Beste to me, I look at my dead wife. “I—”

  She cups my cheek and smiles at me. “You have to keep living in the present, my love. Not in the past. Beste and I will be waiting for you. But you can’t give up now. You can’t let the world down.”

  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to help,” I whisper to her.

  She sighs. “You’ll find a way. I always knew you were special. And that you’d do big things. It’s not your time. You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I know. But we are doing all right.”

  “There’s no more bedtime for me,” Beste says, beaming up at me.

  I don’t know if that’s supposed to make me feel better, but I hiccup a laugh. “Your momma’s been breaking the rules,” I tell her.

  Beste only responds with a roll of her eyes. I actually chuckle at that. Even at her age, she reminds me way too much of her mother. “Daddy.”

  “What Beste means to say,” Maysa says with a laugh, pulling our daughter back into her arms, “is that there is no rush. We’ll be right here waiting for you when it’s your time. Not before.”

  “And if I fall in love with someone else?” I manage

  “You mean Jennet?” Maysa laughs. “There’s no one else I would have wanted it to happen with. She was your first love.”

  “You were my first life.”

  Her face softens. “And nothing is going to change that,” she says. “But the world is a wide, wide place. Full of happiness and sorrow. And there’s plenty of room for you to live your life as you need.”