by JK Ensley
Gráda’s gaze remained fixed on the broken little Angel he loved, sitting with her Dragon by the fire’s edge. “I have long stopped asking why the mad do mad things,” he said. “They just do.”
“Yes,” Brodder added. “I gave the man everything. Alas, you can have everything and still be miserable. Happiness comes from within; it is but your state of mind.”
“True,” Eògan whispered. “Unless that mind is ruled by insanity.”
Chapter 41
Apollyon
(ah-PAH-lee-ahn)
All had been silent for quite some time. Only the occasional crackle of the flames broke up the deafening stillness.
Tell me of your rare warrior, Little Fire. I wish to know more of the man you grieve so fiercely for.
Her shoulders still shook intermittently as her lungs strove for more air. Swollen eyes, too painful to touch, still gazed fixedly at the dwindling flames.
She shuddered. Nilakanta tightened his giant wings around her, pressing her deeper into his velvety chest.
“You are so soft, so warm,” she said absently.
Only for you, my Naga.
She sighed wearily, but smiled at his words.
“I have been blessed,” she whispered. “I have known many valiant men, many brave and noble hearts. None more so than my Finnean.”
His ice blue eyes and snow white hair appeared plainly in her mind. He smiled at her and her heart swelled.
“He was amazing. He told me he loved me daily. Yet, he never even had to form the words. I knew, minus his voice.” She smiled then, her tears now filled with fond remembrance. “The way he always woke first and tenderly kissed my forehead. The way he could tell me a story or sing me a lullaby, and all my fears were forgotten. The way he took special care when harvesting the rose petals for my morning tea. He always looked so serious when he was doing it, making sure to only pluck the tender new ones, never letting the blend become overpowered with too many red ones. The way he hung up my clothes every night, and then placed our garments for the next day side by side. How he always handed me one of his tunics to sleep in, no matter how many nightdresses I owned.” Her smile was glorious and genuine, flames dancing in her watery black eyes. “In truth, I preferred his tunics. His calming scent wrapped about me, hugging my senses, filling my heart with only him… all night long. The way he made sure all the little bottles of my favorite soaps and oils never ran dry. How he insisted on holding my hand as we walked, even if it was just to the other room. He would slide his fingers between mine and smile. He never said a word, never acted like it was anything out of the ordinary. Caring for every little detail, holding all things in our life as precious… it came as natural to him as breathing.”
She wrapped her arms around her Dragon’s chest, squeezing tightly. Then, she lost it again. Her unexpected wails caused even Nilakanta to jump slightly.
Brodder strained to see his beloved daughter, but the flames were too small to reveal much of the odd couple sitting atop that funeral hill. Still, he didn’t leave the wall. He couldn’t bear to go inside while she yet sat beside those dying embers.
Her Dragon tried to soothe her. Forgive me, little one. Your pain is too great. We will save those precious memories for another day.
She only stiffened and stared at the pyre. “His bones…” she whispered. “Nilakanta, the flames haven’t fully claimed his bones.” Panic turned her words into shouts. “He is not yet ash. I cannot bear to look upon his charred remains.”
The giant sapphire Dragon gently breathed upon the tiny fire, causing the flames to shoot back to their original height.
Brodder Scot could once again see the stricken face of his tiny moon goddess.
“She is completely shattered, Milord,” Brian whispered.
The King sighed. “Aye, that she is, Brother. That she is.”
“I’m not so sure we should have left her alone up there,” Gráda grumbled. “I fear madness will set in before the dawn does.”
Jenevier kissed her Dragon’s chest, nuzzling him before she leaned back against him. “Gratitude, dear friend. I would never have been able to handle that—looking upon his blackened bones. I will always be thankful you were at my side.”
I will always be at your side, Little Fire, always.
They were silent for a while, staring blindly into the roaring flames.
A smile slowly crossed her face. “I remember the first time we went riding in the snow,” she said. “Wow… I’d never seen anything quite so lovely in my life. The land was washed with whiteness, sparkling purity everywhere you looked.” She giggled. “Finnean said I would be lost forever if I removed my cloak. Had it not been so cold, I would have done it for the chase alone.”
That would’ve been something to see, Naga.
Her smile faded slightly. “He became my whole world, Nilakanta. Everything I am, well… it was tied to that glorious man.” She nodded toward the flames. “I never expected to lose him so soon. I forgot to hold back, forgot to save a little piece of me. I gave him everything, Dragon. He got it all. I can’t move forward. I don’t know how. I am stuck, lost and stuck.”
Return to your brethren in Vanahirdem, Naga. Go home to your beloved Jinn. Visit the little Elven Princess you grew up with. Fall into the loving arms of your precious son.
“Ha, my son. I’ve not seen my son in so many years, I know not if he even lives. The Elf girl’s out. I will never return to Ashgard. My home is here now, Dragon. My only brethren are the noble Celts of this beautiful realm.” Her voice shook. “And now my heart and soul have been consumed within the flames of this pyre. If I possessed but a single ounce of bravery, I would have lain beside him within the fire. Clinging to my snow-crowned warrior, I should have followed him to the Otherworld. If I possessed but a single ounce of bravery, that is.”
“You would have only felt the excruciating pain of your pale flesh dripping from your bones. You would not have been granted your end. Trust me. I know. I’ve tried.”
Her black eyes scanned the darkness, searching for the owner of that once familiar, soul-stirring voice.
“How have you come here?” she hissed. “Show yourself, Devil.”
“I can feel your great hatred from here, Milady. I dare not come any closer.”
“Then why speak at all?” she cried. “Why heap pain upon my wretched soul?” She struggled to untangle herself from Nilakanta’s protective wings. “Why are you here? Tell me. Do you spy upon me? Have you always?”
Brodder heard her shouts. He scanned the hilltop, finding her ghost white form standing by the raging pyre, yelling into the darkness. He started to go to her but Gráda stopped him.
“Hold and listen, Sire,” he said. “Something doesn’t smell right. Blood is on the wind.”
“Then she needs me all the more,” Brodder demanded.
Gráda gave him a sideways, knowing glance. “Sire, the one she crosses words with now, he is not of this realm. Your sword will be of no use. He will slay you without thought. Do not cast aside Finnean’s noble sacrifice. Don’t add even more pain to her already destroyed heart.” Gráda looked back to the tiny colorless woman. “That little girl can handle herself. Let the wee thing’s story play out as it should. Be there to catch her. But let her fight her own battle.”
The men looked back to their tormented little moon goddess, powerless to help her.
“I did not come to cause you more pain, dear one,” the voice continued. “I only came to deliver a message.”
“You? The reigning Prince of all demons. You expect me to believe you would stoop to being an errand boy?” She laughed, but there was no joy in the hollow sound. “No matter what the reason, how is it you are allowed to traipse about upon the layers? And they call me the Death Angel,” she spat. “Never could I surpass your body count. By your hand or by your word, it matters not. You are the embodiment of blessed death.” She took another step into the darkness, away from the fire. “Gift me with it, Apollyon. Shower your cur
se upon my head and free me from the hell that is my existence.” Her tears were flowing without pause. “You laid low my first husband with your blade, and this one burns because of your actions as well.” She pointed toward the melting bones of her beloved. “Your revenge, your bloody war, it left a valiant man broken and mad. His hand wielded the blade, yes, but your actions set it into motion.” Her shaking voice rose to a piercing scream. “I curse the day I ever laid eyes upon you. I wish, by all that’s holy, I had torn out your heart when I had the chance.”
“Listen to me.” His voice was chilling, demonic. “Give me but one moment and I will leave you to your grief.”
“No,” she screamed. “Speak no more.” She cupped her hands over her ears. “No matter your words, I do not wish them inside my head.”
He continued minus her protests. “Finnean begged me tell you… Do not skin the chained man.”
Jenevier wrapped her arms around her stomach and fell to her knees. “No. It’s a lie.” She sobbed bitterly. “Finnean is not in hell. He couldn’t be.”
“No, little Angel. Finnean is not in hell,” Apollyon whispered softly. “We don’t allow souls as glorious as his to enter there… well, not normally. You were an exception, my love. No, I smelled your essence, he reeked of it. I found your white warrior as he passed through the Nether. He has traveled safely on to his Otherworld, Jenevier. He regretted leaving you, he misses you terribly. But he is blissfully happy now. I hope you can find some small comfort in that knowledge.”
She could literally feel her soul tearing. Apollyon could feel it as well. He longed to reach out and comfort her.
“He heard what you said to your father, Little Fire. Finnean was standing next to you when you spoke of your plans for Drostan’s murder.” Apollyon came close enough to reach out and touch her curls. “The Arch, Raphael, escorted him through the Nether and beyond. He told Finnean of your punishment if you go through with this thing. Your beloved husband pleaded with me to find a way to get word to you before it was too late. And that’s why I came, beautiful Angel. To save your soul, not torture it.” He snorted out a soft laugh. “Imagine how miserable your next life would be if you had to spend it by my side… in the pits. I did not wish you the pain of my company for all eternity, sweet Empress.”
Apollyon did touch her then, knelt down beside her and stroked the dull silver curls covering her bent head. She didn’t respond. She didn’t even move.
“Jenevier, my love. Did you hear me?”
She raised her head, but her eyes were vacant when they found his. All life was gone; they were as the dead.
“I am not your love. And, yes. I heard you.” She stood then, swayed slightly, and turned toward the blazing flames. “Tell me. Have you never heard it said… Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t?” She cast a glance back over her shoulder.
He chuckled at her reference. “Yes, I believe I’ve heard that somewhere before,” he said. “Be that as it may, tiny Angel. You deserve no devil at all.”
She sighed. “No, I don’t. I deserve much worse,” she mumbled to herself.
“Come closer to me, little one. Do not turn from me. It has been so long. Come. Let me feel your breath upon my skin.” Apollyon was trying to turn her thoughts from the ones he could plainly see playing about within her. “Touch me, Anicee. I like the way it makes me tingle inside.” He cautiously stepped closer. “Let me bite you, Princess. Let me do the things you once loved. I want the taste of you upon my tongue, filling my mind, completely consuming me.”
“You can cease your play, Prince of demons,” she said numbly. “You have accomplished what it was you came here to do. You can leave now, minus fear. I will not kill the chained man. I lost my taste for bitter vengeance wrapped within my Dragon’s wings.”
Apollyon glanced toward Nilakanta and then nervously back to the Angel who owned his heart. She was eerily calm. It terrified him.
“What plays about in your mind, little one? Your actions cause my heart to tremble. Yet I can no longer feel your true intent. What is it you’re hiding from me, Anicee?”
She didn’t answer his questions, only asked her own. “Am I still immortal, Vindicus? Do you know if I’m still an Angel? Or did the removal of my wings bring about my humanity?”
Her back was to him, he nervously reached for her. “I know not, Jenevier. I don’t even believe Gabriel knows for sure. You have lived happily upon this layer for seven years. And yet, you haven’t aged a single day.”
He lightly touched one of her curls and took a step closer. She didn’t respond in any way.
“Is that your only reasoning? My lack of wrinkles?”
“Your beauty is indeed rare, no matter which race claims you. But, no. That is not my only reasoning. You are minus your wings, yet your ethereal blades obey you.”
She softly snorted. “And just how is it you would come to know such a thing as that?”
“Ahriman,” he whispered. “I asked him how he came by such scars. You marred his flawless face, Little Fire. His ethereal beauty is his greatest weapon. You struck a mightier blow than you realize.”
“The soul-eater had it coming,” she grumbled. “He’s the creature who placed a curse within me. He’s the man who made me fear the dark… fear even sleeping.” She paused for a moment. “Is Ahriman’s tiny scar your only proof of my mortality? Or lack thereof?”
“No. But it makes me terribly happy every time I see him. You have blessed me with eon’s worth of entertainment at his expense.” He gently placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Kagi Naga, Jenevier, my tiny Anicee, your claws may be gone, yet your guardianship remains intact. The proof of that stands flesh before you.” He nodded toward the sapphire Dragon eagerly eyeing him. “Perhaps you are both, Little Fire.”
“Both?” She huffed out a dry laugh. “How can one be both mortal and immortal? Would one not negate the other?”
“Yes,” he said cautiously. “I only meant perhaps you stand upon the precipice of the two. The decision has been left up to you, I believe. You have been given the ability to decide which path you will walk, the freewill to choose which life you will now lead. The one of a woman… or the one of an Angel. It’s your decision to make, Anicee, either by conscious intent or by deeds of the flesh. Alas, I cannot say for certain.”
“Then let us see, shall we? Let us now find out the truth of it. Let’s finally answer the maddening secret of just exactly what I am.”
With those words, she slowly walked away from Apollyon.
Brodder Scot yelled out to her when he saw her ghost white form purposefully approaching the flames. She didn’t respond. He scrambled down the battlements, followed closely by his trusted few.
Apollyon stood, speechless, watching her step ever closer to the pyre. Her intent not registering fully within his mind until it was almost too late. He heard her gasp, and smelled the sickening sweet scent of charred flesh. Lunging for her, the Prince of Hell wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her from the fiery edge of her beloved dead husband’s last flames.
“No,” he yelled. “I won’t let you do this. Be you Angel or woman, I will not stand by and let you suffer through the flames. I love you, Jenevier. You are my entire heart, the only light in my abysmal void.”
She tore at his arms about her. Yet he did not relax his hold.
“Don’t touch me,” she screamed. “Unhand me this instant.” Her tears choked out most of her words. “I do not wish to be saved by you or anyone else. I hate you, Vindicus. With every breath I take, I hate you.”
“Shhh…” he whispered into her tangling hair. “Shhh, my love. Still your tears. I know well you hate me. I deserve much more than your wrath. I have caused irrecoverable harm in your life. Your hatred, Milady, has been duly earned. But please, please do not bring harm upon yourself. Don’t cause needless pain, sweet Anicee.”
He held her, rocked her, cradled her, kissed her curls, tried to ease her soul. She would accept none of it. When she continued
to viciously scream out her fierce rage, he only held her tighter.
Apollyon heard the approaching hoof beats just as he saw an ethereal purple glow flash from her open palms. He jumped back, barely avoiding the lethal tip of Amatiste.
“Arm yourself or die,” she hissed.
One corner of the dark Angel’s mouth twitched up. His eyes sparkled. “As you wish, Milady.” He bowed slightly. “I have longed to know the outcome of our unfinished duel.” His blade came to life in his hand. “Are you my equal, tiny Angel?” He smiled. “Shall we dance then? Or would you rather spare your hide and run?”
She smiled that classic smirking smile she had learned from her brother Vareilious. She slowly circled him.
“Run?” She huffed out a sardonic laugh. “I don’t run. Remember you not who I am, dearest Vindicus? I make others run.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It just comes with the job.” Her eyes flashed.
A thrill shot through him, one he hadn’t dreamed possible. Her sparkling snowflakes took on a ruby glow, stirring passions he had carefully locked away for many years now.
Their blades rang through the darkness, spreading an Otherworldly glow around their angelic forms.
Her Celtic brethren reined in their horses and dismounted, unsure how to proceed, unable to clearly follow the heightened movements playing out before them.
The battle raged on with blinding speed. The valiant warriors of Val Hal stiffened, their breath catching painfully in their throats when her giant sapphire Dragon joined them, sitting down to watch the epic struggle of Angels.
Nilakanta casually turned toward the men, huffed out a puff of hot air, and then looked back to the warring immortals. The warriors shuffled uncomfortably, but did not flee.
Apollyon taunted her. “Is that all you have to show me? Is that all the Death Angel has learned? I am not impressed. Tell me. How is it you were able to dispatch so many of my legion? You are far too clumsy, and dreadfully slow to boot. Come at me harder, Jenevier. Rend my flesh. Make me bleed.”