The Last Rogue Soul

by S E Brower

  Soft beams of light cascaded through heavy rafters supporting the ceiling, where large iron candelabras hung. The floor was comprised of wide wooden planks, and there were several great stone hearths, set ablaze and equipped with cooking pots and roasting spits, some of which were in use.

  Garret flushed when he realized the place went silent, and all eyes were on him. He spotted the substantial wooden bar located midway through the hall. Behind it, the Ale master stood wiping the counter watching him. Garret, showing more confidence than he possessed, worked his way there, squeezing between tables and their patrons.

  As he did, conversation in the hall resumed. After a brief exchange with the Ale master, he pointed him toward three Angels, Athalon, Britton-Del and Suzu seated around a table at the far end of the great hall.

  Garret studied them before approaching. The first, a male dressed in brown leather jerkin, worn brown leather pants and knee-high boots. He cinched a wide belt also made of leather round his waist. Hanging from it, was a large, dark stained, double edge War Axe.

  Hair the color of coffee fell about his broad shoulders, which boasted enormous white wings with russet tips. His arms were bare, muscular and bronzed from the sun. On the inner side of his right forearm, Garret glimpsed the now familiar Dragon Warrior Tattoo.

  “I wonder which one he is,” Garret thought.

  To the right of War Axe, sat a taller male Angel, leaner but no less muscular than the first. His skin was dark, the clothes he wore darker still. Black pants, with black leather boots, over which he wore a long satin type black robe opened to the waist, exposing his well-defined chest. Running along each sleeve, were lightning bolts stitched with silver thread.

  Around his waist, a silver chain mail belt on which hung a black leather sheath, encasing a rapier style sword. His hair a thick dark mane, with streaks of silver running through it, glistened in the sunlight. Then there were the wings. Rapier’s wings were dark as night, their edges tipped in silver. There were also silvery edged feathers scattered throughout, making them appear to become visible stars against a blackened sky.

  Between the War Axe, and the Rapier, sat a solemn figure of an Angel. Her skin, what Garret could see of it, was pale. She was slender and petite, yet still muscular and no less intimidating than her companions. A gothic style gown of dark blue gossamer dressed her. Her arms were bare, except for several bands of leather, wrapping them from wrist to elbow.

  “I guess this one must be Suzu,” he thought.

  Garret could not see her face, hidden in the shadow of a cowl covering her head, although he noticed a few strands of black hair escaping. Her wings were unlike those of the War Axe, and Rapier’s. Where theirs were neat and crisp like those of a hawk, hers reminded him more of a vulture’s. Deep black and iridescent, the individual feathers were much longer, giving them a shabbier appearance. From this vantage point, he could not determine if she too had a weapon attached to her person.

  Garret advanced towards them, and when he reached their table, waited for them to acknowledge his presence. It was the polite thing to do. But they continued staring into their mugs of ale, as though he were invisible. When it became awkward, Garret lost his patience.

  “Excuse me, which one of you is Athalon?”

  The War Axe, and Rapier exchanged glances. Without looking at Garret, the Rapier responded, “If you must ask, you need not know.” Garret didn’t understand the comment. The confusion showed on his face because the War Axe made it clear for him.

  “Go away Winglet.” This made Garret angry.

  “My name is not Winglet. My name is Garret. Drummondax sent me…”

  “Drummondax, the one appointed to the Guardian Library?” the Rapier cut him off mid-sentence. “Rumor has it,” the War Axe began, “this Drummondax, bested Lucifer himself, the disgraced Author and one of Lucifer’s lieutenants–” Now, it was Garret’s turn to interrupt.

  “With the aid of St. Michael, two Dragon Warriors, a Librarian and two Rogue Souls, I know.”

  “Ah, this rumor you are familiar with, as well,” the War Axe gave Rapier a wink. Garret could feel his blood pressure rising,

  “It’s not a rumor.” The War Axe looked at Garret.

  “You seem sure of this, Winglet. If this be true, then I would hear more of this tale.” Garret found their lack of belief in what he told them, agitating.

  “I was there, I was ONE of the Rogue Souls!” his voice more vehement than he had intended. Breathing and regaining his composure, he placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward.

  “My name, is Garret,” he said, his voice strained, barely under control, “and if you want to know the tale… read the book.”

  “Silly Winglet.” Garret looked up to see Suzu staring at him. Her words had a unique lilting accent, and on her face was a strange blue tattoo. Both of which reminded him of Jordondey. Her blue eyes hinted at mischief. Her lips painted a dark red in stark contrast to her pale skin, held the slightest hint of a smile. The War Axe, and Rapier broke into a sudden, raucous laughter, startling Garret, who straightened up feeling foolish for his outburst. The War Axe extended his hand to Garret.

  “Calm yourself, Winglet. We are those you seek. I am Athalon, my dark friend here is Britton-Del and this… this is Suzu. What brings you here to disrupt our serious discussion?”

  Garret frowned, “Serious discussion? You were drinking ale when I got here.”

  “Yes, serious discussion,” Britton-Dell quipped. Garret shook his head. Before he could respond, Suzu stood.

  “Another?” Athalon nodded yes and Britton-Del raised his now empty mug. She turned her gaze towards Garret, and he took a second to realize she was including him. Garret had grown up in a church. He was only 18 when he died, and never stepped foot into a pub.

  “I’ll have whatever the three of you are drinking,” he replied, with false bravado.

  Now that Suzu was standing, he could see a simple-looking cord tied round her waist from which she attached several small silver bells, hanging down just below where her knees would be. On either side was gauze-like material.

  “So, what’s with the bells?” Garret asked, before she could walk away. The hint of a smile vanished with one simple word.

  “Death,” she said. Pivoting, she headed towards the bar.

  “Not much for conversation, is she?” Garret remarked as he watched her walk away, the silver bells on her belt making a soft tinkling sound, reminding him of a wind chime. Athalon’s eyes trailed Suzu, as well.

  “She has her reasons,” he said, motioning for Garret to take a seat. Garret joined them at the table.

  “What was that about her bells and death, anyway?” Garret couldn’t stop himself from asking. He was curious. Athalon, always keen to tell a tale obliged, with delight.

  “It started during the Dragon Wars, when the demons called her the ‘Song of Death’.”

  “Why would they call her that?” Garret leaned back in his chair, his arms folded.

  “It is the sound of her bells combined with the hum of her Katana. The story goes, if you can hear Suzu’s ‘Song of Death’, then you are already dead,” Athalon winked.

  “Geez, what’s a Katana?” Garret asked.

  “It’s a sword… although, hers was altered.” Garret sat up, leaning forward.

  “Meaning what?” Athalon regaled him with the story when he knew he had Garret’s full attention.

  “The blade was split in half length-wise and re-forged leaving a thin gap running from the tip to within a few inches of the hilt. The slight gap leaves air flow through the katana making a high-pitched hum. It also reduces the drag, allowing Suzu to wield it that much faster. That hum, combined with the tinkling bells, became known to the demons as the ‘Song of Death’.” Garret took this under consideration.

  “I didn’t see a sword.”

  “Precisely,” Britton-Del answered, “you were not meant to.” As he looked up, Suzu had returned carrying four mugs of ale. Pausing, she s
tared at each of them, as she handed them their mug. She knew what they were discussing. Garret couldn’t help staring at Suzu’s mid-section, in search of the weapon he now knew she carried. She handed him a mug.

  “It is said, that curiosity killed the winglet,” she looked at Garret. He wasn’t sure if she was smiling, or not.

  “There you go again, Suzu, you just had to frighten the Winglet.” There was a gleam in Athalon’s eyes as he spoke, and the corners of Suzu’s mouth once again lifted to a slight smile. Britton-Del laughed along with them, and Garret felt his face grow hot. Then, Athalon’s voice took on a more commanding tone.

  “Enough games. Winglet, advise us of this task Drummondax wants carried out.” The three listened, drinking their ale, while Garret recounted the whole story of how he came to be an Angel, including his involvements with Jordondey, Aalonray, Jessie and Travis, leaving out one tiny detail. He did not mention that Evan was his twin.

  When he finished, he sat back, taking a large gulp of ale as he’d seen the others do. It was a decision he immediately regretted. He felt as if he’d drunk liquid fire. Coughing, Garret couldn’t catch his breath, and when a small amount of ale refused swallowing, it spewed back out in a sputtering, noisy spray onto the floor. Britton-Del rose to give him a healthy whack upon his back.

  “There now Winglet, let us not forget to breathe.” He returned to his seat as Garret continued coughing a while longer. Athalon had trouble catching his breath as well, although it was from laughter. Suzu, ignoring them all, just continued to drink. Garret tried to salvage what little dignity he had left.

  “Sorry, that was stronger than what I was used to in Wales.” It wasn’t a lie.

  “Understandable,” Britton-Del responded, “milk has not the same kick,” and the laughter began anew. But this time, Garret joined in.

  Athalon cleared his throat. “Back to the matter at hand, Winglet.” His voice took on a serious tone, “I gather we are to rescue this captive soul?” Garret nodded.

  “We are chosen by Drummondax to enter Hell, secure the soul and return it to the care of The Father.”

  “When I said we, it did not include you,” Athalon’s look was stern.

  “Yeah well,” Garret shot back, “according to Drummondax, I am to be your guide.”

  With that, Britton-Del slammed his mug down hard. Leaning forward looking first at Garret, then Athalon and Suzu, and back to Garret. There was an edge to his voice when at last he spoke. “At this table, I count three Warrior Angels, and one Winglet. Of what aid could you be to us, where we expect to go?”

  Garret pushed back his chair and stood. He was tired of having to explain himself, tired him of having to prove himself. He was tired of fighting to get his brother back, and extremely tired of not being taken seriously because of his youth. He placed both hands on the table, the humor gone from his voice.

  “Of the four Angels at this table,” he lowered his chin as he spoke, “how many of you have gone to Hell? Raise your wings.” Garret slowly raised his wings. He looked around the table at each of them. No one moved.

  “That’s what I thought,” Garret lowered them and sat down once again.

  “And that, as they say, is that,” he folded his arms in front of him.

  Afterwards, Athalon viewed him with a touch more respect.

  “If you have been to Lucifer’s realm, how did you escape unscathed?”

  Garret stared down at the table, “Trust me, no one does,” his voice almost a whisper. Thinking of his time there sent a cold shiver screaming down his spine. His mind forever etched with the horrors of Hell. For a long while, no one spoke, and it was Garret who again broke the silence.

  “Look, I’m not trying to be your boss. Drummondax told me where the soul is being held. I am to lead the way. He thought since I’d been there before, I’d have a better idea of what to expect. Your job is to get us there and back quick as you can, and in one piece. It is what you do best. I will help you where I can. Our first problem though, is finding a way back into Hell.”

  “Can we not enter the same way as you last did?” Britton-Del wondered.

  “Sorry Britt,” Garret said. The shortened version of his name, causing the Warrior Angel to raise an eyebrow. Having achieved the desired response, Garret continued, “unless you can disguise yourself as a red demon mist, you are out of luck.” As the three sat racking their brains for a solution, they heard two words softly spoken.

  “Talon-Har.” The three of them turned to face Suzu. She locked eyes with Athalon.

  “Yes,” Athalon laughed aloud.

  “What is Talon-Har?” Garret wanted to know.

  “Not what, but who,” Britton-Del explained, “he is a Portal Guardian.” Garret didn’t know what a Portal Guardian was, but the prospect of adding yet another player into their small circle of espionage, was making him nervous and he voiced his concern.

  “Drummondax said we must enter Hell, but without detection. I’m not sure anyone other than the four of us should know what we are doing.” Athalon gave this some consideration.

  “Perhaps the Winglet is correct. Lucifer could seduce The Author, it would be unwise to believe he could not do the same with another.”

  “Agreed,” Britton-Del nodded, “this task is best shared only with those charged with its undertaking.”

  “How do you know this Portal Guardian, anyway?” Garret asked.

  Athalon smiled, “It was Suzu who first saw Talon-Har, as she was flying back to join us after a small skirmish,” he took another swallow of ale, happy to have another tale to tell.

  “She flew low over a meadow and spotted a horde of demons surrounding two Angels, one was down. The other, a giant among Angels, stood over his fallen comrade and held the horde at bay, with but a broken sword.

  He had been flying a wounded Warrior Angel back to sanctuary when they were attacked by a dragon. He was forced to land, and upon doing so, demons surrounded them. Laying the warrior upon the ground, he stood over him preparing for the final battle, determined not to let the demons have their souls.

  I remember that day, for it was then, I heard the tinkling of bells and knew that Suzu was in a battle. Britton-del and I headed towards the sound to see if we could help. But by the time we arrived, the battle had ended. Talon-Har told us what had happened.

  He knew not the meaning of the sound of Suzu’s bells, but one look in those demons’ eyes and he knew she was not to be feared, least not by him. She landed beside him, as she drew her sword and putting a soothing hand upon his arm, she looked him in the eyes. ‘All shall be well. Tend to your companion. I shall tend to the Hell spawn’ she told him.

  Then, Suzu wove her sword back and forth, and back and forth. He was not sure, but said it sounded as if it were humming a soft, somber tone. The demons hesitated, as if transfixed by the sound, as was he. Suzu rose into the air, her wings movement causing once more the bells to jingle. The combination of the sound of the sword and bells, Talon-Har found enchanting.

  He said there was a muttering amongst the horde, and then… tis the ‘Song of Death’ they screamed as one. Chaos reigned, as they began their retreat. What happened next, Talon-Har found difficult to believe. Suzu moved with a grace and speed he had never seen before. Within moments, they were vanquished. To the last, she slew each one.

  She then accompanied him and his companion, seeing them returned to sanctuary. By then, Britton-Del and I were waiting for her to rejoin us, but before she left, she asked his name. He answered that his name was Talon-Har and he told us the story. He said he was thankful for her assistance. He would be forever in her debt.”

  “That’s quite a story,” Garret looked over at Suzu, who only raised her mug in answer.

  “We still require access into Hell,” Athalon frowned, “and Talon-Har is that access. Suzu, you know him best. Can we convince him?” Suzu answered without hesitation.

  “He is a noble soul, but strictly by the book. It will be no easy feat, but I will seek
his aid.”

  Garret had been listening to the discussion but was growing impatient. He wanted to move as soon as possible. If they were to do this, there was something they needed first, and crucial he tell them about it, now.

  “Athalon, hang on a second,” he began, “if this Talon… guy helps us, there’s something we need before we go.”

  “What might that be, Winglet?”

  “Brimstone, powdered if possible, for the smell.”

  “I should think Hell smells of brimstone already,” Athalon screwed up his face.

  “No, no, for us,” Garret quickly replied, “the brimstone is for us, to mask OUR smell.”

  “To the point, Winglet,” Suzu said, with irritation.

  Garret thought about the best way to explain. “Okay, say you walk into a barn and all you smell is manure. Spend a year in that barn and you will become what they call, nose-blind. You will no longer smell the manure, because you will have grown used to it. Now imagine after that year, someone brings in four dozen roses. No matter where you are in the barn, you’re gonna smell the roses, because they smell different.”

  “I see what the Winglet is saying,” Britton-Del interjects, “Hell is the barn. We are the roses.”

  “Correct!” Garret exclaimed, “demons spend all their time surrounded by brimstone. They would smell us long before we could retrieve the soul. So, I ask you, how do we keep the guy in the barn from smelling the roses?”

  Athalon cracks a smile, “Cover them with manure.”

  “Yes,” Garret was feeling pleased with himself, “to keep the demons from smelling us, we cover ourselves with brimstone.”

  Athalon once again took control, “Suzu, go to Talon-Har. Speak with him. Take the Winglet with you, as he is best equipped to explain our needs. With any luck, his tale will convince him. I know where I can get my hands on some of that brimstone dust. Britton-Del and I will meet up with you at the portal.”