Ash & Flame: Season One

by Geiger, Wilson

  Somewhere below, the relic weapon echoed in his mind, the reverberation of its attempted use like a beacon that pointed out its location so that the man who had stolen it could be punished.

  Ren had no idea what it meant to possess a Blessed weapon, less so what it meant to actually use it. And if Ren had tried to use it, he had very likely paid a painful price for that ignorance.

  But even the theft of the relic weapon paled right now when compared to Ithuriel’s need to find Ren and the Grigori girl. He knew where they were both headed, and Ithuriel could not allow that to happen.

  He focused on the echo of the weapon and swerved to the left and down, the tops of trees streaming by dangerously close. He winced at the soreness that clutched his shoulder, daggers of pain running through his wing. The forest parted, an overgrown, blasted road running between the trees, and the relic weapon flashed in Ithuriel’s eyes.

  Someone sat on top of Ren, a woman, her hands wrapped around his throat. The corded muscles of her arms twitched as she squeezed the life out of him. The man standing beside her shifted on his back foot. His head turned and his eyes widened as he saw the angel that swooped down towards them. He pointed towards Ithuriel, his hand shaking.

  “C-Cora!” he shouted, and then what remained of his courage drained away. He turned to flee.

  Too late. Much too late. This man had already sealed his fate. He had died the instant he chose to walk down this dark path. Ithuriel was only the instrument at the end of the wretched soul’s final destination.

  Ithuriel growled and the spear appeared in one hand, the weapon a natural extension of his body. The spearpoint lit up the gloom like a glowing star, and raindrops hissed as they struck the point. He bared his teeth and hurled the spear forward.

  The woman, Cora, loosened her grip and looked over her shoulder at her friend as he scrambled back towards the ruin of a car. The spear sliced through the air and caught the man between the shoulders like a hammered nail. He pitched forward with a surprised grunt, the momentum of the spear carrying him over to tumble onto his side. The spearpoint dug into the asphalt, the shaft of the spear jutting from the man’s back. He coughed once, spurting blood from his mouth, and fell still.

  Cora’s shocked face turned on Ithuriel an instant before his boot connected with her shoulder, a flicker of darkness in her eyes. The force of Ithuriel’s impact sent her flying across the road. The woman cried out as she landed with a splash in the thick grass and rolled to a jarring stop.

  Ithuriel landed next to Ren’s supine form. His wings beat once and he let out a low, relieved sigh as they settled along his shoulder blades. He scanned the clearing, his gaze falling on the woman lying still in the wet grass. Had he seen something in her?

  Ren coughed and sputtered as he struggled to sit up, one hand on his reddened throat. He took in huge gulps of air, his eyes wild. Slowly he forced himself up, leaning heavily on one arm, until the rapid rise and fall of his chest slowed. A gash over his brow trickled blood down the corner of his eye.

  “Where is the girl?” Ithuriel asked, the woman momentarily forgotten. He reached a hand down towards Ren.

  Ren blinked, his eyes going wide. “Emma.” He tried to get to his feet. He swayed, stumbled forward and fell onto his knees. He lowered his head and choked back a sob. “My baby girl.”

  Ithuriel worried that he might have sacrificed all of Haven to get to the girl before the Grigori latched onto her. What if he had handed their fates over to the likes of mad Abaddon, or left them to the hordes of cursed men that preyed on the weak?

  “Ren.” Ithuriel stepped forward and tugged Ren up by the collar of his soaked shirt. He spun him around by the arm and glared down at the human. “Tell me where she is, Ren. I can bring her back. I will…”

  I will bring her back or I will kill her.

  He winced at the thought and knew he could not give it voice, even if it was the truth. Would he Fall if he killed the girl, even if it had to be done to save humanity and what remained of this world? Grigori was a part of her essence, but she was an innocent. The briefest of glimpses had proven that.

  Maybe Ithuriel was already Falling.

  Ren wiped under his eyes and nodded towards the woods on the opposite side of the broken road. “I saw her go that way.” He pointed past the blackened shell of the car. “Brad led her in there.”

  Ithuriel paused. “Brad?”

  Ren nodded. “Your blessed man. The bastard took my little girl.”

  A sense of unease crawled over Ithuriel, dug into his skin like warped claws. He stared at Ren, reading him, but could see no lie on his face. Which could only mean one thing. Brad no longer served him, no longer served Haven and the Malakhi. He had been corrupted.

  Ithuriel saw it now. The attack on Haven had only been meant as a diversion, a distraction from the real target within the compound. And he had not been there to stop it.

  He was no longer certain it had been a good idea to let the girl live.

  “I will find her.” His eyes fell on the pendant that hung from Ren’s neck. He took the pendant in one hand and yanked it sharply. Ren winced as the chain snapped from his neck. Ithuriel held the pendant in front of Ren’s eyes. “And you are not worthy of this.”

  “And Brad was?”

  Ithuriel let go of Ren’s arm. His chest hurt, the bared truth biting into him like it had teeth of its own. The man was right. Ithuriel had chosen Brad, called him one of his Blessed, and given him a relic weapon. He had trusted him, and others had paid the price for the Malakhi’s misplaced faith.

  How many more would pay?

  A sudden motion behind him caught Ithuriel’s attention. The woman had regained her senses, and she charged across the pitted road. He could feel the corrupted hate radiating from her, washing over him like a diseased tide, and he saw it inside her now, a flash of red and darkness.

  Not just a woman. A Grigori within the woman’s flesh, possessing the body like a plaything, and he knew who the demon was. The same one he had seen in Ren’s dream.

  Lilith.

  Ithuriel shoved Ren aside, the man staggering a few steps before he fell on his backside.

  The woman screamed, her teeth bared. Ithuriel waited for the woman until she was nearly on top of them, and flexed his hand. The spear formed along his grip and he thrust it forward in one smooth motion.

  The woman turned away too late from the blinding point, her arms crossing her face as he snapped it forward. She gasped as the point pierced her chest and punched a hole through her back, streaked blood hissing and smoking on the spearpoint. Her momentum carried her two more steps before she stopped to look down at the shaft of the spear sticking out from her chest. She peered up at Ithuriel, a hollow smile on her face.

  “You can’t have her, Ithuriel,” she whispered. She licked her lips, flecks of blood on her tongue. “The girl is mine. You’re too late…”

  Ithuriel jerked the spear and the woman opened her mouth wide in a soundless scream. She gripped the spear, energy biting into her hands. She bit her tongue and whispered something under her breath, then slumped forward on the spear, her eyes staring vacantly ahead.

  The Grigori was gone, her message delivered.

  Ithuriel focused and the spear disappeared in a flash of harsh light. The woman stood there for a moment before she fell to the side. Her head cracked against an upraised chunk of asphalt and she lay still, her eyes staring past Ren, one arm splayed out like she was pointing towards the woods beyond them.

  Ren pushed himself to his feet. He stood still for a moment before walking away from Ithuriel, his gaze on the dead man. He leaned down and yanked the jutting knife free from the man’s jaw.

  He didn’t look at Ithuriel as he shoved the blade through his belt. “I’m going with you.”

  The Malakhi shook his head. “You will only slow—”

  Ren swung around to face Ithuriel, his face red as he glared at the angel, blood seeping from the puffy gash over his eyebrow. “No, Ithuriel.
My daughter, my rules. I won’t sit back. I’m done sitting back.”

  Ithuriel could have left him standing there. He would slow the Malakhi down, hinder his pursuit of Brad and the girl. He was a battered and bloody man, barely able to walk straight. All it would take was a hard knock with the spear, and Ren would stay put. Ithuriel had to leave him here, or make him go back to Haven.

  Had to.

  Instead he nodded. “Come then, let us find your daughter.”

  He didn’t know what spurred him, but he couldn’t leave the man behind now. Maybe it was the first real sign of defiance, Ren’s refusal to back down to the angel. Maybe it was because Ithuriel had chosen Brad, and had not chosen a man like Ren.

  Ithuriel was afraid the truth was far different, the thought lurking in shadow.

  Maybe Ren would stop him from killing the girl.

  ▪▪▪

  “Come on, Emma.”

  Brad looked over his shoulder as he weaved through the brush ahead, and Emma had to hurry to keep up with his long stride, mud speckling her shoes. The rain had finally died out, at least, and it had taken most of that nasty ash with it.

  They worked their way through a narrow valley, the remains of a meager creek twisting between the hills on either side. Trees lined the hills, blocking out the evening sun, rays peeking through here and there.

  She was scared. Scared for herself, yes, but more scared for who wasn’t here with her. Dad was back there somewhere, and he was hurt, and now he was all alone. And she was afraid of what he might do.

  Even if that familiar, soothing voice in the back of her mind whispered that her dad was safe, she wasn’t sure that was entirely true. Sure, safe from them, maybe. But that might not be enough.

  Still, Emma was positive what would happen if she tried to go back. Positive was more than might, so she stuck behind Brad.

  The voices had gone silent in her head, leaving behind an almost contented hum that threatened to overwhelm her own fear. She felt it flowing down her neck, a warmth that flushed her skin.

  “Stop it,” she whispered with a frown.

  She followed Brad as he climbed up a short incline. She clung to the brush for handholds, hoping the thin branches and twigs would hold her as she scrambled up. Brad paused at the crest of the hill, and she stopped beside him, out of breath. She looked past a thick trunk, the bark stripped and torn.

  The sight beyond the trees reminded her of Haven.

  In front of them the ground shifted into a ridge of white sand and rock. A wide crevasse had been cut into the rock past that, a jagged bowl of gleaming sand that stretched over the area. Structures sat on the far side of the ridge, a tall silo and a handful of square buildings attached to it with pipes.

  Brad looked down at her and fished through one of his leg pockets, his other hand rubbing his ear, a dull red where Emma had bitten it. “You hungry?”

  Emma hadn’t been hungry, or hadn’t noticed, not until he asked just now. But now that he had, she realized she was starving. The stubborn part of her wanted to shake her head, tell him no. Or maybe just bite his other ear. Starving wouldn’t do her or her dad much good, though.

  “Yeah,” she said, nodding. Besides, there were better ways of showing Brad that she wasn’t about to do everything he said.

  Brad opened a plastic baggie and pulled out a dried strip of meat. He handed it to Emma and grabbed one for himself, then closed the baggie up and shoved it back into his pocket.

  Emma glanced up at Brad, her brow raised.

  “Beef,” he said, and tore off a chunk of the strip.

  Good enough. Emma ripped off a piece with her teeth and sighed as she chewed the tough meat. She didn’t know how he’d managed to get his hands on dried beef, and right now she didn’t much care. It tasted delicious.

  Brad yanked a small canteen from his belt and took a quick sip. He handed it over and Emma took a long pull, the cool water soothing her raw throat.

  “Easy.” He grabbed the canteen from Emma and plugged the top. “Don’t drink too fast.”

  He took another bite of jerky and stepped clear of the trees. He headed west along the ridge and Emma followed after him, glaring at his back and kicking a rock over the ledge. Brad glanced over his shoulder, a frown on his face.

  Your father will be protected, as long as you go with him. She looked at Brad. Going with him didn’t mean she had to like it.

  She finished off the last of her dried beef as they wound around the ledge of the ridge. She peered over the jagged edge as they walked, looking down the sheer cliff face. Debris littered the sandy floor, piled high in some spots, like miniature mountains of trash.

  After a couple hundred feet they came across a steep shelf that blocked their path. Brad led them around on an old dirt road that wound to the south of the shelf.

  “So where are we going?” Emma asked. She kicked another rock, sand and dirt scattering under her shoe. A puff of dust rose, and Emma coughed.

  Brad didn’t even turn around, just kept walking ahead. “I told you earlier, someone wants to see you.”

  “Who?”

  Brad stopped as they neared the far side of the shelf. He knelt on one knee, a hand on the necklace around his neck. Emma opened her mouth but the man shushed her with a hard look. He shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

  She frowned and almost said something anyway, but then she heard it, too.

  Voices, loud and insistent, carried over the rock shelf. She turned her head, trying to make out what they were saying, but the harsh voices were garbled, several trying to speak over each other.

  Brad looked back at her and pointed towards the woods behind them. He shifted on his feet and crept quietly towards the trees, waiting for Emma to follow up behind him.

  Emma nearly panicked, her head turning left and right as she instinctively looked for her father. She bit her bottom lip when she realized that of course he wasn’t here, and trailed behind Brad as he stepped into the brush.

  She had nearly reached the long grass leading into the trees when she heard the sound of scraping rock. She froze where she was, afraid to turn around, her skin prickling.

  “S’up, young meat?” a dry, cracking voice said. “Where you goin’?”

  Brad rose to his feet, his hand on the pendant as he looked past Emma, a frown on his face.

  Don’t be scared. Emma steeled herself and turned around to face the voice. Don’t be scared.

  A woman crouched on the lip of the rock shelf. Long, stringy hair hung from one side of her head, the other side shaved along with her eyebrows. Gold and silver rings pierced her cheek, a slim chain dangling from one to another ring in her nostril. The skin around her eyes had been painted jet black, and dark tattoos circled and dotted her thin, wiry arms.

  She produced a long narrow knife from inside her boot and made a sawing motion with it.

  “So young, dis one,” the woman slurred. Her eyes narrowed and she licked her lips. “Young and…soft. What’s the word? Tender. Tender, yeah, dat’s it.”

  “She is not for you,” Brad snarled. He whispered something to himself as he stepped in front of Emma, and the curved blade appeared in his hand. “She is meant for the Hellfont. Go back to the pit you came from.”

  “You go, blessed man,” the woman hissed, revealing a row of sharpened, yellowed teeth. She clambered down the rocky shelf and knelt on one knee, her blade pointing towards Emma. “Jus’ hungry’s all. You leave young meat here an’ go. You live.”

  Emma took a step back, her heart pounding against her chest, her breathing rapid. She’d been scared before, but this was different. There was no one here she could trust, and right now she felt very much alone.

  The cannibal stepped forward, her dark eyes on Emma, and Brad moved. He moved so fast that at first Emma thought it was someone else. The curved sword flashed out in a blinding arc as he leapt towards the cannibal, and the woman’s reaction was already too late.

  She lunged, her knife driven towards Bra
d’s legs, but Brad had already jumped, his feet trailing over the cannibal’s lead arm. He swung the sickle sword down and it sliced cleanly through the woman’s forearm. Her hand flopped to the ground, the knife slipping harmlessly to the dirt.

  The woman stared for an instant, her wide eyes on the blood spurting from the sheared end of her arm, and then she screamed, a bloodcurdling cry that echoed through the valley.

  Brad landed and whipped his arm around in one smooth motion, and the woman’s scream cut off as the sword cleaved effortlessly through her neck. The rings hanging from her cheek glinted in the fading sun as her head rolled away to rest against a clump of scrub.

  He looked at Emma as shouts rang out and motioned with his free hand for her to come to him. “Come on, Emma. We need to go.”

  Emma swallowed. She didn’t want to. Right now she wanted more than anything to run back to Haven, to find her dad. She didn’t want to be out here anymore, didn’t want to listen to that voice tell her everything was going to be alright.

  Nothing was alright.

  Someone slid past the stone outcropping, kicking up dust. A tall man wearing loose canvas pants and a torn, ragged shirt, paused as his gaze fell on Brad. His hair ran along his skull in tight braids, and he held a nasty-looking whip made up of three long sections of barbed wire, the ends tipped with rusted hooks.

  Footsteps sounded behind, and then a group crowded around the man. Emma counted at least ten.

  “Heya.” The man smiled, revealing a large gap where his front teeth should be, but the grin faded as he saw the woman’s severed head in the grass. He sneered and glanced at the other cannibals behind him. “Whoever kills this fucker gets his heart.”

  Emma heard rocks scatter behind her, and someone chuckled. She wanted to cry, because she wasn’t getting out of here. She was going to die alone.