Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1

by C. J. Sullivan

  "Very foolish words for someone on the opposite end of this weapon."

  "It's my sword. It was given to me. Give it back."

  "No, I don't think so. You foolishly left it behind. You should have been more careful. Now it's mine."

  "You bastard, you're just like the rest of them. You've wanted the Sivli ever since you knew that I had it. Give it back, you cowardly thief!"

  "No. Why did you leave? I think if you answer that, it will tell us why you left your weapon."

  "Not even your worst methods of torture will get me to say."

  "Now, Laphelle. You don't actually think that I would torture my own apprentice and partner?" He lowered the sword slightly and motioned for the angel to come closer. "Come here. I won't hurt you."

  Laphelle noticed that the snake around the grip still slept, but that its eyes had faded from the original ruby they once were to pitch-black. Odd reaction. And one that Malynko apparently did not see. Laphelle wanted to cut the Elitist's heart out, but he knew what the wicked blade in front of him was capable of. So he took a step closer.

  "I'm concerned for your sanity," Malynko said, "which for some unknown reason, you're starting to lose. Now, if you tell me what has been going on, who you have been seeing during the day and why, I will think about returning this sword to you after a time; however, if you do not comply, I will limit your power even more."

  Laphelle laughed. "What will you do? Lock me up like Kiazmo? I assure you, mere walls cannot hold me, and I do not fear your punishment."

  "Do you fear your DEATH?"

  Laphelle went silent. Malynko lowered the blade even more and moved within arm's length of his defiant partner. Reaching out a long pale hand, he brushed his fingernails against Laphelle's skin as he took hold of the black crystal around the rogue's neck. With one swift movement, he pulled the band off, leaving bloody scratches below the First Rank's collarbone.

  "Don't," said Laphelle, standing firm.

  "I will give this back, if you tell me what has been going on."

  Laphelle spit on his boots. The Elitist crushed the gem to dust in his hand, and sprinkled the sparkling powder onto the ground at their feet.

  "Now no one will be able to find me," Laphelle said, trying to find some good out of the situation.

  "Yes, and now you will not be able to control the elements or read minds."

  "I can still do all of that!"

  "Ah, but not without a certain amount of concentration. And that requires patience you do not own."

  Laphelle's heart slammed against his chest. He needed to get out of there. Malynko was being more than serious and looked in a mood to torture. The rogue needed to fly far away, to leave the continent.

  But I can still read your mind quite easily, Malynko said, telepathically taunting him. Planning on taking a trip? If you leave, you could get stuck here on Earth forever. I'll tell Lucifer you're dead if he arrives. I have proof now. He raised the Sivli.

  Laphelle's eyes widened. The harsh realization of his circumstances attacked his broken spirits, and a wave of panic followed. Lucifer would believe whatever Malynko told him because Malynko was a prized member of the Elite. Laphelle was, and always would be, merely First Rank. The grandfather clock in the hallway tolled six.

  Dong.

  "Keep your proof!" Laphelle said, closing his eyes and covering his ears from the bells. "Keep your status! I want nothing to do with you or Lucifer!"

  "You speak blasphemy!"

  Dong.

  Laphelle dropped his hands and stared with raging fire in his eyes. "So be it!"

  He turned away from Malynko and exploded out of the house.

  ***

  Malynko

  The Elitist stood there, baffled in silence, for most of the hour. His mind raced with what had happened. Laphelle really had left. Malynko hadn't expected him to. There was no telling where the fool went, and he didn't plan on searching in the daylight.

  Perhaps Eva's vision was correct; however, there was a big difference between Laphelle running away for a while, and flat out betraying him. Malynko still had faith that his old apprentice would return to his senses.

  Sighing, he looked at the black weapon in his grasp. The Sivli was his now, but he was alone. Kiazmo was dead. He had no one left, except for the quiet, little girl on the second floor. Turning his head to the stairs, he realized that he was scheduled to meet the angels of light at the end of three days. Three days. And now he would face them alone.

  Angry at the world, but even more at himself for letting this chaos happen, he growled and threw the Sivli at the front door. The blade pierced it and the weapon vibrated violently.

  "As you say, Laphelle," he said in the empty room. "So be it!"

  ***

  Laphelle

  Far away from Malynko, Laphelle flew. He soared across the world, over the watery blanket of the oceans, and over the barren and bountiful miles of land. He hid from every human face. For he now saw a soul in every visage. Behind each living mortal was a secret tune, a song for them, a song for all.

  And yes, there was even a song for him now. He could hear it, too.

  He stopped flying and landed in London, England.

  The night was still, the city covered in a thick stew of low clouds. Walking down the quiet, foggy streets, fighting the madness that threatened to take hold of him, he tried to think logically of what he was going to do. Malynko had his weapon. The Elitist wasn't giving it back. Laphelle hated him, hated everything about him, and his kind. He even hated himself. He took the cloak off his wings.

  He suddenly heard the tremendous, echoing DONG of a monstrous clock. It made his edgy nerves jump in torment. He couldn't see two feet in front of him. And so, not knowing if the bell rang in reality, or just sounded in his raging mind, he ran through the thick London mists.

  DONG.

  Lucifer was not coming for them. He had abandoned his followers.

  Laphelle's sanity began to unravel, his composure falling away with it. Running, blinded by the fog, he grasped at his thoughts that began to race. He could hear Jack's voice in his mind, a conversation they had when they first met.

  "Come outside, I have to let the dog out. What did you say your name was?"

  "I didn't tell you my name, human."

  "Oh! Right. Well, I'm Jack Chester. Nice to meet you."

  Then Malynko intruded on his memories.

  "You've always been moody. Perhaps this is simply one of your moods."

  Growing in frustration, Laphelle waved at the fog, cursing that it would not lift. He flapped his wings, but to no avail.

  Jack.

  The violin's taunting, mysterious secrets.

  DONG.

  Malynko.

  "Rebels of the system only amount to failures."

  DONG.

  "I find it odd that you're not out toying with these people. Any other time you'd be elated at the thought of it. You're not yourself."

  "I don't have a list! Lucifer has sent me nothing."

  DONG.

  "Isn't the Devil known as The Father of Lies?"

  Laphelle stopped on the hidden sidewalk under his bare feet and grabbed his head. He closed his eyes, silently begging the voices to stop.

  DONG.

  "I don't like humans!"

  "You don't like anyone."

  He felt a pain stab at his chest.

  "Face it, kid. You like me!"

  DONG.

  "Just whine and complain about how terrible your life is. Let it all out, you pitiful, little infant."

  DONG.

  "There's something I trust about you. Maybe it's the fact that you're not human."

  "Well, who am I going to tell your secrets to?"

  DONG.

  "It's not like I have any friends. You're my only—you're the only person I've known that's ever been interested in what I have to say."

  DONG.

  Lucifer.

  "I should banish you for this behavior."

>   DONG.

  "They're all just plain old excesses. Humanity has fought them since day one. We need to forget them and get back down to the basics of what is important."

  "Like what?"

  "Like friendship."

  Laphelle fell to his knees and let out a scream that the whole of London could hear. He wrapped his wings around his body, grabbed at the feathers, and tore fistfuls out as he violently whipped the appendages back behind him.

  His cry echoed with the final bell until both were entwined, and together they faded off into the distance.

  Panting, he heard the creak of an old wooden door, and the fog began to clear.

  He knelt in front of a pub. The owner was locking it up for the night. She was an older woman, hunchbacked and leaning on a cane, and dressed in a tattered green cloak. Her unruly black hair fell in strands over her eyes. Grinning, she looked down at Laphelle and nodded one solemn time. He saw that one of her eyes was green, the other brown.

  She walked away, the fog clearing more so that he could see his reflection in the large window of the pub. At the top of the window was a sign written in fancy, dark lettering:

  OLDE DEVIL'S JESTER

  Yes, Laphelle saw himself.

  He saw his wings, those once-sacred appendages that now served as a brand for his constant darkness, his malevolent choice, his Fallen identity.

  He saw the label above his framed reflection.

  All at once, everything became clear.

  ***

  Jack

  A little after seven, Jack heard a soft knock on his front door. Brushing the dust off the old clothes he'd put on to bury Hermes, he rushed to open it. There Laphelle stood with his head hung, dark clouds of a gathering storm at his back. He looked up and lightning streaked across the sky. There were red scratches—they looked made from claws—on his chest.

  "What happened to you?" Jack asked, staring at the markings.

  "Jack." The angel's face appeared in utter sorrow. "I lied to you. About me. About everything."

  "What? What are you talking about? Come inside." He guided him into the living room, and looked back to see Laphelle dragging his feet. "What's wrong? Sit down and turn on the TV. I'll fix something to drink. We can get out the violin if you want—"

  "No." He stood tall, as if in defense. "It's the violin's fault, Jack. It's that instrument. That glorious—no, terrible—no, wonderful thing. That thing brought me here and made me suffer."

  "What? It didn't make you suffer, it—"

  "Can't you see?" He ran a shaky hand through his messy hair, his calm demeanor crumbling. Holy cow, he was losing it. "I AM SUFFERING!"

  Suddenly the angel jerked away from Jack, shaking his head, pacing.

  "Then let me help you," Jack said.

  "Kindness." Laphelle stopped and cracked a side grin. "You've always been kind to me. Why? Why couldn't you have just hated me? Why did you have to befriend me of all people, being the wretch that I am?" He lowered his head. "Just fear me, Jack. Fear me and hate me like you're supposed to, and I'll leave and never come back."

  "No, Laphelle. I don't hate anyone. I care for people because that's who I am."

  "How can you care about people when they only care about themselves in the end?"

  "Because I don't give to receive. I give because giving makes me happy. Self-gratification and egocentric behavior only puts people in despair because that's not how things were meant to be. On the other hand, caring about people, including you, son—"

  "Stop."

  Were those tears behind his shaking voice?

  "Jack, there are things I must say that will probably change your mind. It's eating me up inside keeping these things from you, and I don't understand why. But I must say them." The man stood firm, bracing himself for anything. "The truth is—there are more angels here on Earth, and one in particular that I hate. He saw somehow. Saw that I was becoming different from him. He took my sword from me. Took my crystal. He was supposed to be my comrade. No, Jack. We weren't sent here to harmlessly play around. It's not so simple. The truth is darker."

  Jack could feel his face pale. He had to be brave. The angel before him needed him to be brave.

  "Well," he said, "the truth usually is."

  Laphelle furrowed his brow and looked into the man's eyes. "Jack. I don't want you to fear me, but if I had been any other angel of darkness, you would probably be dead by now. If I would have just been myself that night—"

  "Laphelle—"

  "We HATE humanity!"

  He slammed a fist into the top of the TV. The box crunched in a spray of sparks, and the man flinched. The angel paced the room like a wild beast, holding out his hands, sharply bending his fingers as if he were choking the very air in front of him.

  "We hate every last one of you! For thousands of years we have had one main purpose, and that is to ruin your lives! We are forever damned, while you are spared over and over and over! There is no fairness in it!"

  "No, Laphelle." Jack's voice was calm now, compassion lighting through the fear of darkness. "But I haven't damned you. I understand you. Don't you see? We're the same."

  "How can you say that?" Laphelle asked, the pain evident in his voice. "We're nothing alike."

  Thunder rumbled closer. Laphelle looked a threat now. Menacing, his icy blue eyes terrifying. Jack told himself that nothing had changed, that the angel would not try to harm him. He had to trust his gut. He had to trust Laphelle.

  "Then tell me how we're different," he said. "Humans and"—he cleared his dry throat—"angels."

  "Must I? You can't guess on your own?" He laughed. It was not a joyous sound. "Well, let me spell it out for you. There's an all-out war going on right now of who will ultimately rule you. We angels of darkness are the ones in the shadows, the ones nightmares are made of. We take you as slaves. We destroy your lives and then bring the worst of you to Hell so that you may suffer with us for all eternity. We are commanded to hate you, and hate you we do."

  He stood there for what seemed like an entire epoch, his rigid frame making a mighty, frozen statue on the wall behind him. Then, quietly he said:

  "And you. You saved my miserable life."

  Jack licked his dry lips.

  Before the man could comment, Laphelle gave a sharp flap of his great wings that sent loose papers flying through the room. Jack jumped. The angel lowered his face and shook his head.

  "I am commanded to destroy you," he said.

  Jack waited, biting his tongue.

  Laphelle continued to stare at the ground. "Every time I see my reflection, I am reminded of the creature I've somehow become. My blackened feathers remind me every moment of the choice I have made, and it drives me to insanity. There is no peace here. None. And I don't even have the consolation of remembering a better life, only know that I had to have been happy before the Fall because…" He lifted his chin. "Doesn't matter now. Anyway, it's too late to return to the light, and I don't know if I would even want to if I had the chance. But one thing is certain: I'm done with all this, this stupid game. I'm tired of being controlled by a leader whom I do not respect. He abandoned us here. He's not coming back. I don't understand why, but I know he set us up. I know it with every fiber of my being. I'm finished with fighting a war I don't believe in anymore. It's meaningless to fight, knowing what I now know, having discovered what I've discovered. That is why I must ask you to do me one—very—important favor."

  Jack felt the piercing gaze of Laphelle's cold eyes all the way through to his soul. The angel gave a sharp flick of his wings, drawing the man's attention to the black feathers.

  "I want you to cut them off, Jack."

  Jack felt his stomach clench. "Are you out of your damn mind?"

  "It's not difficult. All you'll need is something sharp." His voice was panicked. Urgent. "Cut them off quickly before the concert."

  "What? But you—"

  "I will play with my wings removed! No longer will I have these chains constantly
reminding me of—"

  "But this doesn't make sense! You are what you are, wings or not! If I cut off my arms, does that make me any less a human?"

  "That's different."

  "It's no different! They're a part of you! Connected to you! Even if I stitched you up, your movements playing the violin—I can't! You might die!"

  "Then I die!"

  His new rage was frightening, but the pain behind it was excruciating for the man to witness. Jack had had a feeling as soon as Laphelle entered the house mere moments ago that this night would end badly. A terrible, dreadful feeling. His head began to spin, his heart palpitating to the point that it was uncomfortable to stand. Laphelle shook his head, the outside thunder growing closer.

  "I am finished with God and with Lucifer. They don't care if I'm alive or dead. They only care about themselves and their selfish war. Neither side will hold control over me. Anymore. Now, do this for me—it is all I ask of you."

  Jack was backed into a corner. He frantically shook his head.

  "I can't, Laphelle! I can't! Please!"

  Darkness clouded the Fallen angel's face.

  "Fine. I'll do it myself." He stormed toward the kitchen.

  "NO!" Jack jumped in his way. "I swear to God, Laphelle, you don't know what you're doing!"

  "God? God is the reason I'm doing this! Swear to Him all you like and see if I care."

  He pushed past him and yanked a white wooden drawer out of its socket. Cutlery spilled all over the floor, and he laid hands on a large butcher knife, the blade glinting in the overhead light. Observing it, he nodded.

  "This'll work." He turned to Jack. "Go ahead and leave, coward."

  Jack couldn't stay any longer. He strode out into the living room, seeing spots. A strong and sudden wave of dizziness hit him, and he felt his heart's palpitations increase. He gripped the back of his couch and heard a sickening rip in the kitchen. Then another. And another.

  The room spun.

  He shook his head, refusing to pay attention to the noise. If that fool wanted to kill himself, fine. He would have no part in it. No part.

  Rip.

  This couldn't be happening. Jack felt as if he would vomit. Laphelle released a deep gasp, and upon hearing it, Jack spun around. His heart pounded in his chest as adrenaline bolted him back into the kitchen.