Infinite

by Erica Crouch

  “I see him,” Proserpine says, and I snap back into focus. “Raum. He’s over there.” She points to a lone tree at the base of a slow-sloping hill. A wide, frozen river sits to the left.

  When he sees us, Raum falls from the tree and shifts from his crow form. It’s a much harsher, bone-breaking shift than the ones I’ve seen him do before. Without his brother, he doesn’t take his time to make it look elegant.

  We land next to him, Jeremy stumbling across the slick ground and slamming into the tree. He holds on to its branches to remain standing. Smartly, he decides to stay out of our way, out of our conversation.

  “Sir,” Raum says, nodding.

  “This is it?” I ask, looking around.

  “They are a few miles north of here. I circled by and noticed that they have lookouts in place—a group three miles out and a second five miles out. I thought our staying a good ten miles away would allow us time and cover. We wouldn’t be forced into action before we’re prepared.”

  “Ten miles,” I say. I walk up the bulging hill and train my eyes on the horizon in an effort to see far enough out. There are a few dips in the land, but in the foggy distance, I think I can almost make out a structure. Is that where Pen has been hiding?

  “Their compound is not incredibly large, but it appears to be near capacity. I’d estimate about a few thousand staying there, at the most,” Raum reports.

  “And Pen? Michael? Did you see them?”

  “I saw them land and enter. They’re inside, and they haven’t left.”

  Zepar cracks his neck. “Time to rest up, Raum. We’re going to have a fun few days here.”

  I shake my head. “Not days. I don’t expect to be here that long.”

  Beating wings crack in the sky, shuddering through the clouds in a ripple, and I turn to the sound. Coming in from the east is a small group of angels and demons. They’re headed in the direction Raum indicated the compound was positioned. They fly fast, their weapons glinting in the silvery, filtered light. We’re lucky they don’t notice us.

  “It appears we were not the only ones who called for reinforcements,” Proserpine says.

  “If you see any angels come close enough, shoot them down.” I meet each of their gazes, appraise the quality of the weapons we’re left with. We have a few arrows left—but none of us are specialized in archery. “Throw your damn daggers if you have to.”

  We are nothing spectacular to look at, but appearances can be deceiving. I’ve seen what they can do. Besides, we will not be waging this war alone. Others are on their way, ravenous and ready to get at the throats of the enemy.

  “And demons?” Zepar asks. “How do we know if they’re here for us or for them?”

  “You’re smart,” I say, walking up the hill. “You’ll figure it out.”

  Proserpine’s light footsteps follow me. She sounds like leaves falling on snow, her gait barely heavy enough to leave a trace. “Where are you off to?” she asks.

  “I need to get eyes on the compound.”

  “Raum did that already,” she says, still following.

  “I need to get my eyes on the compound.”

  It’s not that I do not trust Raum, but I know how rage can blur details. He may have missed something important. Something only I would be able to make a connection with as significant.

  I want to see where my sister is staying, see where she’s building her army meant to reinvigorate the angels. She wants to rewrite the very vows all angels take and evolve the morality of Heaven. Yet she’s out here, in the middle of nowhere. What progress could they possibly be making?

  “I’m coming with you, then,” she says, pulling up next to me. “Raum needs his rest. Zepar can watch Jeremy.”

  Zepar hears this and lets out a low groan but doesn’t argue.

  “I’m the last spy you have left,” she argues. “You can use me.”

  “If they hadn’t seen your face,” I say bitterly, “you could have infiltrated the compound as an alley. They wouldn’t have known the difference and just assumed you were one of theirs.”

  Her bottom lip juts out for a moment before she pulls herself back together. “Surveillance will have to be enough. Observation can reveal a lot of valuable information.”

  “It is not like we have any other options.”

  We walk in silence, creeping close to the ground when we approach the five-mile marker. Pen’s amulet is cold against my skin under my armor, and I wish I hadn’t brought it with me. I never should have taken it off that tree where she abandoned it. Where she abandoned me.

  That was the day she decided she was done with me, and I should have been done with her. I should have walked away and left her to the mercy of my other soldiers. They could find her without me. They could kill her just fine on their own.

  But that’s not enough for me. I have to know, have to see it for myself. Unless I’m the one to do it, I will never believe she’s dead. So I don’t take her pendant off. It’s knotted around the chain of my own anyway, so I leave it be.

  Positioned five miles from the compound are three guards. Two angels and one demon. They disappear every now and then into the dark clouds above, and I wonder how often they change stations. If they don’t want their guards exhausting themselves on the job, then they’ll rotate them every few hours, I’d guess. There’s nowhere out here for them to rest but the wide-open field, and that would risk exposure. A watchman isn’t worth anything if the enemy notices him first.

  Proserpine and I wait, watching them and timing their routine. We mark how long they disappear into the thick clouds before they reappear again.

  “Distraction,” she suggests. “If we can pull their attention away from where we’ll be for a moment, we can make it past them easily. With any luck, they’ll call the others waiting at mile three out to help them assess the situation.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “You seemed to favor summoning lightning before.” She ducks down a little in the drift of snow, her eyes searching the sky.

  It worked quite well in London when we split up to sweep the city for spies. A bolt of lightning if anyone found something of note. Zepar and Aym called down two bolts when they came across Zophiel—one just happened to strike her, singeing the ends of her hair and sending colorful patterns across her entire body. Dark traceries of her veins, shadows of her bones stamped on her skin.

  “And that would draw them directly to us,” I say, dismissing the idea. A distraction only works if it pulls their attention away from us, not toward.

  “Unless we throw it to the east. Look,” she says, pointing to the dark, pulsating sky. “There’s a storm coming. The sound of lightning wouldn’t alert anyone inside the compound, but if we make it appear less than natural…”

  “Can you do the spell?” I’d like to save my strength for when I need it. For something more important than creating a diversion.

  She laughs, insulted. “Of course I can.”

  The watchers reappear from the clouds and do a sweep of the landscape. Their eyes slide right over us without even the slightest hesitation. Useless. When they hide themselves back in the clouds, Proserpine stands up. She closes her eyes and extends her hands in front of her, her fingers spread wide, pointed east. Her lips move, and I can just barely make out the breath of magic, the smell of the spell sulfuric and bitter.

  With a sharp twist of her hand, the bones of her thin wrists cracking, she completes the spell and a fork of lightning touches down from the sky.

  It’s white hot for a moment, and the watchers drop to the ground, watching the electric spark dance across the ice, spread through the thick cover of clouds. The lightning flickers purple and branches off into three prongs before snapping out. The watchers look at one another, and we are just close enough that we manage to overhear what they’re saying.

  “Lightning?” the first angel asks.

  “I didn’t see any forming,” says the demon.

  “So, not the storm, then?” asks t
he second angel.

  “A spell,” says the demon. “Call the guys at three to check it out. It’s closer to them, anyway.”

  “Could be the others Ana’s called,” the second angel says again.

  “But why risk calling attention to themselves?” says the first.

  “Maybe they’re signaling their arrival so no one assumes they’re—”

  “Yeah,” the demon says. “Maybe.”

  “Still,” says the first angel. “We’ll let those at three know. They’ll look into it just in case it’s not from one of us.”

  They disappear back into the sky without going to investigate. It’s not the result we wanted, but it’ll do. The guards at three miles out will be gone, so we just have to make it past these three guarding at mile five. We wait a few minutes, letting their routine play out three more times. Down from the clouds, survey, up into the clouds. Down, survey, up. Down, survey—we run.

  We don’t wait for them to be back in the cover of clouds before we start running. We wait for their backs to be toward us, and then we take off across the open field, running as quickly and quietly as we can. Proserpine hardly makes any sound at all, and when I look at her, her feet don’t even appear to be touching the ground. The silence of assassins.

  By the time the angels drop from the clouds again, we’re sliding down a hill, closing in on three miles out. We wait to see if the watchers here have returned, but all is still for long enough that we’re confident they haven’t returned from investigating the area the lightning struck. Not wanting to waste any more time waiting for them to reappear if they’ve left, we run again, sprinting the rest of the distance.

  The walls of the compound come up, chipping, orange plaster and stone rising from the snow. It’s a mess, not nearly as prime a location as the Tower of London was. But it looks abandoned, so anyone walking by—any humans, that is—wouldn’t suspect it to be anything of significance. Ruins and rubble, it is a building meant to be overlooked and left alone.

  Proserpine indicates the windows, and we make sure to stay low to the ground and far enough away that no one can spot us. Two dark shadows creeping across the snow, we’re an easy mark to make. To help camouflage us a little better, we dig into the snow, little notches in the ground we can sit in, their shadows enough to hide the black clothes and armor we are outfitted in. Confident we won’t be seen, we sit, waiting and watching.

  The compound is bustling with bodies. There’s the distant sound of swords clashing together, the pop of gunshots, and constant chatter. Demons and angels walk together, locked in conversations—not arguments. They hold doors open for one another and laugh at each other’s jokes. It doesn’t make sense.

  The front gates are guarded by two demons. Greater Demons, large and strong and malformed, just like those who once guarded Lucifer’s annex in Hell. Other than that, the compound doesn’t look particularly secure.

  “It’s open in the center,” Proserpine comments, though I can see that just fine for myself. “Like the Tower of London. There’s a courtyard. Gravel, not grass.”

  “And unless they’ve put up a protection spell, it’ll be easy to land right in the middle of their compound.”

  Proserpine looks at the top of the compound, searching for the slight shimmer of a barrier that would keep us out. “It’s hard to tell if it’s protected with an enchantment. I’d assume they put something up though. Wouldn’t leave a large vulnerability like that open. It would be too easy to penetrate, and the guards at the gate would be pointless.”

  I drag my hand across the back of my neck, thinking. If there are no spells creating a type of shield over the courtyard, we could land part of our army there. But then we’d be immediately surrounded. By walls, by their soldiers who pour out through the few doors I can count. It would filter them right to us, of course—the doors serving as their only exit, as all the windows appear to be barred. But there’s not room for enough of our soldiers to fight properly. They would suffocate us.

  We dig lower into the ground when a group of angels approaches. They land at the perimeter and walk to the front gate. The Greater Demons unlock and open it for them, and they walk in, greeting friends.

  “Protected, then,” I say. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t have had to go through the gate.”

  Proserpine nods.

  We stay there, observing the routines of those in the compound for hours. The temperature drops and it starts to snow, but still, we stay. We hold our post as the wind whips around us, as the noise in the compound dies down as the night grows closer.

  Then the crowd thins and I see Pen walking across the compound with her hand in Michael’s. Everything around me slows down—the snow seems to fall slower, even the wind seems to nearly still. She smiles. She moves in closer…

  I don’t decide that it’s time we return to our own makeshift camp until I see her lean up into Michael and kiss his chin, move her mouth over his jaw. Until she reaches his lips, I’m held frozen. But the moment they tangle their hands around each other, I’m on my feet.

  “Let’s go,” I say, turning away.

  Proserpine follows without any complaint.

  Zepar, Raum, and Jeremy are no longer alone when we return. There are a few dozen other demons—new, rested soldiers ready for battle. There’s bloodlust in their smiles, excitement in their eyes. Zepar introduces me the moment we come into view, and I’m pleased to see some of the newcomers take a knee in my presence. Good. Then they know who’s in charge here.

  There are also a few dead angels, and a handful of dead demons, by the tree Raum had perched in when we first arrived.

  “Rebels?” I ask.

  Raum shrugs. “Sure.”

  Zepar rocks his head back and forth, considering. “Well, most of them definitely were. There were one or two we were unsure of. Better safe than sorry.”

  Jeremy is clearing snow out of the way, exposing a circle of dead grass. He sits on it, sounding like he’s dropped onto shards of glass, and whispers to himself.

  “Lilith said we get to kill some angels,” says one of the new demons.

  “You get to kill traitors,” I clarify. “Angels, demons. Whoever comes up against you.”

  The others grin.

  Time passes slowly as the storm Proserpine predicted moves closer, rolling darkness across the sky like a premature midnight. More arrive, and soon, the plain is so full of black wings and armored bodies that I can’t make out everyone’s faces. They all blend into the crowd, an indistinct mob vibrating with barely contained violence. There are so many soldiers waiting for the order to go forward that I can’t count them all.

  Now this is what an army looks like. We are so much more than a small group of untrained, hopeful rebels who think they’re doing the right thing. We are well-trained killers with an ravenous appetite for the blood of our enemies. These soldiers can tear through their revolution in an hour flat.

  Seeing so many savage warriors milling about, clad in dark armor, comparing weapons with their neighbors and talking about the death they’re sure to bring, I’m reminded of the day we took down Heaven.

  The golden gates of Heaven were locked—as if that could keep us out. Hell’s army made quick work of it, shoving their way through and finding every angel they could. Some, they slaughtered immediately. Others were tortured. Many angels, though, fled. Or they tried to. When they realized there was no way to stop the onslaught of demons—we kept spilling in for hours, black feathers and leathery wings staining their pure-white refuge—they tried to run and hide deeper in Heaven. They didn’t make it far.

  Who was there to lead their army? Who was there to order them to fight back? It was chaos. Pure, utter, delightful mayhem.

  Angels, left to their own devices, are cowards.

  Jeremy has a ring of space around him. Even the newcomers realize they should keep their distance—the few who come closer are instantly put off by the way he twitches and shakes, how he quietly talks to himself and then yells a word or
two before lapsing back into a stuttering silence. On the occasions I’m near enough to hear him, I catch a snippet of the conversation, I assume, he’s having with Lilith. He’s keeping her updated on the progress, letting her know that the reinforcements are arriving. At least he’s being somewhat useful, if only just barely.

  A demon walks out of the crowd and comes to pat me on the back. Abaddon. The destroyer. A cocky smile spreads across my face at seeing him here with us; the little rebels in New Genesis will have no idea what to do with him.

  Abaddon is all muscle and brute force. He’s dumb as a log, but he’s a genius with a weapon in his hands. I’m glad to notice he’s excessively armed with blades—axes crossed over his back, a sword at his waist, throwing knives across his chest.

  “It’s good to see you again, Azael,” Abaddon says. He was by my side when we charged into Heaven. He cleared a path amid the wreckage for me and Lucifer. From there, it was an easy walk right into the throne room. He took down more angels than anyone else that day.

  “You as well.”

  He walks with me through the camp of demons, his fat arms crossed over his big chest. “I was glad to hear from Lilith and more than willing to come and help you wipe out these rebels.”

  “I’m pleased that you decided to join us. We can use more soldiers like you.”

  “There’s no one else like me,” he says with a laugh. “When I heard about all this, I figured I’d be of some help. The way Lilith described it, I knew I didn’t want to pass it up.” He pauses, looks at me out of the corner of his dark eyes. “How is Lilith, by the way? Sounds like you two made quite a team.”

  I shrug noncommittally, smiling to myself. “I haven’t seen her since I’ve been back on Earth. I’m surprised she didn’t want to come and take part in the fight.”

  “Leaders direct wars. They don’t fight in them,” Abaddon says.