Abyss of the Fallen

by Diana Estell

  “This is one bad ride, boss. The pick-up and turns are wicked fast.”

  Dagon held Mary’s photograph, tracing her face. Placing the photo back into the envelope, he made his way over to the grocery store and purchased two presents. He plunked down the cash, plus tax, and placed the items into his coat.

  “I parked it in the garage, which is nasty, though the wood looks fairly sturdy. This place really feels like you’re in the middle of nowhere though it's still in Oak Park. I’m looking forward to driving this car to the airport. Over.”

  “I’m changing the plan slightly. Over,” said Dagon.

  “What do you mean … slightly? Over.” Razz asked.

  “You won’t be driving but hitching it to the airport. Over and Out.”

  Mr. Cool, Sledge, and Friar laughed their heads off when they heard this.

  Razz sulked.

  Dagon ignored all of them by taking out the Iliad from in his coat. Alexander the Great was his hero, and this was his hero’s favorite book. Just like Alexander, Dagon would risk it all to gain it all. Laying everything down on a not so imaginary line.

  20

  A Document of Stone

  Well … here’s to living in the light. Without taking any of his usual precautions, he left his bench and made his way into the hole of death. It was time for Dagon to give Savila his plan and Mary’s signature of agreement.

  With several clacks of his heels on the black glass floor, Dagon found himself inside the Execution Room. Legions of shadow royalty and the three Shadow Kings whose spiked crowns glinted like sharp nails waited in formation. Every shadow soldier down to the lowliest was present, which repulsed Dagon.

  Charred beams pointed menacingly upward, which brought his attention to Savila, standing commandingly in front of one of them. Dressed as a warrior, she wore a long-sleeved shirt of chain mail and a skirt made of rows of individual throwing knives. Her blonde hair hung loosely down her back. Two braids started at her temples, encircled the top of her head several times, and were held in place by a headpiece of glass shards. Her sword stuck out of its dragon mouth sheath, which hung ready on her hip. Except for the occasional drops of water striking the links of the silver chains, ominous silence seared the room. The air collided with fire and ice when Savila finally spoke.

  “You will present everyone here with your proposal by which the boy will be taken into custody, and you will produce your plan of agreement.”

  “After Mark’s family visits the Glynns,” Dagon began, both hesitant and eager, “the Bennett family will leave to go home, but Mark will stay back. He will walk back, alone. At that point my bonded mate, Mary Elizabeth Fauston, will be in the alley where she will redirect Mark into the field. This is where the Abyss will prophetically open, as Lady Savila has stated that it would. My bonded mate will send Mark into the field by telling him the road ahead is blocked. As the sun will also be blocked, Mark will not question her and will obey. In the field, Mark will be taken by shadow soldiers into the Abyss. I will question him and then leave.”

  Savila looked smug with his presentation. “His family would never allow him to walk back alone. How do you propose to get him to leave the protection of the Glynns?”

  Savila waved her hand, producing a bat with needle-like fangs. The bat spread its wings in her palm.

  Savila’s hissed a command, and the bat flew across the Execution Room and into the hands of King Lamel. The wings of the bat beat harshly and then the bat thrust its wings over its head, transforming itself into a document of thin but dense stone.

  Dagon headed toward the document, the echoes of his heels clacking eerily on the glass. Clack after lonely clack, his boots made their way to the document. King Lamel stood tall and defiant, holding the document of stone with immortal firmness. The Execution Room sizzled in silent suspense as Dagon faced the document inches from its hard surface. The shadowy crowd sneered and cackled. For a change, Dagon was glad he wore his dragon scale coat. It thickened his skin for the cheers felt more like jeers directed at him.

  “Where is the signature line?”

  With two firm yanks, Savila took two of the throwing knives from her skirt. Her mouth set like a vise, she threw the knives with force and precision at the document, but Dagon was in the line of fire.

  The air behind Dagon seared as fast whizzing metal flew toward him. Instinctively, he turned sideways, letting the knives sail past him. The knives impaled the hardened stone just inches from Dagon.

  “There are your lines. Both of your signatures are required.”

  Ticked, Dagon removed the knives from the stone. With flair, he spun around and threw one knife over-handed and the other one under-handed back at Savila, his coat swirling around his body.

  With ease, Savila caught her knives and placed them back into her skirt. A low rumble of chanting started among the shadows as Dagon placed his ring where one of the knives had created a signature line. Black flaming sparks came out of his ring and blazed onto the stone, cutting deep letters into it. His name and title still steamed when he placed his ring on the next signature line. More sparks came out of his ring, while the letters of Mary’s name etched deeply into the stony surface. Unlike the paperwork for the Ferrari, the letters did not cool, but grew hotter.

  A loud chant of victory broke out, and Savila walked over to Dagon. Savila scraped each letter, her clawed fingernails digging into the hard surface with ease. With a wave of her hand over the stone, the lines blazed on the surface, as did Dagon’s publicly declared agreement.

  “King Lamel will read this proclamation of law to the treasonous Seraphs who guard the boy. As agreed upon, when the sun is blotted out, this boy will be taken into custody. The Golden Land will be defeated and torn to shreds.” Savila, raised her claws, flicking them in defiance at the Golden Land.

  Savila waved her hand over the stone document and it transformed back into a bat, perched in the palm of King Lamel. The wings of the bat beat faster, and claws extended and contracted. King Lamel closed his hand, and the bat disappeared.

  “You must wait above for King Lamel. Together, you will present the document to the Seraphs. You will stay where the Abyss will open until after the boy is taken,” said Savila.

  Without showing it, Dagon was overjoyed yet petrified with worry. These thoughts and emotions would be saved until he entered his private quarters. The ceremony concluded, and everyone dispersed at Savila’s command.

  Once again, Savila managed to punish him for loving Mary and now his unfulfillable promise pierced his heart. Savila wanted him kept far enough from Mary so she would have to suffer through every detail of that horrible night, alone.

  He wasn’t thrilled about being the one to draw Mark out. Even being pragmatic, he would not bodily abduct Mark. Right now, this was the least of his problems. Dagon scrambled to find another plan to prevent Mary from seeing or hearing the inevitable. Even Alexander the Great would adopt a new strategy on the fly and flawlessly. Dagon wished he could discuss strategy with Alexander, for he feared his plan might somehow flop. He wished he would have met his hero in person and not merely from a distance. Out of respect, Dagon rarely looked in on the strategy sessions, and Dagon never gazed into Alexander’s private quarters. He had chosen not to listen to Alexander’s thoughts, for Dagon would want that same respect given to him.

  He envisioned holding her and her wanting him, a pleasant thought, though torturous. He had never touched or been touched before Mary, except by Savila’s blade when she enjoyed seeing his body in pain, just to see how his humanity would respond. Savila cut him many times with human weapons when he wasn’t expecting it. She would always heal what she inflicted upon him, but the pain remained. It would sink in deeply, though no outward wounds showed. No chances would be taken with Mary’s safety though he saw his life to be expendable.

  Would the Seraphs think I wanted to have Mary's name on the stone document? Would Mary leave me if she thought I was making this all up. If she leaves, we’re d
ead. We’re all dead. If she stays, but doesn’t want me, and live separate lives, we have a chance. Not a great one, but a chance, and perhaps only one chance. I would rather live apart and know she will be safe.

  Conveniently, only Dagon’s name and title appeared on the stone, for Savila’s title had been confiscated. Savila cut the letters deeper. Big whoop as my name goes down in a blaze of glory. Even Alexander wouldn't want his name to go down in history like that.

  Dagon had the good sense to tell Sledge to keep Mary in the alley. Dagon wouldn’t tell Mary about his veils having the ability to shield her because the distance made it a moot point. In her mind he was a superhero, so she may not understand that he did have limitations.

  Internally, Dagon struggled between love, repulsion, joy, shame, guilt, and remorse. He never expected to receive love for himself, only to give it to his beloved. He wasn’t sure why Mary loved him. It didn’t seem possible she could love him. The jeering in the execution room seemed fitting. He deserved it, a kind of penance.

  What was the light good for? Mary took such careful measures to heal his wounds. His control slipped away as the stone document would for all eternity bear Mary’s name and his name together. He and Mary would reign together over humanity for all eternity with Savila remaining in ultimate authority. None of this seemed to matter back when he desired power, but now he knew he was being used and abused. Besides his and Mary’s names, other words were etched in the document under Savila’s claw marks. It may have been nothing, or Savila wanted him to think that.

  He reached down and unsheathed the dagger from his boot. He looked at the blade closely, and he saw the razor-sharp edges hungry for his skin. How could Mary not see his coat as the physical manifestation of his shame? At that moment, repulsion, shame, guilt, and remorse won the battle for his tormented mind, and he slashed his dagger against the coat sleeve and let the blood surge down his arm.

  “Ahhh,” came his muffled scream. Hot, excruciating throbbing ripped through his skin. Shame, control, and being alive emptied from the red-hot lesion. He deserved this. If he purged his past and paid atonement, maybe Mary would see someone worth loving.

  In control again, he took off his coat and wrapped his shirt around his arm. In his familiar ritual, he burned his shirt and its memory in a cloud of smoke.

  From the closet, he put several expensive suits and other clothing items into his coat. Once done, he could finally relax. Thanks to Emperor Claudius and his Roman bath, Dagon really could relax.

  After his bath he went to work creating Mary’s gift from his purchases. Studying the gifts, he was pleased with them. Right on cue, Savila ordered him to go above. Wasting no time, Dagon scanned his room and left.

  It was so much brighter up here but with heavier air. Dagon found out from the Rat Pack that Mary slept. Dagon told them to keep watch and report back.

  Back in Mark’s room, Magethna wrote in her daily planner when she and the other Seraphs heard a faint voice riding on the surges of smoke. It faded in and out, then broke up, “shame … I deserve … Mary’s love … not worthy.”

  Magethna’s quill flew on the fine ivory pages of her daily planner. Jotting down these words, which sounded less like a cry for help and more like a cry of regret.

  Dagon sent the signals. The smoke disappeared just as Dagon appeared from the ground. Walking over to his usual bench, he sat, lost in his own thoughts.

  Dorian mentally contacted Henry with the latest development while Magethna’s quill moved efficiently on the pages, documenting what she saw.

  “We continue to watch,” said Dorian.

  “And write,” said Magethna.

  All the Seraphs watched in readiness, and they saw King Lamel approach Lord Dagon. Fast quill scratches wrote down the time and date the proclamation would be read. Magethna put her daily planner and quill back into her pocket, which must have sensed the urgency because it stitched up rapidly.

  The moon dangled in full view over the Bennett house when Dagon’s heels mournfully and yet joyfully struck the sidewalk of Forest Avenue. After the last clack of his heels, six blades unsheathed at their presence in front of the gate.

  Lord Dagon unsheathed his sword, characteristically twirling it, while King Lamel opened his hand and the bat appeared. A hiss rose and rumbled from the Abyss as the two immortals gripped the hilts of their swords with eternal strength in response to the sound from the pit of death. That defiled sound, which once rode upon a whisper in the Golden Land, thundered and called forth this winged creature of the night. With angry, deliberate flaps, the bat flew toward Dorian. He allowed the creature to land in his palm. The wings of the bat beat several times before it thrust its wings up over its head, transforming into the stone document.

  Formally, King Lamel read the document aloud from where he stood behind the gate.

  “On Memorial Day, Lord Dagon’s …”

  King Lamel’s voice faded. Dagon added the rest of the script.

  Bonded mate, Mary Elizabeth Fauston will send Mark Bennett into the field … Mary will be in an alley … The sun will also be blocked.

  Magethna watched Lord Dagon, whose mind echoed a part of the script. The sparks of the signatures filled the eyes of the two immortals, pulling Dagon back to the present. Are there names in the document? If so, what names?

  All around the signatures lay the deep scratches Savila had made.

  Nuvila’s bare feet moved silently over the grass, though no blade moved. Fabric of pure light barely skimmed its surface. The shadows parted in her presence. She stood behind William, whispering like the sound of the breeze. “On the eve, Dagon will deceive.”

  “Who is involved?” William didn’t turn around.

  “Mary Fauston, the new neighbor.”

  As soon as William left, Nuvila walked over to where the Seraphs stood. The signatures of Dagon, the once-guardian of the First Land and his mate, were sealed in stone, hammered into law by her sister’s hand. With delight, she saw the names blaze together with the title that Dagon still bore.

  Nuvila removed one of her veils, while a hiss came from the Abyss beneath her feet. Everyone was astonished to see Nuvila, her timing being perfect for this moment.

  The wings of the bat began to beat rapidly, flying back into the hand of King Lamel. The Shadow King shot a scornful look at the sister of his master.

  Nuvila simply smiled in return. “My sister was always ambitious and …”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” said Dagon.

  “You were also ambitious, were you not?”

  “That’s also putting it mildly,” said Dagon. King Lamel laughed, an unpleasant sound to hear, for it was like metal grating over metal.

  Magethna kept her expression contemplative yet relaxed. She glanced over to Dorian, whose expression mirrored hers.

  “And now the signatures blaze unto a seal for all humanity who inhabit the Second Land. This document of stone sets words of law into motion, which calls the boy to his appointed time.” No sooner had Nuvila’s last word escaped her mouth when everything ended.

  Nuvila, Lord Dagon, and King Lamel disappeared, covered in Seraphic invisibility as six blades sheathed.

  Back at Mary’s house, the Cherbs griped about getting paid. They slaved away while Dagon dawdled, and they planned to tell him so.

  Sitting on Mary’s porch swing, Dagon propped his boots up onto the porch railing. They ranted and raved about being denied the basics of life. Between shouts of “Slave driver!” and “Tyrant!” the Cherbs said that they would take ten carats or gold-plated smokes as payment, but Dagon just ignored them. They kept throwing out more bombs. “Dictator!”

  21

  Spectacles

  “It’s going to be a scorcher under partly cloudy skies. A stray shower may be possible, especially during the afternoon hours,” the local weatherman reported on the television in the Bennett house. Magethna thought it was rather loud.

  At 10 o’clock, Mark finished his breakfast and got d
ressed. He was in a good mood, for his family was going to spend the day at the house of Bryan Glynn, Mark’s best friend, to celebrate Memorial Day.

  Within the quiet bedroom, Mark’s patchwork quilt hung lopsided off the corner of the lumpy bed, despite the effort Mark made to straighten it. The Seraphs saw the lonely book with its evidence of recent use lying on the nightstand. The cover pictured a sword with a ruby on top of the hilt. The wise old writing desk guarded the ruby while waiting for an absolution. With an animated gleam, the sword seemed razor sharp in its illustration, drawing attention to the title, The Princely Stone.

  Mark’s family drove off eagerly to begin their festivities, and the Seraphs were alone to guard the house. With immortal vision, they watched the family arrive at the Glynns’ and carry in bags of food and other items the Seraphs didn't recognize.

  Throughout the day, Magethna opened her pink planner and moved her quill to the rhythm of the musical instruments being played by people in colorful suits. Flags waved in the crowd which lined the avenue as cars decorated with flowers inched their way along the parade route. Buntings in red, white, and blue hung from windows and porches.

  Drums beat, people cheered, and feet marched past as men in uniforms waved to the crowd. Soldiers young and old marched past with somber faces in stark contrast to the people cheering along the streets.

  These soldiers, who had escaped the crossfires of war, spoke loudly through their silence that they marched for those who had gave their lives. The Seraphs watched as some of the soldiers rode by in chairs with wheels.

  Smoke billowed over trees around the area. With relief, it was welcome as a call to eat. They inhaled the aroma which rode on the strands of smoke. Families eating and reminiscing of old times.