Herald

by J Edwards Stone

  “Brother?” Michael asked, furrowing his brow. He let go of my hand and walked forward. Uriel’s head turned back and forth between us, a look of fury on his face.

  “Michael,” he demanded angrily, “are you out of your mind?!’

  “How so?” retorted Michael, becoming angry himself. “How is this any of your concern?”

  “How is this. . . are you serious in asking such a question? You court our Herald?” he hissed.

  “Court?” I asked, unable to resist. Michael let out a huff of frustration, just as Uriel turned and stormed away. Michael turned back apologetically.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered, “I must attend to this.”

  I nodded, holding his hands. “Go,” I said, and he lifted my hands to his lips. I wanted to sing at his touch, still marvelling inside at the fact this beautiful creature could somehow ever be mine. Yet somehow, he was. I ignored the problem of Uriel for the moment, trying to soak up even one extra second of the look in his eyes.

  “I will meet you in your chambers. Until later my. . . until later, Larin,” he finished quietly.

  I merely nodded, unable to say anything more, but it wasn’t necessary. Michael was gone, looking for his Brother. I sighed and started to make my way to my room.

  Suddenly, I changed my mind, feeling again as though I wanted to be outdoors and stretch my wings. I walked through the hall before I realized all eyes were upon me. I would have no privacy this way. I knew only that I wanted to focus my thoughts and be on my own, having endured enough attention for one day. I turned back and made my way up to my chambers, closing the door behind me. I strode to the window and perched upon it, momentarily worried I would have problems leaping independently from that angle, but I leapt anyway and found I flew easily. It was becoming much easier to fly, and I revelled in the thought of soaring through the skies at will.

  I found a place with a ledge that faced out into the great valley, the meadows and forests with its gentle rivers here and there spanning as far as the eye could see. I came to a somewhat rocky landing, still realizing I had more practicing to do before I could say I’d mastered that skill. I walked to the edge of the cliff and sat down, dangling my legs over the edge and enjoying the feel of the warm breeze as it caressed my face in greeting. The sun was almost completely gone in the distance, giving up its place for night to make its own course across the sky.

  I sighed happily, thinking of Michael, and feeling comfortably relaxed. Leaning back my head, I exhaled slowly, enjoying the sounds of nature all around me when suddenly I felt someone come up behind me. I smiled, pleasantly surprised at Michael’s ability to find me anywhere. Just as I was about to turn around, a bag of burlap was shoved roughly over my face and drawn tautly, choking me.

  I shrieked, but the sound was cut off as something hard and heavy slammed downwards into the back of my head, and the world went dark.

  Time had stopped.

  Or at least, it felt that way. The only thing I could focus on was a soul-destroying throbbing in my head that seemingly had no beginning and no end. I moaned loudly, attempting to reach up to find the source of the raging inferno on the side of my skull when I suddenly realized I couldn’t. My hands were bound.

  I opened my eyes, and I panicked when I recalled that my face was covered. I was being carried through the air, slung over someone’s shoulder from what I could tell, and we were flying at a very fast rate of speed. I tried to scream, but the throbbing in my head was so excruciating I could only moan, and even that took tremendous effort. I felt as though every breath was agonizing given my awkward position and the pain in my head. Blissfully, I didn’t have to endure it for long when I passed out again, thinking briefly of Michael before everything went dark.

  I awoke sometime later as I was being passed from one set of hands to another, my arms still bound tightly behind my back and my head still throbbing from the earlier assault. We took off again and I whimpered in pain but remained ignored by those handling me. As I regained awareness, I realized I had been kidnapped, and the fear overtook the pain and confusion.

  “What’s. . . what’s happening?” I demanded weakly. Our speed did not slow, and I heard several sets of wings join us as we travelled, low voices murmuring to each other. I couldn’t hear over the pounding in my head and the material covering my face further obscured the sound. But I keened my ears as hard as I could to ascertain what was happening and where I was, or where I was going. It was useless, I was dragged along like a sack of potatoes. I screamed again for my kidnappers to identify themselves, to tell me what was happening. I was ignored.

  As the pain in my head subsided enough to allow the mist behind my eyes to clear, I realized I must have been captured by Azrael’s forces. The thought terrified me so utterly I couldn’t even tremble at first, so frozen was I with fear. But then the shaking started in force, and the creature carrying me momentarily had to adjust their grip, nearly dropping me as I quaked in terror. I nearly blacked out at the memory of Ephreim alone. The thought of Azrael. . .

  “Michael,” I whimpered, squeezing my eyes shut tightly.

  I wondered how they had infiltrated the Citadel, and whether there had been a great battle or if one was being waged as we flew away. I felt afraid for everyone suddenly, for the others. I felt afraid for Michael and hoped for his safety more than my own at that moment.

  I kicked and screamed for release as we travelled, but my attempts were fruitless. The grip on me only tightened whenever I gave a particularly harsh kick, whenever I came close to wriggling free. I don’t know what would have happened if I had, as my arms were bound behind my wings, trapping them against my back. I would not have been able to fly even if I had gotten free.

  It felt as though we had entered into a cave at some point. There was a strange echoing noise as the flapping wings reverberated off walls from a close distance. It was cold, wherever we were, and the wind that passed us was no longer warm and fresh. There was dampness here, and I could feel the wetness in the air. I shivered, a mixture of elements and emotion.

  After what seemed like a long time, though, the cold and dampness gave way to yet another shift in the environment. Everything warmed up, considerably. There were noises of steam escaping as though exploding through the top of a pressure cooker, the sound of eruptions and of rocks and stone smashing against each other. There arose new smells as well – sulphur, something. . .metallic. I smelled earth and ash.

  My heart continued to pound, and I kept trying to resist the urge to scream madly, thinking only of Michael for strength. I knew that I was about to meet my fate, somehow, and I wanted to be strong. I did not want to give Ephreim the satisfaction of seeing my terror. I did not forgive, nor yet forget what he did to Sam.

  The thought of Ephreim suddenly had a strange effect on me. For the first time, the thought of Ephreim gave me such a boiling sense of rage it surprised me in its sheer intensity. It was a welcome change from my fear, that I could only focus on the hate I had for him inside me. I focused on seizing the first opportunity I had to kill him. If I was going to die, I would do everything I could to take him with me, to rid the rest of the world of his evil. I knew it was a fantasy, deep down – I didn’t stand a chance, but I would die trying.

  I surprised myself with my sudden boldness, with something almost akin to courage. It was as though the soldier inside me had truly awakened as well, my thoughts reorganized with my physical constitution. I focused on that seed of courage inside me, willing it to grow to face whatever was to come.

  There was a sound of swords in droves. Hundreds – perhaps thousands of metallic sounds pinged and slashed below us, and I wished there was some way I could lose that blasted fabric from my face.

  I didn’t have to wish for long. I was thrown unceremoniously onto a hard surface, landing roughly on top of my face, with both my hands and wings being bound I could not stabilize myself. I tasted blood inside my mouth and wondered briefly if I had broken my nose as it exploded in pain. My
eyes watered, and I felt wetness on my face.

  I was lifted onto my knees, and the bag was ripped off my head.

  I blinked, my eyes rejecting the sudden influx of light, such as it was in this strange place. I choked as the blood ran down the back of my throat, and I leaned over, gagging and spitting thick globs of it out of my mouth. I was shaken roughly back up, gasping and closing my eyes tightly against the pain.

  I became aware of whispering all around, chattering from curious voices. There was a strange, dark hum and I thought momentarily it was inside my head, but I realized it was coming from all around me. The entire place reverberated with. . .darkness. Evil.

  I continued to blink furiously to clear my eyes and looked around me. I was inside a great, black room, seemingly built of some obsidian ore. It shone strangely from the firelight from surrounding torches. I noticed the room was circular, much in the same way as the Great Hall in the Citadel, and I looked up to the ceiling to see a similar opening. I wondered briefly if I could use it to escape but thought that unlikely, given the fact that I was surrounded as well by dozens and dozens of vessels, all wearing the robes of red like those of Ephreim and his minions the first time I saw them. They, unlike the vessels of the Citadel, were heavily armed. None were smiling. They appeared absolutely terrifying, with looks ranging from mild hostility to murderous lustfulness. I shrank back but stopped myself. I had resolved to meet my fate with strength, and I took a deep breath. I looked ahead and stood up taller, trying with all my might to stop myself from trembling noticeably.

  I looked forward and saw a staircase in front of me, leading to a throne at the top built out of what appeared to be human bones. I swallowed at the macabre sight, looking for the one I knew would occupy it. Seeing it empty, I looked around in confusion.

  “Silence!” shouted a voice, low and seeping with sinister tones. The vessels immediately bowed their heads in unison, and I turned to look behind me for the source of the voice. The vessels parted the path behind me, which led to a massive stone doorway through which I must have entered. Standing at the entranceway was a figure somewhat larger and more menacing than the rest.

  Azrael.

  I was momentarily startled by the whiteness of his wings, just as beautiful and pure as the Council angels, and then I remembered that Azrael had once been an archangel before his fall from grace, and it made sense for him to share their physical characteristics. I was certain though those would be the only characteristics he would ever share with the archangels I knew, beings whose sole purpose were to do good, to rid the world of evil. To rid the world of him.

  My wings were already as tightly against me as they could get considering my bindings, but I felt them shrink further towards my body protectively. I flinched as the ropes bit further into my wrists, into the parts of my wings they had been rubbing against. I absently noticed several feathers, damaged from the physical assaults, come loose and I grasped them, suddenly worried for my wings. I bit my lip, which I could feel had swollen up considerably and resisted the urge to make any noises to betray my pain. I would not give Azrael any satisfaction before he killed me. I would meet my death with courage.

  He walked forward towards me, and I took a deep breath, refusing to cower. I forced myself to glare at him and nearly shouted at him in outrage as he smirked evilly at my attempts at bravery. As he approached, I noticed that he too had dark hair like Michael, though not nearly as black. His eyes were blue as a summer sky, and I marvelled again at how a being of such beauty could simultaneously be the ugliest creature on earth.

  He held one hand behind his back, and the other was draped lazily on top of the hilt at his swordbelt. I saw the weapon as it hung at his side and nearly gasped. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. A glimmering gold, serpentine-shaped hilt led to a blade of shining, white steel. I recognized it immediately – it was the image on the banners and armour of the Citadel. I blinked in confusion, not understanding why the Citadel would celebrate Azrael’s weapon of apparent choice. He caught me looking at it and eyed me peculiarly.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, and I was surprised again at his voice. Although low and carrying undertones of his dark nature, it was still beautiful. It was certainly the voice of an angel. I peered at him curiously, before I regained my senses and turned my face from him, standing forward and staring straight ahead.

  I heard the metal unsheathing, and took a deep breath, awaiting the end of it as it struck me down. After a few moments, when nothing happened, I gave in to my curiosity and stole a glance back at Azrael. He was regarding me, looking me over from head to toe. He met my eye and squinted at me, then held out the sword in front of him, moving it so that the little light in the room there was glinted off it sharply, creating lines of reflected light around the room.

  “This is my brother’s sword,” Azrael said matter-of-factly. “It is my truest prize. One day, I hope to reunite it with its proper owner.” The beings in the room murmured reverently. I felt my heart still momentarily, hoping fervently that that day never came. I remembered suddenly the story Michael had told me about how Azrael had taken Lucifer’s sword, and of the power it could wield. How it could kill a Seraph.

  Azrael had been watching my face for a reaction, or rather studying it. The intensity of his gaze made my skin crawl in discomfort – was in fact much more uncomfortable than my injuries. I pulled involuntarily against the bindings on my arms, shifting them as I became aware of just how much the rope had caused my skin to burn.

  Azrael grinned suddenly and lifted the sword above his head. This was it. I closed my eyes.

  There was a swift, slicing sound, and suddenly my arms were free. I gasped and pulled my hands in front of me, rubbing at my wrists, and trying not to cry out from the intense pain of my muscles from having been held in one position for so long trying to readjust themselves. Instead, I dropped my arms at my sides and resumed staring ahead.

  “What, no thank you?” Azrael said, and the creatures laughed in low tones around him. “This beas. . .Larin,” he corrected, resuming his slow circular walk and inspection around me, “does not seem to care much for our hospitality.” This was met with more chuckles. I said nothing, hoping he could not hear my heart as it slammed against the wall of my chest. I felt beads of sweat on my brow but made no move to wipe it.

  He sheathed his sword and came to stand in front of me, leaning in close to my face. It took a supreme force of will, but I did not recoil. Instead, I closed my eyes and thought of Michael, begging myself for strength. It helped, but not much. I managed to contain myself.

  “Larin, what a curious creature you are,” Azrael said quietly. He straightened back up, then turned away and walked up the stairs towards his throne, speaking as he did.

  “I suppose you wonder why you are here,” he said shortly. “I have brought you here because I very much wanted to meet you, this supposed ‘Herald’ of the Divine,” he held up a hand as the murmuring recommenced, and it stopped just as suddenly. He arrived at the top of the stairs and turned, taking a seat at his throne.

  “Come,” he barked, and when I didn’t move, two enormous vessels grabbed me by either arm and led me roughly up the stairs.

  “Be careful with her, fools!” Azrael snapped, and the vessels slowed, loosening their grips on my arms. “Look at what you have already done to her! This is not how we treat our guests,” he said, the last word said containing an eerie chill behind it. I knew I was not his guest, that I was his prisoner, and I still refused to meet his eye.

  “Have you nothing to say?” he said now, a hint of anger entering his voice. I refused to give him what he wanted. I refused to give him anything.

  A vessel walked forward and punched me across the face and then roughly in the stomach. I drew in my breath sharply and doubled over, the wind utterly knocked out of me. I fell to my knees and was hoisted up roughly to my feet, gasping. If my nose hadn’t been broken before, it surely was now. My eyes watered considerably, and I blinked
furiously to clear my vision.

  “Do not ignore your master when he speaks to you, slave!” the vessel bellowed, and I choked, trying to regain my breath.

  The vessel that hit me looked at me in surprise before dropping to his knees, and his head slowly slid off his neck from having been separated from his body so fast I didn’t even see it happen. I opened my mouth in shock and revulsion, shaking my head and gaping at Azrael.

  “Did you not hear me?” he yelled, the sound of his anger a terrible thing, and the room fell silent. “I said, Larin is our GUEST!” I looked at him in shock, unable to speak now even if I wanted to. I didn’t know what he was playing at, but I looked frantically around me to see if there was a means of escape, even though I knew it would be futile.

  “Larin,” said Azrael, regaining his composure instantly. “It is true, I consider you my very honored guest here, and I would have you made comfortable,” he purred, coming to stand before me again. “I wish for your comfort.”

  I couldn’t help it, but I laughed. Azrael scowled at the sound, unused to being mocked.

  “Your guest, huh? I know what I am. I’m your prisoner. If you ‘wish for my comfort’ then you’ll let me go. Release me or kill me now!” I demanded, amazing even myself with my boldness. Something told me I would do well not to show this creature any weakness. I was standing before the most powerful, deadliest, and dangerous being in existence. I could do nothing but be strong and meet whatever fate had for me on my feet. I refused to cower, though. I refused to give him any satisfaction.