Herald

by J Edwards Stone

  It seems my demand had the opposite effect. Azrael was now regarding me with a pleasantly surprised expression. I looked away, not wanting to maintain eye contact. I swallowed, wondering why he hadn’t already killed me.

  “What if I make you a deal, Larin?” he asked. “What if you agree to hear what I have to say, what I have to show you, and if you choose to leave at the end of it, none will hinder your exit.” I snapped my head up, looking at him suspiciously.

  “What’s the catch?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “I wish for you to hear me, to decide for yourself if you want to leave. If that day comes, then so be it.”

  “If that. . .day? How long do you mean to keep me here?” I demanded.

  “As long as it takes,” he said grinning menacingly. I shuddered, and Azrael snapped his fingers. Two guards came forward and took me with somewhat less force than earlier, turning me and leading me back down the stairs.

  “See our guest to her quarters,” he snarled, and I closed my eyes tightly.

  Despite my best efforts, the tears rolled down my cheeks.

  I was led down seemingly endless hallways, all looking the same no matter where we turned. It was such a maze, that if I did manage to escape, I feared I would have no way to find my way out of this place.

  Everything was dark here and seemed to drip wetly. There was a heavy, hot moisture to the air, and torches blazed as they jutted out of the wall every few feet. The walls cast an oily sheen, giving the impression they were saturated in poison. I found I shied away from them, despite the difficult grip the guards had on my arms. We passed door upon door of what appeared to be cells, all with small windows and massive locks. I could hear moaning, cries of pain. It was maddening, and I thought I would lose my mind to my terror.

  We arrived at one door, and I closed my eyes, expecting the worst. Instead, I was surprised to see a somewhat inviting sight on the inside. A large bed stood with a mattress and clean blankets of handwoven wool. There was a lit fireplace in the corner with two ancient armchairs facing it, and a table laid out with bowls of water and towels. Red robes were laid carefully over the chair, the cold stone floor was covered with an ornately-decorated rug. Tapestries of red and black lined the walls. I walked in slowly, then panicked and turned back, rushing towards the door as I heard it being closed roughly behind me. I pulled at the handle desperately, but it was locked tightly. I knew screaming to be released was pointless, and I walked over to the table that held the water, sniffing it for anything nefarious, but it was just that – water. I put my hands inside, letting the water run over the areas of my wrists rubbed raw from the ropes earlier. I cringed in pain, withdrawing them quickly. My wings were throbbing, and I pulled one towards me to inspect it. I nearly sobbed when I saw patches of pink skin where the feathers had been damaged or fallen out, the large pores from the spaces where the feathers had been looking red and angry. My beautiful, perfect wings. Not anymore.

  I cried as I looked at the other side, but fortunately, the damage wasn’t that widespread. I hoped they would heal and wondered vaguely if the feathers would grow back. I supposed they could still fly, if I had a chance to use them, and realized it could have been worse. I could have ended up like Gideon.

  The thought made me drop to my knees. I realized again that I had not only met Azrael but survived an encounter with him. He’d obviously heard the rumors I was the Herald, and I wondered what he wanted from me. I would have assumed that he would have wanted to kill me, given the seraphim would likely destroy him the moment they returned. If they returned, that is. I still had no idea what my role in that would be, if I was, in fact, the Herald. I knew nothing anymore. Or rather, I still knew nothing. It seemed my life was destined to be one big, unanswered question.

  I walked over to the fireplace, taking the red robes off the chair and inspecting them. Instead of replacing my blood-drenched clothing, however, I threw the red robes straight into the fire, watching with satisfaction as the flames consumed them. That small act of petulance made me feel a little better, although not much.

  I took a seat in one of the chairs, and thought again of Michael, hoping beyond all hope he was well, that there had been no great battle in my absence. I moaned and put my head into my hands, yelping in pain as I did so and yanking them away. Instead, I laid my throbbing head against the back of the chair, and despite everything, I fell asleep.

  It felt like I had only slept seconds, as I was on my feet shaking with terror and grogginess when I heard a sound at the door. My head was throbbing, and I wondered absently whether I had a concussion from earlier. I shook it, trying to rid it of the dizziness, but that seemed to make it worse, though I knew I had to be alert to face whatever was to come. I blinked spots away and watched as three vessels wearing armour entered the room, and I backed away until I bumped into the wall, imagining for a moment I had bumped into Azrael. I yelped in fear, spinning around defensively, and heard one of the guards laugh cruelly.

  “Shut up,” said the other guard, pushing him. “Azrael told us to be on our best behavior, I wouldn’t piss him off.” The laughter stopped just as abruptly as it started.

  “Traitors,” I said, “you’d betray humankind for that. . . monster?”

  They ignored me, walking into the room and grabbing my arms on either side. “Let me go!” I shouted, pulling my arms away.

  “Come with us,” said the third guard, as though he expected submission. He wasn’t going to get it. I struggled as hard as I could, reaching down and yanking a sword out of his belt and leaping back. The action surprised them all, not to mention me. I held it out shakily to them.

  “Stay back!” I cried, holding the sword. The guard whose sword I had stolen and the other looked at each other, unsure of what to do. The first withdrew his own sword and strode toward me, knocking the one I was holding out of my hands easily and grabbing my arm.

  “Idiots,” he said to the others, as the first scrambled to pick up his sword and follow us out of the room. “You’re lucky Ephreim wasn’t here to see that.”

  Ephreim. The thought of him made me struggle harder, and I kicked at the guards that pulled me along.

  “Stop it!” snapped the first one, striking me hard across the face. The action made my eyes water, and spots danced before my eyes. I lost my footing and was all but dragged down the hall.

  “You think you’re some special shit, don’t you?” said the one that had knocked the sword out of my hands. “You better get it out of your head, girly, because I can tell you something. You ain’t nothing special. Once Azrael sees that you’ll learn. You’ll learn the way we all did.”

  “How’s that,” I slurred, my eyes threatening to close on their own. I blinked furiously to keep them open, to get rid of the blackness before I lost consciousness again. I spat blood at one of them, enjoying the look of disgust in his jawline below the piece of helmet that covered his face.

  Good.

  He hastily wiped his face and continued along.

  “Everyone ultimately gives in. You ain’t no different, don’t care what they says about you. If you make it easy, Azrael may even spare you at the end, like he will the rest of us. He is going to restore Eden, and then you’ll understand what he offers is a gift. No more of this shit. No more hellhole world. He’s trying to make things right, not screw it up more like you Citadel idiots.”

  “The end,” I laughed. “Spared. Right. Do you think Azrael cares anything about you? That he is going to show you any mercy when he destroys everything in this world?” I said to him, incredulous. “You’re tools for him to achieve his ends, nothing more. When he gets what he wants, you’ll be dead. All of you. He will kill you all.”

  The guards exchanged looks but kept up at a steady pace.

  “You know it’s true, don’t you?” I persisted. “You know you’re dead meat, all of you. Azrael wants the Disc. He wants to bring back Lucifer. You know, the one they call the Devil?

  That guy?!” My voice has
escalated to a full scale yell, but the guards continued to ignore me, and we made our way down the endless, identical tunnels.

  “If you help me, if you let me go, I can bring you back with me. You’ll see it can be so much better to actually be free. Come to the Citadel. You can see what it is to have light in your lives. . .to have hope. . .”

  I was cut short by another sharp strike to the face. I cried out, the pain from my earlier assaults still fresh.

  “Didn’t you hear me before? Stop here, Gus,” said the one guard. The others stopped, and that guard looked hastily around a corner to see if anyone was there. “Hold her there,” he said, and they held me up. I looked at him, thinking I may have gotten through to him after all. Instead, he punched me again in the stomach, putting a hand around my throat as I gagged and retched. His fingers squeezed my neck so tightly, I was sure they had pierced my flesh. I felt a trick of blood make its way down my back and shut my eyes against the pain.

  “If you don’t shut your face, and now, I promise you I’ll kill you myself,” he growled. “My brother was on the gathering crew that came to collect you, and he was killed by that white-haired freak you goodies seem to love so much. My brother. If I could take you out now, I would. And if I get the chance again, I will. It would be worth Azrael killing me if it meant I got to pluck your pretty little wings off myself.”

  I whimpered, trying to regain my earlier composure, but I was crippled in fear and pain. He let go and I fell roughly to the floor, gasping for breath and coughing, lowering my head in defeat.

  “Trevor, stop,” said the first one. “You’re going to get us all killed because of your stupid vendetta.”

  “Stupid vendetta?” Trevor shouted. “You see how you feel if your brother got his guts ripped out by those. . .those...”

  “My. . .” I coughed, “MY brother was killed that night too, Trevor,” I said with as much disdain as I could manage. “It isn’t exactly a walk through a rose garden to actually watch your brother get sliced in half in front of you, okay?”

  “Cry me a river, bitch,” Trevor said and kicked me harshly in the gut. That one did it, and I passed out.

  I came to on the ground in front of an enormous fireplace, currently roaring with flame. I groaned, rolling onto my side, every inch of my body in agony. Hands helped me roughly into a sitting position, and I groaned again, reaching up painfully to a split and swollen lip. I looked around, appearing to be in some sort of study. It was dark in here, like everything else in this place. Ancient candelabras were lit around the room, shelves of books and scrolls lined the walls. A massive table, much like the one in the War Room at the Citadel was at the far end, and I could see maps hanging off various parts. I felt discombobulated and thought I was blind in one eye until I realized it was just swollen shut.

  “He is dead,” Azrael said from the corner of the room where he had been sitting, watching me.

  “What?” I whispered, confused.

  “The beast that attacked you in the hallway. And his companions. I do not approve of my guests being manhandled, especially one as important as you,” he finished. I felt momentary satisfaction at knowing that brute was dead, which shocked me. I wondered how I had changed so much in such a short time, to know that something as horrendous as the death of another could bring me satisfaction, no matter how terrible that person had been. It frightened me.

  Azrael watched me and smiled. “I see you approve. Good. Perhaps there is more hope for you than I thought,” he said, rising from his chair.

  “Don’t you dare presume you know anything about what I feel, what I think,” I snapped. “You’re a murderer. You’re worse than that. You’re lower than the ones you call ‘beasts’ – I can’t think of any worse monster in this world than you,” I glared at him with my one good eye and coughed, my chest constricting painfully.

  “Of course not, my dear one,” he said, and I shuddered.

  “Don’t ever call me that. I’m not yours and never will be.”

  “Ah yes, but you do have eyes for another, do you not?” Azrael replied, flashing me a knowing look. It was a mixture of disgust and amusement. My mouth dropped open, and I wondered how he could possibly know, but then I remembered. There was an informant at the Citadel. I supposed he had been feeding Azrael information regularly.

  “Did you storm the Citadel? Are they dead?” I asked suddenly, afraid.

  Azrael eyed me carefully, a look of confusion passing over his face before he recrafted it carefully. “Yes. They have all been killed,” he tested. I sighed in relief. Had they been killed, he wouldn’t have looked the way he had when I asked. Azrael laughed, a strange sound. I couldn’t reconcile the sound of bells and light that came from his laughter with the demon I knew him to be.

  “Larin, I wish to show you something. Come with me, and we will tour Solomanta together.”

  “No,” I said, pulling my arm back from where he would touch it. I shrank as far away as I could without falling into the fireplace. Azrael chuckled and turned away.

  “Come,” he repeated. When I refused to move, he turned around again, a look of grave displeasure crossing his face. It was suddenly as though the air had been sucked from the room, and Azrael appeared to grow several feet. His voice lowered by several octaves, and the ground below me gave a slight shake.

  “Do. Not. Make. Me. Ask. Again.”

  That was the scariest thing I think I’d ever heard in my life. I got to my feet hastily, folding my hands around my body protectively.

  “Good,” he said, his voice resuming its lighter tone. “This way.”

  We walked out into the hallway and made our way up a long staircase, Azrael keeping his hands behind his back the whole time, saying nothing. I limped along behind him, pausing occasionally to catch my breath. I was easily winded and wondered if I had broken ribs from Trevor’s assault. Azrael didn’t notice or didn’t care, continuing at a healthy stride.

  “You will undoubtedly have been fed many lies by my brothers,” he said casually as he walked. “But perhaps they held back a great many truths you would find interesting.”

  “I don’t care for anything you have to say, Azrael,” I huffed, keeping up, but only marginally. “I don’t know what you want from me, but you’re going to be disappointed when you don’t get it, whatever it is.”

  “Did you know,” Azrael continued, ignoring me, “That my brothers are not quite the saints they would have you believe? There was once a time when they performed many great evils themselves in their quest for goodness,” he scoffed, walking faster. “They destroyed cities, killed entire populations of people. Men, women – people they would have you believe they protected. All because they chose to believe in something different than they.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I responded simply. “I don’t believe any of your lies.”

  “It is true. There were a great many civilizations that rose after the fall. They utilized their precious gift of choice and chose to honor my brother, Lucifer, instead of your beloved Council. His ideals. They too, believed that a great purge was the way to a higher goal, worthy of ascension.”

  “You mean they were devil worshippers?” I scoffed back, shaking my head. Azrael turned on me angrily.

  “Do not dare. . . do not dare to disparage Lucifer,” he growled menacingly, and I felt myself bite my lip. I flinched painfully and tried to keep my gaze unwavering, though it took all of my courage not to shirk in fear. Azrael glared at me a moment longer, and turned back around, continuing.

  “You have no idea of what you speak. Choice is the greatest illusion created. There is no such thing as choice under the rules of my brothers, nor yet my father. One must accept and submit to the ideals of the Council, of their principles,” he spat, “to do otherwise means death. You are all victims of a skewed ideology. Of what ‘goodness’ means. It is only an interpretation, and to the Council, there is only one interpretation. Consider if you will, what makes a man ‘good’? Is stealing wrong?” he asked
, looking at me.

  “Of course it is,” I replied testily.

  “What if a man steals to feed his family? Is it wrong then?” he asked.

  “Well no, that’s different obviously!”

  “What about murder? Is it wrong?” Azrael continued. I looked at him, waiting for his point. “You will say it is. Is murder wrong if one man’s death saves a thousand more?”

  I frowned angrily. “Those are all exceptions that don’t count, those are special circumstances,” I said.

  “According to whom?” Azrael asked, looking at me with something new in his eye. I stopped, shaking my head. “According to what you have been trained to believe. Imagine you killed one man to save a thousand. But what if those thousand turn around and perform other acts you would consider ‘evil’? What if they formed an army, and killed countless women and children in cold blood? Would you have done an act of good, then, or an act of evil?”

  “I. . . these are all ridiculous questions! Nobody could possibly know the answer to that. You must do what your conscience dictates sometimes. You must follow the path that leads to the least amount of damage for the greatest possible good. Sometimes we don’t know what ramifications our actions will have, but in the long run, the choices we make have to be dictated by some desire to do something that will better the world or the people we care about,” I said, surprised to realize I was feeling somewhat perplexed.

  Azrael stopped now and smiled at me. “You see? The answer between right and wrong is not always as simple as merely ‘doing good’ – there are actions and reactions, and consequences for both. Perhaps that man stole food to feed his family, but perhaps in doing so, he stole food from another family who would then starve. Perhaps if he knew the other family would starve, that would change your answer?”

  I frowned, shaking my head angrily again. “I don’t. . . That’s not the point. . .”

  “So, what is the point then, Larin? Your idea of doing good and that man who would steal for his family may have a different idea of what doing good entails. Of what is evil. He may know his actions carry consequences, but he makes a choice. Because he loves his family. Because he believes he is doing the right thing in saving them as opposed to the other family. And I think if you were honest with yourself, you would find that almost everyone else in that situation would do the same.