The Prison of Angels

18

Reen stood in the doorway to his home, staring up at the golden star that was Avlimar.

“Close the door,” Tracy, his wife, said from her seat by their small fire pit. “You’re letting in a chill.”

“Feels good,” he lied. His eyes scanned the sky. The moon was waning, but the stars were full, and across that somber tapestry he watched the shadows of angels flying in all directions, numbering in the thousands. The whole city was abuzz with news of the meeting, though Reen did not know what to make of the rumors. Too many contradicted each other. Too many were so outlandish as to be horrifying.

“Don’t feel good to me,” Tracy said, lifting a thin blanket off the floor beside her and draping it over her arms. “Go out for a walk if you need some air.”

Reen grunted.

“Not safe,” he said, closing the door.

His wife said nothing, only accepted the excuse. He could tell she knew something was wrong, but if he wasn’t going to explain, she wasn’t going to press him. She was good like that, better than Reen deserved. There’d been many nights he’d freely walked the streets, a long dagger hidden in his pants. When the alcohol had really been in his blood, he’d hoped men would accost him, just so he could take their coin after they lay bleeding in the street.

But that was another time, another man.

“What did you hear from the other women?” Reen asked, deciding he might as well bring his worries out into the open. Tracy frowned at him. She worked with the servants in the castle, one of the few that didn’t sleep there due to Reen owning his own property. The quartermasters ran her ragged, but even amid the hectic pace her work required, Reen knew she talked with the other servants. If there was ever a place where rumors of the angels would spread, it’d be the castle.

“Nothing I’d believe,” Tracy said.

Reen leaned his back against the door and crossed his arms.

“Humor me.”

“The angels had a big meeting with farmers and old men from the outer lands. Most are saying it was just so people could let off steam. Nothing’s going to change.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Reen said.

Tracy gave him an exasperated look.

“If you heard more, then why are you asking about my rumors instead of telling me what’s bothering you?”

Reen grunted.

“Was hoping you knew more than me, that’s all. The men at the tavern are saying the angels are thinking of executing all murderers and rapists, regardless of their confessions.”

Tracy’s face darkened. The subtle fear he saw was like a dull knife stabbing into Reen’s belly.

“I thought you weren’t going to taverns anymore.”

“I didn’t drink anything,” Reen said, raising his hands. “Honest.”

Tracy settled back into her chair, but the fear still lingered. Reen thought of how he’d been when he came home those many nights. He never laid a hand on her, hardly even yelled at her, but no matter how hard she pretended not to, he knew she saw the blood on his clothes. How else would the stains be gone the next morning? How late did she stay up trying to hide the proof of his sins? The guilt was heavy, unrelenting ever since he started his two years of sobriety. Ever since he killed his friend, Charles.

Ever since the angels.

He hadn’t meant to, of course. It’s not like he was ever fully in control during those nights. Charles had said something to him, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he dreamed of that moment, Reen never remembered what it was his friend had said. A bawdy joke, perhaps? A jovial insult? It didn’t matter. Something about it had set off Reen’s temper, and he’d struck his friend in the stomach with all of his drunken might. They’d both come home bruised and bloody on multiple occasions, but something about the location of his fist, the way Charles’s body had been unprepared, came together just perfectly. Charles had lost his balance, and within moments he’d begun to vomit blood.

It didn’t take long for the angel to come. In his stupor, Reen never even learned the angel’s name, but he knew the reason he was there. The sword on the angel’s back had been more than enough. There’d been dozens of witnesses, no need for Reen to confess, no real mystery to the trial. Charles had lain before him, for Reen had not left his side, not even when his friend’s body had begun to turn cold. Something about the angel, the understanding in his voice, the compassion in his eyes, left him feeling naked. He confessed to it all, and not just Charles. His drunkenness, his greed, his willingness to kill and maim. Feeling so lost, so afraid, he’d bowed his head and waited for the blade to hit.

But it hadn’t.

“I think your old friends at the tavern are too drunk to think straight,” Tracy said, pulling him from his memories. “Ashhur wouldn’t let his angels do that. It goes against everything he teaches.”

“Perhaps,” Reen said, joining his wife before the fire pit. “But I don’t see Ashhur around to stop them.”

Tracy reached out and grabbed his hand, kissed his rough fingers.

“Go to bed,” she said. “You’ll be up far earlier than I.”

Before Reen could answer he heard a sound he immediately recognized. It’d haunted his dreams for months, encapsulating everything about that horrible, broken moment when Charles had breathed his last breath, gagging on his own blood. It was the heavy sound of angel wings. And just like then, he felt his blood freeze.

“Reen Sanderson, come forth,” called a voice from beyond the door.

Tracy leapt out of her chair, clutching her blanket to her chest as if it might protect her.

“It’s not what you think,” she said. “You aren’t right. Reen, you can’t be…”

He kissed her, then went to the door. When he opened it he found three angels waiting for him. For the moment their weapons were sheathed, and he prayed that was a sign.

“Yes?” he asked them.

“Our council has convened,” the middle one said. Reen noticed the angel refused to meet his eyes, instead looking slightly upward. “We have capitulated to man’s law, recognizing mankind’s authority to rule themselves as Ashhur has granted.”

“Don’t give me that,” Reen said. “Tell me why you’re at my door this late an hour. Let me hear it in plain speech.”

“Plain speech?” said the first angel. “So be it. Your sentence of murder is no longer stayed. Please step forward, and let us carry out justice.”

From behind him he heard Tracy make the faintest of cries. In truth, he wasn’t taking it much better. His legs felt weak, and it was only because he held the door that his hands were not shaking.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“That’s not why we’re here,” the middle angel said. “Step outside, Reen.”

“You forgave him!” Tracy shouted, her stupor broken. She rushed to Reen’s side, clutching his arm as if to never let him go. “You can’t do this, you can’t. This is what I prayed for all those years. Don’t you see, he’s not the same. He’s not the same!”

Reen saw the determination in the angels’ eyes and knew there would be no salvation for him, not this time. With a firm hand he pushed his wife away, holding her wrists to keep her from striking him. As she cried, he kissed her forehead, then stepped out of his home and into the street.

The commotion had woken many of his neighbors, assuming they’d even been sleeping in the first place. Doors opened, and eyes peered out from windows. None dared ask what was going on. Reen walked forward, into the middle of the three angels. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else. His heart pounded, and he almost laughed as he felt an insane desire for a drink.

“On your knees,” said one of the angels, drawing the sword off his back. Reen obeyed.

“Know that this punishment is for your body alone. Your confession was true, and your forgiveness remains. If your heart has remained pure, you will be welcomed into Ashhur’s arms, and all the heavens will sing in joy at your arrival.”

Reen nearly laughed at the absurdity as he felt the sharp edge of the sword touch his neck.

“Reen!” Tracy screamed behind him.

He shifted so he could look at her one last time. He remembered when he came home two years ago, suddenly given new life by the angels and left with only a single command: to go and live a life without sin. At his wife’s feet he’d collapsed and told her everything. Before he felt it leave him, before he felt his old habits return with a vengeance, he’d told her his desire to change. He’d told her he couldn’t live with that guilt anymore, couldn’t stand her pained looks, her forced silence, and the quiet prayers she offered up in his name when she thought him asleep. Despite his tears, despite how miserable a being he felt, when Reen had looked up at his wife he’d never seen her gaze back at him with such joy, such love.

Now he saw terror. Now he saw betrayal.

Reen glanced up at his executioners, and he spoke with a voice stronger than he thought himself capable of. Not only the angels would hear, but his wife and his neighbors gathering to watch in subdued silence as well.

“Ashhur will welcome me,” he said. “My soul’s been bought. But will he welcome you?”

There was fear in the angel’s eyes as he lifted the blade, and there was anger.

These weren’t the eyes he’d seen when he’d hunched over Charles’s body. They were something else. He lowered his head, clenched his fists.

“Do it,” he said. “Do it, you damn cowards, do it!”

The last thing he heard was the whistling of the blade slicing through the air.

Harruq stood atop the highest balcony of the castle, watching the shadows of angels fly over the city. To the people sleeping below, he was their ruler, their king in Antonil’s absence. But to the men with wings flying above? Nothing. He was nothing, and never before had he felt so powerless. An hour ago he’d used a scepter, the only one that had shone the entire night. He wondered how freely that blue-white light would glow anymore. That his request had gone unanswered failed to surprise him. It only deepened his sadness.

The sound of wings reached his ears, and he glanced upward. It seemed his request hadn’t been ignored after all. Harruq said nothing as Ahaesarus landed beside him on the balcony. The leader of the angels kept quiet, joining the half-orc in leaning against the railing that overlooked the city. For a long moment the silence stretched between them as Harruq tried to think of what to say.

“How many?” he asked at last. “How many in Mordeina alone?”

Ahaesarus’s face remained still as a stone, and his eyes refused to look Harruq’s way.

“Just shy of two hundred.”

Two hundred. Two hundred men executed in the dark of night. Harruq felt his lower jaw tremble.

“Why didn’t you stop this?” he asked. “You’re their leader. If you gave the order, they’d have listened.”

“Not all,” Ahaesarus said quietly. “The matter was put to a council, and two-thirds voted in agreement. The priests assure me there is no sin in what we do. Mankind was meant to follow the law, and the death of murderers has long been acceptable justice.”

“Acceptable?” Harruq shook his head. “You’re kidding me, right? You want to call this…this…acceptable?”

He pointed to the city, jamming his finger into the air.

“You think they will call this acceptable?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be our protectors. You’re supposed to be our guides. Now you’re nothing but terrors in the night! Now you’re just the men swinging the swords.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Ahaesarus snapped. He smashed a fist against the railing, leaving a massive crack in the stone. “But what am I to do, Harruq? We are men, different yes, but as fallible as you. We’ve been left to govern ourselves. We must find a way to live among mankind, to co-exist so that Ashhur’s love may be known to all. Your people wanted this. My angels wanted this. The scribes wrote the letters of law, the priests confirmed their righteousness, and all I’m left with is a hole in my stomach as I watch good men die.”

Harruq was stunned by the outburst. He fell silent, trying to think over his words. He’d always viewed Ahaesarus as the unquestioned ruler of the angels, but now he wasn’t so sure. In times of war, he’d been their leader, the one to decide all final tactics. Was he like so many others, left to find a new purpose now that the enemies were gone? If Ahaesarus was struggling, then surely every other angel struggled just the same.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” Ahaesarus said, his voice growing soft, wistful. “Many of us watched over mankind when their race was first molded by the gods’ hands. We protected them, healed them so they might flourish. We were their wardens, trusted, respected. The land was so peaceful then, so free of strife. That was before the brother gods warred. Before that innocence was lost forever.”

The angel looked to Avlimar.

“The finest memory I have now is of us returning here. When you knelt on that battlefield, the entire heavens watched, Harruq. Even in eternity, the land rumbled from the impact of your faith. Celestia saw it, too, saw a chance to save this world from the desolation the war god would leave it in. The sky split before us, and suddenly I found myself with a chance to be a warden for mankind once more. We slew the demons, cast them down with so righteous a fury I can still feel the power coursing through me. What better way could we protect mankind? How clearer might we fight the darkness than by giving our newly granted lives to save those we loved? And when Thulos was defeated, when the war ended and peace took its place, I thought things might return to that long lost paradise. We would be wardens again, and we would bring Ashhur’s love to a land that had been aching without it for centuries.”

“You want to return us to paradise?” Harruq asked. “Tell me, how many men did you kill in paradise?”

Ahaesarus shook his head.

“It’s not that easy, Harruq. Do you know how many men committed murder during those ninety years? Not a one. It seems paradise is lost to both of us, and I don’t know what it is we create in its place.”

The shadowed angels scattered, and Harruq saw more and more flying out from the city, including a large group traveling south.

“My brother,” Harruq began.

“I know,” Ahaesarus said. “Trust me. I know.”

“I’m glad you know,” Harruq said, forcing his temper down. For once, he had to think. For once, he had to be the one with wisdom. “But knowing isn’t enough. What will you do about it, other than standing beside me and wishing for times that won’t return? The law doesn’t make this right. You know that, deep down you know that. So do something. Anything.”

He let out a deep breath.

“Because if you don’t,” he said. “I will. There’s so much you angels can do for us, but trust me, we’re quite capable of killing ourselves on our own.”

Harruq left the leader of the angels there, exiting the balcony through the single wooden door. Just within the entrance he paused, listening until he heard the sound of wings taking flight. With Ahaesarus gone, Harruq let out a sigh and prayed he’d said the right thing. His stomach felt like a rock when he thought of what the next day would bring. There’d be petitioners, of course, people demanding an explanation. What would he tell them? Was his heart calloused enough to sit there on the throne and tell them they only received what they asked for?

Turning the corner, he startled to find Kevin Maryll leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Harruq saw the smile on his face, the smugness, and knew the man had heard every word.

“What do you want?” Harruq asked.

Kevin shrugged.

“It seems unfair to say. I’ve already had so many wishes granted today.”

It was too much. Harruq snapped, grabbed the lord by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the stone wall.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his face inches away from Kevin’s. “Is this what you’ve worked so hard for? I hope you’re happy, you madman.”

“I’m ecstatic,” Kevin said through clenched teeth.

“People are dying, and you’re ecstatic?” Harruq felt an intense desire to draw his sword. To stop himself, he instead struck Kevin’s cheek with his fist. Kevin didn’t even let out a cry despite the blood that dripped from his lips.

“Hit me again,” Kevin said, his voice like ice. “Act like the thug I know you are. You were born scum, Harruq, a homeless thief with a whore for a mother and a dead elf for a father. Everyone knows the story. It’s sadly a rare few of us who actually listen.”

“You have no idea what I’ve suffered through,” Harruq said.

“And I don’t care! You rule, not me, so it’s time you looked out that balcony and accepted the truth.”

Kevin grabbed Harruq’s armor, yanked him closer. His eyes filled his vision, wide with fury, hard with certainty.

“Those angels don’t care about us. They can preach mercy and love until their wings fall off, but that’s not how they see us. We’re just cattle to them! Look how easily they turned. Look how easily they butcher us, so long as they feel their priests can justify it. We wanted a greater stake in our fates, and in answer they slaughter hundreds.”

Harruq shoved him against the wall a second time, then stepped away.

“You’re wrong,” he said.

“Am I?” Kevin spat blood onto the carpet. “Angels fly to Ker for your brother, did you know that? I suspect you do. His name came up in the council during its final minutes. Do you know what they called him, your precious, reformed brother? ‘An acceptable loss.’ This is a hard lesson, Harruq, perhaps the hardest lesson of all. The nation you rule is headed for war. It’s one we’ll win, of course, but thousands will die. So accept the silver lining. The people of Dezrel will finally see the angels for what they truly are: superior savages that would lord over us all. A hard lesson, learned in blood.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Harruq said, feeling sick. “How?”

“Because I want a king, not a god. You told Ahaesarus if he didn’t stop this, you’d stop it yourself. It’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say since taking over Antonil’s role. For all our sakes, I hope you meant it.”

Kevin fixed his shirt, then gave him a low, exaggerated bow. As he walked off, the image of plunging Condemnation through the lord’s back flashed through Harruq’s mind. He forced it away. The man’s words haunted him, and he retreated back to the balcony, wanting one more breath of fresh air. As he leaned against the railing, his hand touched the broken section Ahaesarus had struck. He stared at the stone, then looked to the slumbering city. Throughout he saw the angels flying, the faint white of their robes seemingly a lie.

“What are you to us?” Harruq whispered. “And what are we to you?”

To that, he had no answer. Not anymore.