The Prison of Angels

25

The army of wolf-men slept not far from the Gihon River, waiting for the right moment to strike. The night before, Moonslayer and Manfeaster had bid farewell to the other various races, sending them either farther north or south, depending on where he wanted them strike. Jessilynn had listened as they gave them their orders, chilled by their cold, brutal efficiency.

“Let no boat pass you by,” Moonslayer had shouted. “Leave the towers blinded and alone. One by one, they will fall. On the night of the full moon, make your attack. Let none survive. Eat well, my fellow creatures of the Wedge. Feast, and enjoy your freedom!”

The towers were the only line of defense against the Wedge, their boat patrols designed to keep any of the beasts from crossing. But Jessilynn knew they were few and undermanned. Could they handle an army consisting of even one of the races, let alone their combined might? Of course not, thought Jessilynn as Silver-Ear dragged her to where she would sleep for the night. The towers would fall, and beyond them were miles upon miles of farmland and simple villages. How many would die before anyone even knew the severity of the threat?

Yes, she thought. Moonslayer was right. The beasts would feast well.

“I have no chain to tie you,” Silver-Ear said. “But if you move from my side, you will suffer whatever fate you earn.”

They walked to the center of the camp, surrounded by several thousand of the beasts. Jessilynn felt their eyes upon her, their noses sniffing the scents she left behind. She nodded at Silver-Ear to show she understood. Not long after, the camp settled down to sleep. Wide-eyed and awake, Jessilynn lay upon the grass and watched the sun rise.

When Sonowin appeared, flying in from the west, she dared hope. Lying perfectly still, she watched as the winged horse circled above. She wished she could somehow communicate with Dieredon, but there was no way. In the very heart of the camp, the slightest noise would be detected by the wolf-men’s sharp ears.

Dieredon had Sonowin fly far to the east, then south, and then finally loop around north. Jessilynn was confused at first by what he was doing, but she eventually put it together. The rest of the creatures, the goat-men, the bird-men…they were all gone. He had to realize what it meant. She watched the sky, waiting, wondering what he would do. He had to have seen her there in her armor, like a strange metal flea among the sea of fur.

The elf flew lower, dipped around, and then flew even lower. Jessilynn slowly reached up a hand, trying to wave at him, to let him know she was willing for him to make any attempt to save her, no matter how desperate. Even that small movement made the chain of her armor rattle. Not loudly, and she could barely hear it herself, but Silver-Ear’s hand lashed out, old claws curling around her arm. The female leered at her with milky eyes.

“On your knees,” she said. “Push your face to the dirt.”

Jessilynn did as she was told, folding herself into the demeaning position. Silver-Ear stood above her, and her claws traced along the flesh of her neck. She shivered, wondering if this would be the end.

“I see him,” the shaman said. “Your friend is skilled, but is he wise? Let us see how brave he is, and how much your life might mean to him.”

She didn’t know what to say. Silver-Ear leaned in close, her nose bumping against her cheek.

“I want your face in the dirt until the sun sets,” she said. “Should I see your eyes on the sky for even a moment, I will rip out your throat myself. I am old. Do not think I require the sleep of a young pup.”

Jessilynn closed her eyes, shifting her shoulders in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Within moments her back started aching, and she thought of the long day ahead. Steeling herself, she shifted again, trying to slow her breathing, trying to remain calm. She heard Silver-Ear rustle beside her, settling in. Jessilynn dared not look to see if she remained awake.

Time passed, slow and dreadful. Her back tightened, and she moved her legs as often as she could. At last, sheer exhaustion won over, and she slept.

“Wake, girl,” said a rough voice, punctuated by an upward blow to her stomach. Jessilynn let out a scream and rolled onto her back. Looking up, she found several wolf-men standing over her, Moonslayer among them. He grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet.

“The night is young,” he said to her. “Why do you sleep?”

It was mockery, and he flung her onto her rear. Her stomach twisted, and she yearned for something to eat or drink. She curled her knees beneath her, wondering what it was they wanted now.

“Stand,” Moonslayer said. “Stand, or die where you sit.”

She obeyed, trying to interpret the look he gave her. There was something in his eyes, something frightening. As she crossed her arms before her, one of the wolf-men tossed her bow at her feet, along with her quiver of arrows. She made no move for them.

“My army attacks,” Moonslayer said. “The weaker creatures are committed. I have no need of you anymore, human.”

“It is a waste of time,” Manfeaster said, joining them from beyond the camp. All around the wolf-men were in a stir, wrestling with one another, preparing for the upcoming battle. “I say we eat her now, let the blood of a paladin mark our victory.”

“We will,” Moonslayer said to his brother. His eyes turned back to her. “But first we have a hunt.”

He gestured to the bow.

“Take it,” he said. “Run. Flee west, or north, or wherever you think you might hide. My wolves are anxious for the battle, but the moon has not yet risen. You will entertain us until then.”

“You risk lives needlessly,” Manfeaster said.

“And any who would die at her hand would die anyway. Besides, her teacher defeated our father. Her kind has stopped us for centuries before. Let our pack tear her apart and prove we will be beaten no longer.”

Jessilynn watched the brothers stare at each other. It was Manfeaster who relented, flattening his ears and turning away.

“Enjoy the hunt,” he said to the others.

Moonslayer gestured to the bow.

“Take it,” he said. “Run.”

She scooped the quiver up, slung it over her shoulder, and then did the same with her bow. She looked at the wolves, hardly believing it came to this. All along she’d desired escape, but now they would let her go freely?

No, not freely, she thought as she saw the hunger in the eyes of the wolf-men around her.

“You should have listened to your brother,” she said to Moonslayer as she took a step backward.

The enormous wolf-man bared his teeth.

“We shall see.”

His howl pierced the night as she turned to run toward the river. Behind her she heard Moonslayer howling, his deep voice slowly growing fainter by the minute.

“A hunt!” he cried. “A hunt, a hunt, gather for a hunt! The heart of a paladin is our prey!”

They would find her, she knew. As she ran she looked to the sky, daring to hope. She scanned the stars, the miniscule clouds. She stared so long she stumbled from not watching where she ran. As she hit the ground she banged her knee on a rock, sending a spike of pain shooting up her leg. Struggling to a stand, she bit down her cry. With her hope turning to dread, she looked to the sky again.

Dieredon was nowhere in sight.

On and on she ran, cramps tightening her sides. She’d been starved, and given little water to drink. Already her head grew light from the exertion, but there was nothing she could do but press on. On a whim she changed the angle of her path though she knew it wouldn’t matter. The wolf-men were excellent trackers, and out there in the wild her scent would stand out like a fire in the darkness. As the land passed her by, she wondered how much time they would give her.

A few minutes later she heard her answer in the communal cry of dozens of wolf-men. The sound was her death knell, yet on she ran. When she saw the Gihon floating softly before her, she let out a cry of her own. Her armor…she couldn’t swim with her armor on! Frantically she yanked off the heavier parts weighted down with chain, flinging them to the ground. When she was down to just her leather under padding she slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder and then rushed into the water. The cold was shocking. Much as she dreaded it, she plunged her head beneath the surface and began to swim.

Upon reaching the other side, Jessilynn pulled herself from the river, gasping for air. Tears ran down her face as she tried and failed to crawl beyond the shoreline. Her feet remained in the water, her hair a wet rope looped around her neck. It wasn’t far enough. It’d never be far enough. The wolf-men hunted her, and their noses would not be fooled by something as simple as a river. Within the hour, perhaps even the minute, they would find her. And this time they would not let her live. Moonslayer had made that quite clear.

“Please Ashhur,” she begged. “Please, I can’t do this. I can’t, I’m not like them. Help me, god. Help me!”

She shrieked it out until she lost breath, her mouth locked open from her crying. She’d seen what the wolf-men did to their prey, the way they tore into flesh with their claws and ripped muscle from bone with their teeth. Would she die quickly, or would they torment her? Panic twisted in her gut, stabbing her like a rusted knife. It seemed so cruel. Dieredon no doubt flew overhead, still looking to rescue her as she assumed he had been trying to do all along. Yet now she was free and unable to signal him in the night. If only he’d been watching when they released her. If only Sonowin could stay aloft longer. If only she’d never agreed to go with the elf in the first place.

The frustration gave her the strength to stand, and with eyes wide she ran, her back to the river. Hardly ten feet out her bare foot struck something hard, and down she went. The sudden jolt made her bite her tongue. Warm blood filled her mouth, and it took all her composure to keep from breaking down a second time. Turning to spit, she saw what had tripped her. It took a moment for her mind to register what it was, for it made no sense.

There, in the middle of some random forest beside the Gihon, was a greatsword nearly as tall as her. The hilt was black, finely carved, and when her fingers touched the metal it was surprisingly warm.

“I see you found my sword.”

Jessilynn started, spinning around on her rear and bracing herself with her arms. Before her stood an imposing man, his blonde hair long, his eyes a startling shade of blue. His armor, though, she recognized his armor. It matched what they wore at the Citadel. From the metal a faint hue pulsed with his movements. Too tired to understand, too tired to flee, Jessilynn dared feel a glimmer of hope.

“Who are you?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“I’m not sure you’ve heard of me,” said the man. “My name is Darius, and I think I’m a bit before your time.”

Her mouth fell open. Was she dreaming? Was she dead?

“Jerico,” she stammered. “Jerico told us about you.”

“Did he now?”

“He said you were one of the most faithful paladins he’d ever met. He’s often used you as an example in our lessons.”

Darius smiled as if he were amused.

“I guess I shouldn’t say I’m surprised. I hope his lessons are better than they used to be in Durham. A fine man, but a dreadfully boring speaker.”

The man walked over to her side and knelt. Jessilynn flinched despite herself. What was he? A ghost? An angel? A lost spirit come to haunt the place he died?

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “I’m here only because you need me.”

“You’ll help me?” she asked. “The wolf-men, they’ll be here any minute. You could kill them, you could…”

She stopped as he shook his head, interrupting her.

“Not in that way, Jessilynn. My days of fighting are done.”

He picked up his sword. Immediately the blade vanished into pure white light, not a hint of steel remaining beneath the brightness. Darius stared at it, still smiling.

“What is truly troubling you?” he asked. “You’ve always been brave. I don’t need much help to see that. Why are you so afraid to stand against the enemies chasing you?”

She looked away as she thought. She wanted to give a true answer, not some weak, flippant excuse. Whatever was happening now, it was something special, and she wouldn’t spoil it with a pathetic lie.

“Because I can’t be like you,” she said, finally meeting his gaze.

“Like me?” he asked. “No, dying pretty quickly makes you like me.”

“That’s not what I mean! You, Jerico, Lathaar…you were heroes. Nothing was stronger than you. You didn’t run away. You didn’t kill others just to spare yourself. Every time I try to be like you, to be strong like you, I… I can’t do it. I’m nothing compared to you, and I never will be.”

Darius sat down before her and laid his sword of light across his lap.

“I once murdered an innocent family to prove my loyalty to Karak,” he said, his voice softer, quieter. “I once stood by and watched an entire village burn, and I did nothing to stop it. How you see us, the way you embrace these stories…that’s not us. We bled like you. We cried like you. Most of all, we failed just like you. We begged and pleaded for our god to save us, to protect us, as we faced enemies we never thought we’d defeat. We were far from perfect, can you not see that?”

She sniffled, then wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Then how did you do it?” she asked. “Jerico once faced an entire army of demons and didn’t falter. How could he do that if he wasn’t better? If his faith wasn’t stronger?”

Darius reached out a hand and gently pushed wet strands of hair from her face.

“The only thing that made us special was that despite our terror, despite our fear, despite our doubts and sorrow, we fought anyway. Even when we thought it hopeless. Even when we knew it would cost us our lives. That’s all you can do, Jessilynn. With every breath we try to make this world a better place, hoping in the vain that someday, in some beautiful future, our acts of faith and goodness will overshadow those who know only how to destroy.”

Gently he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“You’re not abandoned. Not forgotten. Not unloved. Never forget that, and never believe otherwise.”

Jessilynn broke down at his words, crying not out of sorrow, but from joy. The whole time she’d been dragged about the Wedge as a puppet for the wolf-men, she thought it had been her fault. She’d thought her faith too weak, her cowardice too great for her to deserve her god’s love. To know otherwise, to know every stupid failure had done nothing to ruin that love…

She looked up at Darius and laughed despite herself.

“Can I hug you?” she asked, still wiping away tears.

Darius grinned.

“Why not.”

She lurched to her feet and wrapped her arms around his waist. Touching him set her nerves alight, as if she hugged a bolt of lightning. Quickly she let go, stepped back, and blushed a fierce red. Darius shot her a wink, dropped his sword to the dirt, and faced the north.

“Wait,” she said as he began to walk away.

“Yes?” he asked, turning back.

“Why…why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be with Ashhur and his angels?”

Darius shrugged as if it were no big thing.

“I’m still waiting for someone,” he said. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Who?”

He smiled.

“Jerico. Tell that bastard to hurry up and die. There’s this spot by a lake I want to show him.”

A wolf howled, and instinctively she looked to the river. When she turned back, Darius was gone, and the sword had lost its glow. The night returned to darkness, lit only by the stars dotting the clear sky.

It was like stepping out of a dream. Jessilynn stood perfectly still, yet to catch her breath. When another howl came from the river, answered by several others in the hunting party, she closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry if this is stupid,” she prayed. “But I’m not running.”

She grabbed Darius’s sword and hurried to the Gihon. At its edge she jammed the blade downward, surprised by how easily it slid into the dirt. Once certain it was secure, she pulled her quiver of arrows off her shoulder and looped it around the handle of Darius’s sword. When she stepped forward, it put her arrows within easy reach of her hand. Her fingers rustling through the feathers, she counted them.

Nine arrows, nine wolf-men to put down. Grabbing one, she readied her bow, took a deep breath, and gazed beyond the river to the Vile Wedge. In the shadows she saw the yellow glint of hungry eyes. Those she dared not count. Closer and closer they ran, their outlines visible in the moonlight. In a single smooth motion she pulled back her first arrow, saw the blue-white hue surround the arrowhead. It was still weak, but it was there.

Let the arrow do its work, she thought, remembering Dieredon’s words. Just let it fly.

As the first wolf-man reached the river, she did just that. The arrow streaked through the night like a flash of thunder, blasting into the creature’s muscled chest. With a whimper it fell. Without thinking, without hesitating, she drew another arrow and sighted anew. More wolf-men were at the river’s edge, and one by one she shot them dead. They were many, and soon they splashed through the Gihon, swimming toward her while snarling with bared teeth.

She shot an arrow through the closest wolf’s mouth, dropping the creature into the water. Two more tried to swim beneath the surface, but when they came up gasping for air she loosed her arrows.

Six. Seven.

Still the bodies surged into the river. Still she held firm, grabbing for arrows and relying on instinct. They were reaching the other side now, the upper halves of their bodies emerging from the water dripping wet. They raked the air, they howled, but her arrows flew true. The shine on their arrowheads grew brighter and brighter, and when they struck the wolf-men it was like they were hit with a battering ram.

Ten. Eleven.

Her mind dared not think, she dared not look, as her routine continued. One after another she fired, her arrows gleams of deadly light, and after each one she’d feel soft feathers touch her fingers when she reached for just one more.

Fourteen. Fifteen.

Hairy bodies floated downstream, and from the other side roared several wolf-men that had come running at the tail end. She shot one dead, her arrow connecting with its jaw and hitting with such impact it tore off its head. Others dove in the water, howling, biting.

Seventeen. Eighteen.

Some tried to flee, but they died like the others. They’d have hunted her, and once they killed her they’d have continued on. Beyond the river were hundreds of farms, homes, innocents who would have felt the hatred of their claws. She wouldn’t let them. She couldn’t.

The monsters were all but dead. One last wolf-man emerged from the river, teeth bared with fury. She recognized his size, recognized the white circles about those hungry yellow eyes. Moonslayer was so strong, so fast, and it seemed even the river would not slow him as he rushed toward her. It’d take more than one arrow, she thought. Surely even she could not take him down with a single shot. Jessilynn looked down to her quiver, trance breaking, and she saw it empty. For the briefest moment she felt panic as she turned to face one of the Kings of the Vile.

Moonslayer’s muscles were taut, his legs curling in for a leap. Refusing to give in, refusing to let him win, she felt her instincts take over once more. Empty handed she reached for her string and began to pull it back.

Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t understand. How? How was it even possible?

Nocked in her bowstring shimmered an arrow of the purest light. She felt its feathers against her skin, impossibly soft. The head was slender, sharp. The wolf-man howled, lunged. The arrow flew, exploding with radiance. She heard bones crack as the creature’s momentum reversed with jarring speed. Into the river landed the corpse, vanishing beneath the dark waters.

In the sudden calm she stood holding her bow. And then she laughed. A grin spread across her face, huge and dumb, and she felt helpless to stop it. Taking her bow, she grabbed the string, aimed to the sky, and released anew. Arrow after shimmering arrow sailed high, continuing on as if they would escape the very world itself.

“I’m here!” she cried out to the stars. “I’m alive!”

After only a few minutes, and three more arrows, she saw the dark shape slicing through the blanket of stars, heard the heavy beating of Sonowin’s wings.