The Prison of Angels

Dieredon lessened his grip on the reins so he might turn about to look at her.

“Are you alive?” he asked her.

“Yes?”

“And did you act when confronted by your enemy, or did you do nothing?”

“I killed one,” she admitted. “And then I ran for you.”

“Then you have nothing to apologize for. Even for a human you are young, so do not judge yourself so harshly. Remember, you are with me to learn, not to prove you have no need of learning.”

He put his back to her, fell silent.

“However,” he said, turning back around. A smile was on his face, but it quickly vanished. “You still missed your mark during my descent. Sonowin, take us down somewhere quiet. I think Jessilynn needs an hour of practice to remind her not to rush her aim.”

Sonowin let out a snort, and then down they went.

8

Ezekai circled the town of Norstrom, debating whether he should land. Ever since the execution of the farmer, Colton, he’d felt uneasy with his duties. A strong part of him wished to speak with Azariah, but the high priest was always so busy that Ezekai continued to postpone doing so. He knew he had been well within the law: Colton had brutally murdered a man in front of the entire town, in front of his own child. But he’d also been a good man, an honest, hardworking man. What madness could have driven him into an act so vile? Was his desire for torment, for retribution, so much greater than his desire for the salvation of others?

Of course it was, Ezekai thought. That was the failing of man. But he wouldn’t let it be his failing. They just needed to be shown the way. And as much as Ezekai had been troubled by the events, the town continued on as it always had, as it perhaps always would. He saw the farmers in the fields, the shopkeepers selling their wares, plain men and women wandering the streets, perhaps to work, perhaps to shop, perhaps to play. They had not called for him with their scepter, but he landed anyway, folding his wings behind him as he glanced up and down the road.

Children stared at him in awe, as did many of the adults. A few were wary, and one older woman continued on down the street as if she never saw him. It tugged at Ezekai’s heart. Always awe, always fear and doubt. Would they ever look upon his arrival with love? Was their trust so terrible a thing for him to yearn for?

“May I help you?” an older gentlemen asked, having rushed out of his rocking chair at the front of the tavern to greet the angel. He walked with a cane, his limp painful to watch as he approached. Ezekai reached out his hand and touched the man’s knee.

“Be well,” he said, and he felt the magic flowing out of him. It took more than he’d expected to banish the swelling, but then again, everything seemed to take more effort lately. Every angel knew of the priests’ magic fading away. So far Ezekai had thought himself unaffected, but now he wondered if that assumption was erroneous.

“Thank you,” the old man said, flexing the leg while smiling. “Truly a blessing to have you come this day. We did not think to use the scepter for just the boy, but perhaps Ashhur’s wisdom has decided otherwise.”

“Perhaps,” said Ezekai. “So there is need of me?”

“Indeed,” the man said, beckoning.

Ezekai was taken to a small home, one like thousands of others he had visited before. The smell of sickness was strong the moment the door opened. Ezekai bowed his head to the woman who greeted them. Her face was pale, haggard, with her hair pulled back from her face in a knot.

“May I enter?” Ezekai asked.

“Ashhur bless you, of course,” the woman said. “My name’s Maria.”

“Ashhur’s peace be with you, Maria.”

Wings folded behind him, Ezekai stepped inside, then dismissed the older man. The angel had to keep his head hunched, his height beyond that of normal humans. Just before him was a fireplace, and lying beside it was a young boy, about four years of age from what he guessed.

“That’s my son, Kaisen,” Maria said, quickly kneeling at the boy’s side. “He’s been running a fever for four days now, and each night his cough’s gotten worse and worse. I told them to use the scepter, to call for someone, but they wouldn’t. They said he’d be fine, that he’d…but that cough, he can’t even breathe when it hits him.”

She looked near tears. Ezekai smiled at her, wishing to do all he could to comfort her. No doubt she’d been sleeping little, each night worrying more and more for her precious child. Sitting down on his knees beside Kaisen, the angel reached out a hand and touched his forehead. The heat was immediately apparent, the fever burning deep within him.

“I’ve done what I can to make him drink,” Maria said. “Wormroot also worked on the fever for a day or two, but then stopped…”

“You’ve done well,” Ezekai said, still focused on the child. The sickness radiated out from his lungs, and in Ezekai’s mind it shone like a red spot amid a field of white. Frowning, he placed both his hands on Kaisen’s chest and closed his eyes.

“Help me, Ashhur,” he prayed. “I know this is beyond me, but nothing is beyond you.”

The power flowed from him with a strength that took his breath away. His arms shook, his head pounded, and still he wondered if it would be enough. So weak, he felt so weak when it came to matters of healing and faith. Kaisen coughed, first wildly, then less so. Maria watched for a moment, then was unable to keep herself away. She clutched her child, her hair coming loose from its knot and falling across the angel’s hands as Ezekai continued to pray. Smaller and smaller shrank the red sickness until it was gone, the fever in the boy’s flesh beginning to subside.

Ezekai took in a deep breath, then slowly stood.

“I doubt he would have lasted the night,” he said, surprised by how much his voice shook. “Four days, you say? Why was I not summoned sooner?”

Maria was crying as she held her child.

“I told them to,” she said, not looking at him. “I told them to, but they wouldn’t listen. They said…they said it wasn’t necessary. That he’d get better.”

Ezekai’s mouth dropped open, hardly able to believe it. Maria was lying to him. He sensed it in his gut with the properties Ashhur had bestowed upon all his angels. Lying…but why?

“Maria,” he said, trying to keep his tone gentle. “I know you hide something from me. Why was the scepter not used? In your heart you knew Kaisen needed my aid. Someone else denied you. Tell me why.”

Maria sniffed, still refusing to look at him.

“They’ll be mad at me,” she said.

It was no lie.

“Who are they?”

She gestured to the door and the village beyond.

“They,” she said.

“You are under my protection, as are all of the people here. Please…”

She looked up at him with red eyes.

“They didn’t want you to see what they did to Saul.”

The words, the meaning, the mystery; it all sent a chill down his spine. He didn’t even know he could feel anger and fear simultaneously like that. He’d thought it a lost human emotion. Apparently not.

“Where?” he whispered.

She told him. He knelt down, kissed her forehead, then her son’s.

“Stay here,” he said.

Exiting the home, he let his wings stretch wide. It felt good, but it was the only pleasurable thing he felt. With several heavy beats he took to the air, then circled around to the northern end of the town. There, hanging from a pole, he found the body of the man who had been Saul Reid. His skin was dry from exposure to the sun, with rips in it showing rot. The crows had been at the corpse as well, further deteriorating it. The worst, though, was