Panting loudly, Far-a-mael turned in a full circle to take in the destruction around him. Countless New World soldiers squirmed on the ground under attack by possessed angels, sieifts flooding away from their bodies as they died. Strands of light snapped about the air like whips as gil’hadoans danced expertly through the fray twisting and distorting silt auras as they went. Men were snatched from the ground between the razor-sharp talons of demons that hauled them into the sky only to be dropped from dizzying heights. Deadly black mist rose up from the battlefield as time after time the silts resurrected their fallen. A cloud of darkness billowed across the earth, opening up a gaping hole that swallowed countless soldiers who fell screaming into the abyss. A whisp sank into Elglair flesh and transformed the man into a hideous monster that roared and tore the heads off anyone who got close.
‘Far-a-mael.’ Tim-a-nie rushed over, slicing his sword through the belly of a silt as he went. ‘We must make the call now. We’re losing too many.’
‘Yes.’ Far-a-mael swallowed. ‘It’s time.’
‘Shtop it,’ Seeol gargled as he scurried off hunched over into the fray. Those who pursued him fell on their own swords or met an equally as unlikely fate.
‘Give it to me,’ Far-a-mael reached out to take the horn from Tim-a-nie. He put it to his lips and blew.
*
Seteal watched from the back of the wagon as man and silt fought for their lives. She huddled behind a pile of crates, fearing what would happen should she be revealed. There were silts out there with powers unlike anything she’d seen before. One of the formidable creatures killed a Jenjen soldier before her eyes and it struck Seteal as odd in some distant part of her mind. The strange silts only attacked the Jenjen and other New World soldiers, but never the Elglair.
As a Jenjen soldier’s head hit the grass and white mist swept away from his flesh. Seteal gasped disbelievingly at what could only be described as a white whisp. The silt’s head snapped in her direction and it lumbered toward the back of the wagon. Seteal scurried back into the depths, but it was too late. The silt had his eyes locked on her. It reached inside and clutched at her dress with a deathly white hand. It pulled her forward snarling and Seteal screamed in horror.
A horn sounded in the distance and the strange silt released her. Its head snapped around as if looking for something, Seteal all but forgotten. The silt leapt into the air and snatched at a regular demon who screamed as she was engulfed by white mist.
Curiosity driving her, Seteal shuffled toward the back of the wagon and peeked into the sky to find a sight that left her gaping. The silts with the lights above their heads had turned on the demons. The flow of battle changed. Silts were dying in increasing numbers, such that no one could find the time to resurrect them before they too were killed.
All was chaos. Seteal’s vision blurred as her head was slammed against the side of the wagon. The crates she’d been hidden behind lifted into the air and the entire wagon toppled sideways. A drooling beast with great horns and sharp teeth stuck its head through the back and snapped at Seteal’s feet.
‘No!’ she screamed. ‘Get away!’ She kicked at its face.
The beast groaned and pulled its head out of the wagon. Surely Seteal couldn’t have hurt it that bad . . . and she hadn’t. Seeol stood outside using his sword to hack repeatedly at the beast’s neck until he’d severed it. He waved for Seteal to follow, but refused to utter so much as a word. There was something wrong with him. He seemed smaller and hunched over. Seteal’s eyes widened as feathers started sprouting from his face. ‘Oh, Seeol,’ she gasped.
‘Pleash!’ the bird-man cried. ‘Not safety,’ he finally managed. ‘Pleash . . . is coming.’
‘Who’s coming?’ Seteal asked nervously.
‘Pleash,’ Seeol beckoned her to leave the safety of the wagon.
After a moment’s hesitation, Seteal thrust herself forward, took Seeol’s hand and leapt free of the wagon as the earth shuddered beneath them and a gaping hole slithered across the battlefield. The wagon moaned and rolled backward into a seemingly bottomless pit. Seteal held her stomach as she was dragged along by Seeol. The earth tilted. Rocks and debris slid away and Seteal began to lose her grip. Seeol picked her up and threw her forward onto the stable land ahead of them before trying and failing to scurry up the length of the falling chunk of earth.
‘Seeol!’ Seteal screamed. ‘Take my hand!’ She laid as flat as she could and stretched out toward him.
‘Seteal!’ His eyes became wide with fear as he dove for Seteal’s hand. Their fingers touched, but the land fell away too soon and Seeol was lost, flailing into darkness.
‘No,’ Seteal choked out as she watched him fall, rocks and boulders too soon obscuring him from view. ‘Please, Seeol,’ Seteal sobbed through gritted teeth, unable to tear her eyes from the endless crevice in the land. ‘Come back.’
As though in answer to her plea, a creature no larger than a dog beat his poorly developed wings in an attempt to escape the abyss. ‘Oh, Seeol,’ Seteal gasped as a beak formed on his face and his body shrank further, becoming much better suited to his wings. By the time he’d reached solid ground, Seeol stared up at Seteal, once again no more than an elf owl. ‘Thank you,’ Seteal whispered, taking in the destruction surrounding them.
The army of New World had been victorious and a group of strangely dressed Elglair stood grouped together with Far-a-mael several hundred strides away. One by one the silts with the flickering lights above their heads landed beside them in allegiance. Seteal stared at their blank faces and guessed that they’d been affiliated. Far-a-mael was using them as weapons, just as he’d originally intended for Seteal.
The Jenjen were crippled brutally and many looked disillusioned by the absence of their Holy Spirit in their hour of need. ‘It’s over, Seeol. You have to stop this.’
‘Yes,’ Seeol spoke softly. His voice was forlorn. ‘Is not a Holy Sprit. Is just an elf owl.’
Seteal disappeared. The owl became a speck on the ground that soon faded to nothing as she was jostled into the sky, sharp metal talons tearing at her leg and back. ‘Let go,’ Seteal shrieked, pummelling the demon with her fists.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Don’t let go.’ Seteal gaped at the world dangling below her feet. ‘Please don’t let go.’ She gazed in dismay at the countless fires and rivers of purple mixed human and silt blood. White and black whisps churned around each other, circling like hungry dogs before violently cancelling the other out.
‘Too late,’ the silt hissed, thrusting Seteal forward and opening his toes. She screamed, for the first time not only fearing for her own life, but that of her child. Instinctively Seteal lunged for the Ways, but felt nothing other than a solid wall. The world lurched toward her and there was nothing she could do.
Matt-hew 24
31. And he shall send his angels with the great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather with his elect from the north, having come from one end of Hades to the other.
Scriptures of the Holy Tome
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE INNER MONSTER
Ilgrin beat his wings harder than he ever had. His crown was too cumbersome to wear during flight, so he clutched it protectively as he tore through the sky. In the distance he saw countless silts swooping and diving above a crowd of screaming humans. Every natural instinct told Ilgrin to turn around and free El-i-miir, but his sensibility knew that the lives of thousands were more important than just one. And Teah had promised to ensure no harm would come to her while he was away.
‘Stop!’ Ilgrin shouted as he closed in, but his voice was snatched away, another voice lost among the battle-cries of war. The scene before him was one of total devastation. The Elglair were a powerful enemy to silts, physical strength having little value against those with the power to manipulate one’s soul. ‘Stop!’
‘Who are you?’ a silt asked as he matched Ilgrin’s flight-pattern.
‘The Devil,’ Ilgrin w
aved the crown in the man’s face.
‘It cannot be.’ The silt recoiled beneath his blue military uniform.
‘It is,’ Ilgrin snarled. ‘Spread the news. This war must . . .’ He trailed off, his eyes locking on a sight that made his blood run cold.
There, in the middle distance, a silt swooped over the ground above a mighty gorge. His toes closed around a pregnant woman and snatched her into the air. The pair ascended. Ilgrin twisted his wings dangerously and fought for a new destination.
‘Hold on, Seteal,’ he begged over the wind. ‘Just hold on.’ Ilgrin tumbled through the air, winded by a knock to the side. He turned to find his attacker was an angel. ‘I thought you were on our side.’
‘We’ve never been on your side, silt,’ the angel said with all the malice his Elglair puppet-master could muster.
Ilgrin doubled his efforts in getting away, but as he flew he felt a deep ache beginning in his bones and leaching from his flesh. The ache became agony and his flight faltered. Raising his hands before his eyes, Ilgrin watched as a sieift started oozing from his flesh.
‘Stop,’ he cried weakly before plummeting, his wings having become too weak to support him.
An arrow slid through the air, likely intended for Ilgrin, but instead struck the angel. The creature fell away and having lost its hold, Ilgrin turned his attention back to Seteal. Scanning the sky, he found it impossible to locate her. Silts were flashing in every direction carrying men and women, tearing them apart or simply dropping them to their bloody deaths. It was only when a sharp scream pierced the darkness that Ilgrin was able to find Seteal, her captor having released her.
Ilgrin banked sharply after the woman and snatched her from the air. ‘Ilgrin?’ She gaped in surprise as he moved her from his toes to his arms, cradling her protectively while making sure to keep the crown from touching her.
‘We really must stop meeting this way,’ Ilgrin said once they’d landed safely. ‘What’s going on with the angels?’
‘Angels?’ Seteal appeared to be confused for a moment, but then her eyes widened in realisation. ‘That’s what they are? I think they’re all possessed.’
‘I know that,’ Ilgrin replied. ‘Those Elglair work for us.’
‘I don’t think they do,’ Seteal said, shaking her head. ‘The Elglair work for nobody but themselves.’
‘But that’s . . .’ Ilgrin frowned and turned his attention to the sky. ‘You’re right.’ He swallowed as angels dipped and turned, no longer pursuing humans, but demons. Time after time, the demons fell to the mighty force of angelic power and plummeted dead or dying through the air.
‘What’s that?’ Seteal frowned at the large crown gripped in Ilgrin’s hands.
‘There’s no time.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘I have to stop this before it’s too late. Far-a-mael might’ve won the battle, but I’m not done with him yet.’
‘What do you mean?’ Seteal bit her lip, but Ilgrin ignored her and leapt into the throngs of battle.
‘Retreat,’ Ilgrin shouted, waving the crown about his head as he banked and swept through the crowded sky. ‘In the name of your Devil, Sa’Enoch, I order you to retreat to Hel!’
Progress was slow, but as increasing numbers of silts heard his words and saw the crown they started following Ilgrin’s command. Much to his relief, the angels did not follow. He glanced back in dismay at the sheer volume of dead on the ground and realised that his first challenge in getting his people to follow his lead would be in convincing them that it was unacceptable to resurrect the fallen.
By the time Ilgrin reached the tree, he was blind with fury. He slammed against the bark and roared like the demon he was before scampering up the side using fingers and toes, accomplishing that which was impossible to weak humans. No more pretence. No more illusions. It was time to embrace his inhumanity. Ilgrin leapt through one of the entry points and guessed his way through countless tunnels before entering the main chamber. From there he half-flew, half-fell to the ground floor and made his way toward the roots.
‘You,’ Ilgrin snapped as he passed a servant. ‘Take me to the dungeon.’
‘And who might you be?’ The servant narrowed his eyes at Ilgrin’s plain and rather unusual clothes. Ilgrin raised his crown. ‘This way.’ The silt stumbled back and would’ve fallen if not for the dexterous use of his wings.
The roots consisted of dark, closed-in tunnels that wove up and down and all around the place. Lanterns were placed sparsely, the atmosphere almost becoming pitch-black before the next would appear. The walls were constructed from stone, but here and there the root system itself had been hollowed out and adopted as a passageway. Eventually they came to a large door guarded by two rather muscular silts.
‘Where’s Du’Noah?’ Ilgrin snapped.
‘Inside, my Devil.’ The guard kept his eyes respectfully lowered.
‘Well?’ Ilgrin barked. ‘Let me in.’ The big man fumbled with his keys but his hands were shaking too much to function. ‘Oh, for Maker’s sake,’ Ilgrin growled, snatching the keys from his hands and shoving them one by one into the lock until it turned with a loud clunk. ‘Stay out here,’ he snarled. ‘And you,’ he called to the first servant. ‘Find me clothing befitting of a king!’
‘A king?’ The man quivered.
‘A Devil . . . whatever,’ Ilgrin snapped irritably. ‘Just find something respectable.’
He slammed the door and the sound echoed repeatedly from the surrounding walls. ‘Noah! Where are you?’ The room consisted of a long hallway with cages lining the sides. ‘Show yourself.’
‘What do you want?’ the man replied from several cages away. ‘Have you come to gloat?’
‘Not at all,’ Ilgrin replied, making his way steadily to the tired looking silt. Not only had he been arrested, but it appeared he’d also received a fairly decent beating. ‘What do you know about this foolish alliance your father made with the Elglair?’
‘It was no alliance,’ Noah hissed furiously. ‘Humans are never our equals. They’re underlings. It is we who have our origins in Hae’Evun! Some Elglair were wise enough to realise that and agreed to work as Sa’Tanists.’
‘Fools.’ Ilgrin punched the wall only to groan at the pain it caused him. ‘How can you all have been so stupid? The Elglair are the most ruthless, obnoxious, self-consumed people in the world. They care for nothing and nobody outside of their own society.’
‘What’re you saying?’
‘The angels changed sides.’ Ilgrin shook his head in disgust. ‘That means the Elglair affiliating them did, too.’
‘Impossible,’ Noah said dismissively. ‘Those Elglair have been serving us for a hundred years.’
‘Don’t you see?’ Ilgrin said bitterly. ‘The Elglair would feign loyalty for a thousand years if it meant a tactical advantage. They were never Sa’Tanists. They’re Frozen Land spies.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Noah uttered, his smile having vanished.
‘Really?’ Ilgrin began pacing anxiously. ‘Whose idea was it?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Whose idea was it?’ Ilgrin shouted. ‘A hundred years ago when our ancestors decided to have the angels affiliated to kill whoever they couldn’t, whose idea was it?’
Noah swallowed and his eyes revealed dismay. ‘The Elglair approached us.’
‘The Elglair had you murder your own protectors,’ Ilgrin said coldly. ‘Now the only angels left are under their control.’
‘Torrid,’ Noah whispered.
‘Torrid is right.’ Ilgrin nodded before turning to leave.
When he reached the throne room, Ilgrin was pleased to find neatly folded clothing prepared by his servant. He changed into the royal garments coloured in dazzling blues and flowing gold. The table at the far side of the room had been trained away from the floor, but the throne was something else entirely. The large chair was made of precious metals and encrusted with expensive-looking stones. The back was slender, allowing for the Devil’s wings to m
ove freely behind it.
Four silt generals soon arrived and stood around the table, awaiting Ilgrin’s command. Still uncertain of what to say, Ilgrin simply sat on his throne and stared dead ahead.
‘So let me get this straight. About a hundred or so years ago my great-grandfather was approached by a small group of affiliates.’
‘That’s correct,’ General Li’John replied.
‘The Elglair struck a deal with your people,’ Ilgrin stated. ‘They promised to affiliate the angels that kept the Devil under their thumb in exchange for what?’
‘The Devil would have complete freedom,’ Li’John replied. ‘The Elglair would become the highest ranked Sa’Tanists and be granted all of the privileges that came with the position. They were given endless luxuries and wealth.’
‘So the Elglair affiliated the commanding angels and used them against their own kind in the angel hunts that have continued to this day,’ Ilgrin confirmed. ‘They killed most of them, but kept some under constant affiliation to be used in battle or when the generation of a sieift was required.’
‘That’s correct,’ another of the generals confirmed with a nod.
‘But then we got onto the battlefield today . . .’ Ilgrin trailed off.
‘It was a trap . . .’ Li’John’s eyes showed his devastation. ‘One hundred years in the making.’
‘And now Far-a-mael has an army of angels, which he undoubtedly plans to use against us.’
‘That’s about the gist of it.’ John swallowed nervously.
‘Are silts ordinarily so foolish?’ Ilgrin said angrily, stepping down from his throne.
‘The Devil wanted his freedom,’ John said slowly. ‘He made a mistake in trusting the Elglair, but it seemed like a good arrangement.’
‘The Elglair are not to be trusted,’ Ilgrin spat. ‘I’ve seen them for what they are. They prance about arrogantly. They think they’re so perfect, hidden away in their Frozen Lands. They look down their noses at everyone else. I’ve been there, you know.’ Ilgrin shuddered, remembering the tortures imposed on him. ‘They will not get away with it this time. Please excuse me.’ Ilgrin dismissed the generals. ‘I need time to think.’