‘Far-a-mael’s dead?’
‘I believe so,’ El-i-miir replied in astonishment.
Thunder rumbled angrily as lightning struck the distant mountains and rain flooded down in torrents.
‘What is that?’ Teah asked, her attention on the northern sky. There a tiny figure drifted into the air without wings to keep it aloft. Silts dove toward the stranger, but before they could reach their target, they were struck by lightning. ‘It couldn’t be,’ Teah gasped, beating her wings to the north.
After throwing his arms around El-i-miir, Ilgrin flew over the low buildings in pursuit of the angel. He landed beside her and peered up to find a woman he knew well. The shredded hem of her white dress swished about her feet. Her soaked hair hung ragged over her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were focused on nothing. Countless pieces of debris spun around her while a hundred whisps danced and circled angrily. At times, the misty darkness entirely obscured Seteal from view as she drifted back toward the ground, but the whisps could never touch her.
‘It cannot be,’ Teah whispered in awe. ‘She will descend in the clouds and every eye shall see . . .’ The angel’s eyes shone with elation. ‘This woman . . . is the Holy Spirit.’
*
In the distance, Seteal felt her feet touch the pavement. She reached out to the body, knowing that it was utterly subject to her. The debris crashed down and the whisps dissipated as Seteal returned to her flesh.
Moving unhindered through shocked faces and stilled battle, Seteal found the elf owl where she’d left him. He was tired, even unable to move. Such a tiny animal could not have had a lot of blood to spare. Seteal scooped him up so that he gazed into her eyes from the palm of her hand.
‘Is over?’ he enquired softly.
A legion silt shrieked, leaping at Seteal from the shadows with his scythe raised. With a single look, Seteal sent the creature flailing through the air and into the side of a building. ‘I believe it is,’ she replied.
‘Is very tired,’ Seeol said weakly. ‘I think I’m going to die now.’ He rested his beak on Seteal’s thumb.
‘Not today, Seeol.’ She glanced over her shoulder and the rain ceased to fall, the clouds immediately drifting apart. ‘I will protect you.’
‘Is just a bird,’ Seeol uttered sorrowfully. ‘Just let me die.’
‘Yes,’ Seteal murmured. ‘For some of us, I suppose that it is for the best if we do.’
*
By evening, Beldin was soaked in blood. Scarcely a soul moved. The silt legion and armies of New World had all but annihilated each other. For now, there would be rest from warfare, as it would take time for silt reinforcements to arrive. The Elglair would find themselves at a loss for direction, their leader having been killed in battle.
The clouds had drifted away hours earlier, but a few whisps lurked around dark corners, where they waited for prey to stagger unwittingly into their lairs. On the streets below, the unlikely gathering of a demon, an angel, and a condemned rei darted back and forth along the silent streets in their effort to bypass the few remaining soldiers and escape the city in one piece. As they moved away from a city square of carnage, they could not have known that they were passing very close to the corpse of the War Elder responsible for such destruction. His body was food for insects.
A small grey moth flew on the gentle breeze. It’d been unable to come out of hiding earlier, what with all the rain, but now on delicate wings it entered into the night. The moth fluttered and danced on the cold breeze. It was one of Maker’s simpler creations and couldn’t have known of the darkness that swam through the night behind it.
For a moment, the moth landed on a corpse already swarming with insects. Its powerful legs propelled it across the surface, but suddenly they stopped working, the moth having become fixed in place. It struggled to no avail to remove its feet as the black mist sank into its body and snaked down its legs. The corpse’s flesh churned. The moth’s legs sank deeper into the dead skin, its colouration fading to black as it went.
As the moth’s body fused with dead human flesh, incomprehensible fragmented thoughts entered its puny mind. The stupid child had stuck him with a dagger: the foolish girl. Thousands of moths surged through the night to join their almost entirely consumed kin on the surface of Far-a-mael’s body. The whisp dragged the insects beneath the surface, leaving only the vague impression of wings imprinted on the skin where they’d previously stood.
A horde of moths latched onto the corpse and began tearing at the repugnant remains, scratching and burrowing their way through rank decay. Had there been any witnesses, none could’ve made out the human body beneath the churning mass of blackening moths of varying shapes and sizes. One after the other they disappeared, sinking into a human body as it was slowly revealed. The final moths formed a simple black robe identical to the one the man had been wearing before his death.
Far-a-mael opened his eyes and swallowed a breath of air. There was a strange fluttering in his chest, but the sensation vanished almost immediately. Standing slowly, he took in his surroundings. It was night.
‘The battle,’ he gasped, putting a hand over his stomach where Seteal had stabbed him. The wound was gone. Had he been resurrected yet again? Far-a-mael looked at his clear pale hands and flexed his arms. He touched his face and his heartbeat fluttered excitedly. The rot was gone. So any resurrection he’d endured couldn’t have come through the hands of a demon. His allergy would’ve remained.
Far-a-mael strode across the square feeling healthier with every step. He stopped beneath the bright light of the moon, certain he’d felt movement against his arm. Pulling back his sleeve, Far-a-mael lifted his hand and watched a moth that’d landed on his finger moving its wings slowly in and out. It squirmed against Far-a-mael’s flesh, forcing others to make way for it, the patterns of their wings sliding this way and that. The moth joined the mass, leaving Far-a-mael to stare at nothing more than the strange patterns indicative of its placement.
‘How interesting.’ Far-a-mael turned around slowly, his mouth twisting into a wicked smile. He threw out his arm and watched half of it explode into a great ball of moths. At once he saw through a hundred compound eyes and felt the world’s vibrations through his antennae. He summoned them back and as one they swarmed together to reform his arm. Laughing madly, Far-a-mael tensed his legs and leapt into the air. His body erupted into a great cloud that spewed away on the cold breeze beneath the white light of the moon.
Revelation 1
7. Behold, She cometh with black clouds, and every eye shall see Her, and he also who anchored Her, and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of Her. Even so, Amen.
Scriptures of the Holy Tome
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cael McIntosh is the author of The Inner Circle trilogy and is currently working on several other projects. Having been born and raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, only to leave the faith in his early twenties, he has developed a unique perspective on religion and its implications. From that, along with other life experiences, he finds inspiration for his tales. It is his greatest hope that his works will inspire people to analyze and question their beliefs from an unbiased perspective.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends