On Black Wings (12 page)

I lower my head and cry.

They are still dead.

I watched them die twice.

I’m thinking this way again, I need to stop it. Please God. I bite my lip. If I could go back again, I could try again. Is there hope? What if I have limited times to go back, or if I only had that one shot? Would I screw things up again? I died the last time as well, so why am I still here?

I left Brad alone in that house.

How could I screw everything up so badly? Am I that bad of a person? He hated me, the rage in his eyes burned me like nothing I ever saw before. Even the burning man’s eyes didn’t hurt me as much. What if I can never change how this comes out? What if Brad, the children, and myself were destined to die, and nothing I do could change that outcome?

I’m so stupid.

We all die.

We just fight to delay it for a couple moments longer.

And that’s life.

Tears run down my cheeks, and my nose fills up and burns.

Smoke.

I smell smoke.

I wipe my nose on my cloak and look around. There’s nothing but sickly green forest around us. But I clearly smell smoke now.

“Smoke,” I say, patting the horse on the side, “I smell smoke, boy. Take me to the smoke.”

The horse turns off the path, and pushes his way through the forest, wet ferns rubbing against my boots. I peer into the trees, searching, but still I see nothing. The smell of smoke is stronger now. We climb a hill, the horse picking its way through the dead leaves and mud, pulling us up the steep incline to where I can get a better look. I smell the smoke clearly now, it’s pungent and slightly aromatic.

Food?

We crest a hill and I see a camp that fills a valley as far as the eye can see in the morning mist. Ten-thousand men must be camped here, with cooking fires billowing white plumes of smoke up into the misty air. Burlap and leather tents are packed tightly together with horses, medieval siege weapons, and soldiers. I see thousands of soldiers with breastplates of iron and chariots of war.

CHAPTER XVI:

They Prepare for War

I don’t know what to do. I stare at this camp full of thousands of men, thousands of soldiers, and I have no idea if they are friend or foe. How do you know? Usually, you would know from the television news, as they would tell you who the good guys and bad guys were. But who are these people? I have no idea.

Do I ride right in and ask? What if they won’t tell me? What if they won’t let me go? I look back, and the sickly green forest sits behind me. I sigh, and wipe my eyes on my cloak. I have nowhere else to go.

I just don’t know what to do.

If I’m some sort of chosen person by that skeleton, I guess I am either a friend or foe to these people. I just hope they’re not the same people that found me by the rock. They don’t, they don’t look like them though. The banners in this war camp are different, giant black eagles on banners of pure white, each topped by a gold crown.

They are different, and I guess I should go see who they are. I have no where else to go, and really nothing else better to do - here.

I prod the horse with my foot and spur him on. We ride down the hill, and the camp draws closer to us. A man with a white beard in a chain coif waves hello and smiles. He puts down his halberd and waves enthusiastically with both hands, raising his voice and calling to others while pointing.

“She’s here! She’s here!” He shouting, and other men cheer. Others on the edge of camp drop their spears and sheath their swords and raise their voices in victory.

Well, it’s good to be expected. It’s nice they speak English too.

Who are these people? What do they want with me? Why are they happy to see me? Every time someone has expected me ever since this happened nothing but bad things have happened to me.

I raise my arm, wave and smile. Sure, happy to be here, I guess.

I ride towards the edge of the camp.

They gather around the horse, smiling, laughing, grabbing my legs, and they're all generally happy to see me. Men of different ages, races, ethnicities, and young and old alike all suited up for war. Pretty soon I am riding along with a crowd of them as if I am some sort of savior.

"She's here!" One shouts. "It is a miracle!"

"What is this place? Where am I?" I'm yelling questions at them, but the din and the cheers of the crowd are too loud to talk over, and I'm screaming the same questions over and over again. "Who are you people?"

The procession leads me through camp, and those around are cheering and pointing towards the center of camp. A large three-poled tent towers over the rest of the tents, and is surrounded by a phalanx of banners. It is obvious where they are taking me now.

Men are beating on their shields, raising cheers, and pointing towards the center tent. Squads of armored men and their swords push the lower ranking soldiers to the side, and clear a way for me and my horse to the tent.

Outside the center tent a line of officers and generals take notice, stand straight, and await me. Beside the entrance to the tent, a large white horse stands.

My horse stops dead in his tracks.

I try to prod him on, but he isn't having it. The black horse and the white horse stare each other coldly.

“Seriously?” I prod my horse again. “Come on, go.” I look at the white horse. “He’s not going to bite you. What is it with you?”

Men cheer, and the line of soldiers to each side draws apart some, standing at attention to both sides. I guess if I’m welcome, I’m welcome. I slide off my horse, pull off my hood, and adjust the wings on my back. Once the crowd gets the sight of my wings, a loud cheer roars through the camp, men holding their armored gloves in the air, hollering and cheering my arrival.

I hate this, I hate this, I have no idea what is going on or what is happening, or why this army is happy to see me. Just twenty four, hell, I lost track of time, just a couple days ago I was a housewife. Now I’m some sort of seventeen-year old Joan of Arc with jet-black angel wings being greeted by an army of conquerors.

I trudge through the mud towards the center tent, and a man lays a straw mat in front of me before I step on the wood planks placed around the officer’s area. I wipe my too-nice cos-play boots on the mat the best I can, and another man, a younger one dressed as a squire, comes over and towels each one of my boots off lovingly while kneeling in the mud.

“I’m not a movie-star, people.” I sigh, and no one pays the comment much attention. As if they even knew what I meant, almost.

I step onto the planks, and the group of officers bows their heads in unison. They are all older men, in armored coats, spike-topped gold helmets, handlebar mustaches, gold tufts, strings hanging off shoulder-pads, and more medals than I could ever count on the lot of them.

“Thank you,” I say and smile, standing in front of one of the generals, “can you tell me what’s going on around here?”

He catches himself, blinks a look up at me quickly, and motions towards the inside of the tent with his head. The inside glows with a cathedral-full of yellow candles, and its warm, inviting feel beckons me inside.

I step past the welcoming general and pull the tent-flap open.

He’s the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes upon. He has deep, penetrating blue-gray eyes, a stern nose, and chiseled features I associate with high royalty. His brown hair is neck-length and pulled back in a short tail, and he has a thin beard and mustache on his smiling face.

He wears the armor of a king, with a white flowing silk tunic emblazoned with a giant black eagle. He looks like a young hunk pulled straight from the films of Hollywood from some sword-and-sorcery epic. There’s not a spot on him without muscles I’d like to touch. He wears a gold crown emblazoned with dragons, lions, and fierce knights.

It scares me I forget about Brad so quickly.

He stands and smiles, holding out his hand. “Jessica. One of the Seraphim. Welcome to my humble abode. There is no need to fear, for you are home.”

CHAPTER XVII:

He Looks Like a King

He takes my hand and leads me inside. The inside of the tent is covered with riches, red silks, gold-leaf covered chairs with cushions, tables full of food, gold platters and flatware, expensive-looking tapestries, a full brass stove glowing and giving warmth, pillows everywhere, and furniture I would expect to be in an antique shop somewhere. A high-end antique shop, let me correct myself.

“Who are you?”

He smiles and directs me to a cushioned chair.

“King Tanas of the Ashed Kingdom.”

“Tanas?” I sit, and he takes my cloak off from behind. “A king? No, please, I should take that off-”

He places my cloak over another chair and smiles. “It is my honor. I welcome you here Seraph Jessica. Such beautiful black wings. My, I have not seen such marvelous beauty in such a long, long time. Please, make yourself at home. My home is yours. Take off your gloves, you have no need for armor here.”

I hesitate, but really, I have no idea of how to fight or have any use for armor other than decoration and clothing, so I struggle and take them off. It feels good since my hands and arms were working up a sweat anyways.

He laughs and sits across from me, leaning near and smiling. His eyes are lit by the candles around us, with a sparkle in each. He reaches out and offers his hand to me. I take it, and he cradles my hand in the both of his.

“Please be at home, me and my men mean you no harm. I understand you should be quite confused, as it is with any of your kind. The choosing process is never easy, and many do not survive. For you to make it this far is a very special thing indeed.”

He holds my hands, his eyes warm and inviting. “Black wings as well.”

I blink, his hands warm around mine, soft, and comforting. “I don’t understand. Who are you? Why did you call me that? Who are you? Who are these people?” I drop my head, feeling everything collapse around me. “What is happening to me?”

He squeezes my hands. “I was waiting for you to ask that. Those questions shall be answered, you must trust me. For now, you are my guest, and a welcome and honored friend.”

“I don’t know you.” I shake my head. “How can I trust you if I don’t know you?”

A smile leaps to his lips. “The men outside place their faith in me, and I promise upon the glory of God that I shall not hurt you. I am a friend, Seraph Jessica, and you look tired.”

“Why do you keep calling me that, Seraph?”

“Because,” he says with a nod, “you, Seraph Jessica, are one of the chosen. Only angels have wings.”

“Black wings?” I squeeze his hand tightly to make my point. “Why black?”

“You are,” Tanas says, slowing his words, “an angel of death.”

I feel myself shaking uncontrollably at the words, and I’m breathing fast. My heart feels like it is going to leap out of my chest. I begin to hyperventilate. “No. No. No, I can’t be. No. No. Why me? Why? I’m a what? I’m a-”

He holds my hands tighter, pulling me closer. “Shh. Shh. Jessica. You are fine. You are well. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Everything is going to be all right. Please, please, have a drink. Settle yourself.”

He offers me a goblet of water and I drink, nearly spilling it all over myself. I gasp and I feel like I am going to throw up. I have trouble putting the golden goblet back down on the table, and he helps me, keeping one of his hands on mine.

“B-bad? You call this, g-good?” I gasp for air, nearly crying and sobbing as I feel everything coming down around me. “You’re, you’re not me, how would you ever know? My God, no.”

It feels like a doctor saying you have cancer and three months to live. You were fine walking in, but things will never be the same walking out.

“Are you-are you sure?” I’m begging him for a second opinion, crying my guts out. “Can’t we get rid of them? My wings, get rid of them?”

“Yes, but no. There’s no reason to be afraid, Jessica.” He squeezes my hands tightly, his blue-ish eyes locked on mine. “You are going to be perfectly fine. Becoming a Seraph is not a death sentence.”

“B-but, how can being an angel of death not be a death sentence?”

“Jessica!” He laughs and strokes my arm. “You are very funny. Silly almost for a Seraph. Think of it this way. You will never age, never get sick, never starve, and never die. Truly die I should say, not in the normal sense. You will stay young and virile forever, your beauty everlasting. Those wings will stay with you forever, those beautiful wings. Have you flown with them yet?”

“F-flown?” I feel myself calming, maybe it’s not as bad as I thought. No, it’s probably worse than I thought, but something about him is so calming and reassuring I can’t help to feel myself being put at ease by his presence.

“What are wings for if you can’t fly?” He laughs. “All Seraphim can fly, and it is a glorious and wonderful thing! I shall take it upon myself to teach you all the wonderful gifts you have, if you only will believe in yourself.”

He pauses, holding my hands. “Will you promise me that?”

I nod. He seems nice. I need to know one thing. “What do you want from me?”

“Smart.” He smiles. “They said you were smart.”

I tilt my head to the side. “You know the others? The old man in the graveyard? The skeleton? The burning man?”

He nods, and I feel myself pull away. He pulls me back. “Jessica, I’m not like them at all. Look at me. Do I seem old, decrepit, hateful, or has the skin fallen off my bones? I know them, but it doesn’t mean I always agree with them. This time it’s very different.”

“Different, how?”

“I need friends. We need friends, allies. To put it short, we need you. That burning man, as you say? One of us. The old man? Also one of us, along with the skeleton that likely gave you the beautiful armor you wear.”

“The old man sent me away when the burning man came to him.” My fingernails dig into his flesh, and I see the pain in the corner of his eye. “He destroyed everything. I nearly died looking at him.”

“But,” he says, leaning into my gaze, “you didn’t. You are special.”

“He seems to have a huge chip on his shoulder.”