Rebecca Lim - Fury

There’s no time to do anything but accept the ground rushing up to meet us, and I curve myself protectively around Ryan’s body the way I did when we collided with the great glass and steel roof of the Galleria in Milan, using every fibre of my being to cushion the impact of the blow when we hit the ground. Entwined and entangled together, we tumble across the rain-slick grass, skid over the cobbled surface of the Plaza, before coming to rest hard up against the base of a lamppost.

I lie there, shocked into immobility by the fall; a fall that has stirred up echoes in me of that other time. But this time, I am not burnt, blackened or near death. I am whole and very much alive.

It may be seconds, or hours, before I roll Ryan off me onto his back. His eyes are closed, but his life force pulses beneath my fingers and he starts to cough. The sound is harsh and painful. I place a steadying hand upon him as the rain beats down, feel his racing heartbeat below my palm.

I continue to lie there, staring up without blinking into the torrent falling out of the sky, seeming to see every drop, every needle of rain coming down, even up to its source. Maybe this is all we can ever be , I think in relief, in anguish. Only ever one second away from disaster, from ruin .

And I see that maybe Uriel is right: that if being with me could drive Ryan to do this, then I should go.

Uriel falls out of the sky beside us, landing lightly on his feet. I only vaguely register that he’s human-sized again, sporting the floppy, college-boy haircut, thin wire-framed spectacles and preppy designer gear he was wearing in Tokyo.

Ryan opens his eyes, looks up into Uriel’s face and some kind of primal recognition flares in them. He sits bolt upright, slamming the back of his head against the lamppost behind him in his haste to put some distance between himself and Uri. Then he realises that I haven’t moved at all, that I’m not even faintly concerned, and he looks from Uriel to me, from me to Uriel, in numb disbelief.

‘You say Luc and I could be twins,’ he says harshly. ‘What’s the deal with this guy?’

He braces himself against the glistening lamppost and uses it to slide upright onto his feet, then checks himself automatically for bruises, for fractures. The rain is seeping into his mouth, streaking down through his spiky, growing-back hair, the stubble on his face. He glares down at me where I’m still lying on the ground, motionless beneath the driving rain.

The tone of his voice and the very sight of him suddenly make me so furious that I’m on my feet before I register it, pummelling his chest with both my fists. Ryan retreats from the force of my blows.

‘Why bother?’ I scream into his face. ‘Why bother asking who he is? Why even check if you’re still in one piece when you just tried to commit suicide from three hundred feet? I’ll kill you myself if you ever pull a stunt like that again!’

‘Mercy,’ Uriel says warningly, and my anger dissolves into a tight feeling inside me, like unshed tears. I back away from both of them, crossing my arms tightly against my chest to protect myself from any more hurt.

Uriel walks over to Ryan and they eye each other warily, of a similar height and build, their body language indicating each is unprepared to be cowed by the other.

‘I’m Uriel,’ he says, putting out one hand awkwardly, in the human way, to be shaken.

‘You’ve never met before,’ I interject acidly, ‘but he’s been inside your house , Ryan. He has a habit of just turning up and giving people orders. Like how he wants us to go our separate ways, from here, now, today.’

‘In my house ?’ Ryan looks down at Uri’s hand almost in horror, as if it might turn into a snake and bite him. He makes no move to take it.

‘Penalty time is over, Ryan,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light, though I’m gripped by that aching grief. ‘Because Uriel says so. I never did tell you, did I, about how much we resemble each other? About how, like you, I’m curiously twinned. Uriel tries to deny it, but our resemblance is proof to me that God exists, and has a sense of humour.’

Uriel glares at me, unamused, and lets his hand fall back down to his side. ‘Say what you have to say to each other,’ he snaps, ‘then get out of the way and let the real work begin.’

Ryan crosses his arms belligerently. ‘What happened to the right to choose ?’ he snarls. ‘It’s not something reserved for you high and mighty elohim . I don’t choose to leave, and neither does Mercy. Not yet, not now, not when the world is literally going to hell. She can still do good down here. She can help you in ways you can’t begin to imagine. She can help you get Luc —’

Uriel moves so quickly, bunching one of his fists into the front of Ryan’s jacket and hauling him close, that Ryan turns pale with shock. The breath freezes in his throat at something dangerous he sees in Uri’s face, only inches from his, but he keeps speaking anyway. ‘The only beings that can contain Luc are you Eight and Mercy. She can still play a part. She’s already killed some of them, you know, some of Luc’s people.’

Uriel’s eyes snap to mine, though he doesn’t relax his grip on Ryan. ‘How many? What order?’ he barks.

‘Ananel, Remiel, Neqael and Turael,’ I say, seeing recognition and then astonishment in his gaze. ‘All first order. All once elohim , as you well know. Turns out I’m a natural at this killing thing.’ My voice dies away.

Uriel’s eyes flick back to Ryan’s as Ryan adds quietly, ‘And I’m still useful. Look at you, look at her, then look at me, and tell me you don’t need the kind of help I can give you …’

Uriel looks down at himself sharply, then across at me, and I think I get it a second before he does. Ryan is soaking wet; he looks like he fell in the Pacific Ocean on his way over. But Uriel and I are both bone dry. There’s not a mark on us. Before the rain can even touch our hair, our skin, our fake human gear, it burns off, vanishing completely.

Uriel suddenly releases Ryan’s jacket front, and Ryan rocks back on his heels in obvious relief.

That’s when I hear the children.

They come out of the stone archway by the church and head for Uriel, chanting, ‘Ayar Awqa! Ayar Awqa!’

There are six of them in all, four girls and two boys, wearing colourful coats and knitted jackets and hats, their pretty skirts and patched trousers festooned with hand-embroidered flowers, leaves and animals. They crowd around Uriel, still chanting, and he looks down at them as if he has woken from a dream. He actually smiles; a smile of such radiant beauty that the children seem to sigh and smile back as one.

They lead him back towards the archway, out of the rain, holding onto his hands, onto the hem of his navy sweater with its incongruous preppy logo. He goes with them without a word.

Ryan and I look at each other in confusion. Then he fetches our backpack from where it was torn off during our rough landing and hoists it up by its broken straps. I hook one of my arms through his and we turn and follow the children.

‘Why do they keep saying that?’ he asks under his breath as we draw beneath the archway where the children are clustered around Uriel, still chanting, ‘Ayar Awqa! Ayar Awqa!’

‘It’s a name,’ Uriel says, looking away from the adoring faces of the children for a second. ‘In Quechua, the local language. They believe that Ayar Awqa was a winged man who flew down from the sky and transformed into a foundation stone of this place, Qosqo, Cusco.’

The oldest child, a girl of probably no more than seven, picks up a small basket filled with knitted finger puppets from where it was tucked against the archway, out of the rain. She takes Uriel by the hand and indicates he should follow her. The remaining children crowd around us shyly, taking our hands, tugging at the hems of our jackets, calling me ‘Sister of Ayar Awqa’ and calling Ryan ‘Maki Sapa’.