David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“We had no choice.”

She looked up, tears in her eyes.

“You think I don’t know that?” she asked. “They’re lost, they’re broken, yet they’re still divine. They’re a glorious light, and it’s blinding us all.”

Qurrah knelt beside her, offering her his hand. She ignored it.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her. “What bothers you so?”

Tessanna let her hair hide her face. Her voice dropped down to a whisper.

“I should have let them kill us,” she said. “I know that now. The world would be better for it.”

Frustration bubbled up in Qurrah’s chest.

“No,” he said. “No, you shouldn’t have. I’d give my life for something good, Tess. My belief in Ashhur, it’s tentative, it’s fragile, but I still feel something there, something worthwhile. But this? No. I’d die for Harruq. I’d die for his family, and I’d die for you. I gave my life at that bridge, for men who rightfully wished for me to suffer. But I will not die for nothing. That’s all this would be. That’s what these angels’ brought with their blades. Nothing. And that’s why they’re wrong.”

He offered her a hand, but still she refused.

“You don’t understand,” Tessanna said. “What am I, Qurrah? What was I born for? I and my mirror, we were both born for balance. Mira killed an ancient demon. She fought against us, and died distracting Thulos, saving hundreds of lives. She was my mirror, my opposite in everything. She was light. She was good. Me?”

She laughed. Qurrah touched her shoulder, and she yanked it violently away.

“I’m a danger,” she said. “To you. To me. To the entire damn world.”

“You’re not,” Qurrah insisted, trying to keep calm. What was happening to her? Why was the madness rising so quickly in her eyes? She’d been better over the past few years…hadn’t she?

“How can you know?”

“Because your power has faded, Tess. You played your role in the Gods’ War. This is what Celestia wanted.”

“Is it?” Tessanna asked, and she laughed again. The sound of it sent a chill crawling up Qurrah’s spine. She was breaking before him, he realized, and he felt helpless to stop it. Tessanna let the angel slip from her arms, and slowly she stood.

“Do you know what I felt when I killed Ashhur’s angels?” she asked.

“What?” he dared ask.

In answer she lifted her arms. A wind blew, swirling in from nowhere. The darkness in her eyes grew, pushing away any hint of whiteness. Her head tilted to one side, and when she spoke, her voice was filled with torment.

“Power.”

From her back grew enormous ethereal wings, the feathers made of shadow and dust. They stretched further and further, greater than he’d ever seen before. A dress of pure darkness formed about her, clothing her as if she were a queen from a plane far beyond their own. The wind howled, swirling around her, teasing her hair, flapping her dress. Within its fabric he saw stars dance. Slowly her wings lifted her into the air. Qurrah stood before her, feeling so small, so confused. Deep down, he knew he was losing her, and nothing else mattered compared to that.

“Tess!” he screamed, trying to gain her attention. She looked down at him, but it was as if she didn’t know who he was.

“I can see it,” she told him. “I can see the golden star breaking. I can feel the world groaning, taste the rivers of blood on my tongue. And I can stop it.”

“No!” Qurrah screamed. “This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are! You’re not a puppet. You’re not their slave!”

“With a thought,” Tessanna said, her voice deep yet strangely hollow. “I sense it, Qurrah, that city of gold and pearl. Everything to follow, I can crush right now. The seed must be ripped from the soil. The world must be spared from what comes next.”

“No, damn it!”

Qurrah rushed her, demanding her presence, refusing to wilt before the tremendous power he sensed building within his love.

“Remember who you are!” he screamed up at her. “You don’t have to do this. You aren’t evil. You aren’t the destroyer. Let it go, Tess. Let it go!”

She continued staring north, seeing things that were far beyond his sight. Her outstretched hand trembled, and the ground trembled with it. Tears ran down her face, and her lower lip quivered. The empty look on her face then changed, replaced with terrible sorrow.

“I can stop it,” she said, her voice more her own. “Please, Qurrah, let me stop it. Let me destroy while I still can. Mother wants me to bring back the darkness.”

“Never again,” Qurrah said, feeling his heart pounding in his ribcage. “Let it all go.”

Her arms curled around her chest, and she bent over as if she’d been stabbed in the belly. Her wings fluttered, flared out wide, and then exploded in a frantic eruption of fading feathers. A scream tore from Tessanna’s very soul, and she arched her back, her head snapping violently from side to side. The dress of stars and darkness vanished, replaced by her own. And then she fell.

Qurrah caught her in his arms, collapsing onto his rear beneath her weight. Cradling her, he cried, rocking back and forth as he clutched his beloved to his chest. Time resumed, as if the whole world had paused to witness their spectacle.

“No more,” he whispered. “No more. We won’t play their games.”

Tessanna’s eyes fluttered open. When she looked up at him he saw love in them, and he nearly broke down again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pressing her face against his robe. “I’m so sorry.”

She cried, and he held her, and all alone they endured.

By day the orcs lurked in the distance, baiting them, daring them to separate their numbers. By night came the raids, never at the same time, and never from the same direction. It was enough to drive Tarlak mad.

“We’ll never make it to Angelport,” he said as he stood in the center of their enormous camp beneath the blackened sky. “By Ashhur, I don’t even think we’ll make it halfway.”

Sergan stood beside him, shaking his head as a cry of alarm came from the south, the third in the past hour.

“I’d celebrate just making it another day,” he said as they ran toward the call. Tarlak knew it’d be over before he got there. It almost always was. They arrived amid the confusion, with dozens of soldiers readying swords and shields. All around were their tents, gaping holes in the tops, many with spears still jutting from the fabric. Despite the commotion, no combat took place, the orcs having already fled.

It took little time to find out what happened. Orcs had taken out the guards with arrows, then a large group had rushed the camp, throwing spears from a distance before retreating. All in all they’d lost only seven men, but that wasn’t the raid’s purpose. The men were afraid to sleep, constantly roused by their hit and runs. By day they marched in a desperate attempt to reach Angelport, and by night they suffered the raids.

Tarlak looked to Antonil’s large tent in the distance, feeling like there were stones in his gut.

“We won’t make it,” the wizard whispered as a fourth alarm sounded from the north. “You damn fool.”

The following morning, Tarlak sat before his tent, legs crossed beneath him, and ate his meager gruel. Normally he’d have whipped himself up something more appetizing via magical means, but his supply of topaz was low, and worse, he didn’t want to feast so fine in front of all the other exhausted men. It’d been one thing on their march out, well-supplied and in good spirits. Now, though…now he ate the mush and wondered how long it’d take before he opened himself a portal and fled west.