David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

The frustration gave her the strength to stand, and with eyes wide she ran, her back to the river. Hardly ten feet out her bare foot struck something hard, and down she went. The sudden jolt made her bite her tongue. Warm blood filled her mouth, and it took all her composure to keep from breaking down a second time. Turning to spit, she saw what had tripped her. It took a moment for her mind to register what it was, for it made no sense.

There, in the middle of some random forest beside the Gihon, was a greatsword nearly as tall as her. The hilt was black, finely carved, and when her fingers touched the metal it was surprisingly warm.

“I see you found my sword.”

Jessilynn started, spinning around on her rear and bracing herself with her arms. Before her stood an imposing man, his blonde hair long, his eyes a startling shade of blue. His armor, though, she recognized his armor. It matched what they wore at the Citadel. From the metal a faint hue pulsed with his movements. Too tired to understand, too tired to flee, Jessilynn dared feel a glimmer of hope.

“Who are you?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“I’m not sure you’ve heard of me,” said the man. “My name is Darius, and I think I’m a bit before your time.”

Her mouth fell open. Was she dreaming? Was she dead?

“Jerico,” she stammered. “Jerico told us about you.”

“Did he now?”

“He said you were one of the most faithful paladins he’d ever met. He’s often used you as an example in our lessons.”

Darius smiled as if he were amused.

“I guess I shouldn’t say I’m surprised. I hope his lessons are better than they used to be in Durham. A fine man, but a dreadfully boring speaker.”

The man walked over to her side and knelt. Jessilynn flinched despite herself. What was he? A ghost? An angel? A lost spirit come to haunt the place he died?

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “I’m here only because you need me.”

“You’ll help me?” she asked. “The wolf-men, they’ll be here any minute. You could kill them, you could…”

She stopped as he shook his head, interrupting her.

“Not in that way, Jessilynn. My days of fighting are done.”

He picked up his sword. Immediately the blade vanished into pure white light, not a hint of steel remaining beneath the brightness. Darius stared at it, still smiling.

“What is truly troubling you?” he asked. “You’ve always been brave. I don’t need much help to see that. Why are you so afraid to stand against the enemies chasing you?”

She looked away as she thought. She wanted to give a true answer, not some weak, flippant excuse. Whatever was happening now, it was something special, and she wouldn’t spoil it with a pathetic lie.

“Because I can’t be like you,” she said, finally meeting his gaze.

“Like me?” he asked. “No, dying pretty quickly makes you like me.”

“That’s not what I mean! You, Jerico, Lathaar…you were heroes. Nothing was stronger than you. You didn’t run away. You didn’t kill others just to spare yourself. Every time I try to be like you, to be strong like you, I… I can’t do it. I’m nothing compared to you, and I never will be.”

Darius sat down before her and laid his sword of light across his lap.

“I once murdered an innocent family to prove my loyalty to Karak,” he said, his voice softer, quieter. “I once stood by and watched an entire village burn, and I did nothing to stop it. How you see us, the way you embrace these stories…that’s not us. We bled like you. We cried like you. Most of all, we failed just like you. We begged and pleaded for our god to save us, to protect us, as we faced enemies we never thought we’d defeat. We were far from perfect, can you not see that?”

She sniffled, then wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Then how did you do it?” she asked. “Jerico once faced an entire army of demons and didn’t falter. How could he do that if he wasn’t better? If his faith wasn’t stronger?”

Darius reached out a hand and gently pushed wet strands of hair from her face.

“The only thing that made us special was that despite our terror, despite our fear, despite our doubts and sorrow, we fought anyway. Even when we thought it hopeless. Even when we knew it would cost us our lives. That’s all you can do, Jessilynn. With every breath we try to make this world a better place, hoping in the vain that someday, in some beautiful future, our acts of faith and goodness will overshadow those who know only how to destroy.”

Gently he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“You’re not abandoned. Not forgotten. Not unloved. Never forget that, and never believe otherwise.”

Jessilynn broke down at his words, crying not out of sorrow, but from joy. The whole time she’d been dragged about the Wedge as a puppet for the wolf-men, she thought it had been her fault. She’d thought her faith too weak, her cowardice too great for her to deserve her god’s love. To know otherwise, to know every stupid failure had done nothing to ruin that love…

She looked up at Darius and laughed despite herself.

“Can I hug you?” she asked, still wiping away tears.

Darius grinned.

“Why not.”

She lurched to her feet and wrapped her arms around his waist. Touching him set her nerves alight, as if she hugged a bolt of lightning. Quickly she let go, stepped back, and blushed a fierce red. Darius shot her a wink, dropped his sword to the dirt, and faced the north.

“Wait,” she said as he began to walk away.

“Yes?” he asked, turning back.

“Why…why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be with Ashhur and his angels?”

Darius shrugged as if it were no big thing.

“I’m still waiting for someone,” he said. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Who?”

He smiled.

“Jerico. Tell that bastard to hurry up and die. There’s this spot by a lake I want to show him.”

A wolf howled, and instinctively she looked to the river. When she turned back, Darius was gone, and the sword had lost its glow. The night returned to darkness, lit only by the stars dotting the clear sky.

It was like stepping out of a dream. Jessilynn stood perfectly still, yet to catch her breath. When another howl came from the river, answered by several others in the hunting party, she closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry if this is stupid,” she prayed. “But I’m not running.”

She grabbed Darius’s sword and hurried to the Gihon. At its edge she jammed the blade downward, surprised by how easily it slid into the dirt. Once certain it was secure, she pulled her quiver of arrows off her shoulder and looped it around the handle of Darius’s sword. When she stepped forward, it put her arrows within easy reach of her hand. Her fingers rustling through the feathers, she counted them.

Nine arrows, nine wolf-men to put down. Grabbing one, she readied her bow, took a deep breath, and gazed beyond the river to the Vile Wedge. In the shadows she saw the yellow glint of hungry eyes. Those she dared not count. Closer and closer they ran, their outlines visible in the moonlight. In a single smooth motion she pulled back her first arrow, saw the blue-white hue surround the arrowhead. It was still weak, but it was there.

Let the arrow do its work, she thought, remembering Dieredon’s words. Just let it fly.

As the first wolf-man reached the river, she did just that. The arrow streaked through the night like a flash of thunder, blasting into the creature’s muscled chest. With a whimper it fell. Without thinking, without hesitating, she drew another arrow and sighted anew. More wolf-men were at the river’s edge, and one by one she shot them dead. They were many, and soon they splashed through the Gihon, swimming toward her while snarling with bared teeth.