Faith Hunter - Host

“No kylen may live among the mages,” the first night-winged seraph said, answering my claim, his voice ringing like brass gongs, indescribably beautiful.

“Why not?” I challenged, forcing my voice to settle into the tones of debate. “Why may no kylen live among humans or mages? We are all the children of men.”

“Mages and kylen are forbidden to cohabit due to their licentious and dissolute pursuits and the numbers of kylen that are born,” the same seraph said. I named him Raven One. “The earth will no longer support the numbers of beings who once raped the planet. You may not breed indiscriminately. It is forbidden.”

There was a lot in that speech, from sinfulness to overpopulation to the health of the earth, which had been damaged by humans, devastated almost to the point of destruction. Hence the seraphs annihilating nearly six billion people in the plagues of the apocalypse, and plunging the earth into war. And the ice age. The judgment of the Most High. Followed by the attacks of Darkness and planetwide war. Saving the earth from us? Or taking it from us?

I took a deep breath and chanced what I believed, what I hoped, speaking as formally as I could. “Mage-heat no longer runs wild among us.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “Sinfulness is controlled by the stone gifted to me by Zadkiel.” Partial truth. “There will be no immoral rutting between the kylen and this mage.” Full truth. I hope. “There will be no population growth. There will be no danger to the earth.”

I added what I had once garnered from Raziel’s obtuse comments in that place of otherness where spiritual warfare takes place. “There will be only the joining in battle against the Dark, as the Most High intended, mind to mind, purpose to purpose.” Assuming that mages were intended at all. How many lies and half lies can a mage tell before seraphs kill her off?

The smells drifting down from the seraphs changed, growing sharper, less sweet. Their scents altered with their emotions, and I had hoped for something a bit more positive, like lots of chocolate and caramel. Instead, I thought of wood smoke, candle smoke, the reek of heated copper, and the salt spray of ocean waves. The new combination of odors slowed the building of mage-heat and that part was good, as long as it didn’t also mean I was about to die.

I looked at Zadkiel and fell into the most formal speech pattern I could manage. “You blessed me with the stone, O mighty warrior. You gave me the power to override the heat that would rage between seraph or kylen and mage. Will you not provide more of the stones? Will you not offer that protection to the seraphs with you, that you might all join us in the fight against the evil that comes?”

“The Most High tests you, little mage,” Raven One said.

“The children of men are gathered,” Raven Three said, echoing Jasper’s prophecy.

Crap. Frustration filled me like a raging fire. Formality be damned. “And who are you?” I shouted back, pulling the Flame-blessed blade. It sizzled brightly and sang a note of welcome to the sky. The note vibrated my hand and up my arm into my heart. “Who are you who comes to the Battle Station Consulate without proper greetings? Without proper protocol?”

“You draw a weapon against us?” Raven One demanded. “We are messengers from the Most High.”

“We are his peacemakers. The long arm of his holy will,” Raven Two said.

“We bring death and destruction to the human world,” the third Raven said.

“And did the Most High tell you to let humans bleed and die today?” I shouted.

“There is yet no blood,” Raven One said. “No mage in dire.”

“No danger,” Raven Two said.

“We watch,” Zadkiel said. As one, their wings beat and they climbed higher in the sky.

I whirled and found Audric in the night. “They sent six,” I hissed. “Six seraphs. Why six? Not three or seven or some propitious number.”

Eli answered for him. “Because our winged wonder here makes seven. They intended to make up their number with one of us and you threw a monkey wrench into their plans.”

“Eyes sharp. We got company,” Audric said. My champards spread out around me, leaving enough room for blades to swing freely.

From the alleyway on the north side of town, spawn appeared, their stench and chittering carried on the wind, wiping away the smells of holiness and sex. Mage-heat curled up and died. The wind shrieked, piercing cold, its frozen claws throwing back my cloak like Thadd’s wings.

I pulled the longsword from its walking-stick sheath, the bloodstone prime amulet that comprised its pommel hot in my palm. The tanto blazed again, as bright as it had in welcome of the seraphs, but now with a note that rang of war, deep and coarse and full of menace, a growl of warning that stirred my blood. The spawn moved in, walking in awkward rows.

“This looks bad,” Lucas said.

He was right. Spawn didn’t walk; they swarmed. They raced in like mindless beasts to feast. They ate their own injured while they were still screaming. They were clawed and fanged monsters who healed from almost any wound as long as their friends didn’t eat them first.

They didn’t come in disciplined rows. They didn’t march. They didn’t follow orders. They just didn’t. Not ever. Yet, these were clearly under the control of someone—some thing.

Rows of demon spawn scampered slowly along the street, keeping pace with one another, reddish bodies black in the night, eyes the glowing red of Darkness to my mage-vision. In the midst of their ranks walked Dark half-breeds and humans. At the back of the troop strode a Dark mage, his skin pearly bright, but banded, a pattern of snakeskin in mage-sight. I was glad I was wearing the Apache Tear; I didn’t want to know the mind of this one, not for a moment.

Along the street, many of the humans had created barricades and fortifications I hadn’t noticed, with my attention on champards, Cheran, and the seraphs. The blockades offered protection, but boxed the humans in. Voices tense and shrill, they passed information along the street and through handheld radios. Other humans stood in small groups, loose and rangy, tattered clothes visible even in the night. The EIH. And the newfangled big-ass gun was in the middle of the street, pointing west. There was a new gun pointing the other way, a bigger gun with a longer barrel. It was mounted on an old automobile chassis and had a white tank on one side. It looked like a propane tank, which was really weird.

“They’re carrying guns,” Audric said, sending the champards out around me. Heads ducked, bodies crouched, making smaller targets. Spawn were too stupid to fire guns, but their humans and mages could. “I count six rifles,” he said, softer.

Spawn scuttled, moving in jerky, disorderly rows, assuming positions at both ends of the street and at every intersection. They stayed well back of the fortified positions of the humans, and farther away from the EIH. And they didn’t attack. Spawn squirmed and shuffled foot to foot, their three-clawed feet clacking on the ice, reddish bodies twitching. Once they found what looked like prearranged positions, they stopped, they waited.

Overhead, the wind was still moving; in mage-sight, I saw it curl, forming a twisting, sinuous snake that ran down the length of Upper Street. It wasn’t much in terms of a tornado, but there was no doubt about its shape. As I watched, its tail dropped toward the earth. In arid desert places it would have been a dirt devil; here it was a snow devil. The swirling cone began to pick up speed, gathering falling snow and spewing a reek of sulfur and rot.

The Dragon was here. Sweet mother of God. We were in trouble. Guns to cut us down at long range, spawn to attack in close. Until now, they hadn’t brought guns into the town to attack, though I had seen them use modern weaponry in the past.