The dark figure made its way across the barren scape that was pocked by craters and marred with grey stone cairns. The screams of the last living thing he had tasted still echoed in his mind. A chill wind blew clouds of dust into the air, coalescing into small tempests that whipped at the edges of the cloak he wore. Indifferent to its touch he shuffled along, cutting a jagged trail through dust that had lain untouched for millennia.
The curvature in his back forced him to hunch low to the ground as he picked his way around the piles of rock. Selecting the odd stone here and there, he gave the rough surface a quick lick, but each time he tossed the thing aside, unhappy with the taste it left in his mouth. He was not searching for stones, he was desperate for something to eat. And so his curious path continued until he came upon a still form lying face down in the atmospheric dust.
Casting a wary glance around he edged closer, risking the toecap of his boot and tapping the outstretched arm that lay at an awkward angle from its body. Nothing. He kicked it again, only this time harder. Still nothing.
A thin smile creased his parched lips. This was a pleasant surprise, it wasn’t often that meat were to be found here. He picked at a brittle scab on his cheek and shivered at the thought of someone else’s blood in his mouth. It must have been nearly three years since he had last tasted fresh meat.
Leaning in close he reached out and touched the bloody hand, stroking a line through the fine layer of dust that had settled upon it. Drawing back and lifting it to his lips he paused, a shudder of expectant excitement wracking his body. The first taste on the tip of his tongue sent a tingle of pleasure through his senses. Thrusting the rest of the finger into his mouth he felt bolts of forbidden ecstasy shoot into his body, threatening to overwhelm his consciousness with the anticipation of what was to come.
Giving a quiet chuckle and stepping in closer to the prostrate form, he crouched down and laid a hand upon its back. Was that the faint murmur of a breath he could feel moving beneath his touch? Could it be that he had been gifted with a live one?
The possibilities raced through his mind, chased by a memory that was ages old. To eat the flesh of the dead was forbidden, but to eat of the living was tantamount to spiritual treason. Something flickered in his chest and he pulled his hand away from the body. A new sensation, or maybe it was an old one; one so old that he had almost forgotten its caress. Searching the clouded sentiments of ages past he sort through the misshapen remembrances where he finally came upon the word, cowering in the back of his mind from the abhorrence of his realisation: fear. He sneered. It had been long indeed since he had known fear. There was nothing for him to fear here though, he was a demigod after all.
Leaning over the body he sniffed at the icy air, detecting the faint scent of life hanging between them like a thin veil. He laughed. A course rumble intermingled with bouts of racking coughs. Reaching forward to lift the body from the ground he slid his hands under the torso but stopped, sensing another presence nearby.
He forced his crippled body to stand, ignoring the flashes of pain that jabbed at his twisted spine. A low roll of thunder echoed above and he looked up at the twin moons, forcing his back to straighten with a protesting crack.
“Is that you sister?” his voice rasped. The soft fall of footsteps sounded from behind but he resisted the urge to turn and face her. “It has been an eternity since we last spoke.”
“Then an eternity is not long enough,” a voice replied with bitter distaste.
He turned and peered out from beneath the shaded cowl of his cloak. “That is no way to greet your brother, Sepherene. We fell together did we not,” he continued, enjoying her displeasure. “That must count for something?”
“It counts for nothing fallen angel. My ascension nears completion and where are you? Still crawling about in the dark pit you were cast into.”
She walked past him and approached the body on the ground. His eyes followed her, watching the exotic sway of her hips as she went. A thin golden robe coiled about her body, ripped and tattered at the edges and stained with grime. She wore a hood but he could see her face haloed by white hair, she hadn’t aged a day since they had last met. Sparsely covered limb bones protruded from her shoulder blades and were folded against her back, feathers sprouting at awkward angles and lining the wings with an untidy irregularity.
He rolled his shoulders and felt the cloak rub against the stubs of where his own wings had once been. Jealous anger stabbed at him and he curled his lip.
“So you have been grovelling around doing our Father’s dirty work that He might let you back in again?”
She regarded him with a withering stare. “I do my righteous duty that is all. Redemption is promised to all of us, Lazrael, but first you must embrace it.”
“Righteous duty,” he spat into the dry dust at his feet. “That is but a guise for relinquishing an uncomfortable burden.” He took a step toward her. “Are you prepared to pay the full price for your redemption?”
She noticed his gaze lingering upon her back, the light cast from the moons glinting in his eyes shadowed beneath the cowl. “Redemption costs nothing but complete devotion,” her voice intoned. “Why do you linger here in this place? Beseech God, ask for His forgiveness.”
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A dry cackle brought with it a renewed fit of coughing and when it had past he spoke again, a mocking edge to his voice. “What am I to be forgiven for, it was His will that I followed, always His will? If He does not like the way His puppets dance then maybe He should play a different tune.”
Stepping forward, her eyes burned brightly. “You forget yourself, Lazrael. It was your blasphemies that saw you fall in the first place and like a fool I held out my arms to catch you, only to be dragged into this mortal realm. It will never happen again I can assure you.”
“Always the servant my sister, always the servant. When will you open your eyes and see your true potential? Down here on this plane we are demigods, powerful beyond comprehension.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “Demigods of what?” she said, looking around. “Of dust and bone? You lurk here like a creature beneath a stone, too afraid to show yourself in case the heel of a boot falls upon you. Do you not long to feel the light of the heavens upon your face again, to feel the warmth of our Father’s smile upon you?”
He brushed her sentiments away with a wave of his hand. “You were always one for the golden whisper of His promises but they are nothing more than lies. At least here I am the master of my own destiny.”
She shook her head with a pained sadness. “Then you are truly lost. What a fool I was to believe that you could have been saved.” Turning back to the body, she leant over it and touched the head.
Lazrael started forward. “Leave him, he is mine,” he hissed.
“Did you think I came here to bandy words with you? He is the reason I have walked through this forsaken place and you will not lay another finger upon him.”
“Show some compassion sister, I have not eaten for so long,” he licked the dryness from his cracked lips, watching as her hand fell to the golden hilt of a long sword that hung from her waist.
“If you try to stop me I will end you now.”
The threat in her voice carried a shiver down his spine, the thrill of danger tasting as sweet as the man’s blood had before. Twisted knots in his muscles relaxed as he flexed his arms. “Be warned Sepherene, I may have lost my wings but my power has not left me,” he lied, parting his cloak to reveal the wicked, spiked ball of a flail looped over his belt. The dark metal shimmered, consuming the light reflected from the moons with a preternatural hunger. “Maybe I will let you take him, but first you must tell me why?”
“That is no concern of yours,” she stared at him, a flicker of recognition flashing across her eyes. “Draw back your hood brother.”
He stiffened, letting the cloak fall back into place.
“What is that mark upon your cheek?” she pressed.
Without a thought he let his fingers brush against the scab. “It is nothing.”
She reached out a hand toward his face but recoiled as though he had struck her. “You have colluded with Lucifer,” she gasped and the whisper of her sword rang in his ears as she partially drew it from its scabbard. “I should have recognised his stench, it hangs from you like death itself is draped across your shoulders.”
“And what if I have, like us he is fallen?” he murmured, lowering the hood.
Her eyes widened as she beheld the lesions that covered the corrupted flesh on his head and face. “We are nothing like him, he is evil incarnate.”
“What is evil but the thin thread of an untruth?” he said, a dream-like haze falling across his vision. “A blade pushed into the back of a murderer, or the child that dies of hunger? Maybe it is the death of an entire nation, for we have chastised it all in our Father’s name?
“No,” he grimaced. “Evil is whatever the holy want it to be, whatever suits their purposes at that moment in time. He is no more evil than you or I.”
“Do you honestly believe what you’re saying or has the poison of his words filled your body until it spills forth and trickles from your tongue?”
He shook his head from the daze that had befallen him. “I grow tired of your contrition, sister. If you were to have your way we would all be slaves to His order.”
Sorrow filled her eyes and she released her grip upon the sword, letting it slide back into its sheath. Stooping down, she gathered the body into her arms. “When did you give up on hope, Lazrael?”
“When you let me fall,” he snarled, a thin thread of drool running down his chin. “Now tell me, why do you want this mortal so badly?”
Her blue eyes rose from the limp form that she cradled and their gaze met. “I must travel to Delphin.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So, Father has finally chosen to hunt the fallen; I wonder, is my name upon the list?” She stood motionless, unwilling to answer his question. “Many have failed the trial, be careful you do not become the next.”
She nodded. “You are walking a path that will end in nothing but suffering brother.”
Turning away from her, he looked out across the desolation that he had come to call home. “I know where I tread, Sepherene, it is the trail behind me that grows ever dark. I fear that I could not retrace my steps even if I wanted to.”
Silence greeted his words before the wind whipped them away, taking with it the rigid tension that had hung between them and leaving a quiet discomfort in its place.
“I must leave now,” she faltered. “But remember this: if we meet again there will be no more words, my sword will speak the truth for me.”
He tugged at the cowl and drew it back over his scalp. “Until we meet again then,” he breathed, slowly turning back towards where she stood. “Until we meet again.”
But she was gone, leaving nothing but the cold grasp of despair in her wake and a whisper of breath, as the mortal in her arms began to waken.
