Fallen (24 page)

“Then the only thing left to do is ask him,”
I said.

“Wait,” he said. “It’s not that easy. You
don’t just ask a fallen angel a question and get a straight answer,
at least not a lunatic like Southresh. He’s a manipulator. If he
believes you desire something from him, he’ll use it against you.
If he believes that he can coerce you, he will.”

“But I have to know,” I pleaded.

“That’s why we’re here, Brody, but we must
be smart about it if we’re to get any answers at all.”

“As wise as serpents, but harmless as
doves,” I said, remembering the scripture.

“Well put,” he said. “Now take my hand as we
continue. To enter Tartarus is treacherous to the mind. I know how
to pass quickly in order to bring us to the place where Southresh
can be found.”

“How do you know?”

“It has to do with my connection to him…so I
suppose you would also possess the same ability. But there are many
others in this place as well. Countless others. I do not know the
boundaries of this Tartarus, only how to find Southresh among the
others. And there’s no telling what we might see when we do find
him.”

I steeled my mind for what lay ahead. I was
trembling with fear, yet somehow excited by the prospect of
learning more about who I was. I was on an adventure, even if the
adventure was terrifying and deadly.

Oliver held the flame up before us. The dark
void lay beyond.

“Focus upon the flame Brody and do not allow
your attention to be drawn away from it. If we were to become
separated in here, I would have little hope of ever finding you
again.”

“What would happen to me?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

“But I do.”

“Madness.”

Dolls marched through the streets like an
army now. Tom watched from a cathedral bell tower as Breed warriors
acted as generals leading their troops into battle against the
remaining citizens of London. The dolls appeared in human form, but
they were taking over. Abductions were taking place in broad
daylight without any reservations whatsoever.

It wasn’t the toll on human freedom that
really bothered Tom. He’d been a part of this grand scheme not many
days ago. It was still considered a triumph among most Descendants
of the Fallen. Very few had pity for the mortals losing control of
the crown jewel of their vast empire.

These things rightfully belonged to those
with more power. At least that was the consensus among the Fae.
Envy of the kind of love they had never known, the kind of
favoritism they had only glimpsed from afar, had finally stirred
them to action. Take what we want from the mortals. Claim our
heritage.

These were the rallying cries used by
Sinister and Black to control the Descendants of the Fallen. And,
fueled by centuries of frustration, they eagerly took to the cause,
giving overwhelming support to Black’s plan for an overthrow of
humanity. First one city, then another. Like dominos they were
going to fall, until the entire world bowed at their feet.

Tom still didn’t have much problem with the
idea of taking over. He just couldn’t stomach it any longer under
Black’s thumb. Even sacrificing all that he had worked for was
worth it in order to defy the angel.

He looked out over London as darkness washed
over the city. The cries of mortals resounded from every direction.
By tomorrow, Black would have total control. From here he would
begin to move on to other cities, one by one, until they all fell
before him.

I held tight to Oliver’s hand as the wind
picked up around us. We were moving forward, then up and back, then
forward again. With the void around us, only the wind’s effect on
the little flame testified to what direction we were traveling
through Tartarus.

I heard howling, crying, even wailing as we
passed through the darkness. Each pocket of sound passed quickly.
Images also began shortly thereafter—scenes strange and
horrifying.

One passed showing two men thrusting each
other through with swords, neither willing to give up the fight as
their lifeblood mingled upon the ground around them. Another
replayed grisly scenes of children dashed against the stones of an
ancient city while conquering soldiers tore through on their way to
certain victory. An angel with tattered filthy wings hung himself
by the neck over and over again in a maddening display.

All of these passed and were gone. I wanted
to ask Oliver about each one, but I feared any disturbance might
break his concentration, sending us spiraling into the same
oblivion these creatures now inhabited. My eyes found each horrible
scene in turn, and I realized these must be pockets of space or
time where these angels existed—imprisoned without walls, but
imprisoned all the same.

Blood and guts, the destruction of children,
and amoral acts of every imaginable kind passed in seconds. Oliver
advised me to close my eyes, and I did. How terrible a place, I
thought.

“These beings generate what you’re seeing,”
Oliver said. “Many of these atrocities were in their hearts and
minds before man ever committed them. They’re devils.”

“I understand,” I said, trying to keep the
images from my mind.

“Be sure that you do,” he said. “Remember
this when we are with Southresh. What you will see is not real,
though it will seem very much to be. It is only expression—his mind
playing out around us. Madness.”

I could not tell how long we traveled,
though it did not seem long. Then we veered toward a particular
scene playing out in the void. I assumed it must be where Southresh
dwelt in this prison, and I was right.

Oliver and I were then standing among a
ruined city. Fires still burned among the hollowed buildings, their
remains scattered as drifts of debris. Bodies lay here and there in
various states of mutilation—their putrefaction a stench in our
nostrils.

The centerpiece of the city was a massive
cathedral towering over everything. A noise caught my ear. I turned
toward my left shoulder and found one of the dead bodies standing
next to me, staring with gray eyes, blood and puss pouring between
rotted teeth as it smiled at me. I screamed, leaping away.

Oliver caught me by the arm. “No, don’t fear
it,” he said. “Remember?”

I tried to calm down my breathing. The
zombie cackled at me, reaching with grasping hands.

“It’s not real,” I whispered.

The creature lunged at me unexpectedly.

I screamed again, but this time my effort
became more than auditory. The zombie burst into flame, screeching
and writhing in the inferno my mind had foisted upon him. He became
ash in seconds, the bones falling disjointed into a loose pile. The
steaming skull stared up at us, and the cackling began again.

Oliver gave a sigh next to me, having now
let go of my arm.

“Sorry,” I said. “But he started it.”

Oliver simply stared at me.

“I know, I know. None of this is real.”

“Well, then,” he said. “Perhaps we should be
on our way?”

“After you,” I gestured toward the cathedral
dominating the landscape.

The zombie’s skull cackled on as we walked
away.

Priests of some kind, wearing crimson robes
with black sashes, were lined up waiting to enter the cathedral
when we approached. To my surprise, each of them bore some gruesome
instrument of torture in their hands. These they caressed like
infants, touching the sharp points and razor edges delicately lest
they do them some damage, instead of the other way around.

Oliver walked past them, barely seeming to
notice the priests. I gave them a wider berth, still fearing,
despite myself, that they might pack more reality to them than
Oliver said they possessed. He paused at the door, holding it open
for me, sighing again and shaking his head as he realized what I
was doing.

I nodded and passed through ahead of him,
but waited on the other side, wanting to be sure we didn’t end up
separated somehow. He came through after me and led the way beyond
the vestibule into the cathedral itself. The priests’ attention
never wandered from their instruments of cruelty to us.

Oliver called back for me to prepare myself
before entering. The warning was heeded again. However, I could
never have hoped to brace myself sufficiently for what awaited us
inside.

The inner sanctum of the cathedral was just
as massive as I might have expected from viewing the exterior.
However, there was no reverent worship within. No songs of joy and
happiness rising high to the rafters to lift the spirit. This was
Southresh’s cathedral of pain.

Now I saw for what purpose these phantom
priests waited to enter. Now I saw why they caressed their
individual instruments of cruelty. They had come to worship an
altogether different entity. And over them all the mad god presided
as prophet and priest and king.

Countless priests had shed their robes,
baring gray flesh without shame. Each of them now offered their
tribute of pain unto the mad god. Their blood mingled upon the
floor as they tore themselves over and over again, utilizing their
tools for ghastly, unspeakable purposes, defiling their bodies in
such horrifying fashion that I thought I might vomit at any
moment.

A cacophonous chorus of woe resounded
throughout the vast expanse of the cathedral, echoing over and over
again from its stained glass and stone walls. I started to shut my
eyes to the grisly scene, but Oliver stopped my hands.

His glare warned me not to allow my horror
to show. We were here for a purpose. Any weakness on my part would
be exploited by Southresh in order to enslave my spirit and destroy
my mind.

“Become stone,” Oliver warned, then he
turned to the center of the sanctuary.

Presiding over this malicious display of
misery was the fallen angel we had journeyed to see. Southresh
stood upon a pedestal of marble that had long ago been stained
again and again by blood. He was, to my surprise, completely naked.
His features were similarly gray like the priests. His physique was
that of Adonis, beauty personified. Yet the soiled wings upon his
back seemed to testify to Southresh’s true nature as that of
perfection ruined and glory torn asunder.

I immediately recalled the scriptures
pertaining to Lucifer himself as being perfect in wisdom and beauty
until iniquity was found in him. Like the one who had led their
rebellion against the Almighty, Southresh had been tarnished and
undone before God by his heinous crimes. And in his separation from
the glorious abode of his creation, this angel had become twisted
and vile, contemptible to his very core.

My revulsion turned inward. Was this what I
was? Had this creature sired me, and could I possibly be more than
he had become? Was I nothing more than a devil dressed in human
flesh? I stood there gaping, paying no more heed to the horrors
around me. My spirit was sinking into the abyss of this
realization.

Oliver must have noticed and understood what
was happening. Perhaps, my thoughts were simply broadcast to him
without my thinking about it. Whatever the case, he took action,
turning on me suddenly, slapping me so hard across my face that I
tasted blood.

“Attend to me!” Oliver shouted.

I’m not sure what that was supposed to mean,
exactly, but it had the effect of getting my attention off of
myself and back to the situation at hand.

“Well done,” Southresh observed from his
pedestal, clapping delightedly.

Oliver glared at me a moment longer, warning
me, then turned back to the fallen angel again.

“Mighty Southresh, I have brought you my
report from London,” Oliver said.

“Who is this that you have brought to me,”
Southresh asked, ignoring Oliver’s introduction.

“This is my new apprentice, my lord,” Oliver
said, giving away nothing by emotion.

Southresh stared at me for a moment. A
wicked grin played upon his lips. “An apprentice?” he said. “How
delightful.” There was a pause before he continued. “You mentioned
a report, Oliver?”

Oliver began to spell out the details of the
conflict between his very few allies and the considerable forces of
Black. Never did Southresh’s eyes leave my face. So penetrating was
his stare that I thought I might be swallowed up by it at any
moment.

Midway through the report, the angel
interrupted him. “And what has been the role of your apprentice
during this conflict in London?” he asked.

Oliver paused, considering the question. He
didn’t seem sure that he should answer. But what else could he
do?

“The boy is still learning, my lord,” Oliver
said, dismissing the possibility that I possessed any real measure
of power. “Desperate measures for desperate times, I’m afraid.”

Southresh cackled hysterically then. “What a
liar,” he bellowed. “You surely are my son, Oliver.”

Then he quickly turned his attention back to
me. “You look like your mother,” Southresh said more
delicately.

“You knew my—?” I realized too late not to
react to him.

Southresh cackled again. “Did you think,
Oliver, that I would not recognize my own seed?”

“My lord?”

“Yes, boy,” he continued to me, “I knew your
mother quite well. Knew her all night long, while she supposed her
husband was there with her.”

“You tricked her!” I screamed, losing my
patience completely with this game.

“Then I watched her wither to skin and bones
by the time you were born,” Southresh said. “You were the one who
killed her coming into the world, boy! You killed your own mother
with your birth!”

“Liar!” I screamed in response, knowing too
well that I was passing the point of no return in this
situation.