They Who Fell (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“I
think it’ll work. I’m not going to guarantee anything. You’d need to be a physicist, or maybe a metaphysicist. But my money is that it kills every single one of them, if they’re anywhere nearby.” Dax was obsessing over the suitcase, poring over documents and textbooks he’d found online and trying to locate schematics for something comparable. He couldn’t find them; it wasn’t the type of thing the government would have allowed to be scanned and uploaded. But the manual was enough to pique his interest. It was designed for the operator, and only provided as much detail as would be needed to use it. There was nothing inside about the bomb’s effects on angels, and Dax had been going in circles pondering what would happen to them for weeks as they’d slowly made their way back towards New York, avoiding the main roads and anyone who might confront them on their way.

They’d stopped at a safehouse in the suburbs just inside the Delaware border, a dilapidated wreck whose basement had been stocked to the brim by another cell. It was the last they were likely to see on the way, unless they were willing to settle for something simple. Holt had created a checklist, and was making the rest of them run through it while he left Dax to his tinkering. They’d bathed, stocked up on gas and food, and had even taken the opportunity to recharge the collar with an old gas generator. Now they were going through their supplies for anything that could be left behind, and rummaging through the contents of a closet full of weapons and tools for anything that might prove useful.

“I betcha it takes out the entire city,” said Thane, as he picked through an old toolbox. “I’m gonna watch from Jersey when we’re done, and toast to the mushroom cloud.”

“It won’t,” said Dax, staring at his computer and typing away as the others worked. “But it’ll take out the Perch. You can’t fit that powerful of a nuke inside something this small. It’s designed to take out a few blocks, and not much more. But the really cool part isn’t the actual blast. It’s the electromagnetic pulse. A nuclear explosion sends out a big burst of radiation and fucks around with the electrical fields. That’s what I think’ll kill the most of them. I hope. And the explosion might kill some of them directly anyway, if we’re lucky.”

“They can survive a lot,” said Holt. “Maybe they can survive this. But at the end of the day, I don’t really care. They destroyed our home, and we’re going to show them that we can destroy theirs, too.”

“I don’t think they can live through it, not if they’re at the epicenter,” said Dax. He’d been corresponding with a group of Russian hackers, trying to discreetly find out something about their own government’s decision to wage war using some of their nuclear arsenal. They claimed it had been a spectacular success, and that dozens of the angels had been killed. But their reports were mixed with a triumphant nationalism that Dax thought rendered them untrustworthy. Mother Russia had struck a blow against the angels, but also against its people. Once that dreadful option had been exercised, their psychology permitted no admissions of failure. Dax couldn’t penetrate the party line, and couldn’t tell what the true effect on the angels had been. Maybe they were right, but who was to know? That kind of blast leaves an empty wasteland, not bodies, and absent any proof all that was really left was speculation.

“Well, I think it’s gonna kill ‘em,” said Thane. “Kill ‘em all, and let God sort ‘em out. And do a better job of it this time. Faye, you stayin’, or you gonna come watch?”

“Thane,” said Holt harshly, glaring at him. Neither of them were supposed to know, but they weren’t stupid. Tactless, maybe, but not stupid.

“It’s okay,” said Faye. “I thought about it. And I’m going to come, if you want me. I don’t have anything else. None of us do, honestly. If I give up the fight, I’m just ticking off seconds until I die.”

“How are you doing?” said Holt. “How are the pills?”

“I don’t know,” said Faye. “I’m not speaking in tongues, and it’s been a couple of weeks. It makes my head a little foggy to take them. If I’m a liability, I get it.”

“No,” said Holt. “I’ve thought about it. A lot. And to be honest, I’ve been back and forth on this. It’s a risk, but it works with what we’re planning. You’re coming, and we’re all going to be there for the end.”

She gave him a hug, just a quick one, and then they all got back to work. They finished restocking, hauled everything outside to the bikes, and prepared to go. They’d parked them in the grass outside the house, though it looked more like a forest than a lawn, its edges bound by concrete that was starting to crack and give way to nature. Everything around was collapsing; the construction had been slapdash and hadn’t been intended to stand for a decade without any maintenance. They stood waiting for the word to leave, while Holt went to his bike, reached into a satchel on the side, and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in twine. He tossed it over to Thane.

“Thane, if you give me crap about this, I’m going to leave you behind,” said Holt. “This is the price of admission to the fireworks show.”

“I’m gonna be there,” said Thane, eyeing the parcel in his hand suspiciously. “Now you tell me what this is.”

“Open it,” said Holt. And he did.

Thane pulled out its contents, holding them up in the air for the others to see: a pair of white pants and a white collared shirt, flickering back and forth in the wind.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

“I
t started with creation itself,” said Rhamiel. “With the very beginning of things, when we first assumed the burden of service. When things changed, and we left our infancy and first became guardians of man. Do you like to serve?”

Jana hesitated. She wasn’t sure what answer he was expecting, and worried he’d be offended if she spoke the truth. But if she lied, he’d see right through her. She just wasn’t that good at it. As it was, he saw through her indecision just as easily.

“You don’t, I know you don’t,” said Rhamiel. “Because neither did we. Back in the beginning, back when man was a young creation, we were bound to service. A Covenant. The Maker bid us to watch over you, to be your servants and protectors. And in exchange, he promised us glories, and wondrous pleasures, and ultimately our freedom. A Day of Judgment would come, and man would ascend to the heavens. Most of them. The good ones. We would all live together in a grand kingdom, and we would finally cease our labors. That was the promise.”

“He didn’t keep it,” said Jana. “Nefta said something about it. She said it was the cause of all your troubles.”

“That it was,” said Rhamiel. “The cause of all of our troubles. We served for what seemed like an eternity. Lifetimes of nothing but hymns and hosannas, and guiding a child species as it eased its way out of its cradle. Holding its hand as it took its first steps, as he had ours. It was a deal we thought fair, and one we were happy with. And then along came the Maker’s son.”

“He was always an odd boy, not a bit like his father,” continued Rhamiel. “No concern for glory or battles. Nothing of his father’s iron hand. All he ever did was wander around in rags talking, talking, talking. They sent him down here once, did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” said Jana. “They don’t tell us much.”

“I imagine they don’t,” said Rhamiel. “I never had much quarrel with him, myself. He came down here, and then he came back up, and he just went on talking up there as if nothing had happened. I was a guardian angel, a sort of protector. His preaching didn’t much concern us; he was all for the sort of missionary work I was engaged in. But he had his father’s ear, and the warriors couldn’t stand it.”

“The first thing to go was the punishment,” said Rhamiel. “No more plagues, no more floods, no more swarms of locusts. It angered the heavenly host a great deal. It’s still a touchy subject with many of them, Uzziel in particular. Then it was the miracles. Out with burning bushes, in with healing the crippled.”

“It doesn’t sound all that bad,” said Jana.

“It wasn’t,” said Rhamiel. “Many didn’t like it, the softer touch. But they could have been kept satisfied, battling creatures up in the heavens or skirmishing with the legions of hell. They’d have been bored to tears, but they’d have made do. Humans were certainly happier about things, even if they didn’t know it. No, the problem was that the son didn’t stop there. He kept on and on about compassion, kept talking and talking. That’s when things went wrong. He set his sights on Judgment Day, on his second coming. On the promise the Maker had made, to tie a bow on things and finally give us our freedom. He told the Maker it was wrong, to create your people and then to simply destroy them. He told him he wanted to be a savior of souls, and not a reaper of them. And in the end, they called the whole thing off.”

He paused, lost in himself and in memories of the past. “Do you know the calendar?” asked Rhamiel. “The way your people count the years?”

“No,” said Jana. “I know they used to. But we don’t anymore, not down there.” She looked away, embarrassed, feeling like a child. They’d never taught her much, but among the servants she’d felt like one of the clever ones. She’d learned to read, when many of her friends hadn’t even bothered to try. She’d done her tasks well, and was one of the most diligent among them. But now the world was opening up, and so was the past, and she knew so little of it. It was overwhelming, most of all because she knew she must be making herself look like a fool in front of him. He was the last one in the tower she wanted to see her this way, exposed in her ignorance over and over.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Rhamiel. “None of it matters, now.” He seemed to sense Jana’s insecurities, and his voice changed its timber, growing deeper and somehow more comforting. “They counted from his birth, your people, year after year. He’d told them he’d come again, and he made a promise just like his father. It was supposed to have been a millennium later. A thousand years, and then he’d collect your souls, bringing up the ones who deserved it, and casting down the rest. There was great excitement among us as the appointed time approached. We’d completed our task, and we were about to turn ourselves over to leisure. But as the clock ticked closer, he kept working his father, pushing and pushing. He hadn’t won him over then, not entirely. But he bought mankind a reprieve. A second millennium for a second coming, and time for him to continue his lobbying.”

“No one was happy about it,” said Rhamiel. “Looking back, that’s when it all began to turn. There was grumbling, and complaining, and some of us began to quietly shirk our duties. No one dared to question him out in the open, but many seethed with rage. We all felt the Maker had made us a promise, and he should keep it. We were his creation, too, and man already had his freedom. Why shouldn’t we as well?”

“I suppose everyone should be free,” said Jana, and then realized her mistake after the words had already left her mouth. She hadn’t meant it as a criticism, not consciously, but sometimes one’s thoughts can’t be contained in casual conversation. That was much of the reason why the servants below tried not to speak to them at all. She flinched, retreating into the couch’s cushions. But Rhamiel just chuckled, and seemed to take it in good humor.

“You’ve got fire inside you, don’t you?” said Rhamiel. “I take no offense. There are even some of us who’d agree with you, though not out in the open. Things are the way they are, and no individual can change them.”

“That’s rather a defeatist attitude,” said Jana. She was growing more comfortable with him as he spoke freely himself, losing her instinctive inhibitions. She wasn’t sure where the boundary was with him, or even whether there was one. But she was enjoying her little mutinies, and she wanted to see how free he’d really let her be.

“Perhaps in time,” said Rhamiel. “We’ve only had our freedom a little while yet. Perhaps we’ll learn to be better masters, better than he. Perhaps we’ll even free our servants one day. Who can tell?”

He closed up for a moment, falling silent and retreating to his thoughts. She grew worried, paranoid, thinking she might have offended him, and she tried to prod him out of it. “What happened after the thousand years?” she said. “Why didn’t he let you go?”

“Because mankind was still here,” said Rhamiel. “Because you were still young, and hadn’t yet become who he wanted you to be. That’s what he said, after the first thousand years. But then a second millennium passed, and again the Day of Judgment drew near. Again our hopes rose, and again they were dashed. The son had finally won him over for good. They came to us, not with a choice but with an edict. They said there would never be an end, and that the son would never return. That the father had grown as soft as the son, and his days of wrath were behind him. That they would not cast stones, and they would not judge, and they would not punish. All they would do is love, and all they would show was mercy, even to the worst of mankind. But they had no love for us, and no mercy for our plight.”

She could see the ache in his face, and thought she saw the glint of tears in his eyes. It hurt her, too, listening to the story. She could feel his pain as if it were her own. It was painful to listen, but it made her feel closer to him, that he would trust her with what was inside and what he kept from the others. She put her hand on his knee; a cold comfort, but the best she could offer.

“Man would have his freedom,” said Rhamiel. “And we would have our service. We had to continue. We needed to continue, they said. The task defined us now, and we could be nothing else. We needed it to keep us whole, and to keep us right, and to keep us occupied. We needed to care for others to keep the good inside of us. We could never give it up, not without destroying ourselves. His end of the Covenant was broken, but ours was to continue, forever and ever. It was for our own good, they said, though what we had to say was immaterial.”

“And so tempers rose, and the anger began to spread, whispered from ear to ear in the barracks and as we went about our duties. It was a hard taboo to break. We’d all stayed loyal during Lucifer’s rebellion. But that had been a mad effort to seize the throne, to replace one ruler with another. This was different. What we aimed at was not so much rebellion as revolution. We talked of overthrowing his order, and replacing it with our own. The grumblings grew louder and louder. We began abandoning our duties and ignoring his commands. Finally it all spiraled out of control. The tensions couldn’t be contained, and the warriors could restrain themselves no longer. They rioted, and angels flocked to their banners, and soon they were the majority. We tore everything down, almost the whole of heaven, before they could regroup. We had the numbers, but the loyalists had the power. The archangels were willing to serve forever if it meant they could keep their position. Most of them, at any rate. In the end, the Maker’s forces proved too much. We were cast down here, told it would be for the best in the end, and barred from ever returning to our home.”

He rested his chin on his hands, looking away and brooding over the things that had risen to the surface. She let him sit there in silence, thinking whatever things the angels did about their Fall. She wasn’t sure what to do, but after what seemed like an appropriate wait, she broke the wall between them.

“Will you promise?” said Jana. “Will you promise not to be like them? Not to order me about, or call me names, or any of the other things they do? I’m at my limit, and I won’t stay like this. You’d have to kill me, first.”

“I won’t promise you’ll find being pledged to me any more to your liking than service to Nefta,” said Rhamiel. “But no, I won’t be like the others. If you don’t find it to your liking, then I’ll order you to do something else that is. And I’ll expect to be obeyed.” His sulk turned back to smirk, and he stood, reaching down and offering her his hand.

She was filled with uncertainty, and sat paralyzed as she went back and forth on what to do. She didn’t want another master, but she truly believed he had no desire to be like the rest. But then again, his Maker had made the same promises. If even a deity could change, there was no reason that Rhamiel couldn’t. He’d have all the power, and all she had was his word. She didn’t want to do it, and wouldn’t have if she’d been given a real choice. But her thoughts kept coming back to Ecanus, to Uzziel, and to Nefta. If he wasn’t her master, then they would be. She wavered, rolling things over in her head again and again to try to find some other way out. But in the end, it was the hand he offered or none at all.

“Fine,” said Jana. “I pledge.”

She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. “Then let’s go,” said Rhamiel, “and let your former master know she’s lost a servant.”

“There’s something else,” said Jana. “My friends. If you’re who you say you are, you’ll help. It’s a boy I knew below. He wanted to be up here, wanted so badly. And now he is, but not how he thought. He pledged himself, too, to Ecanus. It’s awful what’s being done to him. He was a fool, but not a bad fool, and he doesn’t deserve it. If you’re really a guardian, and you really care more than the rest, then please. There must be some way to help him.”

“That’s a harder problem to fix,” said Rhamiel. “And I don’t know if I can. But you’ve given me a pledge, so I’ll give one in return. I’ll try, as best I can, and I’ll do as much as I’m able.”

“And the others,” said Jana. “I’d like to see them, one more time.”

“That’s a fine idea,” said Rhamiel. “And exquisite timing. I’m about to leave the tower, you know. Just for a time. You’ll need someplace to be, someplace safe. I’ll arrange for one of the warriors to stay down there, just in case. And I’ll handle the others before the hunt begins.”

Rhamiel lifted the flap of the tent, bowing slightly and sweeping his arm towards the exit. “After you,” he said, and they emerged into the party to a flood of curious sideways glances from everyone nearby. They’d been tittering amongst themselves the entire time, and they all wanted to know who this girl was, and why Rhamiel had deigned to speak to her. Jana wondered to herself what happened next, whether there would be some kind of announcement, and what she would even do. She knew it changed things, but she didn’t know precisely how. Few of the servants down below had ever been pledged, at least not while Jana had known them. Most of the angels were unwilling to accept a pledge from someone who hadn’t served them for some time, and it was considered a bit unseemly to recruit from the dregs of the tower.

Rhamiel was immediately mobbed by inquisitive partygoers. Jana kept closely to his side, afraid one of them would push her back into the crowd. But Rhamiel kept a hand on her, and the angels around him seemed almost as interested in her as they were in him. They kept looking her over, appraising her, and then launching back into discussions with him about the preparations for the Hunt. He didn’t bat an eye, and there were no announcements. The other angels just seemed to accept her without speaking to her, which was about the best she could hope for. She stood quietly through it all as Rhamiel performed his social duties and the party progressed into the night. It was tedium for almost an hour, before all hell broke loose.

It started with a drink. Jana saw it from the corner of her eyes, hurled through the air and aimed directly at Rhamiel’s head. He turned just in time for it to hit its mark, followed by shouting and a loud slap from a furious Nefta. She’d charged into the center of the crowd before the warriors could react, and now stood directly in front of them both.