They Who Fell (3 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

“I
got him. I got him.” Thane’s voice came through, and Holt soon saw him from the window, down in the street and sprinting towards the location of the crash. He was carrying a fair amount of gear on his back, but he was making good time. It all came down to a race—Thane’s legs against the downed angel’s groggy senses.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” radioed Faye. “Definitely a he. And looks like he’s completely out. He’s still burning, nice and toasty.”

“Got it. Keep us posted,” replied Holt. He picked up a pair of binoculars, and focused in on the spot that Dax was already excitedly monitoring. It was hazy with smoke, but the outline of the angel was clear. The wings were the giveaway. Sprawling around their bearer, they stretched across the pavement and wobbled from side to side with the wind. Hopefully it was the wind. If the angel was recovering already, then Thane was lost, and it was time to begin a strategic retreat.

Thane ran, breathing heavily and dodging debris and abandoned cars as he went. He was getting closer, and this was the moment of truth. He could see the body twitching in the distance, just a few dozen yards away. He hesitated, but just for a second. There was never any real doubt about what he would do. He muttered a “fuck it” under his breath and turned his trot into a charge. He closed the distance quickly, ripping off his backpack as he reached the side of his target.

First things first. Thane pulled out a taser, unloading it into the angel’s neck. The angel convulsed, his arms jumping, but didn’t make any noise. He was still unconscious, and it was hard for Thane to tell the scope of the injuries, if any. The angel wore elaborately decorated ceremonial armor, forged from gold, which the blast had dented in places and melted in others. They’d at least have the satisfaction of ruining him socially, whatever else happened. His neck and face were dotted with burns, but that didn’t really mean anything. Odds were those came from the Fall. Thane had seen angels get injured before, and some were weaker than others. It took a lot, and a single missile wasn’t likely to do the trick. But they’d planned for that, and the missile was just their opening salvo.

He ripped open his backpack and pulled out the collar. The world’s militaries hadn’t put up much resistance, other than a few one-sided battles that were mostly for show. But even after the armed forces of every country had been scattered, they kept trying, and someone among their remnants had come up with this. They called it a collar, but it looked more like a heavy neck brace. Around its base was a row of thick, boxy batteries that had been adapted from their original industrial purpose. The interior was lined with a highly conductive metal, circling around the inside to connect with as much skin as possible. Snap it on and deliver the charge, and you could actually kill one of them. It wasn’t that you could call angels vulnerable to electricity, exactly. They could endure a lot of it, at levels that would be fatal to any human. It was more that they simply didn’t seem to be affected all that much by anything else. Everyone had heard stories about people who claimed to have seen a kill through other means—with grenades, with bombs, and even a tale that was circulating about a man who’d lured one into a bunker filled with dynamite. The stories were secondhand, and probably consisted mostly of exaggeration. But the collar worked, if you could get it on one of them. The stories all agreed on that.

The air whistled nearby, and Thane heard a small thump next to him from the angel. Faye had taken a shot, not that it would help much.

“He moved, Thane. You’ve got to go faster. I can’t keep him down for long.” Another whistle, and the angel’s head was knocked violently to the side. She could continue pumping bullets into him, but it wouldn’t keep him down. Eventually he’d wake, and he’d tear everything in the area apart.

“Hold your fire a sec,” radioed Thane. It’d be a shame to get this close just to get killed in the crossfire. He opened the collar, lunging towards the angel and snapping it around his neck. The angel’s eyes flashed open. He thrashed about wildly, tossing Thane to the side as he gripped at his own throat. He’d recovered too soon. The collar was on, but it wasn’t active. A second later and the deed would have been done, electricity coursing through the angel’s body and sending him to wherever angels went when their lives were finally finished. Thane staggered to his feet, as the angel whipped its wings wildly through the air and tried to remove the thing now fastened around him.

Thane pondered his situation. There weren’t any good choices. Run, and he’d be cut down as a coward. Fight, and he’d be cut down as a fool. Then a series of whistles, a series of thumps, and the angel went down again. Faye was firing in quick succession, scoring hit after mostly useless hit. But knocking him down had given Thane the opening. He leapt forward, slamming his hand against a prominent button on the front of the collar. The angel jerked, as Thane pushed himself backward. Contact with the collar was one thing, but once it was running even a brush against the angel’s armor was likely to extend the electricity’s circuit to Thane himself.

The angel went into a series of spasms, his limbs jerking around uncontrollably. He started making noises, a combination of moans and gurgles. Supposedly they had liked to sing, before they fell. But this was no heavenly choir. Just a low, guttural death rattle, as the collar emptied the current from its batteries directly into the angel’s neck. Smoke sizzled from his sides, and after a few more seconds it was all over. Thane had actually done it. The angel was tagged and bagged, and he became one of the few humans since the Fall to do in one of their tormentors.

“It worked,” said Holt, watching from above. “Can’t believe the damned thing worked.”

“People say it’s how God fought them,” said Dax. “That he was sitting up in the clouds, hurling lightning bolts at them before he cast them down here. It’s all silly speculation from old stories, but it inspired people to test it out. Good thing, too, or we’d be defenseless. And I can get more of them. People are selling them online. I’ve even got the plans, if we could get all the parts.” He pulled up a set of schematics on his laptop. It was Greek to Holt, but it looked impressive.

Holt picked up his walkie-talkie, interrupting the whoops and cheers of celebration that had erupted over the airwaves from both Thane and Faye. “Faye. Come on down. Time for us to grab our shit and get moving.”

“Okay,” said Faye. “It’s getting disgusting up here, anyway. Be there in five.”

Thane kicked the angel with the toe of his boot, testing him for signs of life. There weren’t any, but you couldn’t be too careful. He pulled the collar off the body, repacking it. The batteries were done, but they could be recharged, and it wasn’t wise to waste things you weren’t sure you could replace. He grabbed the angel by the arms and rolled him over, avoiding the heat of the smoldering armor. Bingo. A sword hilt, poking out of a small scabbard on the angel’s belt. He tapped the grip a few times with his fingers. It was cool enough, so he grabbed it and pulled.

Fire erupted from the scabbard, and Thane held the sword aloft, marveling at the thing in his hands. The legend was that this was what had been used to bar the gates to the Garden of Eden. Maybe the place did exist, and maybe some lonely angel still stood there in an eternal vigil, not knowing the chaos that had engulfed the world around him. Stranger things had happened. The swords were definitely real, and a familiar instrument of terror. The angels favored them as a weapon, and had cut down countless millions with them. The fire flickered, its tongues reaching out into the air. It was considerably longer than the scabbard, and although it moved, it stayed mostly the same shape.

“Wow. That is one impressive toy.” Thane turned at Faye’s voice. She looked tired from her time alone in the sniper’s nest, running on fumes and excitement. Her long, auburn hair was tucked into a ponytail, and a rifle was strapped to her back. She’d made it down, and was eager to inspect their handiwork.

If you’d met Faye Walker before the Fall, she’d be unrecognizable now. She was an office peon then, pushing papers around a human resources department and giving a large corporation cover against accusations of wrongdoing in their hiring and firing. But she’d spent a few years in the camps afterwards. The camps had been a desperation move, a last-ditch effort of a failing government to put up some kind of resistance. A hastily formed system designed to train ordinary citizens and organize them into militias, the camps had suffered from no shortage of recruits. She’d learned to shoot there, and had developed something of an eagle eye. But groups of people made attractive targets, and they were easily betrayed by anyone looking to join the Vichies on favorable terms. They’d ultimately all been forced to disperse, and she’d operated in a series of smaller cells ever since.

“Like it? I’m gonna slice open another one of ‘em with it. Gut him and start mounting heads in a den someplace.” Thane practiced a slash through the air, testing it. There was no weight at all, and it felt like he was waving an empty hand.

“Sheath that thing before you lose an arm,” said Faye. “You’ve seen what they can do.”

“Fine. Already got my kill for the day, anyway.” Bravado aside, Thane was exceedingly careful as he eased the sword back into the scabbard before unbuckling it from the angel’s corpse.

“Our kill,” said Faye. “You just took care of the reckless part. I’m the one who had to piss in a bottle for two days to make sure you had cover.” The role of sniper could be an unpleasant one. The best vantage point might not be the most comfortable one, and you had to be careful how often you moved if you didn’t want to get spotted yourself.

Their walkie-talkies screeched in unison with an order from Holt. “Fight over who gets credit later. Get your shit ready and let’s get underground.”

Faye approached the corpse, giving it a final look. She could still see where there’d been beauty in him, once, but his injuries had mangled him into something else. She’d never seen one up close before. A few times she’d seen them in the distance, soaring above her in the skies. She’d either hid or ran, and hadn’t stuck around to see what sort of twisted errands they’d left their nesting place for. She had more courage now than then, but it was still an unsettling sight. She’d grown up before the Fall, raised with stories of angels as loving protectors. The thing before her was a disfigured perversion of her childhood fantasies, turned from guardian into a mad butcher of its own charges.

“Rha-karah,” said Faye, almost under her breath.

“You know this guy?” asked Thane.

“Rha-karah shatah-nah,” said Faye.

“I never bothered with their names,” said Thane. “Don’t care what they’re called. Don’t need to know to kill ‘em.”

Then Faye just started spewing words. It was as if a dam had broken, and the trickle turned into a flood of incomprehensible verbiage. “Parah nurah shatarah nurah, shata bahka.” The words burst out of her uncontrollably and without any breaks. Her face bore a look of complete panic. Her arms hung by her sides limply, as her mouth kept spouting the stream of nonsense. Thane met her eyes, seeing only terror. Then he looked up, and felt it himself.

CHAPTER SIX

“W
hat do they want?” asked Jana, as she walked alongside the woman. The two continued the upward slog along a central ramp that spiraled around the interior to the upper levels of the tower. The angels rarely used it, preferring to take to the air. But they’d made compromises in designing the place to ensure that one could make their way around on foot as well. They didn’t bother to make things easy, and it was a long, circuitous route to the top. Without it, though, the angels would be carrying their own supplies to their own chambers, and they hadn’t had much taste for labor since the Fall.

“That’s a question for one of them,” the woman responded, and continued on in silence. She was middle-aged, with strands of her still-black hair drifting out from underneath the hood of a drab grey cloak. Snippets of purple poked out from underneath at the sleeves and the neck, signals of status that she’d chosen to mask while traveling through the lower levels of the tower.

They were nearing the middle of the structure. Common areas and common servants were housed near the bottom, to keep the riff raff away from anything or anyone important. A few stories higher up, and you started to see the functional rooms that the angels themselves sometimes had cause to visit—armories, workspaces, and assorted recreational areas. A few of the angels were housed here as well, but only the lowest among them. The angels were all about caste, and arranged themselves according to complicated hierarchies denoting their relative status. Jana had never been able to keep track of it all, and hadn’t needed to. Humans were at the bottom, and were expected to show similar deference to every one of them. In the event the angels quarreled amongst themselves, the prudent thing to do was to simply wait quietly and see who won.

“I’ve never been this high up,” said Jana softly, more to herself than anything. The angels had organized their servants according to hierarchies as well. Those outside the tower had the least protection and were considered mercenaries, agents of convenience who were only as valuable as what they could offer. They scavenged for goods the angels might want, bringing them to the tower as tribute in exchange for the promise of immunity from their masters’ darker instincts. Mostly they got it, but the angels could be fickle. Those inside the tower were treated as something closer to livestock. They were valuable enough to be preserved, but some were more important than others.

As with the angels, position was everything. Those at the bottom of the tower, such as Jana, were considered useful mostly for scut work. The angels only visited the lower levels to socialize with one another, particularly when their status was unequal. The need for all of them to come down to the servers provided a pretense to avoid bickering over whether any given angel had gained or lost position by ascending or descending to dine. In the middle of the tower was the more skilled labor. Mostly these were craftsmen, along with a few who had talents the angels considered entertaining for one reason or another. At the top lived a smaller group of personal servants, who spent their days tending to an individual angel’s every whim. Most of the servants didn’t recognize these social distinctions among themselves, as they were all treated equally dismissively. But some of the ones who lived at the top had grown to fancy themselves as superior, mimicking the angels’ disdain for those below them.

Another few levels, and they passed a series of gardens. Plants of all sorts were being cultivated, some of which didn’t look terrestrial in origin. The angels had fallen along with a random selection of materials and supplies, and perhaps some seeds had been among them. They spoke of it as a kind of memorial to someplace they remembered from home. Sometimes they’d walk through it, pensive and lost within their own heads. Other times it seemed to be used mostly for practical purposes, providing whichever fruits and vegetables happened to be the favorites of the angels living in the tower. Jana looked to the side of the ramp, catching a glimpse of a set of servants pruning flowers to sculpt them into a bizarre design she couldn’t recognize.

As they neared the top, the ramp periodically connected with hallways, lined with living quarters for angels of medium rank. Some of them were just doorways embedded in the outer walls, without any connection to the ramp or to anything else. Likely their occupants valued their privacy, and were happy to make the trade of tending to their own affairs in exchange for keeping their personal spaces totally inaccessible to the help. Jana had heard that there were similar rooms on the outside, which couldn’t even be seen unless you were already in the skies.

They walked up the ramp for almost an hour before coming to their destination. The ramp ended at the upper levels, leading into a long, dim corridor lined with imposing wooden doors. As they walked along it, Jana’s nerves began to fail. She’d heard stories about some of the things the angels had done, horrible stories. They were always told in a low whisper, and always at night. Each one had the same moral: the only safety lies in absolute deference, no questions asked. It was a peculiar way to be raised, and it had created a peculiar inner turmoil. No matter how much she might chafe at some imperious instruction, something inside her was always screaming to just smile politely and submit.

“They aren’t going to hurt me, are they?” said Jana. “Please tell me if they’re going to hurt me.” She didn’t have any options, but a cornered animal will try the inconceivable to escape. Dark thoughts flickered through her head. Maybe she could make it back to the ramp and take a final leap. The woman likely wouldn’t be able to stop her, and at least she’d be going out on her own terms. She could deny some angel the glee they’d get from whatever sadistic pleasure they might be up there planning. But then, what happened after? People’s conceptions of the afterlife were in flux. Some of the angels had made it a game to drop hints in front of the servants about what things would be like, but they were often contradictory. Sometimes they claimed the gates of heaven had been closed, never again to reopen. Others they promised salvation, but only for their most effective servants. Ecanus had once spun an elaborate tale involving gods from half a dozen unrelated religions and a giant turtle. Sam suspected this was merely their way of passing the time, and often cautioned the servants against believing too much of what they were told.

“I don’t know what they’re going to do,” said the woman. “I do know they’ll hurt you if you don’t go. So stop being a baby, grow up, and do the things you have to do.”

Jana frowned, forgetting her panic. She was hardly a baby. Her fears were real, and more than justified. She kept walking, and spent a few minutes thinking of all of the things she’d say to the woman if only she could. It was all hypothetical. Any chance of a real outburst had been drummed out of her long ago, the product of a lifetime of constant reminders that any careless remark could undo her. Before she’d settled on the most biting potential response in her fantasies, they’d arrived. They stood in front of an imposing, heavy pair of wooden double doors. Their golden handles were fancy metalwork that curled into the shape of some fantastical creature, all teeth and horns and angry eyes. The woman pulled them open and ushered Jana inside.

They entered a large, open lounge. A number of other hallways led off into other places, but this looked like the hub of their social activities. Several angels lazed around on soft velvet couches surrounded by pillows, being waited on by well-dressed attendants as they chatted with each other, drank, or simply stared off into space. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, sculpted from precious stones that had been hauled to the tower and worked to the angels’ specifications by the craftsmen below. The angels were partial to them, as diamond had been a favorite construction material where they came from. Brightly colored paper lanterns were spread around the room, on tables and on walls, and sections of the room glowed blue or green or red from the candles inside. Their colors and symbols belonged to various angelic factions, which had only multiplied since the Fall. Clubs have always been formed mostly for the aura of exclusivity they bestow on their members, and there was nothing the angels loved better than to organize themselves in ways that created envy among outsiders.

The woman led Jana forward, quietly, steering her towards one of the hallways. They were interrupted by a voice as they passed.

“Girl.”

Jana froze, paralyzed with indecision. She looked to the woman for guidance, but found none. The woman had stopped, too, but was just standing there passively. Probably she was hoping the same thing as Jana: that she wasn’t the one being called to.

“Girl. I remember you. But I didn’t catch your name.”

There wasn’t much to do now but to try to respond somehow. Jana turned to the voice—it was Rhamiel, relaxing with a friend at a nearby table. They were cordoned off from the others in one of the more exclusive areas, enjoying luxuries that befitted their place at the top of the pecking order. He was staring at her again with those eyes, and it still made Jana uncomfortable. She looked down at the floor. Peter could have been right. Maybe Rhamiel was interested. Some of them seemed as asexual as in the old legends from before the Fall, but others clearly had appetites. Rhamiel’s intentions could be anything, and Jana wasn’t sure she could fend him off even if she wanted to. And she wasn’t entirely sure if she did. There were worse ones who could have taken a liking to her. Certainly worse looking ones.

“I’m Jana,” she said, still keeping her eyes locked on the ground in front of her.

“Jana,” said Rhamiel. “It’s a passable name. Inoffensive, and won’t get you killed at least. I couldn’t count the number of ‘Michaels’ who’ve been put down thanks to their uncreative parents.”

Jana stood silently, trying to think through her choices. The conversation didn’t call for a response, explicitly, but he could be expecting one. Silence was safest.

“Welcome to high society, Jana,” Rhamiel continued. “You don’t look like you belong down there, anyhow. Wallowing around in the muck, cleaning grime from plates and rooting around in the leftovers for missing fingers. Come. Sit with us. We’ll show you the ropes, and you can entertain us in return. It’s tedious up here at times. Someone new would liven up the place.” He was smiling now, welcoming, and looked almost friendly.

Jana turned to the woman again, trying to make eye contact and to get some hint as to what to do. But she was studiously ignoring the entire conversation. For a few moments, Jana couldn’t decide. Part of her was fascinated, and even wanted to join them. The angels could all be dangerous, but Rhamiel oozed confidence and charm. She’d often wondered what their lives were like up here, and what it would be like to be one of them. She’d never had so much as a kiss, and now here was one of the tower’s most well-known residents talking to her. Maybe even flirting with her, if she was reading things right. It was flattering, even if Jana herself found it all somewhat inexplicable.

In the end, she decided to sit. There really wasn’t any other choice.

“You’ve got a little rebellion in you. We like that,” said Rhamiel, smirking at the woman who had escorted her up. “Have you met Zuphias? He used to run around inducing miracles before things became unpleasant. I can’t tell you how many pieces of toast bore the image of the Maker’s son because of him.”

Jana believed him, but just for a second. Zuphias must have seen it in her face, because he jumped in quickly. Rhamiel may just have been teasing her, but Zuphias didn’t look like he wanted this particular rumor spreading about.

“Nothing as banal as all that,” said Zuphias. “Bleeding statues, mostly. A few cases of stigmata. I could show you that one, if you like.” He was well-dressed in a scarlet robe that had been precisely tailored to his figure, and he carried himself with an aristocratic bearing. He looked older, his hair graying and fading into a widow’s peak. While his face wasn’t as clean as Rhamiel’s, he had minimal scarring compared to most of the others, with just a few burns running along his jawline.

“No, thank you,” said Jana politely. He could have been joking, too, but it was best to assume it was a serious offer.

“Care for something to drink?” said Rhamiel. “I know they don’t let you have anything but swill down there. If you’re to be joining us, you’ll have to upgrade your tastes. It doesn’t do to have someone so lovely consigned to our basements.” He motioned for one of the other, higher-class servants to approach the table. “Bring us a bottle of wine, from Zuphias’s stock. Something nice, to toast to new friends.”

The servant darted away to retrieve the wine, as Jana marveled.
She
was being served. By someone who by all rights should be able to order her around, and who otherwise would have considered it beneath him to even speak to her without using an intermediary. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Part of her was delighted. She’d been young when she was brought to the tower, and barely remembered her parents. Virtually her entire life had been spent in serfdom. No one had ever fetched things for her or cared about her comfort. On the other hand, she knew full well what it was like to be on the receiving end of those orders.

“Now, girl,” said Rhamiel. “What brings you up among us? What troubles are you here to drink away?”

Jana sputtered, nervously trying to start a sentence. She wasn’t sure where to begin, or where to go. In the end, she didn’t have much of an idea herself, and so not much came out. “I don’t know,” she said.

“She doesn’t know,” said Rhamiel, leaning in closer. He flexed his wings, and brushed the tip against her arm as he made himself more comfortable. It sent a chill down her spine. She’d never touched one of them before, and she’d heard stories of all manner of horrible things that could happen if you did it without their permission. She instinctively clasped her arm with her other hand, waiting for whatever the terrible consequence would be. But her skin didn’t melt, and demons didn’t appear, and she faced nothing more frightening than a brash angel who seemed insistent on toying with her.