by Gavin Bennett (Changeling: The Dreaming | Fiction)
There are 6 Billion people on the planet right now. By the time that this sentence is finished, 6 more people will have been born, and 2 will have died of hunger. 6 Billion human lives, being born, growing up, playing or working or hurting, procreating, getting old, dying, and on and on, endlessly.
Six billion ignorant human lives.
Six billion living, breathing mortal souls.
But how many of them are different, how many of them are no longer quite mortal?
This question is more important than you can possibly imagine.
Some say the figure is 10 million. 10 million pretenders, masked ones, inhuman, unnatural, touched by powers beyond knowledge, waiting.
Waiting until the red star flickered into life in the sky.
Waiting for the black sun to rise.
Waiting for the blood red moon.
In her dream, she walked naked down St. Catherine Street. There was blood on her hands, smeared all over her body and her flesh was scorched somehow. Her eyesight flickered in one eye. She put her hand to her left eye, the bad one, and there was blood there, more than she could imagine. Perhaps she was crying tears.
There was a howling, a long tortured screaming in the air, echoing down every street, driven in by the wind off the river. She found a young boy, a little younger than she was lying on the empty street, a pentagram around his neck. Half his face was ripped away, and his neck hung at an odd angle. His hands were turned to dust. He was trying to speak. She leaned down to him, kissed his forehead, then with a small, gentle movement, crushed what was left of his throat. His eyes glimmered with gratitude for a moment, and then he was gone. She took his clothes, cold and blood soaked as they were. She kept walking.
The wind was stronger now, cold, winterborne, but� but she could taste warmth on the wind. She let the taste savour for a moment. It was the taste of meat. Burning meat. Her mouth watered, revelling the faint hint of salt, then her stomach lurched.
She kept walking.
Further downtown, the buildings were burning. She passed the Pentex building, pristine and hideously, hideously empty. Further downtown, past Bonaventure, and she started seeing more bodies. A few people scattered here and there, their bodies broken, headless perhaps, mutilated, deliberately.
There were things here, in the ruins, eating the still living.
She knew that, she could hear their black, jabbering voices.
It was so dark, she thought; she wondered when the sun would rise. She looked up, towards the university, towards the mountain, noticed the cross had been switched off, strained to see the outline of the Lookout, then realised: the mountain was no longer there.
She looked up, up into the sky, realised the sky was burning red, as if reflecting streetlights, but there were no lights on in the city. The sky was burning, set on fire by some power unknown to her. Flickers of lightning across the sky, and she could catch glimpses of the world better as she did. The lightning lit up the streets, lit the mirrored windows of the financial district. In the sudden light, she saw the faces of the things, distracted from their feeding. She saw children crucified to streetlamps. She saw women, half dead; crying silently while things, which had no name, raped what was left of them.
Still the wind howled. She reached out; wondering where the wind was coming from, but there was little wind that night, not enough to scream like that. It wasn�t the wind; it was the sound of 4 million people screaming for mercy. The city was being destroyed. The world was being destroyed.
Where are the angels? She remembered the stories her mother told her, of bright angels who watched over the world. She remembered the rantings of the preacher her dad liked. He talked of wars between Heaven and Hell and how the angels would emerge victorious. She remembered what they told her when the dreams started, how she was descended from Lilith and the angels, and how the angels were the warrior princes of Heaven, and how nothing could stand in their way.
They would come at dawn, she told herself, and avenge the monstrosity that had happened here.
If only the sun would rise, she thought, as her feet took her out across the Champlain bridge.
But then she looked up into the darkened sky, and realised.
The sun had already risen.
And the sun was black.
The clouds parted for a moment, and there, there in the mourning sky above, two red stars burned, like tiny suns.
The eyes of the Wyrm, she remembered, vaguely.
The lightning flickered across the river, across the foul, bubbling blackness, and as her eyes adjusted she could see, the river was clogged with corpses. Across the river, the ghosts were gathered, chained together, like slaves, while those faceless, nameless things waited. As she watched, the line of chained ghosts got longer and longer and longer, and the things gathered closer and closer, eating a few here and there, but there were so many, so many to go around. She closed her eyes; saw visions in the darkness of her skull.
She looked up, then, at the structure of the bridge, and there, bound in chains made of roses and thorns, skinless, broken monsters, caught between animal and human. They looked at her with those huge, empty, pleading eyes, but she was too weak, too weak. For a moment she was brave, reached out to those chains, but they, faster than she could imagine, snapped out, reaching to touch her. She pulled away, running now.
She had no idea how long she ran, or where. Uncaring, broken, lost, she ran until she could run no further, until she was somewhere out on the wrong side of the island. The things noticed her as she passed, but they did not follow.
She passed atrocity after atrocity, each one worse than the last until the sight became banal. In the terrible light, she saw a forest where there could not have been before, dimly, uncaring, she followed the road into it.
The stench here was worse. It was a smell of flesh, and burning, and blood and pain, but it was not natural, it was not human flesh burning, nor human blood.
Where are the angels, she cried, where are the angels?
And then, in the light of the two red stars; in the terrible moment of lightning, she saw.
It was not a forest.
As far as the eye could see, endless, endless rows of neatly arranged metal stakes, 40 feet tall, all orderly, all perfect. And impaled on every one of them, an angel, their wings limp, withering in the wind. They sang songs as they suffered, hymns old before the world was ever made. They whispered little prayers of hope to one another. Help would come soon, they whispered, the Archangels would come, with the hosts.
But even then, as she listened, she knew that there would be no such help coming. Heaven was gone, she knew. The war was over. Everything was over. It was then that despair took her. Her knees buckled, she fell to the ground and wept at the horror of it all. She lay there, broken, in a forest of dying angels, staring at the sky, at the two red stars, at the black sun and the blood red moon. All life, all fight, all resistance left her. She could not go on.
When they came, she stood up, and greeted them, politely, and walked beside them as they led her back down through the city. When they took her and used her, she offered no resistance, just lay back and let them. Her eyes were blank, staring always at the sky. When they bled her, she merely made little wounded sounds, and let a few tears drop.
And when they flayed her and bound her to the chains of rose and thorn on the bridge, she screamed then, and begged, and let them take her again, and maybe she allowed herself to hope they would end her, but when the soul burning agony of the thorns invaded her, she welcomed it, almost. Her vision faded, over the weeks and years that followed, but she noticed little things.
When the nine beings arrived, down from the terrible vault that the sky had become, she almost laughed, because she knew their names, or some of them from the pulp books she read as a teenager. They were Christ�s brothers, she heard someone say, the ones who shamed god, of whom no stories are told. They had inherited creation now.
At the end, as things became black, another vision.
Inside the Royal Navy Trident submarine, two officers, with tears in their eyes turned the key, and across the world, the oceans rippled and the dark fingers of death twisted into the night.
The sky bloomed one last time, and then there was nothing.
When she awoke, she was naked, her sheets covered in blood, her throat raw.
She had been screaming as she slept. She reached out, took her cellphone from her jeans and dialled a number.
�I need to talk to you,� she whispered, then it all became too much for her. She dropped the phone and lay back down, staring at the ceiling.
Under a red star, in the dark, autumnal sky, on a city rooftop, the two met, and began to discuss certain things.
The city roared and twisted in its sleep, as it always had. The stars, faded summer stars, winnowed in and out of the haze. But that red star? It shone hard and bright above the world.
The first woman was dressed in jeans and Che Guevera T-shirt, and bandanna over her head, smoking cigarettes, affecting, upon occasion, a fake New Yorker accent. She was pretty, almost beautiful, with her dark complexion and compact form. She had been standing there, looking across the city, listening.
She did not see the other approaching.
�Hello, Chretienne,� the other said.
�Hey, don�t do that, you gave me a fright.�
�What are you up to?�
�Nothing, just listening. Watching. Bit bored really.�
�Some of us do, still, but we are few now, and we too are hunted, on occasion. How goes the night?�
Chretienne dragged on her cigarette, scratched her ear.
�Its kinda quiet. There is some row going on between an old woman and a young man, oh, 9 blocks away. The woman is a vampire; so too, is the young man. HE is trying to break past her madness and convince her that she is, indeed, a vampire. Malkavian. He�s Brujah, I think. Odd word, Spanish for witch.� She paused, flicked the butt of her cigarette off the roof, and rubbed her eyes. �And then there is THAT thing. That thing means bad shit, and the dreams I am getting off it��
The other nodded, mute, watching the sky.
�It is an ill-omen, make no mistake. I do not know fully, what it is.�
�Antehelios, the Garou call it. So, how have things been with you, Asriel?�
�It�s been, strange. I � touched � a Lilin. I had to, to fulfil a bargain. No matter. It is done.�
Chretienne smiled at the other woman. Asriel, whatever her name was, was dressed simply, jeans, a Moist T-shirt, a light jacket over her shoulder. Asriel was beautiful, super model beautiful, but it all paled when one saw her eyes. That is what had drawn Chretienne first, to cross that room, say hello, not really understanding why. How long ago had that been? Yes, Chretienne thought, you lost something then, didn�t you? Not shining so much anymore, are we?
�What�s wrong?� Asriel asked.
�You know stuff, don�t you?�
�Some things are revealed to us, yes. SOME.�
�Typical.�
�What do you want to know?�
�The universe. You guys know what its like don�t you. What it is really like. Big question, I know, but everyone seems to have his or her own take, and someone has got to be wrong? No.�
�It�s a lot more complicated than that. The universe is not, at least so far as I am aware, defined by human belief. The only reasons I have for saying that is that my masters are quite clear on the issue, and the results are all around us. Humanity is not given to huge bursts of intellect and if the universe was defined by human belief��
�We would be fucked. Yeah, I guess.�
�The universe?� she said. �It is simply there, to paraphrase Bertrand Russell. It was made in a terrible moment of birth and fury. It is expanding outwards into forever, until at last it will slow, and enter blue-shift and collapse in upon itself, and all heat will die, and it will fall into that state again, as it was in the beginning, world without end, amen. Some say it will then be born again, that all time is an endless infinite cycle with no beginning or end. That is a mystery, one not revealed unto us.
�I am told there are worlds in the void, worlds beyond this one, inhabited by living beings, like the mortals. I am told the Eternal Struggle goes on, on every one of them. But the universe is also an organic thing. It is not a 3 dimensional polygon, or any such shape, but rather a 5-dimensional pattern that expands out unto forever, but everything is closer than you could imagine. But that is the physical universe, that which can be defined. The science is not yet there, but it will be. This universe is a tapestry of numbers, of maths, and may be defined so perfectly down to the smallest of the atoms. The human body, the intellect, all the functions that make people whole can be defined in terms of electricity, of charge, of molecules, of genetics. Chemical clouds of the base molecules of DNA exist throughout the void. All things can be defined, because they are there to be defined. It is the will of the One that they must be.
�But that is only one half of the story. Every coin has two sides.�
Chretienne reached down to the small CD player at her feet, pressed a button.
�What is that?� Asriel asked.
�Mercury Rev.� Chretienne said.
�It�s nice,� Asriel said, looked up at the red star again, closed her eyes.
�The second side,� she said, still looking up, � is the shadow side. The inverse, the flip. On the inverse side, nothing can be so easily defined. Here, everything is true, in its own way. Here is the dreaming, the lands of the dead, the heavens, the hells, the many places, realms, whatever you might call them. And here is the place that definitions fail. There are three vast � existences - on that side. I don�t have a proper word. These are worlds, perhaps, but that is a poor word. The inverse universe, the mirror place encompasses the other. Here is Heaven, massive and guarded, close to the centre of all things, above the worlds, above all creation, a bright and terrible thing. Here war was fought at the dawn of all things when there was but one world, Heaven and Earth as one perfect universal whole. But larger still than Heaven is the shadow, where the spirits dwell, there are dreams of heaven, mirror image reflections there, as there are reflections of many things, hells, cities, places. And then there is hell. When Lucifer and his angels fell, he fell for an eternity until he reached the bottom. But some say he had been there before. That he had journeyed into the Abyss before the Fall and learned certain things there. I don�t know.
There are a great many hells in the Shadow realm, and in places between, but there is one true hell, the place where the Lightbringer fell. And it is immense, it is bigger than Heaven, they say. And its lords plot and counterplot, and wait, and prepare for the final battle.
Since I have been here, I have dreamed of hell, every night. It is not a place� it is not what we think it is. It is a place where evil, gathers� It is a place of torture and death, but it�s a place where they torture and destroy trapped souls. Souls are the currency of hell, and heaven too.� She paused for a second, rubbing her eyes, looked back at Chretienne, and there were tears there. Asriel whispered something. �Falling,� Chretienne would later swear she said. Falling.
�Think of some place that was once a prison, but now the warders are gone, left, and the locks are gone, and the prisoners are not free. They were always free, I don�t know. Every warder heaven has put over hell is gone, or corrupted, are down there amongst the fire pits, now. Everyone. They are stronger now, one hundred million fallen angels, a billion, billion demons and Qlipphoth and other things which have no names. And they are preparing, waiting for the moment. Do you have any idea what that means??!�
Asriel was weeping now, her hands to her face, pacing; Chretienne walked to her, tried to take her hands, to comfort her, but Asriel jerked them away, clutched them tightly to her, and turned away.
�One of those, any one of those, could destroy a city, corrupt a nation, any one of those. One of them could come here, and find anyone who could stand against it, and end anyone, anyone who could. We think we can stop them. We think we can stop them. We lie to ourselves.�
�Asriel, shhh, its all legend, its all crap, don�t worry about it.�
�NO!� Asriel, paused, looked at her, looked right through the other woman, hard eyed, tears drying. �A War is coming. A war like the universe has never seen. The nations of the Earth will burn, but worse, the sky too will be set alight. First the hells will fall under one ruler��
�Be careful of prophecies��
�It�s not a prophecy, it is exactly how I would do it, if I were an infernal general. There all these shadow hells and mirror hells, and duchies long lost from the main. Take them back, and you will dominate the Shadow world, the Speculum�. After that, you take down some of the other powers, because, they may be neutral, but they may not stay that way. Then� you can guess the rest.�
Chretienne sat, silent, lost in the music for a moment, then whispered:
�I have.�
�There are those that say the Heaven and Hell do not exist on the flip side, for the flip side is the Shadow, and Heaven and Hell is far, far more than the shadow. You would think that WE, at least, would know the truth. But we do not. We exist in singularity, or duality. In the Transcendent realm, we exist, we serve, we know what we must. Here, we�doubt. We serve, but we doubt. We learn. We are the eyes of our masters, the ears and on occasion, the weapons, of our masters. Perhaps they are watching me now, perhaps I am committing treason against the Word. Maybe they will send the Nimrodim for me.�
Asriel�s voice was so quiet, so soft, such a whisper that Chretienne kept feeling she had to strain to hear it over the roar of the night and the city and the passing cars on the street below.
But no, Asriel spoke the tongue of fire, and did not speak in a voice that touched the ears, rather the soul. Chretienne closed her eyes, just listened.
It was the Eschaton, she thought. She remembered being told about it. War would begin, with fire and brimstone and death, and when it was over, nothing would be left, save the world in endless winter. Of course, some talked about hope dawning anew after that, but everyone knew that to be snake oil, lies of cheap charlatans. It probably wouldn�t happen in 2000; that much is probably certain, she thought, the entire Gregorian calendar was flawed, so the date mark for 2000 years after Christ�s birth, and the quietening, she remembered grimly � had come and gone without event. But this was an event whose timetable was measured in geological ages � no, the ages of the stars themselves.
But it is coming, whatever name or horror you have named it, it is coming.
�I need to know,� Chretienne whispered. �I have to.�
�That�s all I can tell you. I will say you forced the secrets from me� you USED me, Chretienne. I was alone, and you were so good to me. But you needed information.�
�No!� Chretienne said, knowing it was true, but denying it anyway. But she did like Asriel, she liked her odd, pert innocence and easy laugh, and maybe, y�know, maybe she liked her. She felt her thoughts drift, then shook herself, realising that Asriel could probably hear her thinking, realising another thing, that�s what those like Asriel did, made you fall in love with them, so you would do anything they wanted you to. Anything.
The night was getting cooler, Chretienne noticed. The season was drawing in.
�Winter is coming,� she said, to no one in particular.
�I know,� Asriel said, �you can hear the winds mourn summer�s passing. No, not the winds, those that guard the south winds. I am sorry, I know too little.�
�I always thought you people could, you know, sense one another or something�.?�
�Can you sense those of your blood?�
�No, not really, unless they are near, and, when they want to be found.�
�Our blood is close�. Remember that.�
�Yes, I remember.�
They sat in silence for a little longer, and nothing passed between them, save the mourning of the first winds of autumn and the sound of the city, pouring across the rooftops, down past the university and through the narrow canyons of the streets. Chretienne fidgeted, played with the trails of her hair, now bored, made little sparkles of light and colour that danced, like leaves on the wind.
�Pretty,� Asriel said.
Chretienne smiled, sadly, looked up into the sky again.
�I need to know,� she said.
�Above everything, there is heaven, below everything, the dark shadow of creation, indeed, the shadow cast by heaven�s light on creation, is hell. You know anything about light and shadow, the shadow cast is larger than the light of heaven, the brighter heaven�s light, the darker hell�s shadow. But the light, the light is not heaven; it�s not the domain of the angels. We guard it. We guard it as only the most fascistic of the secret policemen, the most violent of all warriors. Do you know how many wars we have fought, amongst ourselves, and with others? No, neither do I??. A very great many.
�The changing breed have a name for the universe, they call it the Tellurian, which means, I think, all and everything�. Heaven is above that, hell below that. But if you know their lore you must remember that it is not completely correct, nothing is completely true. The only truth lies within the light, within the Ketheric sphere, and we are not privy to that.
�We have names for that light, the Crown, the Ketheric sphere. It�s the Unity, the One, the Final truth. It is what was there before time, and it is what will be there when time ends. The Ketheric sphere, IS God. We were made to defend it, to enforce its will perhaps, to act for it, but these are just guesses.
�2000 years ago, they say, someone was born that had the essence of the Ketheric inside of them� and the quietening occurred and the angels ruled the earth for a while, but remember, this is war, this has always been war. Territory is won and lost and victories are not forever.
�We have allies� we have the descendants of the angels who became animals to guard Eden at the beginning of all things�. The changing breed, but they forget, save in dreams, and even then�
�We are at war, and we are losing�. I am sorry. I have said too much.�
�It�s ok,� Chretienne said, standing up, �let�s go down.�
They wound their way down the fire escape, and into Chretienne�s apartment. Candlelight licked the walls and the heavy curtains. The apartment exceptionally large, Asriel noted, even for this city, and downtown. There was a faint smell of incense, and clove cigarettes, and the room was quite cluttered, with CDs and books and computer software cases strewn over the couches and the shelves. But it was, nonetheless, a very beautiful apartment.
�This is a very nice place,� Asriel said, looking around. Chretienne sat down on her couch, watching her guest. Asriel was glowing, faintly.
�What are you looking at?� Asriel asked, confused.
�Nothing!�
�So,� Asriel said, �have I fulfilled the terms of our agreement?�
�Yes,� Chretienne said, tiredly, �almost.�
�How can I say more. I do not know any more�.�
�I want you to listen to my dream. I wrote it down, this morning, after I called you.�
�Alright,� Asriel said, her expression unreadable.
There, Chretienne thought, I have pushed her too far. She mentally shrugged and climbed off the sofa. �Come with me.�
Asriel followed. They opened the door that led into Chretienne�s bedroom, and Asriel expected another room like the last, but no. Here was chaos. Everything was broken, and everything was strewn about the room. The mattress, ripped and torn, lay half thrown off the bed, was deeply stained by blood. Asriel almost cried out, but she stopped herself.
�I did this, while I was dreaming,� Chretienne said. �I bled while I dreamt, from everywhere, so much blood.� Her voice broke, and she barely stopped a sob. �The things I saw�.�
�Tell me,� Asriel said, in her practised, nun-lie voice, soft and quiet and holy.
�I keep forgetting what you are,� Chretienne said, mostly to herself. And then, as she lay back, exhausted and uncomfortable on the mattress, still damp and reeking of the coppery taste of blood and the filthy dried sweat of last night, she started to talk, at first hesitantly, and then in a hollow, broken monotone, she recounted her dream. But there was more. As Asriel stroked her hair, whispered things in her ear that made her almost sleep, she found herself recounting things which she could not, or would not recall. At length, Asriel lay down beside her, gathered Chretienne up into her arms and held her while she recounted horror after horror after horror. She described in intimate, butcher shop detail the faces of the dead, and in clinical terror, the faces of the things for which there are no name.
Asriel listened, attentively, but made her repeat things, spell things out, explain, each in grotesque detail, and when each satisfied her, she would kiss Chretienne�s face, drink the tears away, perhaps or kiss her on the forehead, like an angel, and sooth the pain for a little while. But the pain would always come back, as each knew atrocity was recited.
�There were people I knew, people of my blood, and the others like us. The others, the Molochai; I recognised their tattoos; they were taking especial pleasure in destroying us. I have heard about their Rose Traps. I have heard what they use them for. But these were bound tighter, like chains. These were the breed that grows in Hell. I knew that then, the thickets and brambles that bloom throughout that place. But they had the knowledge, and the power to use them, and they wanted to serve their masters. It wasn�t serving, it was freedom, for them. They had trapped those of my blood, those of us who survived, taking their turns, doing things to them � my sister! My sister was one of them! No�.. they took her, and then, they� no, no��
�Go on,� Asriel would whisper, and her mouth dry, the pain rising again, Chretienne would recount the grotesque pornography that passed before her eyes, while she watched. And when she had recounted it enough, Asriel kissed her again. Yet again, the pain washed away, and yet again, she began to speak.
She could not tell how long they lay there, nor pinpoint the moment the kisses became that much hotter. But by the time she came to recount the end, her breath was coming in short gasps, and she felt like she was on fire; she reached up eagerly for each kiss, but still Asriel wanted more detail, more detail.
�They flayed me,� she said, while Asriel traced little warm patterns across her belly. �It was awful.�
�Tell me,� Asriel said, kissing her, planting little moments of heat all down her shoulders.
�They held me down, after they had finished with me, and they had a table designed for it, it had to have been.�
�Tell me about the table,� Asriel said. And so it went. When the dream had been recited, every detail discussed, every moment, Asriel took Chretienne�s hand and held it to her chest, let her feel the steady beating of her heart.
�You have a heart,� Chretienne later remembered saying, and Asriel, in return whispered to her about the hearts that angels have.
Later, they lay together, naked and broken, holding each other tight, as if that embrace alone could ward off the darkness.
�We are using each other,� Chretienne whispered, in a quiet, quiet voice somewhere below whispers.
�I know, I am sorry.�
Asriel sat up then, drew the blanket around her, beautiful and glowing amidst the gore sodden bed and the wreckage of Chretienne�s room, her life.
Chretienne looked at her then, made as if to say something, then looked away.
The moment passed. Chretienne got off the remains of the bed, and got dressed. She waved her hand and her CD-player kicked into life.
�You shouldn�t use magic like that,� Asriel said, watching her. Chretienne shrugged, looked at her tiredly.
�Things mankind was not meant to know, huh?�
�Something like that.�
�Do you ever grow tired of it all?�
�What?�
�The war; you people have been at war since before the first Dawn. Why don�t you stop, defect, desert?�
�Because I cannot, because there is nowhere left to run. Things are reaching a� certain level. Nothing will be safe, after that. But in all truth; it�s all the same war. When your people attempt to manipulate the � what are they? Changelings? � to hunt down the dark skin changers; when your people intrigue against the �. Molochai. When the blood drinkers take part in their eternal game. It�s all the same war. Heaven pitted against its enemies. Hell pitted against us, but all so lost in intrigue and complexity and obscurity� there is but one conclusion. Hell will rule earth. Samael�s forces will win. They will kill God. They will kill all the angels. They will rule for a thousand years, in flames and darkness and terror. And after that? Who knows?�
Chretienne moved to hold Asriel, but Asriel pushed her away.
�Do you know who I am?? I am one of God�s servants. I am an Angel, do you understand. Oh you, you Children of Lilith, if such you are, those of the blood of the Dark Mother, with your lusts and your beauty and seduction and glamour. We are of the Light, and you are forever of the shadow.�
�Twilight,� Chretienne whispered disinterestedly.
�What did you say?�
�Twilight. That�s what Fay-rye is. Arcadia, the Dreaming, whatever you call it. It�s the Twilight country, the land of fading autumn, the evenshadow land. Twilight. Between the setting sun and the starry sky. That�s where we dwelled once. Never forget that. We are not good, we are not moral. But we are ALIVE, damn you! We had magic and music and joy and love. Fuck you! We were alive�. We were alive.� She sank back onto the ruined bed, weeping. Asriel looked at her, closed her eyes, and looked away.
�I was alive once. I died of cancer. A brain tumour. I died, and when I died, I descended into shadow, and they would have chained me and made me one of their slaves, one of the Restless, but the Nimrodim found me, took me�took me to Heaven, and I saw the light. You cannot know it. It�s everything, it�s the beauty, the purest essence. It was God�. Listen to me, it was god. It was the voice that whispered back to you when you prayed, when you were a child. It was God. And it was above and beyond all, and everything, and I knew that it was true. It was not the viewpoint bullshit of the Mages we fought. It was God. I saw it for the merest instant, I saw it as they took me to the great fortress, where they made me a soldier. I became one of His soldiers. I became an angel. I do His bidding. I have killed so� many. I have killed blood-drinkers and skin-changers. I have descended into the dark Underworld and freed souls, and led others to the gateway to His presence, to Transcendence. I have fought for so long, and I have fought so hard, and I have fought for that light, that revelation. Some of us call God the Demiurge, or the Weaver, and say He is the one who trapped the force of creation, Ennoia, but I knew then. This was the pure heart of the universe, the Kether, the crown. And each evil thing I kill, I know that is one less thing to threaten that heart, that glory. And you dare! You dare suggest that I would desert THAT? How dare you??!�
�No,� Chretienne said, softly, looking straight at her.
�What are you looking at me like that for?!�
�Because you said you were alive once.� Chretienne said calmly.
�Yes, remember how your parents or your priest used to tell you that if you went to Heaven sinless you became an angel?�
�Innocent babies were mentioned,� Chretienne said, softly, looking at the floor.
Asriel was silent, thinking.
�They needed new angels. They had lost so many; so many had fallen, or died, or been destroyed. The ones who ruled on our behalf as gods would not return. The Watchers in hell no longer aided us. The war had gone on too long. They needed new angels.�
�Cannon fodder,� Chretienne said, contemptuously. �Grunts. Take a few stupid, lost souls, and give transform them. Here, have wings, have a flaming sword. Aren�t you clever, aren�t you special? Now go kill those demons. Oh, what�s that? They aren�t demons. No, no, of COURSE they are. Now don�t you worry your little head. Go kill them.�
�Shut up. Shut up.�
�No, why should I? Pah. I knew there was something different about you. You were almost human. Damn, I have been hanging around with Sam and his friends too much. I didn�t pay attention. I must have let myself believe all Heaven�s agents on earth must be like you.�
�What do you mean?�
�What do you THINK I mean? You; angels. Ancient spirits, alien and unknowable and fucking scary bastards with wings of fire and terrible wrath, who destroyed Sodom, and set fire to the Lilim�s city, Gomorrah. At least the Lilim fought back, for all the good it did them, not against the Seraphim and Elohim. Or indeed the Nimrodim.�
Asriel shuddered visibly.
Chretienne smiled, a dark cruel smile. �Heard of them have you?�
�The hunters,� Asriel said, to herself, but Chretienne heard her, nonetheless. �This has been a mistake,� Asriel said, putting her clothes on again, her hands shaking, her eyes tearing. �I am sorry to have come here.�
Chretienne followed her to the roof. They stood there, in silence, staring at one another.
One little sentence, Chretienne thought, one little sentence and she will smile and I will say sorry, and we will cry and tomorrow I will make us breakfast, and I will� I will tell her. Tell her how much I love her, how much I have always loved her. One little sentence.
At length, the angel turned to leave, her wings shining like blue, electric suns across the rooftop. Chretienne looked at her, watched her turn to leave, and felt her heart break. So beautiful, she thought. I love you, she mouthed, but the wind seemed to take the sound away. Tears beaded in her eyes. She looked up one last time at the angel, and the angel smiled back, sadly. The Angel let her wings out, caught the wind, and heaved, began to throw herself skywards.
But Chretienne moved too fast. In a single, fluid motion, she had drawn her dagger, caught the angel by the throat and slashed it up. Blue ichor sprayed across the roof, across Chretienne�s face and clothes, soaking her. It tasted like� it tasted like love, she found herself thinking.
The angel tried to call out, gasp out something, some magic, some power, but Chretienne covered her mouth. The angel collapsed, bleeding and dying.
Chretienne caught the angel in her arms, held her there until the angel�s strength was gone, then when she could see the angel was spent, she leaned down and kissed her, opened her mouth and stole her soul. It was old magic of her people, and she had never used it before, hoped she would never use it again, but she stole the angel�s soul, the angel�s magic, and for a while her memories. She could keep her inside, forever, but this forever was not true, and pitifully short, as short as love. Her breath was ragged and she was crying.
It was starting to rain, now, bitter, icy cold rain drops from the ragged end of the storm.
And there they lay for a long time, two lovers, the dead angel and the moonshadow girl, alone in the rain, haloed by the failing light of the angels wings. Chretienne held Asriel, held her head, touched her perfect skin, watched those perfect, perfect eyes fade, watch the rain fall on the angel�s clothes, on the wings, dirtying them, darkening them, then washing them away. She stroked the angel�s hair, comforting her in her final moments, giddy with the angel�s essence inside her, then the hair too, warm and soft as summer winds, fade away to nothing. Then the skin went, and Chretienne remembered an old schoolbook illustration of the Indian�s Thunderbird, the dinosaur skeleton unearthed by a storm, a mathematical masterpiece of bone that was not bone. Until it to was gone, made into ash, in Chretienne�s hands.
She looked down at her hands, the ash too liquefying in the rain, fading away into nothing, remembering, remembering, the angel still inside her, and it was fading away there too.
�What have I done?� she thought. �What have I done?�
But the rain gave no answer.
It was a long while until she slept again, and when she did, the dreams came on harder than ever. She took to writing it down; her notes are recorded here and elsewhere.
