On Black Wings (13 page)

King Tanas nods. “He is very hateful, indeed. The old man, the skeleton, and I - we need you. The burning man has grown such in might he threatens to destroy us all. Only a Seraph, born of fire and unholy might, can challenge him. This burning man, the herald of war himself, has grown too powerful. If he is not dealt with, I am afraid this shall not only be the end of your world, but all of us together.”

I am silent, the tears staining my face.

King Tanas holds my hands tight. “Jessica. We need you to help us stop him.”

“I don’t know how. Why me? What makes me so special?”

“We shall teach you.” He nods almost imperceptibly. “And you? You are wondering why you, out of the infinite souls which could have been chosen, are the one sitting in front of me now?”

I wait on his every breath, for every word he does not say.

“When you saw this death, this terrible destruction the burning man hath wrought, you in your heart made a choice for peace, not war.” He stares at me with deep intensity. “In the face of such brutality, when the ones you loved were already gone, you chose
life
.”

“How can an angel of death choose life?” I blink, not knowing what I should say or do. “Shouldn’t I be something different than this?”

“The moment makes the hero.” He loosens his grip on my hands, stroking my fingers almost lovingly. “God chose you at that moment, and all of us knew it.”

“Then.” I grab his hand. “Who are you?”

“We are the heralds of the end of days, Jessica.” He lowers his gaze to meet mine. “Since the beginning of time we have returned again and again to do the bidding of prophecy. We do the work of God, all of us, these are his prophecies, not ours. Myself? I am King Tanas, one of the four, the man who rides the white horse, king of all men and ruler of all.”

“King of what?”

“Nations, kingdoms, religions. I am presidents and pharaohs, holy men and politicians, kings, queens, prime ministers, or those simply with a powerful voice. I can take many forms, but I inspire, lift up, and give people hope. They believe in my words, and in turn I allow them to do great things. I am that voice inside every man and woman speaking to their hopes and fears, and I am also the personification of those hopes and fears.”

“How can you be everybody?” I shake my head.

“Jessica.” He strokes my cheek softly. “When you pass into this realm, this existence, things work a little differently than you expect. You have no concept for how things are, but they are. If I say I am all of those things, I am the hopes and fears of every man, then I simply am.

It is like your first day at school, people told you ‘A is for apple’ and you believed them. Once you believe some certain things, put your trust in a man, a cause, or even a symbol, a whole new world of possibilities opens up to you. Language is the belief in symbols. Order is the belief in society. Magic is the belief in possibilities. I am your friend.”

“Why do you say that?” I shake my head. “You’re not my friend. Why should I trust you?”

“Jessica.” He pulls my hand close to him. “Do you have anyone else you can trust?”

We’re quiet a moment, and I reluctantly nod. “If you know so much, then why am I like this?” I feel myself getting upset again. “Why?”

“The burning man.” King Tanas’ words come slowly. “He stopped your ascension to Heaven. He is the one who forced the path which turned you into this. These are the things we have dominion over, the creation of the heralds of death. You are one of us now, a servant to the four, but a very powerful one mind you. You have the powers of the Kingdom of Heaven, ones likely you do not know, but your powers are tainted by the magic of Death itself.”

“Tainted wings, black with my sins and hatred.” I drop my head, blinking. “Why? Why not just let me die and go to Heaven?”

“That one act. The one thought you had. God will not let the burning man take the world, not this time. It was your prayer that was heard.” The King lets my hands go. “The burning man needs to break you. To do so would be to spit in the face of God.”

“I don’t know what you mean? What did I do? What did I tell God?”

“One prayer can change everything.” He shakes his head. “When your family died, your thirst for vengeance was extinguished for a call for peace and understanding. God heard you. His mercy be upon thee. That one prayer should have stopped all this.”

I blink. “Should? You mean there’s a chance?”

“God listens, but it is up to those who believe to act.” He nods. “You are correct,
should
. Meddling hath brought our current paradox upon us, not by the burning man, but by you.”

I feel the panic well up inside me. “What did I do?”

“You tried to change everything. Now, nothing is certain. Well, I stand corrected, one thing is certain. The burning man wishes to break you.”

“Why?” I can’t take all this in, I’m feeling so confused and alone, and my head is swimming in a thousand fears and thoughts. Was it me that caused all of this by trying to go back and save my family? Why is he saying this? How does he know? Who is he? How can I fix things? Can I? What do I do?

I need to focus, to figure out a way forward, if there is one. I need information. “What does the burning man want with me? What do you mean, break?”

“To break your spirit, to rekindle your thirst for vengeance. To say this succinctly, he needs you to reject God, to take back that prayer through your actions and wishes. It would also mean the prayer is not made with heart and honest love, and he would win. Everything, all of us, him, and your world. Everything would be over.”

CHAPTER XVIII:

I Am So Numb

I don’t know what to think.

Do I trust him? I have no idea. He seems nice, like your typical king in some cable TV swords-and-sorcery show. He seems to know more about the situation I’m trapped in than anyone else so far.

So I guess I’m dead. I don’t know how or why, but I assume I have passed away. Being dead changes a lot for me. First, my priorities change, I’m not going to worry about saving my life anymore, or trying to reverse what’s happened to me. Life, it’s called living with the hand you’re dealt.

It also means I’ll never be my old self again. If I’m stuck being a stupid seventeen year old angel of death all my life, I’m stuck. Possibly. I guess. I have no idea. I close my eyes as the confusion washes over me.

What do I do?

The burning man is the one who did this to me. If I’m heading to Heaven to be with my family, I need to do something. What? I have no clue, and the King didn’t let on anything else other than he needed me. I think that’s where the ‘trust’ thing comes in, but I’m so lost and confused I don’t even know where to start.

For what?

Beware of kings bearing gifts I suppose, but he seems nice enough. I also need to stop thinking of myself so negatively, I may be dead, but at least I’m alive. No, wait, nevermind. At least I’m young, and I am starting to come around to the realization that I may not be so stupid after all. I haven’t forgot anything, so I have the advantage of having lived nearly two of my current seventeen-year old lives in this head of mine.

Going back and doing it again. Once, a long time ago I wished for that. Funny.

I know how to balance a checkbook, drive a car, take out a mortgage, open a bank account, and apply for a small business license - in short, nothing that would help me in my current situation.

I’ve watched plenty of television and movies about kings and Dark Age fantasy epics. I know how these people act, back-stab each other, and sleep with each other in gratuitous brothel scenes. I know how a 3d dragon is animated. I know that in Hollywood, all those sword blows are fake. I guess I know how fantasy people talk to each other in nays and whatnots. In short, nothing that would help me in my current situation.

What am I going to do? It feels like a nightmare that just won’t stop, and it keeps getting stranger and stranger. This is usually the point where people bite the bullet and chalk it up to pure faith.

If God wants me, he can have me.

Will he take an angel of death? I pull at my black feather, and discover yes, they do hurt if I pull on them. Am I stuck with these like some Gothic Lolita? God help me.

Well, if he wanted me before, maybe Heaven is a place of second chances.

I need to get back to my family, or at least make sure future me is all right. That’s all I care about. If I can get through whatever this King wants me to do, stop the burning man, and prove myself to God - maybe by some miracle I can be reborn and move on.

Hey, if it worked for Jesus, it may work for me.

Still, I have a lot to think about, but the weariness of everything that happened to me catches up to me, and I feel my eyes grow heavy.

I ask King Tanas if I can lie down, and he gives me one of the adjoining tents connecting to us. In a way, I wasn’t surprised to see a full bedroom set with a four-post canopy bed in here, complete with dressers, vanities, full-length mirrors, a wardrobe, a desk, couches, chairs, and any other amenity I could think of in a high-priced hotel room. The bath is full of hot water, so I remove my armor and bathe, and switch into one of the black nightshirts I find in the dresser.

I hang my useless sword by the bedpost, in case I need to embarrass myself with it and die shortly afterwards. I seriously have no idea how to fight with that thing.

My wings? I have no idea how I am going to keep them clean. Maybe they don’t. Maybe I can will them clean. If not, I’ll probably need to find a lake, or hire servants to wash them for me.

Still, the thought of being able to keep them clean by my will alone intrigues me enough to try, so I sit in the middle of my bed and focus on them, thinking clean thoughts and the smell of fresh laundry. If it works to take me to other places, it should work to take care of them, right?

What do you know, it works. Nice trick. If only I could clean my house this way.

The black feathers of my wings are soft and fluffy, not matted down from the rain, and they smell like my favorite fabric softener, spring glade. I wrap my soft, fluffy, beautiful, black feather pillow wings around myself and fall asleep.

I’m finally learning how to accept them. Maybe. I forget about my sleeping problem. The one where I can never predict where I wake up.

CHAPTER XIX:

People Scream in the Night

I wake up. Black feathers surround me and I feel the fear race through my heart. Do I dare look? How long has it been?

My black wings wrapping around me, I hear screams. Deathly chilling, blood curdling screams of fear and death. I lie there a moment wondering if this is another nightmare.

I hear another scream.

Likely not.

Unwrapping myself does not help, it is still as dark as India ink. I feel my way around, I’m on an air mattress, on the floor, covered with sheets. I feel a small table beside me, and turn the other way. My wing knocks something over and I cringe at the noise.

But at least I still have them.

I crawl across a dusty carpet, and find the door to the room. This is a modern house, I can tell by the baseboards and door handle. I peer out into the hall. Blue light filters down a second-story hallway, and I can tell this isn’t my house.

I slip out into the hall, my wings brushing against the door frame, and I head into the master bedroom. The window is open, and ashes cover the floor.

I can hear someone from the basement or first floor call out, “Is someone there?” Followed by a quiet, “Shh!”

Outside, it’s dark. Ashes fall from the sky. The streets of this small residential neighborhood are covered by piles of snow-like ash.

I’m back in the real world again.

And now I have my wings.

I hear another scream.

There’s movement on the street. It is hard to tell, but it looks like people are moving about at night. What the Army said must be true, it comes at dawn and goes away at night.

I turn and go downstairs. I hear someone’s voice. “Someone’s in the house!”

“I’m not here to hurt you!” I shout, turning on the stairs and walking into a working-class living room still cast in the dark. A flashlight illuminates me and I shield my eyes. Someone is in the back, behind the kitchen, perhaps in a laundry room.

“What’s with the wings?” They say. They must be kids or teenagers, half scared out of their mind.

“I’m an angel of death.”

The flashlight turns off.

I speak to the darkness of the kitchen. “I’ll be leaving now, only go out at night, and take cover during the day. Don’t even open a window. It’s like the ozone layer or something, it’s in the sun but it can go through clouds.”

I feel my hip. No sword, and I’m still in this nightshirt and panties, barefoot. Damn it. Why didn’t I go to sleep in my armor?

I pause.

“Do you have a gun?”

“What would an angel of death need with a gun?”

“Fair point. Do you have any clothes?”

“Upstairs. Second bedroom, in the back. Are you a looter?”

“No, I’m not a looter. I’m trying to save the world. I’ll be back, stay right there.”

I walk upstairs and find the second bedroom. It’s a younger teenage girl’s room all right, with band posters on the wall, stacks of shoes and schoolbooks, and a closet full of clothes. I find paper bags marked “Jenny’s project, for Goodwill” and sort through those. If they were going to charity anyways, it’s not stealing.

I get dressed and walk downstairs. The flashlight from the kitchen is on again and shining on me.

“You look like an angel of death that shops at Hot Topic.”

“Shh!”

He was right. Black pre-ripped jeans, black suede boots with faux Indian-frills, a black top with a large pink pony on the front, and I took the leather bracers which I thought were a bit punk, but they reminded me of my armor so I put them on.

“I took them from your charity pile. Do you mind?”

A frightened girl’s voice barely says, “No. Class project.”

The flashlight turns off.

My wings drop a foot and I tilt my head back. “Where’s your mom?”