SONDER : ALPHA, Leader of the Fallen

1 § 2 [ Omens ]

The sunlight tickled lazy fingers through Azrael’s hair. A soft lover, the sun, one who came every morning. Morning was something to count on, its loyalty so fierce it burned.

But Azrael did not wake peacefully. He sucked in a roaring breath and bolted upright, the wind still in his ears, the air racing through his feathers.

He tried to flex his wings like he had when the panic hit him seconds after stepping over The Edge, when the clipped bird had tried to fly on instinct— but he had no wings. His back was light, empty.

Azrael shook himself, but he could not simply shake away the feeling of the fall. His whole body remembered, would always remember.

But the impact: that he remembered in his bones.

He closed his eyes and held his head, breathing deeply, evenly. He thought of his heart and willed the racing to quiet. He tensed and un-tensed his hands. He tried to silence his shaking.

Finally, he was calm enough to come back to the present, though her sparkling eyes lingered. He had never dreamed of her like that before. Or them. Or the sky, The Edge… Though he knew colour now, in this world, Prieda had always been starkly black and white, even in his dreams.

It was eery, seeing Prieda that way. Seeing the Pure, seeing her.

Azrael wasn’t sure how he had made it to a warm bed, but now he noticed that only one of his arms was actually responding to him. The other was limp. Out of one ear, he could hear the chirping of birds outside. He touched the other. It was coated in dried blood.

The warlord swung his legs over the side of the bed but almost keeled over to the ground with his sudden weakness. His head spun, trickles of pain bleeding through his awareness. He pushed it down. Azrael knew he had lost a lot of blood, but when he turned to check his shoulder, he could only see white bandages. A pink bloom was seeping from his traps.

Oddly, Azrael felt rested, though shaken. How long had he been out? What had happened? Flashes of the battle began to come back to him, but he shook them off: now was the time to gather where he was, not to wonder about the others.

The bed that had him sleeping like a king was a dry, straw mattress with a flat and sorry excuse for a pillow. He chuckled to himself. If he were a King, he’d be an easy one to please.

The room was just as simple. Sunbeams highlighted eddies of dust floating in the air like wayward spirits and dandelion seeds hovered on a soft, warm breeze from a curtained window decorated in plaid. Paint peeled from the rafters and sawdust coated his feet where he stepped. The air was thick on his tongue here.

Just like Prieda.

Azrael scowled at the thought.

Two beds, both straw encased in linen tick-sacks, on raised, wooden platforms. Each had a matching side table of groaning pine. On one was a postcard: Welcome to Emberley!

Welcome, indeed. Azrael sat back on the bed as he turned over the card. A map was printed on the back, and he circled his fingers where his home would be to the northeast, then traced a trail west to the battlefield. He surmised he wasn’t far: this Emberley was likely three days’ direct march from home.

He knew where he was. Now, how did he get here?

Spotting his combat boots by the door, Azrael rose and glanced at his bloodied trousers, thought about it, then shrugged. If a lady had a fright at the sight of him… It would be at his shirtless-ness, surely. He smirked, then pulled on his boots and opened the door to the groan of rusting hinges. Did they not have handymen here in Emberley?

Creaking steps bowed with the weight of countless feet led down to a foyer dressed in fading florals, the sickly sweet perfume of wilting bouquets seeding the air.

He stepped past the empty desk, shoved open the door and greeted the blinding sun.

~*~*~

The Emberley Pub: Cauldrons over Embers



It had been almost a week since her last kill, but still her name had yet to return.

The creature of the night sat with her back to the wall, looking into the centre of the pub, cupping her mug of earl grey with gloved hands.

She watched the patrons of the pub from a hazy bubble. The interior was old, and faded. Though the furnishings had once been bright, a dappled grey speckled the colours, turning vivid, pink curtains and tapestries into dusty roses. Even the violet chairs were wearing thin.

Little churning spirits of grime spun about the busiest sections of the pub, landing into a thick coating atop the more forgotten tables near the edges. She wiped a streak off her own table with her glove, rolling it into a ball between her fingers. It was like a halo, the dust, radiating outward from the lively centre of warmth in the room and fading away into shadowed recesses.

The creature of the night was normally a crepuscular being, following the best hunting hours as any good predator would. Yet, here she was, in the beginning rays of early morn.

The barkeep was no longer puzzled that she would come to this pub and sit by herself at dirty tables. Now she only received a raised brow and an eyeroll the barkeep thought was masked. She had asked, as always, for whisked, hot milk for her tea, but received, as always, a pitcher of simple cream, cold.

She left it untouched to trouble the dust.

She brightened when she spotted her friends: Teddy was considered the town drunk, but he was a happy, portly and jovial fellow with ruddy cheeks. As always, he swung his legs over the stool at the bar counter, and the barkeep poured him an ale. Pepper sauntered in next to him. The creature of the night imagined that Pepper was some sort of dancer, or noble. She was beautiful, and stunning in her silk dresses, an odd ensemble that stood out in the poor town.

These people, of course, weren’t really her friends— but she was fond of them nonetheless. They chatted amiably, so she strained to hear them.

“My mother won’t quit about the new folk in town, one of them having been in such a sorry state.” Pepper flicked her shimmering, ginger hair over her shoulder.

“Sorry state eh? Whatchu mean by’t?”

Pepper glanced once over her shoulder, making the briefest of eye contact. The creature of the night perked up, smiling brightly at her.

“Came in a wagon, poor chap was sickly. Coated in blood, oh the sight! my mother says.”

“Better not be ruffians-”

“-No, Teddy, I met the gent that wheeled him in: they are just passing through, nothing to mind.” She leaned in, giggling. “He’s handsome, I invited him today for a drink.”

“Pepper,” Teddy warned; “don’t be putting out for outsiders too now. I’ll be planting me rear here then, Pepps, gotta look after my girl.”

Pepper giggled again. “How knightly, what would your wife think?”

“She’d smack me upside if I let someone rough you or anys else in this town.”

The creature of the night was interrupted from her fancies by the delicate clearing of a throat.

“Daughter of Darkness.”

Startled, she sat straight. She had almost forgotten The Lady would visit, so engrossed was she in the lives of her friends. “My Lady.”

The Lady draped herself in the opposing seat, blocking her view of Teddy and Pepper.

They sat comfortably for a moment. The Lady was clad in her evergreen cloak, its hood shadowing her face, silvered pine needles embroidered down the trim. She seemed to search the creature’s eyes, and smiled when she found what she sought.

The Lady reached forward, almost touching her hand that still clutched her mug of tea, but then she didn’t, pulling away, as The Lady always did.

They didn’t touch, her and The Lady. Couldn’t.

Instead, The Lady asked, “Have you waited long?”

“Not really, Lady.” It was peaceful here, especially in the early morning hours. She had waited long, but by her own choice.

“Of course.” The Lady smiled serenely under her hood and clasped her hands delicately in her lap. She sat pristinely, perfectly, and though she had an air of untouchable ice about her, the creature of the night felt well around her, safe, warm. “Daughter, I have need of you.”

“Anything, my Lady.” She released her mug— now empty, its tea leaves collected at the bottom. They coiled in the left side of her cup into a great snake, its mouth open to consume the scattered leaves gracing the lower-right. She ignored the eery shape, and leaned over the table towards the only connection she knew, the only connection she would always remember. The Lady had never once been forgotten. She was always there in the shadows and mists.

“Thank you, sweet girl. I can always depend on you.” The Lady’s lips curved into what she wanted to be a tender, caring smile, but it missed the mark. It didn’t matter to the creature. “You will meet someone, very soon. And it’s very important that you go with him.”

Many questions came up and she opened her mouth to ask, but The Lady raised an elegant finger.

“The Wraith is close. He comes for you, Daughter of Darkness, and he is not far. Heed my warning well: find the Angel, and do not stray from his side when you do. You will be safe from the Wraith. Only the Angel will protect you.”

The Daughter of Darkness shivered, a sudden chill in the air. She wanted to ask, wanted to hope, that maybe, she would finally encounter a star in the endless night.

Maybe she would have a reason to keep running from the Wraith.

~*~*~

Luke was about to have the time of his life. Or, relatively, given his life was lived on and off battlefields.

The sign was sun-faded with peeling, cherry paint: Cauldrons over Embers. The door stoop was shadowed, and Luke had his reservations. The place seemed eerily witchy. But Pepper had ensured him the pub was famous for its hearty stews boiled in large, iron cauldrons, not for spells and potions. Odd, that she would mention that, unprompted.

Logs of cracking wood held the steepled stoop up. Luke nearly tripped over an uneven front step. He frowned and pulled at the door.

Inside, Luke was surprised: plush, velvet furnishings, richly violet, though the colours were worn where patrons had graced the seats. Pink curtains draped from the ceilings to the floors beside the windows to cast an intimate, warm light over the space. It was wide, round and open, with the bar counter at the far end and round tables before it. The tables were white, a contrast to the purple chairs, and each held a cluster of lilac sprigs in a tankard beside melting candles.

It had its charms.

Pepper waved from the bar counter and Luke smiled at her, giving a small wave in return as he strode over and took his seat.

A table of ladies— all clad scantily— giggled and eyed him. He turned to give them a wink and a grin. More giggles, like pretty bells ringing! Pub-lassies! Oh, how Luke loved his pub-lassies!

Pepper put a finger under his chin to draw him back to her with a coquettish smile, her lips so red and painted. Luke’s grin widened, but, he couldn’t get completely lost in the fun: he had a mission.

“You’ve made it,” came her purr.

“Darling, when a bonnie hen croons, a good man roosts.”

She looked puzzled, but shook it off, her hand over Luke’s on the counter. “Teddy,” she snapped with a pout.

A man beside Luke answered, “Yes’m?”

“Don’t glare such, I told you, Luke is a gentleman.”

“Hmph.” The man— Teddy— frowned. “We’ll see when he hits the drinks, won’t we, newcomer?”

Luke grinned at Teddy. “Oh, I do no’ hit the drinks.”

Teddy frowned deeper.

“I guzzle them.”

Teddy regarded him, then grinned and clapped him on the back, his red beard shaking with his chuckles. “We’ll be seein’ ‘bout that now.”

“Teddy, don’t fuss him-” Pepper started.

“-Never ye mind, lass.” Luke turned in his seat to square with Teddy. “I bet I could drink ye under the table here.”

Teddy guffawed and gestured to the barkeep. “How much gold you got boy?”

Luke had exactly zero. “Plenty, laddie.”

Teddy sucked in a breath through his teeth, a gleam in his eye. He patted the very hefty coin purse at his belt. “I’ll wager it all, I’m sure you’ve not much, but a piece adds to a pile, don’t it, boy?”

“Oh stop it!” Pepper protested.

“I can care for myself lass, do no’ ye worry that bonnie head.”

The barkeep set down two tankards. Both men tipped them back. Luke eyed Teddy’s purse: it might be enough to cover the room for a few nights. It seemed hefty enough.

Pepper pouted, letting it be. But then she glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes, dropping her voice, “She’s still watching us.”

“Oh Pepps, leave ‘er be, she ain’t done harm.”

Luke quirked a brow, downing the second pint with Teddy.

“But it’s so— creepy. And just now she was talking to herself.”

He couldn’t help it: Luke turned to look.

At the end of the pub, near the back wall, was a girl with pale hair the colour of a cut strawberry. She was pretty, and indeed she was staring this way. “Who’s that lass there?” She smiled shyly when Luke met her gaze. She was pretty!

“No one knows, she doesn’t talk to anyone real much.” Pepper huffed, then leaned in closer to Luke and Teddy conspiratorially; “but people started to die when she came into town.”

“Pepper,” Teddy chided; “don’t be gossip-mongering now.”

The third round came. Luke and Teddy clinked their skeins and down it went.

“It’s true! No one can explain it! But when she got here-”

“-Ye been talkin’ t’ the lass, Miss Pepper?”

“Well, no-”

“-Maybe you ought.” The fourth round came. Teddy hesitated, glanced at Luke’s smirk, then threw it back. “Wanting to call it off, friend?”

“No,” Teddy grumbled; “I can go many more.”

Luke chuckled. Teddy seemed a nice enough guy, good-natured, good beard. But he was about to lose. A human could not drink Luke under the table, but the man’s coin purse did not need to know that.

“She’s a bad omen,” Pepper sighed.

“Pepps, leave the girl be—” Teddy hiccupped; “—honestly. Maybe the boy’s right. She needs a friend, she don’t know no one here, Pepps. Just came about town ’n’ all.”

“Aye, she seems sweet enough t’ me,” Luke added.

Pepper scowled. “Never mind her then!” She draped herself over Luke’s arm and smiled. “When you win over Teddy’s allowance, you can take me on a real spin, Lukey-boy.”

“ ‘Ey! S’not allowance, I earn it!”

“It’s an allowance when your wife’s the one who allows it,” the ginger called back with a giggle.

The fifth round came. Teddy groaned, and Luke chuckled. The ruddy man scowled, then gingerly added the drink to the others in his beer belly.

“I envy your beard, frien’. S’like that viking sort.”

Luke stroked his chin. “Ye should be seeing it braided, then!”

Teddy laughed. The sixth round came. “I win, you pay or you braid it.”

“Done.”

Teddy paused with his hand over his tankard, eyeing Luke, daring him to finish the round. Luke did, offering a toothy grin. Teddy frowned, then took his own with a hiccup.

“Your hair is lighter than your beard,” Pepper crooned, sliding over Luke’s lap and tucking his golden hair behind his ear.

“Most men’s is indeed lighter, doll.”

Teddy groaned and dropped his head on the counter.

“You should grow your beard out longer, it would suit you.”

Luke flinched. He had kept his beard exactly as his wife had preferred it. He placed a hand over his sternum, feeling the weighty ring hanging from a chain and tucked out of sight under his tunic. Dark thoughts, don’t go there.

“Will you spend poor Teddy’s coin on a night with me?”

When she giggled, Luke forced a chuckle and leaned over, snagging Teddy’s coin-purse off his belt. “Unfortunately, doll, I have a friend whose room needs payin’.”

Pepper stuck her lower lip out and ran her finger down his chest. “I’m sure you can win more, so you can spend time with me. I like you, ya know?”

Luke froze, his grin falling off his face. He snagged her wrist. Burn marks ran up her forearm.

“No, sorry doll.” He stood abruptly, placing her on her feet. “No’ today.” Luke pocketed his prize and strode to the door.

She called after him, but Luke had gone cold. The desperation to leave rattled inside his stomach and his breaths came out faster.

Burn marks. He shuddered. It’s not related, naught t’ do. He exited the pub, a tremble in his hands as he leaned back against the door in the shadow of the stoop.

It had been so many years. So many, long years. The pain was still so fresh. Was it really that many years, now? Six years… Six, long, haunting years. He closed his eyes a moment, focused on the filling of the air in his lungs, light and floral. He thought of the feel of his toes in his boots. He breathed until his heart again slowed as he entered that empty place, deep inside, where his feelings could still, their prying fingers echoing from a distant depth muffled by his underwater world of numbness.

The panic began to pass. The tension eased, suppressed for now. Luke opened his eyes and returned to the here and now.

Outside the pub, the Town of Emberley was at peace. Lilac bushes sprung from every corner, kids playing and laughing in the cobblestone streets. Some were too poor for shoes, he noted, but everyone here was joyful. Shoes couldn’t matter when there was a ball to be kicked. Emberley was a poor town, but an old one, close-knit, with cheery greetings and many smiles.

His daughter would love to visit here. There was a beating heart in Emberley, a pulse, a collective breath. Luke smiled to himself, excited to return to his baby girl at home and plan a special trip with just Papa. Hopefully, Az would be well enough to travel soon.

Luke let Emberley’s peace wash over his unease, and he whistled a tune with the birds. There had to be about ten of them flitting about. Their fluttering antics distracted him: he didn’t notice the creeping in the shadows between the old houses, or the ice crystals frosting over the grass in the summer’s heat.