Happy Holidays, cassie-oh! Part 4
Dec. 25th, 2021 05:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchange“We all know this is insane, right?” Tigzar hissed, still grabbing at Dadasig’s arm in disbelief even as they walked. There wasn’t a mark on him.
“What are you talking about?” The young guard jerked his arm back, secretly marveling at how easily he moved, how wonderful it was not to have an enormous hunk of metal in his shoulder. “You want us to go back on our word?”
“No! I just… look at this!” Tigzar ran his hand through his hair, suddenly nearly as long and curly as the stranger’s. “I just shaved yesterday.”
“So you’ll shave tomorrow, too,” Elutil said, running circles around them. Her own hair had escaped her braid entirely, falling in a wave well past her waist. Like all of them, her clothes were completely dry and her eyes as bright and alert as if she’d had a meal and a good night’s sleep, but she alone seemed to have boundless energy. “I don’t see the problem. Inana above, I feel like I could run to the moon!” She took off again across the reaped-bare fields, leaping irrigation ditches without a thought.
“I just can’t figure out how he changed my clothes.” Dadasig twisted his body, feeling the hardened leather shift easily across him. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn armor that actually fit!”
“Yeah, it’s great, amazing.” Tigzar scratched at the back of his neck. The flash of light the stranger had called down seemed to, in addition to everything else, have left them all with a light summer sunburn. “I love when I can break the laws of the temple, the city, and reality all in the same night. But this is, in fact, actually crazy, isn’t it?”
“What do you want me to do? Go over there and demand to know why I’m not dead?” He rubbed at his jawline, but it seemed Dadasig was the only one not to get any hair growth. This was getting embarrassing, really. “Can’t you just… just go with it?”
“Go with what? Four people invading the city? We don’t even have any weapons!”
“You really think he needs weapons?” Elutil ran past them again, hair flowing behind her like a horse’s mane. “Besides. Maybe he has them in his bag.”
Dadasig tilted his head, looking at the stranger’s bag critically. Apart from being impossibly black, it looked no different than the one Tigzar had taken from the temple. “I… guess he might have a knife in there?”
“Do we at least have a knife?” Tigzar poked the bag, which Dadasig still carried under one arm. “Or… anything useful?”
“Uh. There’s…” He tugged it open, actually checking for the first time. “Three unbroken jars, two broken… some really spoiled bread…” He carefully extracted the mushed, discolored wad that had not reacted well to being dunked in the river and then hit by… whatever that light was… and tossed it into a ditch. “One apple, couple beans that are… sprouting I think. And…” He hissed, pulling his hand out, a small cut and a bead of blood on the tip of one finger. “Half a knife, feels like.”
“I feel prepared,” Tigzar grumbled, eying the city ahead. “Anything useful in those jars?”
“Well, the olive oil broke, so I think the rest is all… honey?” Dadasig ran his thumb across the cut on his finger. He felt the faintest buzz of energy and… the cut was gone. He wiped his hand on the bag as he walked, hoping Tigzar hadn’t noticed. He’d probably just complain again.
“That’s perfect, then. I’m sure we can take on the whole city with three jars of honey and an apple.”
“Don’t forget half a knife!” Elutil spun in a circle in front of them. “Don’t either of you feel that? It’s amazing! I could fly, I could—I think I’m going to try swimming again!”
“No!” Both the boys managed to stop her, pulling her back between them. “Let’s just… save that energy for an emergency, yeah?” Dadasig patted her shoulder. “Before Tigzar loses his courage and runs away.”
“I’m not going to run away. I would just like someone to acknowledge that this makes no sense!”
“Obviously not,” Elutil said, now skipping as she walked. “But, I mean. Are you going to tell him that?”
They all paused, lifting their heads to look at the stranger. He walked some way ahead of them, moving just slightly faster than any of them could run, without ever pulling too far ahead. He hadn’t spoken a word since they started, or turned to look back at the children, or paused for anything. Just walked along the river with a relentless stride, eyes fixed on the city ahead. They weren’t even sure if he could hear them.
“Of course I’m not going to tell him,” Tigzar said, voice dropping down to a hiss again. “I don’t have a death wish. I just want to make sure I’m not dreaming. You know. Again.”
“If you are, I am too.” Dadasig frowned. “Though. If we were dreaming together, wouldn’t Iltani be here? Or does that only work if… uh…” He tugged at his ear, trying to remember. “If we’re in the city?”
“Maybe? Iltani said a lot of things. About… gala-priests and boundaries and… doorways?”
“The good news is, we can ask them,” Elutil said firmly. “We’ll find the demon, set everything right, and then talk about it all over…” She stopped, staring at the river. Just ahead, the Ur-Gate stood framed between the main body of the river and the channel that ran in through the water gate. The canal water was rushing turbulently, disrupted by the opening of the water gate.
The three boats full of soldiers that emerged seemed to have no trouble navigating. And no shortage of weapons.
**
Behind Aziraphale, the three children whispered, shouted, and occasionally ran about the fields. They did not appear to be planning to abandon him and save themselves. He didn’t care if they did, so long as they told him where to find Crawley.
So long as he found her in time.
Up ahead, the city’s water gate rose. Three boats appeared, drifting towards them with heavily armed passengers, some with spears, others with bows. They were pointing excitedly towards Aziraphale and the children.
He paused where the river and canal split, waiting for the children to catch up. “These men appear to be looking for you,” he said simply.
“I, uh, I think so,” Dadasig said. “But that’s not the temple guard, that’s… Aradlugal’s personal guard? Maybe?”
“Shit,” Tigzar shifted his feet. “You think Sabium offered a reward, or…”
Aziraphale shook his head. Not important. “Will they help me find Crawley?”
“Ah… probably not,” Elutil said anxiously. The archers raised their bows. “Almost certainly not. We should—”
The moment the first man loosed an arrow, all their bows erupted into splinters. Aziraphale furrowed his brow. Unprovoked and unannounced. Utterly uncivilized.
The angel flicked his hand at the lead boat. A wave shot down the river, lifting the boat clear onto the far shore, dumping the men out in a disordered pile.
Then he twisted his wrist, flipping the second boat over the levee to land in front of them, spilling out soldiers who rolled away across the field.
One final twitch of his finger and the last boat simply sank, the current catching the men and sweeping them away downstream.
He eyed the water gate, waiting to see if anyone else would emerge. Not yet, apparently.
“Good. Everyone into the boat.”
**
“Hey,” Tigzar whispered as the three of them studied the boat, circling it warily. “Do you think he’s like… a god or something?”
“I…” Dadasig peered over his shoulder, watching the man in white walk across the field, glancing at at the scattered soldiers without much interest. “I don’t think so?”
“Not a major god,” Elutil decided, crouching low, running her hands along the boat as if to search for weak boards. “But far from human. Not a demon, either.”
“We only have his word for that,” Tigzar pointed out, settling into the middle section of the boat, even though it still sat high and dry amid the cut-short barley stalks.
“He doesn’t feel like a demon, though.” Elutil rested her chin on her hand, gazing after him in thought.
“Neither did, um. You know.” Tigzar dropped his voice to a low whisper. “Crawley.” As if her name alone might summon the man’s wrath.
They all watched him pick up the oar, dusting mud off the blade and inspecting it for cracks. Once again, he seemed to have forgotten everything else.
“Look, I just think… if he wants us to know, he’ll let us know.” Dadasig handed the bag to Tigzar and started squeezing into the boat beside him. “And if he doesn’t, no point in asking.”
“I think,” Elutil declared, standing and dusting herself off. “I think he’s a sukkal. A god’s vizier or messenger.”
The boys considered this. “Can’t be,” Tigzar decided. “Doesn’t have a staff. A sukkal’s gotta have a staff.”
Dadasig nudged him in a friendly way, trying to get comfortable. “That’s your objection? No staff? He just threw three boats out of the river, and you’re worried about a staff?”
“Not saying he’s human,” Tigzar countered, helping Elutil into what they’d agreed was most likely the boat’s front. “Just. Not a sukkal. Besides, it was only two boats, and he—”
“Look out!” Elutil shouted as one of the guards abruptly rose to his feet just behind the man in white. Spear in hand, raised to strike.
Without turning to look, the man grabbed the spear and swung it sharply, sending the guard tumbling away into the distant barley. Only then did he put the oar down to quickly inspect the spear, snapping the point off it. Nodding with satisfaction, he returned to the children, jabbing the ground with the staff as he walked.
“You’re ready to go. Excellent. Elutil,” he tossed her the length of wood. “Kindly keep an eye out as we go. If you see anything ahead of us in the water, just nudge it aside. Dadasig and Tigzar,” he dropped the black bag beside them, “hold onto this and try to keep still.”
“Yes, sukkalmah,” they all said together.
He nodded, distracted, and nudged the boat with his toe. It rolled across the field as if on wheels, sliding up the levee just as easily and smoothly as it slid down the other side, entering the water with hardly a splash.
The current flowed around them, the boat remaining perfectly still. “Now, I’m afraid this might be a bit unpleasant,” he continued, stepping into the back of the boat. The fact that he needed to walk across a good deal of water to get there didn’t faze him in the least. “You may all want to hold on,” he added as the air around them began to glow blue.
The sukkal dipped his oar in the water and gave it the slightest push.
The boat flew up the canal faster than an arrow.
**
The way the boat moved through the water, Dadasig could almost have thought the canal’s flow had been reversed. Only the fact that he’d wedged himself between Tigzar and the side of the boat kept him from falling into the sukkal’s lap as they started to move.
Before the second stroke of his oar, the man took a long moment to steer, oar almost vertical in the water beside the boat, pushing imperceptibly this way and that.
Then he gave it a proper pull, and their speed doubled.
“How fast are we going?” Dadasig asked, as the last of the barley fields vanished behind them, replaced by empty grazing lands.
“As fast as I dare,” the sukkal said tensely. “If we strike the side of the canal at this speed, it would be… unsettling, to say the least.” Ahead of them, Elutil squeaked and clutched the staff she held tighter.
“But we don’t need… Tigzar trailed off as another boat carefully maneuvered through the water gate ahead. “How many did he send?”
“It would appear one of you is quite valuable to whoever is chasing you.” A few more minor adjustments, as if there wasn’t a boat… now two boats… blocking their entry.
“That would be me,” Elutil said miserably. “They want to get me back to my… husband.” She shuddered as she said the word.
As Tigzar patted her shoulder awkwardly, Dadasig peered back to see the sukkal’s reaction. The man’s brow furrowed slightly and he frowned. “Husband?”
“He will be in an hour or two. They don’t need me to be present for the ceremony to be binding.”
Up ahead, three archers in each boat aimed at them, but held their fire.
“I understand. It’s a good thing you’re in the front,” the sukkal said off-handedly. “They’ll have a hard time shooting the rest of us without damaging you.” Which probably explained why the archers quickly switched to spears. “Could you hand me that staff for a moment, my dear?”
As the spear staff was at least a full handwidth longer than Dadasig was tall, it was difficult to pass it back without striking anyone’s head, but apparently that was not something they needed to be concerned about this morning. They managed to get it to the sukkal, who took the long rod in one hand while carefully balancing the oar in the water with the other.
“Thank you. Heads down please.” One last adjustment with the oar and he pushed them forward, once again doubling their speed.
Dadasig put his hands on the backs of his friends’ heads, pressing them to duck as low as they could while the boat propelled itself towards the narrow space between the two enemy boats, a space filled with waiting spear tips.
Or it was, until the sukkal swung his staff with a resounding crack, and before Dadasig could blink they had passed between the boats without so much as scraping them and were already shooting into the water gate. He turned back just in time to see five soldiers thrashing in the river, and one more sitting in the boat with a hand pressed to his nose.
“I’m afraid I’m losing my touch,” the sukkal said sadly, passing the staff forward again. “I missed one.”
“Holy shit,” Dadasig muttered weakly.
“Kindly watch your language.”
“Yes, sukkalmah.”
“Still,” he brightened as he adjusted their direction again, “I’m sure they’ll soon get the message that…”
At least a dozen more guards waited for them around the docks, bows and spears drawn, and four more boats were fully loaded and prepared to depart.
“Ah.”
Dadasig’s eyes darted about, trying to spot all the enemies, trying to work out how to avoid the would attack. But his training had generally assumed that he would be part of the large force of trained men, fighting against a small number of reprobates.
But, behind him, the sukkal sighed sharply. “We do not have time for this.”
The oar swung above the children’s heads, cutting through the air, sprinkling droplets of water across them.
And all of the wooden docks immediately collapsed.
Then the oar dipped back into the water and their boat skipped ahead, skimming across the water of the port like a carefully thrown stone.
“Holy shhhhhh…” Dadasig barely managed to hold his tongue in time. “Well done?” he suggested instead.
“I hope there aren’t many more of these.” Now the sukkal had begun to look anxious, trying to control the boat as it followed the twisting, curving path of the canal towards the center of the city. “Someone, kindly tell me where we are going.”
“Just up here,” Dadasig pointed. “This gets us to the reservoir, and from there it’s an easy walk uphill to the temple. Or we could take the far canal around to the north side, where—”
A horn echoed through the air, reverberating off the walls.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” the sukkal said.
“Sunrise procession,” Tigzar explained. “Or… pre-sunrise. At dawn it’s the… the… um.”
“At dawn they kill her.” His face went even paler. “When, precisely?”
“Uh,” Tigzar floundered, looking at Dadasig, who shrugged. “Dawn?”
“Yes, but which? True dawn? False dawn? First light? The golden hour? It’s already sailor’s dawn, the navigational stars are going dim.”
The young guard scrutinized the sky, but all he could see was that it was a bit more blue than it had been all night.
Fortunately, one of them actually paid attention in lectures. “No sooner than when the sun first breaks above the horizon,” Elutil told them. “And… it varies a little, but generally not past the first golden light of the day.”
The sukkal nodded, clearly running the numbers in his head. Then he shoved the oar into the water, one, two, three strokes. They barreled up the canal recklessly, the front of the boat rising above the water entirely, Elutil clinging desperately to the sides.
They burst into the reservoir.
More boats waited for them here, and the shore was lined with men in armor.
One look and Dadasig’s heart seized in his chest. He threw himself flat to the bottom of the boat, clenching his eyes shut and gasping for breath.
“What?” barked the sukkal. “What is wrong with him?”
“I don’t… can’t…” He wiped the sweat from his face, trying to force words through the strange panic. “This is…”
“This is where we found him,” Tigzar said. “After… after.”
He could feel the arrow in his back, piercing into him again. Two fingers down and it would have gone straight through him. The fever burned once more.
“I see.” The boat shook as the man stood up. “Don’t worry, young man. You have no need to fight today.”
“I… He tried to push himself up, but his heart fluttered and his stomach ached. “I don’t understand. Haven’t… been afraid to fight since… Why…”
“You had a scare last night and your mind is still trying to protect you. Look at me.” With an effort, Dadasig rolled over enough to find the strange blue eyes. “What you are feeling right now is nothing to be ashamed of. It is normal, and it will pass. And even if it doesn’t,” the pale eyes now shifted to Elutil, “it is still no failing of yours. Do you both understand?”
Dadasig nodded miserably, still shivering.
“Good.” The sukkal shoved his oar against Tigzar’s chest. “Take care of them, and try not to hit anything.”
Then he stepped out of the boat, dashing away across the surface of the water, once again taking the staff from Elutil’s hold.
Struggling, Dadasig got his head above the side of the boat just in time to see the white figure swing the staff, sending the nearest boat skidding across the water towards the men lined up on the shore. A wave of arrows descended on him, and he knocked them aside like flies, and charged ahead to meet the points of their spears.
Aziraphale moved through the crowd of soldiers as quickly as he could.
The boats he had knocked towards the shore had broken their initial lines, but though the men had scattered, very few had run. It was to their credit, really, but just now Aziraphale would much rather have faced an army that surrendered at the first sign of trouble.
One man thrust a spear at him. Aziraphale easily parried it with his staff and rapped the soldier atop the head. This brought him to face two more attempting to surround him. He ducked one spear and blocked the other, giving each a quick jab to the stomach.
He jumped over their bodies, trying to find a clear place to stand, hitting one man in the throat, another in the jaw. When they stumbled away, he was given just enough space to turn around and meet the guard charging towards him.
Not quite fast enough. The point of the spear scraped the back of Aziraphale’s hand and he dropped the staff entirely.
The new guard grinned triumphantly right up until Aziraphale kicked him in the stomach, grabbed the back of his neck, and slammed the man’s head into the head of another approaching soldier. They both dropped and Aziraphale scooped up his staff.
He wasn’t taking much care to avoid hurting them too badly. There wasn’t time for care. The sky was almost solidly dark blue.
“Take aim!” someone called. “Fire!”
Aziraphale knocked most of the arrows away, but one or two still hit him. It didn’t matter.
He charged into the row of archers, swinging his staff, taking out three at once.
More spearmen appeared behind him.
This was taking too long.
**
The moment Crawley stepped out of the sacred district, the crowd began to scream at her. Just a wall of noise at first, angry voices mixed with the priests’ singing.
Then some of them began kicking and stomping their feet at her, biting their fingers and other rude gestures. Some threw garbage at her, or rocks, or just fistfuls of mud.
She tried to just concentrate on the guard ahead of her, get through this quickly, but now… now they decided to slow down. Give her space. Let every member of the audience get their moment.
“You bitch!” Someone’s voice raised above the rest. “You filthy whore! You and all your kind ruined my life!”
blockquote>Inana sits on harnessed lions12
She cuts to pieces he who shows no respect—
Many simply screamed abuse at her.
“Scum! Abomination! Disgusting, unnatural vermin!”
“Worthless! Everything you touch turns to shit!”
“Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you’re better than us?”
A leopard of the hills,
She walks the roads, raging…
Others knew exactly why they had come that day.
“The rot got into my barley!” A rock hit her chest. “I lost everything!”
“My family died in the famine! All my brothers and sisters, I watched them starve!”
A child kicked her ankles, demanding to know what she’d done to their parents.
A woman dumped a jar of spoiled milk over Crawley’s head, sobbing about her baby’s illness.
The mistress is a great bull
Trusting in its strength
No one dare turn against her…
It all faded back into confusion, voices tangled together.
“—broken leg—”
“—roof collapse—”
“—never loved me—”
“—four miscarriages—”
Until all she could make out was the pain.
The foremost among the Great Princes
A pitfall for the disobedient
A trap for the evil…
“I’m sorry,” Crawley mumbled, not even sure why. “I’m so sorry. I never…”
“That isn’t good enough!” Someone shoved her, and Crawley could do nothing to stop herself from falling, jaw cracking on the ground. “You think you’re fucking sorry now? Just wait—”
The mob took that as a signal, surging forward, stomping on her fingers, pulling her hair, kicking her stomach. The guards shouted, trying to pull them back, but there was always more and more and more…
All she could do was huddle on the ground, crying, too weak to defend herself. The seal on her arm blazed continuously, as if her arm was on fire.
“What is that on her face? Have you been pampering her?”
“Going soft. Fucking priests! Let us at her, we’ll—”
Someone spit on her face, someone else ground her cheek into the mud. Ruining the makeup Iltani had applied, the last moment of kindness she would ever…
Silence fell over the procession, no singing, no instruments, no marching feet. The shouting mob had backed off, but their silence radiated sullenness. The guards had drawn weapons, likely, and now faced off against the city.
Over who should end her life.
For one moment, she hung in the void, balanced between the silences, run through with hatred.
She was alone.
Truly, utterly, eternally alone.
“Aziraphale,” she whispered, not even knowing what she wanted. “Angel. Please…”
Someone grabbed her collar and hauled her to her feet. Slapped her face twice.
With great difficulty, she managed to open one eye, enough to see Mattaki leering at her. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
“Just…” Crawley sobbed. “Just kill me. Please.”
“Nah. Still not done with you yet.” He shoved her forward, and somehow she managed to stay on her feet. “Move. You’ve still got more adoring public to meet.”
**
Iltani slammed their foot into the gate. “Let me out! Let! Me! Out!”
Out of breath once again, they leaned against the heavy wood, panting, almost dizzy from exhaustion.
What were they doing? There was no point. It wouldn’t do any good, and there was no one left to hear. All gone to the sacrifice. Everyone gone from the temple, the district, the city, maybe the world…
No. No, they couldn’t give up.
Forcing themself awake again, Iltani leapt at the gate one more time, pounding it with their fists, screaming. “I know someone is out there! Let me out! I have to stop this! Letmeoutletmeoutletmeout!” Ending in a long, wordless scream.
When there was nothing left in them, Iltani leaned their back against the door, sliding down to sit on the ground. To stare off across the grove. The sky had already begun to lighten; they could make out the sharp, straight lines of date palms; the single, chaotic apple tree. And the flickering light of the dying bonfire.
Dying. Like Crawley would be in mere minutes. Like Iltani would be soon after that, unless Mattaki decided to drag things out. Like all of Iltani’s friends, too…
“Can’t just sit here,” they said, though even the sound of their own broken voice made them sick. “Gotta do something… gotta keep trying.”
“Ah, child. I thought that too, once.”
Iltani froze. For a moment, they thought they were back in the dreams, that they’d fallen asleep and crossed to the in-between space.
Then something stirred by the pool, the shallow square of water in the corner that fed the trees’ irrigation ditches.
“Who…” They rose, squinting into the darkness. Advancing towards the shadowy figure one careful step at a time. They could feel the pain from it, complex and ancient, though almost soothing next to what Crawley’s had been. “Who’s there?”
“A fool,” the voice said, old and exhausted, but not bitter. “A stubborn fool. Someone who never quite learned… when to stop.” The face caught the dim light as it tilted up. An older woman, battered and broken, face lined so deeply it could have been carved from stone. “And, apparently now, a nameless spirit.”
“Siduri.” Guilt twisted at them. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for my punishment to begin. Or to die. Either way.”
“I…” Iltani remembered the cold tone with which they’d pronounced her doom, the words dragged up from the deepest part of them. They shuddered, drawing back; just approaching her seemed cruel after that. “I am… I’m sorry I… I never meant…”
“It wasn’t you, child.” One of her eyes was swollen almost shut. Siduri traced the fingers of her left hand through the pool, scooping up a handful of cool water to press to her face. “Sabium has… his ways. Rarely does that one anymore, but… I’ve seen him do it before. Pull people’s fears from the back of their mind.” She sighed, pulling her legs a little closer. “You must have been angry with me. Or at least disappointed.”
They shook their head.
“Don’t lie, child.” But without any of her usual scolding tone. “I found where your friends were. Helped them as much as I could. But they’re still in danger. I’m surprised… Sabium hasn’t found them yet.”
Sabium had said something about hearing combat at the reservoir. Had they been there the whole time? Never managed to get Dadasig into a boat? Found the gates impossible to open and simply drifted up and down the canals until they were caught?
What had Iltani forced them all into?
The gala-priest collapsed beside Siduri, kneeling by the pool. Reaching clumsily for her right hand. “It… does it even matter? They’re gone. We’re gone. It’s all…” She winced when Iltani touched her, pressing her hand more tightly against her. An echoing pain in their own hand suggested a broken wrist. They sighed, pulling back and wrapping their arms about themself. “There’s no point now. I… don’t want to spend my last hours arguing over who’s fault it is they died.”
The priestess dragged her fingers through the water. “You want to spend it arguing over something else?”
“I want to know…”
Of course they did. Their curiosity had brought them here, condemned them, and yet still they wanted to know. There was no end to it, was there? Shedu-priest.
Pulling their legs against their chest, Iltani curled up, staring at the gate. “Am I cursed?”
“Ah, yes. I’ve asked myself the same question. Not just tonight.”
Iltani waited for her to speak, but the priestess was uncharacteristically quiet. Then again, she was likely in a lot of pain. “Did you ever find the answer?”
“In a way.” Something like a smile flickered across her face. “Why do you think you’re cursed?”
“I just…am. Everyone leaves me. Whether they want to or not, they still go.” Their eyes drifted through the grove. “Anything I try to do, anyone I try to help, I just make it worse. Hurt them. Over and over.” She started to say something, but they couldn’t seem to stop talking. “When I… I had my dreamwalk, I thought, that was the answer. I’d finally found a way I could help. And even that… Just hurt everyone. Made it all worse.” Hadn’t Siduri warned them about that? Iltani burned with shame. “There’s probably more. I’m useless, I’m a failure, I’m…”
“Stop, child. There’s no good in dwelling on any of it.”
“Why not?” They stood up again, pacing beside the water. “It’s true, isn’t it? Maybe that’s the reason my parents sent me away. Maybe that’s the reason everyone… Even you’ve been wondering if I’m cursed, so there must—”
“No.” She stirred, and when Iltani looked, there was now enough light to see how stiffly she sat. Little pains drifting in and out of their awareness, dancing about a deeper one she’d carried for years. “Child. I meant. I’ve wondered if I’m cursed.” Her fingers curled in the water. “I have watched the temple I love fall to pieces. I have watched that man destroy everyone I cared about. Worse, he made me complicit, in… so many ways. I should have died, years ago, but instead I keep pressing on. Keep finding ways to make it worse.” Siduri pulled her hand from the water, resting it on the stone lip of the pool. “I thought, at least, I could give the children a few more hours but…” She sighed. “So no, child. You’re no more cursed than I.”
“But I am.” They pulled at their hair. “Because I’m not… because I… I don’t even know what I am!” They spat the words bitterly. “I’m a useless child! I’m nothing, I’m everything, I don’t fit anywhere, and then I find that gives me powers that don’t even do anything! What’s even the point? Why would Inana give me such a worthless gift? Why would she give me hope and then rip it away again and… send me to die?”
They leaned against a date palm, tipping their head back. Far above, the last few stars were fading fast.
“Ch… Iltani.” The priestess shifted stiffly. Tried to rise, but sank back down again. “Have you ever heard Sabium say that Inana never gives us burdens we can’t handle?” They nodded glumly. “Well. Take it from someone who… has had every burden the goddess could find heaped upon her. That’s a load of horseshit.”
“Siduri!” They gasped, almost stunned into laughter. “You… a priestess can’t say…”
“Not a priestess anymore.” She ran her shaking hand over white hair. Had Iltani ever realized how white it was? “Now I’m just an old woman who’s lived too long and knows too many stories. And what all that has taught me is that Inana doesn’t care what we can handle. She gives us whatever good or bad she wants, for no reason but her own. Maybe she thinks it’s funny. And Enlil does the same, and An, and all the other gods. And they certainly never check with each other, so some people get mountains of bad, and others get hardly any.”
“But… why? What’s the point, then?”
“There isn’t any. No… purpose to any of it. No meaning. No divine command. All we can do is… take that mess and make something of it.”
Iltani considered this very carefully. “Is that… supposed to make me feel better?”
“If you want it to. It gives me… not hope. Peace, I suppose, at the end.”
She shifted again, and this time Iltani found themself beside her, helping her to stand.
“Thank you, child. Have you decided how you want to spend your last hour?”
“No.”
“It will come to you. I… think I would like to spend it beneath Inana’s tree. If you could help me that far.”
Iltani bit their lip. “I… everyone I help…”
“I assure you, there is nothing either of us can do to make my situation worse.” Her lips twisted into a smile. “That, too, brings me a bit of peace.”
Glancing up at the fading stars one more time, they slid an arm about her and led her deeper into the grove.
**
The last soldier dropped.
Aziraphale leaned on his staff, breathing heavily. The last two days had taxed him, thoroughly worn him down. He had never pressed himself quite like this.
His ears filled with the sound of his ragged breathing, his racing heart, and something else, something important, in the distance, if he could just… focus…
“Sukkalmah!” A voice shouted from much closer. “Help!”
The boat. Yes. He shook his head, straining his eyes to search the lake. There. In the middle of the water, surrounded.
Two boats full of soldiers that Aziraphale had overlooked, converging on the children. There was nowhere to hide, but the young ones had managed to maneuver themselves between the other two, so the archers couldn’t fire without potentially hitting each other.
Clever, but at least two of the men looked willing to risk it. And in any case, the boats were very nearly in spear range…
Stumbling back to the edge of the reservoir, Aziraphale dipped his staff into the water and flicked, sending a ripple that turned into a wave. It swept aside one of the boats, carrying it away to the far side of the lake or submerging it entirely, he cared not which.
But the same wave tipped the children’s boat until water rushed in. They barely managed to righten themselves. And the remaining boat was too close for such tricks.
Well then.
Aziraphale took a deep breath and dashed across the water. Two of the men on the boat managed to get their bows out and fire on him—rather commendable, all things considered—but it was no challenge to duck under the arrows, or to turn that duck into a roll, rumbling across the water.
He slammed shoulder-first into the soldiers’ boat, and it promptly tipped over, dropping them all into the water.
Shaking, the angel pushed himself to his knees, scanning the water around him, the shoreline, and what he could see of the street beyond.
It was quiet. Just him and the children.
“Well,” he managed, trying to catch his breath. “I think that was quite enough—”
A hand grabbed his ankle and pulled him down.
The soldier pulled at Aziraphale, hand over hand, dragging him down into the depths. Clinging to him, forcing him ever lower.
It was a shock, for certain, but little more than that. When the soldier tried to hit Aziraphale’s face or stomach, it was clear he struggled to move in the water, and desperately needed air. The angel, on the other hand, could hold his breath for more than an hour. And as for movement in water—
One quick chop to the neck made short work of the man. Aziraphale turned him over—ensuring he would float face-up when he reached the surface—then released the man and worked his way up, bursting up into the delicious air.
“Sukkalmah!” The children called as he clutched the side of the boat, taking deep breaths. Perhaps he’d been under a bit longer than he’d realized. “Are you hurt?”
“Quite alright, my dears.” He held out his hand and his staff drifted slowly back towards him.
“But—you’re bleeding!”
“Nonsense.” He touched his nose and mouth, pulling his hand back to notice a few drops on his fingers. More on his arm. The back of the hand still holding onto the boat. “Well. Perhaps a little,” he confessed, stepping up to the surface of the water, “but nothing I can’t…”
It didn’t work.
He tried again, stepping up, feeling himself start to rise, then sink once more.
“Oh, bother.” His eyes wandered towards the hill, a faint flicker of motion in the near-darkness. Was that people walking, a long procession? Or just water in his eyes? “Row us to shore, please. And quickly. We’ve wasted enough time already.”
12 From “A Hymn to Inana” (Inana C) by Enheduana the priestess
The apple tree looked even worse in the growing daylight. The remains of the bonfire marred the ground like a scar, with armor and weapons and broken pottery scattered everywhere. Nearly all the blossoms had been shaken from the tree and churned into the mud by the men’s feet.
But Siduri smiled contentedly as Iltani lowered her beside it. “That’s better. I wanted to be close to Inana, one last time.”
“Sabium says we carry Inana with us everywhere,” they pointed out. “In our hearts.”
“Now that is absurd.” She winced, trying to find a comfortable way to lay her injured hand. “Why would she waste her time, running around between everyone’s hearts? As if she has nothing better to do than make sure we greet our neighbors properly.” She sniffed. “I’ve been wanting to say that to him for five years, you know. Ever since he let her statue…” Her eyes drifted to the rope, coiled across the tree’s roots, tossed aside by the high priest. “Jushur used to say that Sabium mocked Inana. That all his rituals were a… a parody of her suffering.”
Iltani thought again of how the demons looked as they were dragged away to the sacrificial room, dress hanging off their body, faces sometimes lined with filth. They wondered if the creatures cried, before the end.
They wondered if Crawley would cry, alone in her tiny room, waiting for the sacrifice to begin.
Without thinking, they kicked the tree, slamming their foot into it so hard the branches above trembled.
“Iltani!” Siduri said, shocked into something like her old self. “Show some respect!”
“Why? No one else here does! Jushur was right. It’s disgusting! It’s cruel! It’s—how can Inana allow Sabium to… Ugh!” They kicked the tree again.
“Don’t expect the gods to be reasonable. That was always Sabium’s mistake.” She let her eyes drift up to the leaves, waving in the wind above them. “He imagines they think like him. That they want a world that’s structured, and organized, where everyone is obedient. He twists the stories to fit his vision.” Siduri chuckled. “Do you remember? The demon said that, when they first dragged her out. Even she could see…”
And Iltani had ignored her. Thought her disrespectful, blasphemous. Had gladly picked up the stones to punish her…
They weakly kicked the tree a third time, barely more than a tap on a root, and rested their weight there. “The demon. Crawley. I talked to her… she’s… she’s just like us, and…”
“I’m not surprised.” Siduri tugged at the rope, rolling it between her fingers. “Demons. Gods. Their servants. Their monsters. All, really, just like us.” She tossed it aside. “Perhaps this is what I can do with my punishment. Sit in the street outside the sacred district. Saying all the things Sabium denies. Let the people hear a little truth for once.”
“What would be the point? No one would listen.”
“Likely not. But the truth is usually worth speaking for its own sake.” She stretched her leg, rolling her ankle until it cracked. “And what’s Sabium going to do to me? Kill me a little faster? Cast me out a second time? It really is quite freeing.” Siduri tilted her head, studying Iltani in the half-light. “Have you decided what you want to do with your last hour?”
They shrugged. “Probably just sit here. What else is there to do?”
“Well, yes, but I asked what you wanted to do.” When they hesitated, she frowned. “Come along. Not ten minutes ago you were saying you couldn’t give up on something. It must have been important.”
Their face burned with shame. “I… I thought I could stop the sacrifice.”
“Oh, my. Aren’t we ambitious”
“I promised Crawley I’d be there, that she wouldn’t be alone, but… but Sabium is going to kill her. She’s just like us, and he’s going to… to cut her open and… something about her power. It’s… it’s wrong! And… but I can’t,” they insisted.
“Why not?”
“Sabium would kill…” Sabium was already going to kill them, though, wasn’t he? “Mattaki will…” He was already going to do everything he could imagine, wasn’t he? “They… they’re too strong, too…” And all that strength was already posed to destroy Iltani.
There wasn’t anything more Sabium could do.
It really was freeing.
“But. I’m still stuck here.” Iltani glared around the grove. Palm trees rising towards the sky, neat little rows. “And it’s probably too late, they’re probably already…”
Their eyes traced up a nearby tree. Taller than the wall.
“There’s no point in…”
Probably too far from the wall.
But it wouldn’t hurt to try.
Iltani pushed off the apple tree and ran across the grove.
**
Last of all, the procession followed a long, straight road lined with opulent homes, not quite palaces. The people who lived here, apparently, were tooimportant for hurling abuse at the captive. Instead, they stood before their homes and watched Crawley pass with cold eyes. And then joined the procession.
The street ended at the ziggurat, an enormous mound four times higher than any house, topped by a white temple that would glow in the right lighting. Stairs cut into the mudbrick traced up the sloping sides.
That wasn’t where they went.
A smaller road wound around the base of the ziggurat, leading to a walled-off courtyard near the northern corner. Dismally plain, packed with dirt. The stone building at its center was too elaborate to be a house, but looked very little like a temple.
Most of the procession continued along the road to the building’s only door, but Crawley was dragged down a long sloping ramp to an underground chamber.
It was a simple room, really. White-plaster walls. A line of braziers down each side for light. A raised platform in the center, holding a large stone altar.
Unlike most altars, it included restraints. And a blood stain that didn’t come from goats.
But what really drew the eye was the ceiling. There was none. From the chamber, she could see the upper floor, a reed-woven barrier holding back the crowd of witnesses who pressed against it, chattering eagerly, as if this were a great festival. Leaning down for a better look at the demon.
And beyond the crowd, the open sky. The last stars burned faintly, fighting to still be seen as the black faded to blue.
So. The last thing she would see would be her stars vanishing. Somehow, that seemed appropriate.
Her guards led her through the chamber to a side door, a little staging area, a space to stand out of sight of the audience. They shoved her into a corner and without a word started dumping jars of water over her head.
“Disgusting this year,” one grunted, going for another jar. “Damn peasants are getting too enthusiastic.”
“Smells vile,” the other agreed.
All of Iltani’s work, washed away. Makeup smeared and mixed with mud, hair and dress limp and dripping. One of the guards pulled off her headscarf, knocking the braids out of their knot, and retied the cloth messily around her head. Tugged her jewelry and dress back into place with no care for how neatly they hung.
As the men removed the collar and leash they’d dragged her around the city by, they noticed her earrings. Red and black. Crawley’s colors.
“Where did these come from?” one demanded, pulling them off, ripping them so that her earlobes bled. The seal on her arm pulsed again, feeling ready to burst. “Must have been that damn kid they had dress her.”
The second guard looked her over, slapped her face for no reason, and followed the first out.
“Where’d he go, anyway?”
“I dunno, but I told him Sabium would eat him alive if…”
They shut the door, leaving her there. Bound hand and foot, shivering and alone in the darkness.
Though not for long.
The door opened again, briefly allowing in enough light for her to see the silhouette of the man who stepped in.
“There you are.” Mattaki’s distinctive voice seemed to prowl around the little room as he pushed the door shut. “Ready for your grand finale?”
“What did you do with Iltani?” she demanded, voice hoarse. Almost resigned.
“Nothing. Well, nothing yet.” His hand brushed her arm and she flinched, but a moment later a powerful, earthy scent filled the room. Frankincense and cedar. He was rubbing scented oils on her. “But tell you what. Me and them, we have the whole day ahead of us. So if you’ve got any requests…”
“Let them go. Please.”
“Mmmmh. Not that one.” He turned her around, massaging the oils onto the back of her neck. “Nosy little brat’s gonna get what’s coming to them. And I have… loads of ideas. Should be fun. Speaking of fun.” He gripped her elbows and settled his weight against her back, pressing her against the wall. Laughing into her ear. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”
“Don’t,” she said weakly. “Please…”
“Come on, girl.” His nose brushed her cheek. “You’ve given me… so much these last two nights. Let’s have a bit of pleasure before the end, hmmm? We should have just enough time.” He pressed his lips to her neck. “And I want to hear you scream once more before the end.”
“You!” She slammed her head back against him. “You monster!” His grip loosened and she struggled free. Nowhere to run, but Crawley backed away a few steps. “And trust me, I know monsters. You’d fit right in in Hell.”
But Mattaki just laughed again, grabbing her from behind, pulling her close. “That’s better! I was worried after everything, you were going to go quietly.” He tugged the door open, letting in a bit more light than before. The audience above murmured excitedly. “What do you think? One more show of resistance, so I can subdue you in front of everyone? Or…” his hands slid down to her hips. “We can wait right here, just out of sight?” His lips traced along her jawline.
“You’re disgusting!” She tried to pull away again, but the pain in her back flared, and she wound up pressed against him, gasping for breath.
“Oh, yes. I’m going to be thinking about you for a long, long time.” Now he brought his nose to her neck, breathing deeply the scent of the oils. Lips hovering, hot breath running across her skin. It made her feel sick.
“Just… just let me go,” she pleaded. “I’m not going to… to try anything…”
“Oh, no.” His grip around her middle tightened. “I’m not going anywhere. Besides, you don’t want to die alone, do you?”
**
They charged up the hill from the reservoir, the children easily out pacing the sukkal. He seemed to lean more heavily on his staff with every step, but when Dadasig offered to help, he waved it off with a hint of irritability.
“I can hear the procession,” Tigzar gasped, pointing up a side street. “It’s this way.”
“That’s an echo, dummy,” Elutil snapped, running a different direction. “Listen! They’re over here!”
“That’s not even towards the ziggurat!”
Dadasig shifted the two bags he carried, glancing around.
“The procession doesn’t go straight, I know it winds this way!”
“Even if it does, we’d be behind it, we need to get ahead!”
“That won’t get us ahead! We need to go—”
“Shut up!” Dadasig hissed, pointing back the way they’d come. The sukkal was still three houses behind them, leaning heavily on his staff as he stared at a wall. “Look, just… there’s a square up ahead. Check that out, I’ll be…” He waved his hands vaguely, and the two younger children hurried off.
“Are you sure you don’t need a rest?” Dadasig called, jogging back to rejoin the stranger. “After all that fighting, I wouldn’t…”
The wall was covered in blood.
There’d been a few drops of it, spots and streaks too bright for human blood, crossing the road wherever the demon had run the night before. But this… She must have sat there for some time, letting the blood soak into the plaster, leaving behind an enormous smear, big enough, clear enough that, if you looked at it the right way, you could see the shape of the being who had created it.
The sukkal’s hands trembled on his staff. “Did you do this to her?” he said, almost too soft to hear.
“What?” Dadasig could only stare numbly. It was too much blood.
“You. You tried to kill my Crawley. Did you do this to her?”
“No!” There were parts where the blood ran thicker, darker. It pooled on the road below. “I—I hit her head, maybe gave her a bloody nose. This is… this…”
She’d been stabbed. At least twice. One of them had broken something inside her. He’d never seen anyone take these sorts of wounds and survive, never mind keep running.
Screaming in pain, the sukkal slammed a fist into the wall. The plaster shattered under his knuckles.
“Hey! Hey, um,” Dadasig wasn’t sure what to do. He carefully touched his hand to the strange man’s shoulders. The sukkal flinched, but didn’t pull away. Just stood there, breathing heavily. “It’s alright. Well, no, it’s—it’s really not alright. I can’t imagine how much pain she was in. But she’s…” he glanced anxiously at the brightening sky. “She’s still alive, there’s still time…”
He traced his strangely soft fingers across the dried blood. “How could anyone do such a thing?”
“I… I don’t know.” He remembered, years ago, watching the hunt from the roof of a building he’d scaled. Not even those who survived by begging and stealing would risk being on the streets that night. The other boys he hid with had thought it exciting, watching the demon stalk from street to street. Dashed about the roof, trying to see it fight against the hunters, betting on who would take it down.
Had he enjoyed it? Or had he felt as sick inside as he did now? Couldn’t even remember. “I guess it’s just… easy to lose yourself in the moment.”
The man pressed his hand to the part of the blood that marked the demon’s head. “I… I’m a soldier, myself. I understand that… things happen in the heat of battle, that you can’t always avoid… but… this is…” His breath caught in his throat. “She… she hates fighting, you know. Prefers to hide, to out-think…”
“I know.” He thought of how she’d hid in the canals, headed to the reservoir. If Dadasig hadn’t ambushed her, it might have worked. At least bought her some time.
“You said…” Moving his thumb as if to stroke her hair. “You said you thought it would… end your suffering, or…”
“Sabium. He…” It was too much to explain. “Our high priest used Crawley as an… an excuse to hurt us. And then…” He glanced up the gentle slope, to where the other two were wandering, Elutil pointing at something. “He said whoever took down the demon would marry Elutil. Not her choice. No warning. No… it had to be me. That was all I could think.”
“I see. Do you love her?”
Dadasig blinked, taken aback. “No, I… not at all. I don’t want to marry her, I don’t even think of…” Tigzar had always called her—and sometimes Iltani—his sister, but Dadasig had never had any siblings. He didn’t know what that felt like. “She’s just… She was kind to me once, and… I could never repay her, you know? And the man who hurt her. I didn’t protect her, I didn’t even try. He was one of the hunters and—and a lot of others who are just like him. I just… I had to keep her safe, however I could.”
“And…” The sukkal’s brow furrowed in thought. “That isn’t love?”
Before he could answer, Tigzar and Elutil came running back, shouting “Sukkalmah! Sukkalmah!”
Tigzar stumbled to a stop breathing heavily. “There’s a—a garden patch up there. It—It looks like someone dug it up. Ate what they could find.”
“And I found this!” Elutil held up a red pin. No, a white bone pin darkly stained with blood. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s hers.”
With trembling fingers, the man took the pin and pressed it to his chest.
“And we saw some of the crowd,” Tigzar said, glancing uphill anxiously. “We’re really… really close. Didn’t see the procession, though, so... We either just missed it or it’s about to arrive. We’re almost there.”
“I…” the sukkal pressed a hand to his eyes. “Thank you… thank you both for—”
“Stop! Look, it’s them! Stop right there!”
Dadasig looked up the nearest cross-street to see six guards rushing towards him. “Guys!” He grabbed the other two by the shoulders, pushing them behind him—and behind the sukkal, who still had his eyes closed, one hand pressed to his chest.
The guards surrounded them in an instant, spears pointed. One of the men leered at Elutil. “Alright, girl. Your husband’s waiting for you.”
The sukkal’s eyes flew open, and they glowed with blue fire. “You know who did this to my Crawley?”
The guards hesitated, and in that moment, the sukkal charged them and swung his fist.
**
Iltani crouched, pressing their feet flat against the trunk of the date palm, and scooted their hands higher. Then they pulled, hopping so that their feet barely lost contact with the trunk as they ascended, bracing against the thick ridges that ran around it.
They were already as high as the wall. They slid one way and another, trying to find a spot to jump from that wouldn’t end in a broken leg. But, as they’d expected, there wasn’t one.
“Come on,” they growled, reaching a little higher, pulling their body up towards the leaves. The wall seemed to fall away beside them, the Ziggurat of An rising into view. Temple on a mountain in the middle of the floodplain, mankind’s attempt to reach the heavens.
And beside it…
It took a few more pulls and hops for Iltani to get enough height to see the sacrificial chamber, the underground room, mankind’s somewhat less impressive reach for the underworld.
The front of the procession had already reached the little courtyard, but the line of people still trailed back up the street. And the horizon hadn’t shifted to red just yet.
Iltani turned their feet and slid back down, kicking away at the last moment to land on the soil instead of in the irrigation ditch.
“It’s not too late,” they called, racing back to Siduri. “But I… I still can’t get out! I’d have to…” All around them, the detritus of the revels lay where it had been dropped. “Did anyone leave an… an ax? A sword? I can cut the gates down.”
“That would be rather a lot of bronze to leave unattended,” Siduri pointed out. “Our guards are too clever to—”
“Fine, maybe…” They grabbed a broken spear shaft, jabbing it into the coals. “Maybe I can burn the gates down!”
“That would take—”
Iltani dropped the spear and grabbed one of the empty beer jars. “I can stack these up and climb over the—”
“For Inana’s sake, child, listen!” The frown on Siduri’s face was almost the same one she had worn when disciplining them for running in the temple’s inner sanctum. “I said our guards are too clever to leave things about.” With great effort, she lifted something and tossed it on the ground beside Iltani. “Not our high priest."
It was a long coil of rope, more than twice as long as Iltani was tall, ending in a heavy bronze hook.
They picked it up with shaking hands. “I… you… I could scale the wall…” Suddenly, the impossibility of the task dissolved. They actually could do this. And that was far more frightening. “Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t… I’ll just… make it worse.”
“How?” When Iltani started to answer, she waved her good hand. “Yes, I’m sure you could find a way to destroy the city and set the river on fire. But. At least you’ll have stopped the procession. And you can deal with the next crisis then.”
“I don’t know if I can…”
“Iltani. None of us know if we can. We simply keep trying as long as we have the breath to.” She sighed. “Which would sound better if I hadn’t spent so many years… never mind. You have a procession to stop. Go, child.”
“But…”
“Go!”
At the sharp tone, their feet snapped into motion out of long habit, and with every step Iltani found… something growing in them. Not courage. They were far too scared for that. But something.
Iltani raced to the wall, towards the corner closest to the Ziggurat of An, feeling their time slip away with every step. Planted their feet, swung the hook overhead, threw it—
It clattered off the wall and dropped to the ground.
“Come on!” They pulled the rope in to try again.
Iltani walked the wall again, ran it this time, toes balancing lightly as they looked for a safe place to descend. Crawley didn’t have time for them to deliberate, but she didn’t have time for them to misjudge the drop and crack their skull, either.
The outer wall of the grove joined with that of the entire sacred district, tracing back past Inana’s temple and nearly to the Ziggurat of An. But, because of the slope, the closer they got to the ziggurat, the farther away the ground became. The northern corner was so close, Iltani could almost jump from the wall down through the open roof to the sacrificial room. Except, of course, that they would need a rope five times longer than they had.
Between the mansions of the city’s wealthiest lords and priests that lined the final procession approach and the wall itself was a jumbled labyrinth of smaller homes, some built right against the sacred district wall. About halfway between where Iltani had started and the far corner, they could look straight down onto a roof, separated only by a distance slightly longer than their own body.
No one was there at the moment, although many people slept on the roof in the hotter months, and plenty were stirring now, getting ready to greet the day. Three houses away, someone was pointing at Iltani, speaking worriedly to a family member.
Definitely out of time.
Iltani slid the coil of rope around their shoulder, grasped the top of the wall, and walked themself down as far as they could. When their body was stretched to the limit, they let go and dropped the rest of the way, landing with a heavy thud, nearly falling on their back. If anyone was home, they heard that. As Iltani dashed to the edge of the roof, they noticed the neighbor three houses away waving urgently at someone on the street. Another woman on her own rooftop glanced at the gala-priest and started shouting something.
Shaking the rope free, Iltani rammed the hook into the plaster of the roof. It took two tries to get a good grip, then they tossed the rope over the side.
“Hey! Hey, kid! What do you think—”
“Sorry!” Iltani called to the man poking his head through the roof hatch as they scrambled over the edge, wrapping their legs around the rope. “Keep the bronze, call it a payment.”
They slid to the ground and took a deep breath, getting their bearings.
“Guards! Guards!” the man shouted from the roof. “She’s here! Your missing priestess is here!”
That made Iltani blink in surprise. They’d never been mistaken for Elutil before.
But the shout was spreading, rooftop to rooftop, people pointing towards where they’d seen a figure descend from the sacred precinct wall. And a moment later, the guards started to arrive.
“There! Grab her!”
Iltani took off running towards the main road.
**
“Why are there so many of them?” Elutil groaned, peering around the corner.
The crowds that had attended the procession were breaking up; despite their best efforts, they hadn’t been able to get ahead of it. But people stayed on the street, grumbling to neighbors, heading to the markets, going about their day. And, moving among them, were at least two more groups of guards.
She looked at the sukkal again. He was certainly breathing heavier now, and walking like an older man—not bent, but as if his legs pained him. He tried not to let the children see how he leaned on his staff, but it was difficult to miss.
Every fight had taken something out of him, not to mention eaten up their time. But there was still that fiery look in his eyes as he gazed north towards the ziggurat.
“We’re nearly there,” she assured him, and he smiled tightly. “But there’s enough people to… really cause trouble if we draw attention to ourselves. But there’s also enough to hide in the crowd, I think, and get most of the way there before anyone thinks to stop us.”
“That’s probably our best plan,” Dadasig said, a hand on the sukkal’s shoulder. “The guards won’t be searching for us anywhere near here, so as long as we don’t…” He trailed off as Elutil shook her head.
Just to be safe, she looked around the corner again. Another group had joined the search. “I just wish I knew why. They think I’m running away from the wedding, so I wouldn’t be anywhere near this place.”
“Someone has to have noticed all the bodies by now,” Tigzar pointed out.”
“They’re only bodies if I don’t leave them alive,” the sukkal said primly. “It would be unconscionable for me to kill humans in combat, so I have only given them injuries they can easily recover from.” The children all blinked at him, disbelieving. “Well, perhaps not easily, but they shouldn’t die. Most of them. I’m… ninety percent certain.” He hesitated. “Eighty-five percent certain.”
“Well, with all those non-fatal, easily healed injuries, I’m sure they’re all up and blabbing to their friends by now,” Tigzar said, rubbing at his head and looking disgusted to find it covered in hair. “Either way, they’re probably starting to realize something is going on.”
“But they still don’t know what we want,” Elutil reminded them. “So they won’t be expecting us to stroll right in—”
A horn blast echoed through the city, very loud and very close.
The sukkal immediately jumped to his feet, and only Dadasig’s hand on his shoulder kept him from charging ahead. “What is that? What does it mean?”
“Start of the ritual,” Elutil held up her hands calmingly, though her stomach twisted. “We’re cutting it close, but we still have—”
Something—someone—crashed into her back, knocking her flat, pinning her to the ground.
**
This wasn’t working. The ziggurat was getting farther away.
Iltani slowed down, trying to remember the fastest way to—
“There she is! Cut her off!”
Clenching their teeth, they charged forward, diving into the growing crowds. The guards followed close behind, still shouting.
They needed somewhere to hide. No, the sky was just starting to turn pink; they needed to run faster.
Then the signal horn announced the start of the ritual.
Iltani’s feet nearly shot out from under them. They pushed around a knot of people and dove into an empty alley.
Not empty.
They crashed into someone, knocking them both to the ground. Iltani desperately tried to get away, while their captor shouted, grabbing at their hair and wrap.
“Get off me! I won’t go, I won’t go!”
“Let go of me! I need to get to her!”
“I’m not—wait. Iltani?”
They blinked in the half-light and Iltani’s jaw dropped in shock. “Elutil? You… but… no… what happened to your hair?”
“You’re here!” She launched herself at them, pulling them into a hug. “I was so worried about you, I thought I’d never… Don’t do that to us again!”
“But you’re.. Wait.” They wriggled free, scrambling to their feet. “No, no, no you can’t be here. Mattaki was… was Lord of the Hunt, and he’s been going around saying…” Their eyes drifted around the alley. “Dadasig?”
He stood beside a strange man, looking different somehow. Taller, older. Uninjured. “Are you… I… I had this dream, you were…” The last day started to spin around in their mind, pieces falling out of place.
“Ah, I was hoping you would explain the dream stuff. Tigzar did a really bad job of it.”
Iltani sagged with relief. For a moment they’d worried they’d simply gone mad, imagining the dreamwalk and everything that came after it.
“Don’t think they can do any better,” Tigzar’s voice said beside them, but when Iltani turned it was someone else. No not someone else.
“What happened to your hair?”
“Agh,” he ran a hand over his head. “I hate it. Why does it itch so much?”
With a laugh, Iltani grabbed him in a hug, too, but the laugh quickly changed into a sob. “I’m sorry,” they said. “I’m so sorry, it was a stupid idea, I never…”
“No, no,” and Iltani was somehow pleased to find that Tigzar’s back-pat was as awkward as ever. “It was a good idea, it worked, that’s why we came back.”
“But you can’t! Sabium’s going to kill you, all of you!” They pulled back, looking around wildly. “He—he wants to make an example, so everyone will fear him, he lies, he… he gave something to the guards, and—and Crawley!”
“What?” The strange man stepped forward urgently. “What about Crawley? Did you see her? Is she…” He swallowed. “Is it too late?”
“No. No! I don’t think…” They concentrated, opening their mind to the pain around them.
As they’d hoped, they could still feel Crawley’s.
But they could also feel the being beside them. Equally powerful. Not quite as pained, at least physically, but he had been torn apart inside, something ripped from him that he would never—
The gate in Iltani’s mind closed. “You should be careful with that,” the man chided.
“Y…” They had recognized his… sense, they supposed, but at the moment were too overwhelmed to make sense of it. “Snthn.” Deep breath. “Yes. Yes. Crawley is… I didn’t understand most of what Sabium said, but he’s… he’s going to harvest her power.”
“No!” The man looked horrified, grabbing Iltani’s shoulders. “Are you sure? That’s—no one’s ever done such a thing.”
“Sabium has. He’s been doing it for years he can… he can be really strong sometimes, and he… he made me say… Yes.” Their eyes jumped to each of their friends. “That’s… that’s what it was all for. The rituals, the hunts. The purification. He… he used us all… to torture her…”
The man touched their chin, turning Iltani’s face back to him. “How bad is she?”
“She’s…” They sniffed. “She’s so scared. So alone. She wanted me to stay with her but I… and she said her friend is gone…”
Iltani’s mind went still.
Two beings. Neither remotely human.
Dark and light, chaos and order. Forever tearing at the barrier that separated them.
But not to fight.
Never to fight.
“…but you’re here.” They grabbed the man’s hands. “You’re here, and she needs you, as much as you need her! We have to—”
“There!” Iltani had entirely forgotten about the guards chasing them, until those guards burst into the alley. Three of them, the leader’s eyes darting suspiciously between them and Elutil. “Which one of you is our runaway priestess?”
**
Once again, a signal horn filled the air with a deep, echoing note.
Mattaki’s hands, which had been gliding across Crawley’s stomach, fell still. “Looks like our time is up,” he whispered, pressing a few more kisses into her neck and shoulder. “Your time, at least.” He pushed her back into the sacrificial room.
More than a hundred people looked down from above, watching with a strange sort of hunger as he led her, shuffling, to the side of the altar, where Sabium stood, eyes gleaming with a possessiveness even more terrifying than Mattaki’s.
“Look at you,” he said, something almost like pride in his voice. He touched his thumb to the seal on her arm, and pain flared through her body so badly, she would have sunk to her knees if Mattaki hadn’t pressed her against him. “Oh, yes.” Sabium smiled. “You’ve done so well.”
“Can’t you just cut my heart out and get it over with?”
“Patience.” He lay a golden dagger on the altar and raised his hands. “When Inana arrived in the underworld, the palace Ganzar, she pushed aggressively at the door.” His voice boomed and echoed, and the people above leaned forward, trying to hear better. “She shouted aggressively at the gate of the underworld.13 ‘Open up, doorman, open up. Open up, Neti, open up. I am all alone and I want to come in.’ Neti, the chief doorman of the underworld, followed the instructions of his queen. He bolted the seven gates of the underworld. Then he opened each of the doors of the palace Ganzar separately. He said to Holy Inana, ‘Come, Inana, and enter.’”
Sabium turned to Crawley, eying her as a shepherd eyes a particularly fluffy sheep, as a farmer looks at a nearly-ripe field. Then he reached up and pulled off her veil, exposing the mess of braids below. “And when Inana entered, the veil was removed from her head. ‘What is this?’
“‘Be satisfied, Inana, a divine power of the underworld has been fulfilled. Inana, you must not open your mouth against the rites of the underworld.’”
He dropped the veil onto the floor beside them, discarding it like trash.
Sabium unwrapped the beads around Crawley’s neck. “When she entered the second gate, the small lapis lazuli beads were removed from her neck. ‘What is this?’”
This time, a hundred voices called down from above: “Be satisfied, Inana, a divine power of the underworld has been fulfilled. Inana, you must not open your mouth against the rites of the underworld.”
Sabium handed off the necklace and reached for the beads pinned near her shoulders. “When she entered the third gate…”
**
“Which one of you is our runaway priestess?”
The guard’s eyes flicked from Elutil to Iltani and back, but up close there couldn’t be much question. She tried to run, but his fist grabbed her hair, hauling her back.
“No, no, no!” Just like when Iltani had fallen on her, the panic started to set in, worse now because they’d confirmed it was Mattaki she would be taken to. When the guard tried to cover her mouth, she bit his hand and stomped on his foot, but another just grabbed her around the middle, lifting her entirely.
Tigzar was shouting, the sukkal and Dadasig braced themselves for a fight, and Iltani’s eyes went wide, thoughts racing behind them—
She saw the idea snap into place.
“Praise Inana,” Iltani said, stepping forward, glaring up at the guard. “I was wondering when one of you would show up! Escort us to the sacrificial altar, immediately.”
“Shut up, kid,” the guard snarled.
“Do not address me like that! Do you know who I am?” They pulled themself as tall as they’d ever stood. “I am Iltani, gala-priest of Inana. High priest Sabium sent me to find his runaway and bring her to the sacrificial altar before the start of the ritual. You are making us late!”
“All of us were sent to find her,” a second guard said, unimpressed. “Hundreds.”
“And all of you failed! You’ve had all night and what was the result? No, Sabium finally had to send out someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“And that’s you?” Another guard narrowed his eyes. “We saw you climbing down the temple wall, rat.”
Temple wall? Elutil mouthed, but Iltani just shook their head. “Obviously! It’s called an investigation. I retraced her steps, and found her almost immediately.”
“Did you? Because we also have orders to kill anyone helping her. On sight.”
Iltani’s eyes went wider. “What are you accusing me of? Being a traitor to the temple who raised me? Do you know what this girl did?”
“Ran out on a wedding,” the guard sneered.
“And you think Sabium mobilized all these men for a marriage disagreement? No wonder he needed me. I’ve never seen such idiocy.” Now the guards glanced at each other uncomfortably. “Obviously, Elutil was doing something far worse. She… was… trying to summon a demon of her own.” They glanced back at the sukkal. “Though, as you can see, it went wrong.”
“I beg your pardon?” the sukkal demanded as Tigzar and Dadasig grabbed his arms.
“Yes.” Tigzar stared forward desperately. “We… are… bringing him to the sacrificial altar. To be… un-summoned. Painfully.”
“I can un-summon him right now,” suggested one of the guards, pointing a spear at him.
“You think that’s going to work?” Dadasig asked, lazy drawl matching the arrogance of the guards’ tone perfectly. “Demons are ten times stronger than any human. He took out over two dozen soldiers at the reservoir single-handed.”
From the way the guard pulled back, it seemed word had spread. “Him?”
“Most certainly!” The sukkal pulled himself up taller. “I am Azir..a…stopheles, great demon of the pit of… anxiety! Yes. Test yourself against me if you dare.”
The guards all stared at the sukkal for a long moment, measuring him with their eyes. “So what’s keeping him from tearing you apart where you stand?”
“Magic,” said Tigzar. “Obviously.”
“As you see,” Iltani said, glare never faltering, “the situation is dire and we cannot delay a moment longer. Take us to the altar or get out of our way.” Then they grabbed Elutil’s wrist and pulled her from the guard, marching past him into the street.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Trying to get us to the altar.”
“But they’re not going to believe you! No one in their right mind—”
“Wait!” Two guards raced past, taking up position in front of them. A moment later, two more joined them , standing beside and a little in front of Iltani and Elutil. They eyed the children suspiciously, but didn’t say anything.
“They don’t have to believe me,” Iltani hissed. “But if we’re a big enough problem, they won’t want to deal with us.”
Dadasig fell into step beside her. “Not the worst idea,” he said quietly. “There’ll be someone from the temple guard outside the sacrificial chamber. Someone whose job it is to figure out what to do with us.”
The thump of the sukkal’s staff echoed along the road behind them. Tigzar jogged up, breathing heavily. “That was brilliant,” he said, smiling when he saw one of the guards glaring at him. Tigzar glanced back at the supposed-demon following them, completely unrestrained, and wriggled his fingers. “Magic,” he repeated.
By now they had a full escort, clearing the road before them as if they were great lords and not four scruffy children and a strange man. They were nearly to the ziggurat, and between the buildings to their left the sky was rose gold and bright.
“But it’s not going to work with the temple guards,” she pointed out. “And we don’t have any time to spare.”
“I’ll think of something,” Dadasig said. “Just…get ready to follow my lead.”
With every step closer, Elutil’s heart hammered more and more, until she was certain the whole of the city would hear it. That the guards would change their mind and run them all through with their spears.
Iltani’s hand slid down to clasp hers, squeezing warmly. Their own fingers were trembling, but they squeezed hers warmly. She reached for Dadasig with her other hand, and he took it without hesitating. Tigzar squeezed her shoulder before moving down to take Iltani’s hand, and when Elutil glanced back at the sukkal, he nodded solemnly.
No one said anything. There was nothing to say.
They walked, quite possibly, to their own deaths, or worse.
But at least they walked together.
**
Of course, the final piece to be taken was her dress. Sabium pulled the pins and Mattaki stepped back enough for it to fall easily. The crowd above murmured, perhaps because her body was covered in bruises, cuts, deep red gashes that had tried to heal themselves and failed. Or maybe they just hadn’t expected to see a cock. Humans could be weird about these things.
She tried to raise her head and glare at them defiantly, but her chin hung heavily on her chest and she burned, from shame, and a sort of fever that flowed from the seal on her arm. Crawley clenched her fists, shivering.
“Demon. You stand before us today as Inana once stood before all your kind. You come today to pay for the crimes of all demons. You have been judged by the Anunaki, the Igigi, all the gods, and most of all by Holy Inana, goddess of goddesses, queen of the heavens.”
“Don’t do this,” she said, her voice nothing more than a squeak. “Please, please, don’t…”
Mattaki pushed her forward.
Crawley pushed back, digging her feet in. Falling boneless like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Struggling, squirming, her body unwilling to let her surrender even now, her mouth still muttering a constant, “Nonononononono…”
With a growl that sounded far too pleased, Mattaki seized her arms; she tried to kick at Sabium, but he simply caught her ankle and pulled her leg so hard she thought it would tear off entirely.
Together, they lifted her onto the altar.
“Nonononono…NO!” Her voice rose into a scream, tearing out of her as they pushed her flat, wrapping leather bonds around her to secure her flailing limbs “You can’t do this! You monsters! You animals! You humans!”
She tried to claw at Mattaki, but her body was too far gone to shift. No talons appeared, not even a scale.
Sabium held up the knife, calling out some final blessing or curse.
Crawley arched her back, screaming wordlessly.
**
Aziraphale understood why they couldn’t simply run. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
The pain in his stomach was worse than any he’d experienced before, no matter how Gabriel lectured him. The mere effort of walking calmly seemed more strenuous than any fighting he’d done that day. His arms and legs shook and he felt himself breaking into a sweat.
That he shuffled his feet and walked with his head bowed was no act. He felt a great weight dragging him down.
But it seemed that the plan would work. Just ahead of them was a courtyard wall, a group of guards lounging about. A few of them had noticed the approaching party, idly bringing it to their captain’s attention. They, too, seemed skeptical, but Aziraphale wouldn’t need to fool them, just get past them.
He should have a plan, but that was all he could think of.
Get past them, find his demon.
Then the screaming started.
At the first unmistakable “No!” his head shot up, his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
“Crawley,” he whispered.
“Go!” The children split apart, tackling the lead guards, two children on each. One man went down, the other was pinned to a wall by the two holding him. The guards in the courtyard froze, confused, trying to work out who the enemy was. “Run, sukkalmah!”
Get past them. Find Crawley.
Aziraphale broke into a run. Almost the second his foot touched the courtyard ground, two of the guards grabbed him. He slammed one in the face with his elbow, then swung his staff hard into the mudbrick courtyard wall. It collapsed into a pile of rubble, trapping at least two guards below it.
His footsteps never paused.
More tried to grab him. He knocked one away across the courtyard, kicked another, and grabbed the last by the scruff of the neck, hurling him down the ramp ahead.
The man tumbled across the floor, slamming into an altar.
Two priests stood beside it. One held a golden knife raised to the sky above. The other—the closer one—had his hand on Crawley’s throat, leaning over her.
No time.
One last burst of speed. Aziraphale skidded down the ramp, fist balled, and punched the nearer priest into the other.
The impact sent them both head-first into the far wall.
Gasping for breath, he bent over the altar.
“A… Aziraphale?” He lifted his head to meet those beautiful golden eyes, filled with tears, looking wonderingly at him. “You… you… came?”
He smiled down, seeing nothing but her face. So lovely, always, but more precious than ever at this moment. “Of course I came.” He reached out to stroke her cheek. “I—”
The blade was running across his throat before he realized he’d been grabbed. It was sharp, so sharp he couldn’t feel it, just a sort of warmth, a voice whispering in his ear, but all he could hear was Crawley, screaming again.
“Aziraphale! Azir…”
13 From “Inana’s Descent to the Underworld”
Bright red blood laced with gold running down pale skin.
“…there was no need to kill…”
“…got in my way. Besides…”
The smile hadn’t even had a chance to fade from his lips.
“…powerful as a demon! We needed to study…”
“Look, Sabium, he punched me. Man’s gotta act.”
“…after-effects of the revels protected…”
Blue eyes fluttered shut as he dropped to the floor.
“Collect the blood. I might get some information…”
“Anyone got some wool or…”
“Hurry, the sunrise…”
The long, low hiss of the dying’s final breath.
Or so she thought.
The two men turned to face her and the hissing grew more intense as she strained at her bonds. Crawley only managed to stop herself by forcing it into words.
“You killed him.” She looked at him. It was the look of death.
“Yeah, I did.” Mattaki said. “And yo—”
“You. Killed. Aziraphale.” The speech of anger. Her fists bunched, the leather that held them creaked. The seal burned inside her, hotter than the birth and death of the universe.
“Hold her!” Sabium shouted, and Mattaki’s hands pressed her shoulders flat.
He stood over her—just as Aziraphale had stood over her—
“No, fool, get out of my way, before it—”
The seal ignited, melting her soul.
Crawley arched her back, screaming, howling, the pressure in her growing—
The blistered surface of the seal cracked, split, a line of blood dripping across it.
Something inside her exploded.
“YOU! KILLED! MY! ANGEL!”
The walls of the temple trembled, dust spilling down.
One black, taloned hand tore free of the restraints, slicing Mattaki’s face. As he stumbled back, the other broke free, and her legs slid from their bonds as they turned into a long tail. Snarling, fangs bared, she launched herself off the altar at the man who killed the only being who had ever cared for her.
Something slashed at her side and she turned to find another man with a gold dagger.
Her fist closed around his and in one motion ripped the man’s arm from his body and buried the knife in the chest of the one who had killed her beloved.
Panting, she bent over the angel, running a talon gently across his face. His eyes were closed now, his mouth open in surprise.
He was gone.
She’d wished him here, and he’d come, and now he was gone.
Really, forever, gone.
She threw her head back and shouted the shout of heavy guilt, a deep soul-rending howl that shook the walls, cracks growing through plaster, shattering the rock of the foundation.
Then she seized the men who had destroyed her world and flung them through the roof, watched them disappear into the brightening sky.
Not enough. Still not enough.
Above, people were screaming, struggling, trying to push their way out the narrow door. Crawley slammed her nails into the plaster wall and rose to meet them.
**
“I don’t think you four can even begin to understand the trouble you’re in!” The guard captain glared, wiping sweat and blood from his forehead.
When Dadasig had given the signal, Elutil had assumed they might, at best, get one guard to trip over himself.
She hadn’t realized that she, Dadasig, and Tigzar all still had the powerful energy they’d felt after the sukkal’s healing.
Granted, only Dadasig had enough training to know what to do with that added strength, and between their escort and the temple guards they were vastly outnumbered.
But seeing a dozen of the guards now bearing bruises and scrapes had been very gratifying.
At least, until they’d been overwhelmed, which had barely taken more than a minute.
Now she, Iltani, and Tigzar were all pinned to the ground by guards while Dadasig stood with his back against the remaining section of the courtyard wall, pointing a spear at the seven men who surrounded him.
The guards who had taken Elutil had, briefly, held her by the wrists between them. Apparently that was all it took to send her mind spinning through painful memories. Now every time she closed her eyes, she could see Mattaki standing over her, staring at her body, hurting her, touching her…
It didn’t matter what was real or imagined. It would all be real soon enough.
“…treachery to the goddess, to the whole city! During one of our most sacred rituals!”
There hadn’t been any further sound from the temple. Maybe the sukkal had succeeded.
He’d looked very tired, though, right before he ran down.
The guard captain nudged his toe under her chin and tilted her head back to look up at him. Not painfully, but insistently.
He seemed to tower up to the sky.
“Particularly you, girl, running out on your husband like that.”
Elutil started to shake. Behind the guard captain, Dadasig tensed, and she worried he was about to try something. And that made her shake even harder.
“Sabium has already had a lot to say about rooting out treason in our midst tonight. We’ll be making an example of all of you!”
Iltani cried out, so suddenly the guard holding them pulled back a little, as if to make sure their arm wasn’t broken. Iltani immediately took advantage, trying to claw their way forward. “No no no no no no…”
The guard captain let Elutil go and kicked Iltani in the ribs. “No point in begging for mercy now. I look forward to seeing your bodies hanging off the sacred precinct walls. Once Sabium and Mattaki get here—”
The air shook with the sound of the most horrific and horrified scream Elutil had ever heard, even more terrible than the sukkal’s had been. It shook the earth, it made the broken wall crumble, it sent stones tumbling down the side of the ziggurat. Perhaps it was a trick of the echoes, but it seemed to go on and on endlessly, mixed with more mundane screams.
Then something crashed to the ground behind the guard captain. Two somethings.
The captain turned to look, and stumbled back, screaming.
The world broke into chaos around Elutil. Everyone shouting. People running and running. More echoing howls.
But all she could see was Mattaki. Lying on the ground, fingers twitching, mouth struggling to make a sound. There was a dagger in his chest.
This wasn’t right.
Elutil stepped forward as if in a dream, kneeling between him and Sabium. She vaguely noticed the high priest was missing an arm. But mostly she looked at Mattaki, his eyes struggling to focus on her.
“Hello, my husband,” she said demurely, hand on the dagger.
She twisted it.
Jerked it out.
Slammed it into Sabium’s back.
Her work done, she stood up, dusted off her dress, and walked two steps before collapsing.
“Elutil!” Dadasig’s voice. He seemed to have caught her. That was good. “You—”
“Can’t hurt me now.” She made a sound that was part laugh, part sob. “Can’t hurt me!”
“That was… you did good,” he said soothingly, pulling her into a hug. “Really good. There’s um, there’s more to deal with now, if you’re ready?”
She nodded, stepping back and wiping her eyes. A deep breath, and the world came back into focus. Screaming. Howling. Half their group missing. “Yes. What’s next?”
**
The guard captain stumbled back screaming.
Iltani was aware of that, of the man’s fear, of their own, of everyone else’s, wave after wave. But the grief that tore through them—
“C—Crawley…” they shouted, struggling to their feet. “Crawley!”
“Stop! What are you…? Iltani!” someone shouted behind them.
A few guards ran down the ramp towards the sacrificial chamber, the view obscured by something large and black. Iltani followed them, bare feet skidding on the packed earth.
The first guard to step through was immediately knocked down by… something. A not-quite-human shape that dropped from above, hauling the man away in one swift motion. He barely had time to scream before a sudden crack cut him off.
The other guards suddenly seemed far less willing to go in.
There was so much screaming.
Iltani started to push past them, but Tigzar dragged them back. “You can’t just—what are you doing!”
“I have to know what’s going on! I have to help!”
Another scream rose above the rest, ending in a crack and something heavy striking the ground inside. Another monstrous howl, shaking the floor and sending the guards scrambling back to the entrance. Far above, the sound of masonry crumbling.
“I… Iltani, I don’t think you can help.”
They shook their head, eyes already hot. This was their fault, somehow this was their fault. “She told me she… lost her only friend. I told her she wouldn’t be alone. Whatever… whatever happened…”
“Oh, shit.” Tigzar pointed into the room.
The large black thing, like a rope as thick around as a tree trunk, coiled around the altar. Protecting it.
But the great mass shifted now and then, revealing the figure that lay upon the stone.
It was the man in white. The one who had come to help Crawley. He lay there, not moving.
Covered in blood.
“Oh, no, no, no…”
The large black mass wasn’t completely solid. Red underneath. Broken into scales as large as a man’s palm. Some were opalescent, shining in the golden dawn light where it fell through the roofless ceiling.
It didn’t just shift. It rose and fell, strained and relaxed. Expanded and contracted as it breathed.
“No no no no no…” Iltani pulled free of Tigzar’s grip and peered through the door.
It was the body of a snake, a serpent, so many times larger than a man. But far, far above, it had the head and chest of a human. Mostly. The hands were more like the claws of an eagle, blackened, and a pair of black wings filled much of the space behind. When the creature turned to look down at them, Iltani saw the face was covered in scales, with sharp cheekbones, gaping fang-filled jaw, golden slit-pupil eyes and a head of brilliant red hair, curls and a cluster of trailing braids.
They drew back. “It’s Crawley.”
“I didn’t think anyone else… what is she doing?”
Iltani looked again. She had crawled up to the upper floor and torn apart the reed divider. Now she reached inside, seizing people, throwing them at the walls, through the roof, down onto the floor of the sacrificial chamber.
Every time she howled, she grew larger. Longer. Soon she’d be able to pull herself through the roof; in fact, she probably already could, if she wasn’t distracted by her current victims.
The people were screaming, hammering on walls, crying out…
“I… Tigzar, I think the door is jammed shut. I think they’re trapped.”
“Oh, fuck…”
“We have to do something!” Iltani waited until Crawley’s head and shoulders were pressed into the hole in the reed barrier, talons scratching frantically towards the crowd. Fully distracted. Then they ran through the door.
“Wait!” Tigzar cried out, closely followed by Dadasig’s voice echoing down the ramp.
The snake body filled most of the room by now, each coil easily as thick around as Iltani’s waist. They jumped and scrambled, climbing over until they could jump onto the altar.
The man lay there, paler than anyone Iltani had ever seen.
Rivers of blood—brilliant red that glittered almost gold in the sunlight—ran down his neck and robe, soaking into the white material. He lay utterly still, and when they pressed their fingers to his lips, Iltani didn’t feel any breath.
“Sukkalmah!” They looked up to see Elutil crouching on the altar beside them, her hands red. They didn’t ask about that. “Is he dead?”
“I… I don’t know. He isn’t human. Maybe… maybe they don’t need blood?”
“Then this is a terrible time for a nap.” Tigzar hovered just past the snake coil, as if trying to find a way over it without touching it.
“Is he breathing?” Dadasig pointed his spear at the enormous demon, but it looked about as effective as a handful of wet grass against a lion.
“No, but… he’s still warm!” Iltani pressed their hands to his face, trying to concentrate.
“Doesn’t mean much, he could be warm for hours,” Dadasig pointed out.
“Do I want to know how you learned that?”
“No, Tigzar. Definitely not…”
Shaking their head, Iltani began to hum the lamentation, just loud enough for themself to hear. Trying to drown out the screams, the voices, the howls of pain, searching… searching…
There. Faint, flickering, almost impossible to see. A thread of fear, of loss.
Iltani gripped it with their mind and followed it deeper, deeper into blackness, until they saw the starlight road again, until they could feel it.
The entire road had turned to suffocating pain. The black creature filled the underside of it, grown larger than the sky, tearing apart… everything. Ripping the stars from the sky. Setting the primordial waters of the earth aflame. Tearing at its own form.
And on the other side, above the road, just a single faint wisp of light.
When Iltani touched it this time, they weren’t overwhelmed. They hardly felt anything.
Except for a heartbreaking, aching certainty that the being had failed it his most sacred task.
The wisp flickered, but never quite extinguished.
And the trailing edge of it still reached out, into the road, through the road, to…
Iltani opened their eyes, and the screams poured back in.
“He’s alive!” They shouted, shifting around, to pull the man’s head onto their lap. “He’s still alive! Honey, does anyone have honey?”
“We…” Elutil shook her head. “I had some for my wounds… Dadasig?”
He frowned, fumbling with his spear and the two near-empty bags he carried. “There’s a couple jars but… Iltani, it’s not going to help. I don’t think anything can…”
“No, trust me, it’s—this is going to work.”
Dadasig tossed the jar to Elutil, who pulled out the wax seal and handed it to Iltani. They plunged a finger in, pushing it deep into the thick, sticky honey, scooping out as much as they could.
And stuck their finger into the sukkal’s mouth.
“Come on, come on,” they mumbled as Crawley screamed again. Far above, stone and plaster crunched as she began tearing pieces off the walls themselves. “Please. She needs you.”
A twitch on the sukkal’s face. Then he pressed his mouth closed, tongue shifting as he sucked the honey off Iltani’s finger. He choked, air bubbling out of his neck, but it was a breath.
“Yes. Yes! Oh, thank you, thank you!” They pressed a kiss to the stranger’s forehead and handed the honey back to Elutil. “Feed him! All that and—and anything else you can find. Steal it if you have to, I don’t care.”
“But—where are you going?”
They took a running leap off the altar, arms locking around the serpent’s body, feet pressed flat against the scales, and began to climb. “I’m going to do my job.”
**
When Dadasig and Tigzar reached the top of the ramp, there wasn’t a guard in sight. Bodies scattered across the ground, and enormous blocks of plaster and stone. From inside, there was still so much screaming.
Another howling scream. Crawley’s head briefly appeared above the temple walls before vanishing again.
It was terrifying to look at. Truly demonic.
“Where are we supposed to find food?” Tigzar demanded, fingers digging again into the itchy hair.
“I don’t know!”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You always know this stuff!”
Dadasig ran a hand over his head. “Look, I’m… I’m a little… ah, fuck.” He took off running around the stone building, Tigzar scrambling to keep up.
“What are—” Dadasig skidded to a halt in front of the door, which was pinned shut by several broken blocks of stone. Larger than a man’s head. “No, no, we don’t have time for this!”
“Don’t—” Dadasig shoved his spear under a stone, trying to lever it up. “We can’t leave them!”
“Yes we can! Everyone in there was happy enough to watch her die. To have us executed, remember? We don’t… it’s… it’s…”
“Tigzar!” Dadasig held out his hands. “It’s everyone from the temple.”
He clenched his fists, not sure how convincing that was. But, fuck, he was very nearly one of them, too…
“Fine!” He hurried over and grabbed one of the stones, both of them managing to lift it together. “But… they’re still… assholes!”
Three stones cleared enough space to open the door, and Tigzar was nearly trampled by the flood of screaming humans pouring out, nearly all spattered with blood, eyes so wide and frantic they might not have realized they were free.
Free, but not safe. The demon reared her head again, screaming, and sank her claws into the top of the building, ripping off a block of stone which she hurled across the courtyard.
Some of the people ran towards their homes, some up the ziggurat, some simply scattered.
The two boys ran with the crowd, Tigzar’s eyes darting, trying to track everyone. “There!” He pointed to a fleeing man heading towards one of the nearest houses. “Get him!”
Dadasig nodded and put on a burst of speed, pushing through the panicked mob, while Tigzar trailed behind, puffing and pressing his hand to his side. Apparently, even with super strength, he still got to be the out-of-shape one.
The man started to close his door and Dadasig dove, sliding across the ground to jam his arm into the crack.
Tigzar barreled into the door a moment later, hard enough to send the man sprawling back. The boy clutched at the door, grinning down at his friend. “High priest of An,” he explained. “One o’Sabium’s friends. And. Probably has… food. Right, yer holiness?”
They looked at the man, who was still laying on the floor.
“I think he fainted,” Dadasig said.
“Nice. Go look for a cart… I think… I can smell his beer…”
**
It turned out, a giant snake was much harder to climb than a palm tree. It twisted under Iltani’s grasp, bent, swung around in ways that nearly threw them off. And that was before she realized they were there.
The taloned hand crashed against the snake body as if trying to crush a bug. Iltani loosened their grip and slid down just enough to avoid it, then started frantically hopping up again. “Crawley! Crawley, listen to me! He’s fine! He’s f—!”
Her wings flapped frantically, just over their head. They clung tightly to the scaly body as the wind nearly dislodged them. The feathers that floated free were nearly as long as Iltani.
“Crawley!” They started climbing again, working their way up her back, hoping to reach the shoulders. “Crawley, you’re safe now! They’re gone! Mattaki and Sabium are gone! Your friend is alive! Please, listen to me!”
Once again, she howled, growing longer, rearing up to slam her whole body against one of the stone-built walls. It crumbled entirely, falling in a wave onto the courtyard below. Iltani had a brief glimpse of people frantically scattering, but didn’t have time to think about that.
Her body was too thick for them to embrace properly with their arms. Iltani tried digging their nails into the spaces between the scales, but there was nothing to grip. And their feet had begun to slide, wet with sweat. Clinging as best they could, they hopped around her body, reaching for her wing, trying to grasp onto the enormous feathers, but at the lightest touch, the wings started shaking again.
They needed something to grab onto, they needed—
There! Just overhead, Crawley’s braids hung down her back, swinging between the wings, each as wide as a rope. Bracing their feet one more time, they pushed up, reaching, and caught it with one hand.
Quickly, Iltani shifted their grip, pulling hand-over-hand and walking their feet up Crawley’s back. Even as they ascended, she surged through the broken wall, crouching, lower body twisting and slithering as she wriggled into the courtyard.
“Crawley! Listen to me!”
She swung her head, sending Iltani arcing through the air, holding on to the braid for their life. She studied the city, the people fleeing up the ziggurat, deciding on her target.
Then she eyed the temple of Inana, just visible ahead, rearing above the sacred district wall.
She wasn’t quite taller than the wall yet, but she would be soon.
“Crawley!” As they climbed past her wings, the body became… more human, at least. Iltani could brace their feet on the nubs of her spine, moving quickly the last part of the way, just as she began sliding towards the hill.
She was too wide to fit down the streets or through any gates, but she destroyed the building’s courtyard wall with a flick of her wrist.
Gathering themself, Iltani leaped from braid to shoulder, nearly falling, grabbing her flattened ear for balance. They caught a glimpse of how far the ground was below and suddenly felt dizzy.
They’d never been afraid of heights, but now might be an excellent time to start.
Shaking their head, they grasped her earlobe, which was nearly as large as themself.
“Crawley! Crawley, can you hear me? It’s Iltani. Your shedu-priest. I’m here to talk. Here to help. Will you listen?”
She tossed her head so violently, they nearly fell.
“Stop, Crawley, please! You’re hurting so many people! They—”
Wrong thing to say. Crawley threw her head back, howling, and grew a little larger.
“I know! I know they hurt you. I do… Oh, Crawley. You’ve been so scared, every moment since they brought you here. Helpless. Humiliated. Hurt, over and over. By all of us. I… I can’t imagine how it must have felt, to have the whole city against you.”
She turned her face towards the city, screaming long and loud, cracks running up the sides of every house in sight.
“I understand. And Crawley, I… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry we hurt you. I’m sorry I was late. I’m sorry I left you alone—”
Another long cry, this one low and heartbreaking.
“But you’re not alone, Crawley.” They relaxed one hand, reaching out to run it down the scales of her face. “You aren’t. I’m here. I’m right here, and… and Elutil, and Tigzar, and Dadasig. Do you remember them? We all came, to help you.”
A shorter cry, this one almost a sob. Almost a word. Angel.
“Your friend? You… you told me you lost your only friend. That it was your fault. It must have been right before you were summoned?” Iltani shifted, staying near her ear, but moving enough to meet one golden eye far above. “So the whole time we were hurting you, you really believed you’d driven away the one being…” They pressed close to her cheek. “I felt that, too. Last night. I had all my friends leave the city. To be safe. But I was alone. And then Sabium gave the order for them to be killed and I… I thought…”
Sobs started to build up in Iltani’s chest, and the tears rolled down their face, soaking into Crawley’s skin.
“All I could think was, they were going to die because of me. That if… if I hadn’t had that stupid idea, they’d all be safe. And that’s—isn’t that what you’re feeling? That somehow your friend came here because… because you wanted him here, that you brought him here to get killed. And, oh, Crawley. That guilt will eat you alive.”
A taloned hand wrapped around Iltani, gently lifting them, moving them to where Crawley could see them. Iltani sat on her palm, looking at her through their own curtain of tears.
“But… you have to remember. You didn’t force him to come. You didn’t summon him or drag him here against his will. Crawley, I only met him a few minutes ago, but I could feel it, in every part of me. He came because he wanted to be here for you. Because he loves you.”
Crawley closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“It’s ok,” Iltani said, wrapping their arms around her thumb, the only part they could reach. “You can cry. It’s good. Cry because you were hurt. Cry because he was. But also, cry because he’s going to be alright, and you’re safe now. You’re safe. We won’t let anyone else hurt you.”
With a long, broken moan, Crawley began to shrink.
It was difficult to describe. The motion was smooth and natural, as if she were curling up to sleep, but instead her whole body drew in. Iltani became too big for her hand and found themself cradled in her arms, and then standing beside her as she knelt, naked, on the ground. As they’d been last night.
This time, Iltani knelt beside her, pulled her into a hug. Let her cry against their shoulder.
“Oh, Crawley,” they murmured, rocking her gently, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
And they hummed the lamentation, letting it soothe her heart.
**
Crawley shuffled down the ramp, cowering behind Iltani. Hands on their shoulders, bent almost double with a mix of lingering pains.
Two of the room’s braziers were still standing, though plenty of sunlight shone down. All around there was broken stone. Broken humans. She couldn’t look at any of it without hurting.
In the center of the room, three children sat on a blood stained altar, and between them…
“Angel,” she croaked, dropping to her knees right there in the doorway. “My… my angel…”
“Is going to be fine,” the girl said firmly. His eyes were closed, his head resting on her shoulder as one of the boys held a bowl of soup, tipping it into Aziraphale’s mouth a little at a time. Though it looked painful, he swallowed and waited for more.
She hadn’t dared to believe it was true. Hadn’t dared to hope.
Now it nearly broke her.
“He…” She clutched at her shoulders, shivering, gasping. “You’re right. He’s not…”
“Like I said,” Iltani’s hands, so warm and steady, took hers. Helped her to her feet. Led her to the altar.
Aziraphale’s hand lay before her, resting on the stone. She stared at it, reverent, until Iltani carefully placed her hand in his, pressed them together.
It was warm. Soft. Crawley had touched Aziraphale’s hands before, but somehow, this time it felt real. It felt right. The touch of his fingers reached to her heart and cradled her, whispered to her something more precious than words.
“He’s still resting, but he’s going to be so happy to see you. He… he was so upset… to think he let you down.”
“Oh, no.” Crawley sat on the altar, pressing Aziraphale’s hand to her cheek. “Oh, Angel. You didn’t… you would never…” She pressed her lips to his knuckles and held them there.
There was nothing else to say. The last two days had stripped her of all words, all tears. Everything had been scrubbed from her, leaving her bare, but now…
A single emotion in the wasteland of her heart. A strange, aching joy. That she was alive. He was alive. They were together. Even if only for one more day, they were together.
**
Aziraphale huddled in the darkness, screaming for Crawley to forgive him. He’d been too weak. Too slow. Too late.
He reached, desperately, every moment, searching for something, anything that could help her. Digging frantically at the bonds that trapped her. Pleading with God and anyone else who would listen that Crawley not die for his mistakes.
But slowly, a river of warmth crept into the darkness, starting at his heart and growing, growing. Then the darkness faded and he opened his eyes to see…
Cloudless blue sky.
Ruined walls.
Children, hovering close.
And sitting beside him, holding his hand…
“Is that you?” He croaked, voice like a faulty door. “My Crawley?”
“Yes. Yes!” She flung herself at him, pulling him into a hug. “Oh my angel, yes! It’s me, I…” She sniffed, tears pouring down her face. “I… I fucked up, Angel. I was so angry, I was so scared, I just…”
“Shhhh, my dear.” He ran a hand down her back, feeling the scars. “Oh, my Crawley. They… they hurt you so much.”
She sobbed, pulling him even closer. “I thought… Aziraphale, I thought…”
“Oh, my dear.. I’m so sorry I took so long, so sorry I…”
“No, don’t say it,” she interrupted. “You didn’t let me down, you could never—Aziraphale, after the way I treated you, you still… still came…”
“Way you tr—” He coughed and cleared his throat. “No, I am quite certain it was I…” he trailed off, realizing his lips were moving but no sound came out.
“You can argue about whose fault it is later,” Tigzar said, handing Elutil a bowl. Her hand gently guided him back against her own shoulder, but his own hand still held Crawley’s. “Maybe when we’re not in a half-collapsed temple?”
“Ah, yes.” His heart fell. “Though, once I am able to walk, I should return to—”
Crawely’s grip on his hand tightened. Aziraphale looked into her eyes, seeing the desperate pleading. No, no he couldn’t leave yet.
“Iltani and Dadasig are asking around,” Elutil explained. “Seeing what people are saying. Finding out, um.” Her eyes flicked to Crawley. “Who survived.”
The demon trembled, head bowed. Oh, dear. No, certainly, he must stay as long as she needed him. “Where could we go? To recover?” he asked.
“Ideally, the temple,” Tigzar said, glancing at Crawley. “Not the temple itself. One of the little buildings. We really do have lots of room to spare, and… it’s the least we could do.”
“If that doesn’t work, Sabium and Mattaki have houses they won’t be needing anymore.” Elutil’s voice was very bright, nearly covering her troubled expression. “We can put you up in one of those as long as you like.”
“People might not like it,” Tigzar added. “But they can eat shit.”
Elutil handed Aziraphale a bowl of porridge. “But we need you well enough to walk first. So eat up.”
He smiled, but didn’t want to release Crawley’s hand to eat it. Eventually, he settled on putting the bowl on his stomach and scooping the porridge with his free hand. The thumb of his other brushed across Crawley’s fingers and… she did not smile, not yet, but the complex, broken pain on her face eased somewhat.
“By the way.” Elutil glanced nervously at Crawley. “I have a… a very powerful need to, uh, trash Mattaki’s house. Would you… care to join me? When you’re feeling better.”
Crawley’s eyes lit up, just a little. “Now that sounds like my kind of party.”
Iltani sat in the corner of the room, watching the two beings sleep.
They were both naked, apart from a linen sheet draped across them. Their clothing had been ruined—Aziraphale’s from his own blood, Crawley’s from… everything she’d been through. The children had offered to find them fresh clothes, but it had only taken moments for the two to fall asleep.
They hadn’t stirred since, no matter what came to pass. Not the furious shouting and screaming as the temple’s clergy returned, a few at a time, from the sacrifice. Not the more calculated—but no less loud—arguments over the future of the temple’s leadership. Not even the heat of the day, which was nearing excruciating levels.
They just lay, pressed against each other, holding each other tightly. Crawley curled against Aziraphale’s chest, looking happier than Iltani had ever seen her.
They slept in the same room where Iltani had taken their first dreamwalk, on the very same spot. With everything that had happened, Sabium had never gotten around to assigning Iltani a permanent place to sleep, so they’d claimed this one. It was large enough for a single gala-priest and a few guests, and that was all they needed.
A group of priests had objected, complaining that a junior priest—a junior gala-priest at that—had taken such a thing on themself. Or perhaps they were more upset about Iltani sharing their room with the being who had killed the last head priest. Iltani had listened to their complaints with a blank expression, nodding along, then announced that, as the temple’s only gala-priest, that made them senior gala-priest until someone more qualified for the title arrived.
And, as senior priest, they had the right to their own accommodations, the right to offer hospitality to whoever they chose—including two strange inhuman beings—and the right to send any lower-ranked member of the priesthood who displeased them to work in the stables until they found their proper humility.
Siduri, newly retrieved from the grove, had shouted her support from the priestesses’ hut, in between her shouted instructions to Gemeshega about the proper way to set a broken wrist and her shouted declarations to anyone who would listen that things were going to be different going forward.
It had certainly been a busy morning.
But now, as the sun reached its zenith and the hottest part of the day drew near, the shouting had ceased as everyone retreated to their homes or quarters for a rest.
Iltani had set another sleeping mat in the corner, and was trying to teach themself how to enter that in-between state without falling asleep. They had done so—more or less—with Aziraphale earlier, when he was unconscious. They had tried relaxing, reaching out with their mind, even humming. Twice, they’d succeeded… only to find that they had, in fact, dozed off.
Aziraphale and Crawley still looked terrifying in that other place.
There was something in-between about them, Iltani decided, though not in the same way as them or any other human. The wall that separated them was far older and far more complex than the one the gala-priest walked, and it served as a true barrier for them.
Or it had. Now when Iltani found that silver-cloud and starlight road, the two terrifying beings still kept to their own sides, but the hands that had reached and clawed desperately for each other were clasped, twined together, perhaps melded entirely. Permanently breaching that boundary, holding them together.
Iltani wondered if they were aware of the change, or if the gala-priest should tell them…
“Iltani.” They looked up to find Elutil standing in the doorway, holding her sleeping mat. “Can I… can I sleep in here?”
“Of course.” They gestured to the other side of the room, more than enough space. “But what about the priestesses’ cottage?”
“There are… issues.” She unrolled her mat right next to Iltani’s. “Some of them have absolutely no shame about trying to force me to marry that creep. They’ve been discussinghow my near-marriage-semi-widowhood affects my status.”
“Hmmm.” Iltani watched her settle down on the mat, curling on her side to face them. “Good effects or bad?”
“Depends how things end up. Though when Delondra said I was too young to participate in a conversation about myself, Siduri pointed out that by one tradition, at least, my marriage means I outrank all of them.”
“Then it was very generous of you to leave the cottage instead of ordering all of them to sleep with the pigs.”
“My reign as senior priestess will be just and fair,” she said, holding her head high. “Also, probably very short. We’ve already had at least a dozen former priestesses that Sabium had married off or sent to the temple of the sacred courtesans come up asking to be reinstated. So. I expect Siduri and Gemeshega will be discussing that for the next… forever.”
“Does it get loud?”
“They both have opinions.” Elutil pulled the veil off her head, tossing it into the corner so that her hair could tumble down. She and Iltani had spent some idle time weaving it into a dozen braids. It was almost scandalously long, which Elutil had decided she enjoyed. “S’good for Siduri, I think. She would have made a good high priestess, once, before Sabium broke her. Maybe she can come back from that.” She bit her lip, lost in thought, then smiled at Iltani. “And, you know, maybe the other gala-priests will start turning up, too.”
“I… I wouldn’t count on it.”
There was so much Iltani had learned. So much they had discovered and overheard. They would have to decide how much to share, and with who, but they still didn’t even know where to begin. Not now, though. It wasn’t a good time. Maybe it would never be a good time.
“You know,” they said instead, putting a bit more cheer in their voice, “maybe I can help with the priestess situation. Mediation and all that. You know, once they get tired of yelling.”
“Yeah, good luck.” Elutil closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Um. I was also… I thought… a lot has happened and… if I… if I have a nightmare…”
“I’ll do what I can.” They reached over and squeezed her hand. “And just so you know, I’m pretty sure I can reach you anywhere in the city. So you don’t have to be here.”
“I know.” She glanced over at Aziraphale and Crowley, who still hadn’t moved, except possibly to draw closer together. “But it’s… it’s good to be near people when… y’know…”
“Oh, uh,” they looked up to find Dadasig in the doorway, holding his own mat. “Guess there’s already someone here.”
“There’s room.” Iltani assured him. “Trouble with the guards?”
“You could say that.” He laid out his mat next to Elutil. “Half of Mattaki’s favorites never returned. We know a few of them, er,” he gestured to Crawley, “but the rest are just… gone. Deserted.”
“That’s good, right?” Iltani asked.
“Mmh. Good that they’re gone. Bad that now everyone is declaring they’re the new Guard Commander. The chain of command is just… well, we don’t have one anymore.”
“So what are you going to do?” Elutil rolled onto her back, holding out an arm. “If you need help staging a coup, I’m senior priestess for at least a few more hours.”
“Probably not that. I suggested we send to Ur or Eridu for a new commander. No one agreed; they all think an ‘outsider’ might purge our ranks and try to bring back the old ways. Which is kind of the point.” He awkwardly shuffled closer to Elutil, resting on her arm. “Um. Is this weird?”
“Only if Iltani doesn’t do the same.” She looked at them and pouted. With a laugh, Iltani lay down and slid closer. “So this new Guard Commander you’re not going to send for. They’d bring back Inana’s female guards?”
“That’s at least part of it.” Dadasig shrugged. “Also, just… a lot of the guys are… bullies, I guess. Used to think that was just how it was. But… maybe not.”
“Maybe, since no one is in charge at the moment,” Iltani shifted to try and find a comfortable position, “someone should send a messenger or two anyway? Not you, of course.”
“Oh, pity,” Dadasig said. “I already sent five. Along with some hints that a female Guard Commander would be ideal.”
“Perfect.” Elutil closed her eyes again. “The priestesses are going to flip when they hear this.”
“Uh-oh.” Three pairs of eyes lifted to find Tigzar at the door.
“Come on in,” Iltani waved. “What’s the issue with the priests?”
“They’re all assholes. You guys aren’t.” He started hunting for a space to fit his mat, then sighed. “Is the cuddling going to be required?”
“Yep,” said the other three. “Or snuggles, if you prefer,” added Elutil.
He shrugged and slid onto Iltani’s mat. They all spent the next few minutes shifting around, trying to get comfortable, eventually finding an arrangement that more-or-less worked.
“So, uh,” Dadasig said as they settled down. “Sounds like Sabium really screwed up the temple. Like, completely.”
“Yeah.” Iltani wriggled a little, anxious at the thought. “It’s going to take a lot of work to get things back to how they should be. Maybe improve a few things, too.”
“Sounds good,” Tigzar yawned. “N’we’ll all work on it together, yeah?”
“Yep,” said Elutil. “From now on, no splitting up or running away.”
“Praise Inana,” Tigzar agreed, pulling a little closer to Iltani.
Contented sighs moved through the group.
It really was a wonder, Iltani decided as Elutil settled her arm around them. It should be too much, having this many people this close together, inside a stuffy little room, at the hottest part of the day. Not just uncomfortable, but overwhelming.
Perhaps it was Aziraphale and Crawley, in a way. Something pleasant just… rolled off them as they lay together. A contentedness. More than that, a desire to reach out, to be close. A sort of magic, but not one that came from the heavens or the underworld.
“Guys, um,” Dadasig rose above the group, looking down at them, his face red. “Just, uhh, just wanted to… I love you. All of you. Not, um, love love, but, uh…”
“We get it.” Elutil reached back and squeezed his hand. “Love you, too.”
“Oh, great,” Tigzar grumbled. “First cuddles, now ‘I love you’s?” He shifted his shoulder so Iltani could lay more comfortably on it. “We’re going to be one of those mushy families aren’t we?”
“Sounds like it,” Iltani said, closing their eyes.
Magic, yes, that came from people, from proximity. From hearts that had been broken and learned to beat again together. It filled them all, and it just kept coming.
Curled up in the center of it all, with one arm around Tigzar and Elutil pressed to their back, Dadasig’s limbs somehow trapped under them all… Iltani realized they’d never felt more comfortable. More safe.
Like they really belonged.
**
It was after late afternoon when Aziraphale awoke, and nearly sunset when Crawley began to stir.
He ran his fingers through her braids, smiling, as her eyes slowly opened. “Hello, my dear.”
She sighed in relief, pulling closer, curling under his chin. “I thought you were a dream,” she said. “That I’d wake up and…”
“I’m here,” he assured her, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “I came for you. I will always… always…”
“Mhenmnmnhgk,” Crawley grunted, face pressed against his neck. “Nnnh. Don’t… take this the wrong way, but… I hope you never… have to rescue me like that again.”
“No, neither do I.”
Her fingers curled against his chest. “M’sorry.”
“My dear Crawley. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Then why do I feel like this?” She trembled. “Like I… I’m aching and sad and… and scared. I don’t… I don’t want you to leave…”
“What are you talking about?” He gently pushed her back again, enough to meet her eyes, overflowing with tears. “I’m not leaving. Yes, I… I have to go back to Heaven tonight, I have to explain some part of what happened, or else Michael will come investigate and she… well, she tends to do so violently. But I’m not leaving you.” Aziraphale ran his fingers along her cheek and bent to kiss her forehead. “I will never, ever leave you.”
“Will you come back?”
“Yes.” He pulled her back against him, and suddenly he couldn’t stop touching her, lips trailing down her face and neck, across her shoulder. “Yes. I will come back. I will find a way…”
“Angel…” She rolled onto her back and he slid on top of her, as natural as anything. Still kissing her throat, her jawline. She was precious. So precious. His precious Crawley. “Angel… there’s… there’s something I’ve been… wanting to say… for so long…”
“Me, too,” he murmured, cupping her face with his hands, pressing kisses along her cheekbone. “Since the beginning, I… I…”
“I don’t know how to say it.” She clutched his back, pulling him closer. “There’s… no words, I… I can’t…”
“It’s alright, Crawley.” Softer kisses, down her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to say a word.”
She nodded.
Then Crawley slid one hand around the back of his neck, buried the other in his hair, and pulled his mouth down to meet hers. Nothing soft at all about this kiss. It was desperate. Passionate. Unending, and Aziraphale met it in every way he knew how.
**
When next they woke, it was well after sunset.
“Mmmmh,” Crawley sighed, nuzzling Aziraphale’s neck. “That.”
“Ah, yes.” He kissed her forehead, and the heat of it filled her once again. “I… that, too.”
She felt so strange, lying in his arms. Happy didn’t begin to describe it, entire songs sung by the greatest bards in the world couldn’t cover it. Her fingers traced across his soft skin, and she felt… safe. Like the entire world had melted away, except for the two of them. She began to kiss his chest again, exploring, looking again for that spot on his neck…
“Ah. Dearest?”
“Mmmmmmh?”
“The, ah. The children returned while you were resting. We should probably be careful how we communicate.”
“O!” She clapped a hand over her mouth and scrambled back, twisting around. Yes, there they were, four kids, but sound asleep at least. Piled up together like newborn puppies, pressing together, looking far more relaxed and content than she could ever manage.
“Yeah, uh, we…” She covered her face with her hands. “We… ugh.”
He laughed, softly, and a moment later he was pressed against her back, arms around her. “I know. Words. We’re not very good at words, are we?”
“Dunno. The arguing can be fun, I just…” He kissed her neck again and she went still.
“Crawley? What is it, dear?”
She shuddered, trying to shake off the feeling, to recapture the mood. Stupid, don’t ruin this, not now… “Nothing.”
“Clearly it wasn’t nothing.” His hand found hers, clasping it tight. “Can you tell me?”
“I…” She clutched his hand, burning now with shame. “S’nothing. Just. One of the priests, he… he kept… especially at the end, he stood behind me, and…” Another shudder she couldn’t suppress. “It’s… it’s fine. He’s dead. Nothing to…”
Aziraphale relaxed his grip, let her slide down until she lay beside him. Until she could see his face, hovering above. “Is that better?”
She nodded, still embarrassed. “I… I shouldn’t… It’s stupid, I…”
“Shhhh.” He kissed her forehead again. “Did… did he hurt you?”
Crawley actually laughed at that. “I mean, yeah, they all did. Hit me. Cut me. Don’t even ask what those kids did. That asshole… ugh. There’s a whole list.” She rubbed her throat, still remembering how he’d whispered as she faded into nothing in the grove. “But… no. He didn’t… I mean, he didn’t take no for an answer. Or being bitten. But. He wanted me to say yes, and… it just…” She closed her eyes. “More than once, I just thought… it would be easier, if I just…”
She waited for Aziraphale to pull away in disgust.
Instead, he squeezed her hand, stroked her cheek with his other thumb. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes flew open. “Angel, what—you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“For every moment I was late,” he said stubbornly. “For every… every second I left you with them. I’m so sorry, my dear girl.”
“I…” she wanted to brush it off, say it was nothing, but her eyes filled with tears. “I… thought… you wouldn’t…”
“I know. I’m sorry. I had no wish for us to part angrily, I…” He pulled her against him, rubbing her arm. “I’m sorry, my dear.”
She nodded, trying to accept it. She didn’t know what to do with all the emotions in her. The lingering fear, the happiness, the guilt, the desperation… there was always so much more to feel on Earth.
Aziraphale rocked her, murmuring softly as she slowly relaxed. His fingers brushed over the seal and she flinched, but there was no more pain.
“I’m sorry. Is this… is that another… bad one?”
She looked down at the burn, a ring with an eight-pointed star, split down the middle with a fresher cut. Just another scar. “I… that’s where they… oh, Satan, Aziraphale, I can’t…”
“It’s alright, my dear. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“But I will,” she shivered again, now from an entirely different fear. “When I… I go back to Hell… they’ll call for me eventually, and I… They’ll never let me leave again, they’ll…”
Who would she have to report to? Hastur, Beelzebub? Lucifer himself, with those pitiless eyes? What would they think of such a useless, pathetic demon?
“What if…” He ran fingers through her hair again, gently tugging the braids. “What if you told them… mostly the truth? That you… let’s see… corrupted the priesthood? Tempted one of their youngest members into rebelling radically? Destroyed a holy building and… and made them all soil themselves?”
Pressing her face against him, she almost laughed again. “Not sure they’d believe me.”
“What, the great Tempter? The Serpent of Eden? Surely there could be no doubt. Especially…” His fingers slowed in thought. “Especially once I tell Michael how your scheme led to… yes, easily half the souls of Uruk being tarnished by cruelty. That your path of destruction was only stopped because of a few youths that I had blessed and influenced back to the light.”
“Aziraphale!” She tipped her head back to look him in those innocent eyes. “That’s… that’s practically lying!”
“It is not, it’s technically truth.” He nodded, looking satisfied. “That should… yes, I’m sure they will consider that to be more than adequate. Which means,” he pressed his lips to the top of her head, “that I will be sent back to Earth again.”
It could work. It could. So long as she wasn’t called back in the next day or two, she’d have time to heal, hopefully enough time not to feel ragged inside every time she thought about… all of it. And then….
“Earth is… it’s big, though. We haven’t really seen each other in… what, six hundred years? Even if we’re both sent back…”
“I will find you,” he said simply. “Not immediately, we… we’ll still both have work to do. But. As often as I can. So long as we’re both looking for each other, I think… I think it will work out, don’t you?”
“I just…” She traced her fingers along his bicep. Wondering how long he’d keep caring about her once they were apart. She was a demon, after all. Unpleasant. Unforgivable. Unlovable. Even God didn’t want her. “I will look for you. Um. As long as you want me to.”
“Good.” He pulled her close, kissed her face, but Crawley could feel their time growing short. She clung to him, trying to keep breathing, trying to be strong. “Oh! I nearly forgot.” He reached his fingers out and twitched them, performing a small miracle. She watched his face fall, brow furrowing in irritation. “Come on then.”
She rolled over in time to see his fingers twitch again. Across the room, a black bag stirred, but refused to move.
“Well, I suppose…” He sat up, carefully climbing over her and walked across the room to retrieve it. Crawley blushed a little, torn between feeling the loss of his warmth and the novelty of seeing his body move like that, all but glowing in the moonlight. Only belatedly did she recognize the bag he was digging through.
“Is that… is that mine?”
He glanced up with a frown. “Yes, of course. I left in a bit of a hurry, I’m afraid, so I may have missed something, and a few items were broken, but—”
She scrambled to her feet, rushing over to dig through. Yes, there was her basket, a few jars of her cosmetics, her comb…
“My favorite necklace!” She pulled out the string of red and black beads, marveling at how they caught the light. “I thought…”
“Thankfully, still intact. I needed it for a scrying circle. And this.” He held out a clay snake, broken into three pieces.
“My serpent-child!” She pressed the pieces of it to her chest. “I… Angel… you didn’t have to…”
“Nonsense. I know how proud of it you were.” He ran his hand along the bottom of the bag. “I would hardly have left it behind. Ah, there we are.” From the bottom of the bag, he pulled a red pin…
No, a white pin, stained with blood…
“My…” she almost dropped the rest in her haste to take it. “My pin, I…”
“Yes, I thought… ah… Elutil found it. I was very pleased you… that…” He swallowed. “I, ah, I hope you’ll continue to wear it. Once the… the… once it’s clean, and…”
“Yes… yes!” She set everything down and scrambled through the clothing the children had found, wrapping herself quickly in red linen and sliding the pin through the shoulder. The moment it was in place, she felt… better. As though there was an angel sitting on her shoulder. Keeping watch. Her angel.
“Ah, there we are.” He smiled up at her, still kneeling on the floor. Took her hand and gently kissed the knuckles. “My Crawley.”
She blushed again, and this time felt the familiar prickle of scales across her nose and cheeks. Before she could cover them, Aziraphale rose and pushed her hand aside, leaning in to kiss them. “Now you look like yourself again, my dear.”
“Stahp,” she mumbled, though she pulled him close. “I’m… going to miss you, Angel.”
“As will I, my dear.” He ran his hand through her braids one last time, then quickly started to dress himself, finding a wrap that was dyed light blue, though it hung past his knees. “I’m sure… I’m sure it won’t be long before… Ah. Well, yes.” Aziraphale smoothed the fabric, then frowned as he realized he was fully dressed already. “Oh. Oh, I… I…”
“You need to go,” she supplied.
“Well. Not to… but yes.” He folded his hands together. “The sooner I return, the easier it will be to convince Michael there’s nothing here for her to see. She can be… quite thorough, you know. Quite insistent.”
“I… I know…” Crawley looked at the ground, forcing her breaths to remain steady. “Good luck and… and everything.”
His fingers brushed her chin. “The children will take care of you until you’re ready to go. I… I think they’re all quite capable of…”
She nodded, though she doubted the temple would tolerate her more than another day or so. Then she’d be on her own again.
But, she thought, touching Aziraphale’s pin, perhaps not alone.
“I… I look forward to…”
“I get it, Angel,” she said shortly. “You can go, just…” Her eyes jerked up, already regretting her tone, but she found he was smiling. “Actually, wait, hang on.”
One more time, Crawley twined her arms about him, pulled him close, kissed him until she had forgotten the world existed, forgotten there was anything in creation but her and him and a convenient wall to push him against.
When she had her fill, she pressed her forehead to his and took a deep breath. “Alright. Now get outta here, you’re ruining my image.”
“Can’t have that.” He squeezed her hands. “Goodbye, Crawley,” and stepped away.
“Wait!” She clutched his hand, pulling him back. “Thank you. That. The thing. The thing I wanted to say. It’s. I’m. Thank you.”
He blinked at her and she immediately regretted it. She shouldn’t have said that she should have—
“If this means you’re no longer a demon, that’s very inconvenient for me,” Aziraphale said.
“Shut up,” she muttered, glaring at her feet until he kissed her cheek.
“Thank you, too, my dear.”
And then he was gone.
Or… not entirely. She could still feel part of him, holding her hand, twined about her soul, cradling her heart. And the part of her that had always desperately clung to her few memories of him felt relaxed, satisfied, coiling protectively around thoughts of this day, images to revisit again and again.
She settled back on the mat and thought of it now, his arms about her, his breath warm across her forehead.
Her Angel. Her Aziraphale. He had come for her and protected her and…
No, she decided. He wasn’t gone, not really. And he hadn’t left at all. How could a part of herself just leave?
She could still feel his heart beating, slow and steady, against her skin, following the rhythm of her own heart.
Aziraphale was here. He was still here. And he always would be.
Whatever happened next, they would always be together.
