Ferrian's Winter

The Angel wakes to one thought lost

His presence brings a greater cost.

Something touched Carmine's cheek and she awoke in an instant, the Sword of Healing flashing out.

It came to a halt at Mekka's throat.

He gave her a familiar smirk. "I taught you well."

She dropped the Sword, eyes going wide, and threw her arms around him. "Mekka!"

His own arms came up to encircle her. "I missed you, too," he whispered.

They held each other for a long moment, neither wanting to let go. "You're alive," Mekka whispered. "You're safe. I… thought I was going to have to kill you, Carmine."

Her throat ached. "You… know everything, then?"

She felt him nod. "I tried to convince you to take off the armour, but you refused. It was… already sealed onto you by then, in any case. I was too late."

She buried her face into his shoulder. "I don't want to talk about it."

He nodded again, squeezing her tighter.

Don't cry again, she scolded herself.

She lifted her watery eyes, catching sight of his wings. No longer ragged, they were smooth and glossy, all feathers in place, shimmering with a blue-green iridescence, like the wings of a raven.

Gods, she thought. His wings are so beautiful. Why would anyone be afraid of them?

Feeling suddenly awkward, a little too conscious of how closely she was pressed against him, she pulled away. Avoiding his gaze, she got up and went to pour him a cup of water from the pitcher on the chest of drawers.

She took her time doing it. Her heart was beating much too quickly.

Thankfully, by the time she turned back he wasn't looking at her, but unwinding his bandages, examining where his wounds had been with a perplexed look on his face. He reached down beside the bed where the Sword had fallen, bringing it up onto his lap. "The Sword of Healing!" he remarked. He looked up in surprise. "Did you…?"

She shook her head quickly. "No. It wasn't me." She hesitated, handing him the cup of water. She wondered whether or not to mention Lord Requar, but decided it wasn't that important, and could wait. "It wasn't the Sword, either. But there was some kind of blue healing magic all over you. And the wings on your head are gone."

The Angel lifted the Sword of Healing in one hand to stare at his reflection in the polished blade. "The Watcher," he muttered after a moment. "Must have healed me." He shook his head, tossing the Sword onto the bed, taking a sip of water. He gave an ironic snort. "It really doesn't want to let me die."

"The… Watcher?" She felt something dark crawling around in the pit of her stomach, remembering the giant blade and the writhing tentacles.

"The Black Pyramid. I used it to find you." He glanced up at her. "Ah. Yes. You've never encountered it before."

"Oh, I… I think I have…" Carmine walked over to the window. The room wasn't quite as dark as it had been; the candle was still burning, brighter now, with a steady flame – and grey light leaked through gaps in the shutters and beneath the door. She couldn't tell how much time had passed, whether it was the next morning or simply a brightening after the storm.

She really didn't want to open the shutters.

There were no sounds from outside. The town had fallen deathly silent, as though deserted, as though she and Mekka were the only ones left in it.

She didn't like that thought. Not at all.

But she had to know…

Taking a deep breath, she opened the casement, then, very slowly, pushed apart the shutters.

What she saw was not what she had expected.

It was somehow worse.

Black-winged Angels, an army of them, stood about the rain-glistened square – on the ground, on the roofs of buildings, on carts. Among them were animals twisted like monsters, with black-scaled limbs and wings. She saw a horse limp along with an awkward gait, its front legs clawed, Dragon-like wings folded at its back, and a sleek triangular head full of sharp black teeth. A saddle and bridle were still partially attached to it, hanging loose and broken at its sides, the reins trailing in the puddles…

She backed away from the window until she came up against the wall.

"What's wrong?" Mekka said in concern.

Instead of replying, Carmine turned to the pile of new clothes sitting on a chair beside her, carefully tailored to fit an Angel. Grabbing them up, and his boots, she took them over to the bed and dumped them in his lap. "Get dressed," she said. "Quickly!"

At the look on her face, he did so at once.

Turning away from him, she went back to the window, setting her back to the wall beside it. Then she peered around the casement.

Every single one of the Angels had turned their heads to stare in her direction. Their eyes were black.

She flattened herself against the wall again, closing her eyes, trying to quell a rising sense of panic.

Something extremely strange and horrific was happening…

She opened her eyes to see Mekka sweep past her, his green jacket left untied, and lean on the windowsill. He went rigid, his eyes widening.

He stood there like that for a long moment, unmoving.

Then he screamed, with such force that Carmine jumped out of her skin, her heart almost stopping.

Mekka spun away, pacing the room wildly, clutching at his hair. "WATCHER!! I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO THIS!! GODS DAMN IT ALL!! WHY WON'T YOU LISTEN TO ME?!!"

Carmine was petrified. She had never seen Mekka behave like this before. He was completely losing it.

"Mekka, stop!" she cried. "Mekka, stop! STOP!!" Not knowing what else to do, she snatched the Sword of Healing from the bed and swiped it at him.

The flash of the blade caused him to react instinctively. He dodged away with astonishing quickness, then spun back and disarmed her in the same movement. He paused with his hand on her wrist, half a second away from breaking it.

They both went still, eyes wide and fearful, locked onto each other.

Time vanished, shrunk down to a single, dangerous moment.

It really was just the two of them, in this town, in this room, in the whole world.

His fingers softened on her wrist, but did not release her.

His gaze was close, and intense. She could see the forest deep within it, the darkness of Arkana, the shadows beneath the leaves where he had been forced to live, to survive, to hide, a hunted thing…

And an untold well of pain.

What nightmare had Mekka lived, she thought in horror, for four years, while she was oblivious?

The hurt passed as a glimmer within those green depths, and a flicker of a sad smile across his lips. It faded to despair, and he closed his eyes and turned from her, his hand slipping away.

"Reeves is in danger," he whispered. "Do you know where he is?"

Carmine could hardly speak. "In… in the Guard House…"

Mekka started for the door.

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"Mekka!" She reached out and grabbed his hand, making him pause.

He was tense, his muscles all bunched up, and shaking.

Now it was his turn to avoid looking at her.

She moved around in front of him, lifted a hand to his cheek. She shifted closer to him…

He stopped her, gripping her chin. "Car, no," he whispered tremulously. "Hawk."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Hawk's gone, Mekka…"

"No!" He grabbed her face, held it in his hands, his eyes suddenly fierce. "No, he is not! I watched over him for four years! I protected him! I protected you! I did not give up on Hawk, and neither must you!"

He shook his head. "He thought he wasn't good enough for you, Car! I punched him in the face for saying that!"

The tears spilled free. "Mekka…"

"He loves you, Carmine!" He swallowed. "I love you."

She gazed up at him for a long moment in shattered silence. "Thinking about him… hurts…"

Mekka sighed, drawing her against him. "That's because you still love him, Redfeathers."

They held each other, saying nothing.

Carmine realised the agonising truth of his words, and felt hot with shame. But she could also feel Mekka's heartbreak pouring out of him, in the way he stroked her hair, and it made her want to sob uncontrollably, all over again.

But she managed to hold herself together, stooped to pick up Sirannor's iron armour and put it back on.

But not to distance herself.

To draw strength from it.

You have courage. You have hope.

You have not lost these things.

I have seen them for myself…

"We will find Hawk," Mekka told her determinedly. "We will save him. You will, or I will."

She nodded.

He pulled away, but kept his hands on her shoulders. "I have to go and find Reeves." He shook his head, looking distressed. "I should never have brought the Watcher here. I should never have trusted it!"

She looked at him nervously. "Mekka. What is the Watcher?"

He glanced anxiously at the window. "An egregore."

"A what?"

"A sentient thought-form, housed within a pyramid-shaped construction of trigon and silvertine. It was created by the collective minds of the Ancient Iriphim, as a repository for all of their knowledge."

Carmine stared at him uncomprehendingly.

Mekka shook his head again. "Never mind. It's turning people into black-winged Angels."

"But they're not wraiths?"

"No. It's not killing them; it's torturing them and turning their pain into magic; transforming them."

She took a breath, aghast. "That's horrible!"

He ran a hand through his dark hair, becoming upset again. "I damned well ordered the Watcher to leave Reeves alone, but it is determined to ignore me!" Turning away, he pulled the door open, then hesitated on the threshold. "Stay…" the sentence died before it had begun. He sighed. "Stay out of trouble."

Then he spun away down the corridor and was gone through the window at the end.

Carmine stood in the silence of the empty room for a few minutes longer, alone with her own complicated feelings. Then, brushing the remainder of the tears from her face, she retrieved the Sword of Healing and headed for the stairs.

The mist in front of the Guard House swirled and parted as a black-winged Angel landed before it in a rush. Wiping the damp air from his face with his sleeve, Mekka turned to look back at the inn.

The building was barely visible in the soupy fog, which had a sickly yellow tinge to it with the approach of sunset. The shadowy forms of other black-winged Angels stood around in it, like a lost, disordered army. None of them paid him any attention, as though he were one of them.

The thought was sickening.

The monstrous animals, however, had made alarming and awful noises as he passed them.

The streets were otherwise deserted. If anyone had remained unchanged in this town, they were keeping themselves well locked away.

There was nothing to be seen in the sky. The Black Pyramid was not visible.

But Mekka knew it was still there.

He turned away.

The Watcher had mended his wounds and feathers perfectly, and restored his strength. But inside, he felt gutted.

He went and leaned a hand on the wall of the Guard House, closing his eyes, forcing back a wave of tears. He had expected his reunion with Carmine to be emotional, but he had not prepared himself for… this…

Focus! he told himself furiously. Find Reeves.

When he had composed himself, he moved to the entrance of the Guard House.

The door was standing wide open, and something was lying on the floor, blocking the way.

A Human body.

Quietly, Mekka stepped over the slain Freeroamer, mindful not to step on the man's dropped sword, and crouched beside him. He turned the body over so that it fell within the murky shaft of light from outside.

Gouges were ripped across his face and throat, like those from an animal with very large, sharp talons.

There was nothing black. No black wings, no scales; no trigon. This man was not an Angel, nor a monster, nor a wraith.

He was simply dead.

Mekka got to his feet. There were lights on inside the Guard House, but no sign of movement. More bodies littered the floor, a small crowd of them slumped together near the door, as though the Freeroamers had tried to stop someone or something from either leaving or entering. Several doors led off the entrance foyer, all of them standing open. Torches burned along a hallway opposite him, with another open door visible at the very end.

None of the bodies were that of a Centaur. No one appeared to be left alive.

Silently, Mekka stepped across the room, all senses alert, searching the shadows.

He was very aware that he carried no weapons, but the Freeroamers' equipment was all made of steel, which he didn't care for, and it had unfortunately not served them well against whatever had attacked them.

He rounded the desk.

A grey-bearded Sergeant was slumped with his back against the wall, the same gouging wounds ripped into his chest, straight through his leather armour. He was still holding his sword.

Mekka knelt and checked him, only to confirm what he could already see.

Dead.

There was movement by the door and Mekka sprang to his feet in a half-crouch, but it was only Carmine, the Sword of Healing clutched in her hand.

"They're… dead," she whispered, looking shocked. "Not Angels…"

"Those things outside are not 'Angels', either," Mekka replied bitterly. He spun away and strode down the corridor, moving quickly now, the draught from his passing causing the torches to dance wildly.

The hallway led to a small, cramped gaoler's office, with a tiny table and chairs and a large chest for holding prisoner's possessions.

The gaoler lay bent over the table, his back pierced with multiple puncture wounds. Blood pooled on the flagstones beneath him.

Mekka went to the heavy, ironbound door to the dungeon. It was standing open, dented and splintered as though from an immense impact. There were claw marks in the wood.

Mekka threw himself through the doorway and down the stone steps.

The stairs ran down one side of the basement wall. Opposite them was a row of three or four iron-barred cells. Dim light seeped through small grilles set high in the walls of the cells at street level, but with dusk approaching, the dungeon was full of shadow.

The floor was flooded, shining with a dark mirror-like gleam. The water was mixed with blood; a scattering of black and white feathers floated upon its surface.

The door to the middle cell was buckled, its lock smashed.

All of the cells were empty.

Mekka stood very still at the bottom of the stairs, at the edge of the water. Carmine burst through the doorway at the top a moment later.

They both stared.

"What… what did the Watcher do to him?" Carmine gasped.

Mekka did not reply, unwilling to imagine what horrendous torture Reeves had been subjected to.

One thing was clear:

The Watcher had done something terrible to him – worse than merely madness, this time.

But he was still alive, and had escaped…

He turned and fled back up the stairs, almost bowling Carmine over in his haste. He sprinted down the corridor, leapt over the dead bodies of the Freeroamers and rushed out into the courtyard in front of the square.

He spun in a circle. "REEVES!" he screamed.

The fog had deepened into a blood-red colour. Night was approaching quickly.

Mekka's mind raced. Where would he have gone? He hadn't attacked Mekka at the inn; perhaps the Freeroamers had refused to reveal Mekka's location. Perhaps that was why they had been so viciously murdered…

Or perhaps a monster had broken into the Guard House and slaughtered the Sky Legion Commander? But the Angel's body hadn't been there…

And all of the prison doors had been smashed open from the inside.

Carmine hurried up beside him. "Can you track him?" she suggested.

Mekka shook his head. The rain would have washed away any footprints or blood. And trying to find anyone in this fog, with darkness falling, was a difficult task. Not impossible, Mekka could do it, but…

He went still, closing his eyes. "There is no point," he said quietly. Opening his eyes, he gazed bleakly into the mist. "Reeves will find me."

Carmine shook her head angrily. "So that you can fight him again?!"

Mekka's jaw tightened. "I expect I am doomed to fight him until one of us dies."

"He hates you that much?"

Mekka did not reply, watching the black-winged figures fade in and out of the ruddy mist. They had all turned to look at Carmine, but otherwise hadn't moved. The animals had fallen silent. Nothing else stirred.

The whole world is bleeding…

He closed his eyes again. "Go," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Go, Carmine. Leave. Find Hawk. You do not need to be here."

He felt her hand grip his arm. It was a strong, determined grip. "No."

He looked at her.

The fire was back in her eyes. The same damned obstinance that had convinced him to train her, all those years ago. The original spark that had lit a fire in him, a burning ember that he had never been able to extinguish, not even when she had fallen for Hawk, nor when she was riddled with trigon…

"Car," he said, using the same tone of warning he used to use when she was about to do something incredibly stupid.

"I am not leaving you here, Mekka! Don't you even dare suggest it!"

He turned to face her fully, glaring. "You have no choice!" he said, his voice hard now. "You have to take that Sword to Lady Araynia. The Sword of Healing is more important than I am!"

"Then take me to her on that… Black Pyramid thing of yours!"

"It's not MINE!" he snapped, aware that he was raising his voice again. "I don't know why everyone thinks it is! The Watcher attached itself to me against my will! I cannot control it! And every person that I have tried to take aboard has almost been killed!" His eyes blazed. "I cannot put you in danger! I will not risk it! And the Watcher can melt silvertine!"

At these last words, Carmine's expression changed, the blood draining from her face. Looking down at the Sword in her hand, she took a sharp intake of breath, as though the implication of what he had said had struck her in the face.

Mekka took a deep breath of his own, closing his eyes, trying to calm himself. Realising his fists were clenched, he slowly loosened them. "Please, Car," he begged. "Just… go."

When he looked at her again, she was still staring at the Sword, her grey eyes glimmering, the fire still there but conflicted; drowning.

He backed away from her. It took all of his will to do so. He felt himself turn grey with each step, as though he were backing into his own tomb. Resigned to this fate, he turned, his wings spreading.

"M-Mekka!" Carmine cried. "No!"

"Goodbye, Redfeathers," he whispered.

He was about to take off when he caught sight of something black descending from the darkening fog behind him.

He whirled at once, certain it was coming for him, but…

Carmine jerked forward with a sudden, strange sound. And the creature was looming right behind her, huge and lean and black-scaled, leathery wings extended, its lips pulled back in its sleek reptilian snout in a sneer that revealed all of its razor-sharp teeth. Its slanted yellow eyes burned like hateful, sickly lanterns.

It was a Muron. A full-blooded Muron.

There was a terrible wet, tearing sound as the creature ripped its claws out of Carmine's back. With a shocked gasp, she crumpled to her knees and then slowly toppled over onto the cobblestones.

The Muron grinned at Mekka, flexing its wicked long talons, which glistened with Carmine's blood. "Do you hate me ssssufficiently, now?" it rasped, and laughed a hideous, whispering laugh.