Authors: Kathy-Lynn Cross
I stood mesmerized, studying the frantic being. Her hair stuck to pale cheeks from the combination of rain and tears, and she expelled an overwhelming toxic mixture of hopelessness and desperation. Then her knees gave way to despair, and I watched her drop to the floor. The scent emanating from the mother was like an exquisite funeral bouquet. Simultaneously, it made me parched and spurred my need to feed. Trembling from hunger, my mind crumbled, causing a sensory overload. My caged daemon roared, demanding sustenance.
Pulled by my inner madness from the Bridge Crosser’s noise of annoyance, I asked, “What the hell is going on here?”
Razor’s glacier gaze fixed on mine as if he were actually looking at me. Lips curved into a tight, wicked smile as he hissed through clenched teeth. “Are you going to do your job or not? I have a schedule to keep. You do too. It’s a problem when the boats aren’t running on your time, Tevin. Take her now.” Razor’s voice was as sharp as his name.
Shock continued running through my body, paralyzing me. Each thought seemed to run on an endless loop.
She had just spoken to me. How did she know my name? What the blazes of hell’s fire is going on here?
Not only were my thoughts in disarray… but something dissimilar stirred within me, something I had never felt before. As I drowned in a sea of endless questions, my judgment became clouded, unable to comprehend what it was like to feel needed, wanted. And I certainly could not actually understand the L word these Vessels threw around so often.
Could an Ashen even be allowed to feel an emotion other than the ones attached to death? Was a daemon allowed the ability to…? I shivered… care? Who is this creature and what is she doing to me?
When the lead surgeon grabbed a scalpel from a nurse, my hands dropped, releasing the soul. Hoisting the scythe into the air, I spun the blade around and popped all the overhead lights. The triage room plunged into darkness, which added to the human chaos, causing them to dive for cover or scramble over one another. Both the mother and a nurse lunged across the small child, shielding her from the raining glass and debris. In the midst of the commotion, I heard the mother pleading for the small child to stay with her. While the masses were distracted, I figured it would be an advantage putting the Vessels to sleep until I could piece together my reality.
I commanded my minion to spin, casting the mist of slumber.
Sometimes a job requires us to get close to our prey or in the middle of a crowd before reaping. This spell keeps the living ones from accidentally detecting us if we lose our ability to remain tethered to the Unseen realm. That is one of the benefits of being able to work between the two realms. Besides, it is best for both parties. The less they know, the easier harvesting is on us.
Following the inky path of the dark purple cloud as it sped its way through the room, it swirled over and around each face, forcing them to breathe in the spin’s magic. Some beings held an expression of confusion and dropped in shock while others fell forward over one another. The two Vessels protecting the child slid to the floor and for a brief moment the mother caught my attention when I spotted a hint of a smile on her face before she curled in on herself. The hesitation I felt toward the mother was odd. Concern, maybe? But I did not have time to check the spin’s effect on her. I needed answers. The soul’s escort was going to enlighten me.
With the room contained, I commanded my minion to make us solid, and I swung the scythe toward Razor. He pulled his wings back in time, but the tip barely missed his neck, saving him from a sudden change to his existence. In certain circumstances, we might cease to exist.
Angels, daemons, and elementals can be copied and changed when the Creator finds favor with us. Think photocopy or facsimile. Every time one is done, the resolution or quality is reduced. If an entity is so careless to have their existence ended by another, they will not come back as they once were. It’s the price one must pay to the River Styx for abusing our immortality. The River always takes it personally if we mishandle our existence, and, therefore, it uses less power when recreating, as a form of punishment.
With a low snarl, Razor jumped onto a chair, descending into my space. He sent me flying into the medical cabinet doors with a loud crash, scattering bits of shattered glass and medicinal supplies to the floor. Instantly regaining a defensive position, I willed my cloak to blend with the shadows. Razor tucked his wings in as he ran toward the empty gurney on his left, obviously having the same thought.
Confusion had blindsided me. Defiance controlled my emotions as I flipped my tool of trade around overhead and replaced it in its harness. I needed a new plan for this little soul. The Knell would not be performed tonight even though I did not have a solid reason for protecting the child. Mere curiosity sparked against my reason, igniting a flame of desire.
Could there possibly be a higher meaning to this existence?
Glancing at the bed, I realized my answer might not be with the Bridge Crosser, but with the child. Redirecting strategy, and without knowing why, I mentally prepared to fight for a soul…
Razor’s massive wings thrashed, shaking glass and feathers that disintegrated into the air. He stepped over the two medical techs lying on the floor. The humans lay there motionless, still under the mist’s control. Razor jumped up on the bed next to the small Vessel. “If you can’t do your job, clean or not, her soul is coming with me.” Throwing his head back, he unleashed a deep, barbaric roar. At the same time, the thunder from the storm returned for an encore. The Fallen raised his arms and started calling forth her soul.
The small one was too weak to keep fighting. Listening to her words had turned me solemn. I was trying to fulfill the job quota as I had done a hundred thousand times before, but I could not stop staring at her. Past experiences told me she was losing the will to live. The Vessel’s breathing went still and a white sheen rose from her body once again. Razor called it out with great speed, but the hatefulness he showed for this child would surely damage the soul.
A plethora of questions clouded my mind, but only one came to the forefront.
Why was she so important to the Unseen?
Ashens were not allowed to ask questions, but with this one, I was determined to get the answer… by force, if necessary. I unsheathed the scythe, this time tilting the hilt to aim the blade low while rushing the winged entity.
My approach toward Razor caused him to break his hold on her soul. Together, we watched the glistening white cloud of ribbons float back into her body, concentrating on the graceful beating of her heart. In six hundred years, I had never heard a rhythm such as hers. Enthralled by the melody, I forgot about the child’s enemy, but a feral roar from behind drew my attention back to the fight. A string of whispered curses filled the air for not ending him when I had had the chance. While I had been enthralled by the child, the Bridge Crosser had changed his form.
Razor’s angelic features were replaced by ones with pure rage, and I saw the demand in his eyes. He was not leaving this room without his charge and was ready to challenge anyone who tried to stop him. Naturally, I was at the top of his list. Wings at the ready, he flew forward and slammed into me. Razor had decided to convince me to harvest this soul by force, using his fists.
It takes two to tango, and I am ready to dance.
A snarl clawed from my throat. No way was I backing down. I wanted him to know it. Razor pushed out both of his hands, latching onto the weapon. Only an Ashen could wield the weapons used for harvesting, and that included my scythe, so any entity from the Unseen who tried to touch a harvester’s weapon would burn from Creation’s purity. Razor knew that and yet, he wanted this small Vessel so badly, he was willing to burn for it. The stench of his flesh filled the room as we fought for possession of the blade. While we spun out of control throughout the room, face-to-face, our shoulders crashed into the far wall. Jaws clenched, we growled at each other, displaying dominance over the girl. I found footing again by using the corner and sheer leg strength to push back. It was enough leverage to cause the Bridge Crosser to stumble, only for a second. Instinct took over for me, and I looped my right arm under the blade handle to connect with Razor’s jaw. His head snapped back with a loud
thwack
as real thunder outside mimicked the same sound.
Razor laughed. “Is that the best you can do?” Sounding gritty and spiteful, his voice could no longer hold any peaceful demeanor. His eyes narrowed as they began to glow a sick, unnatural green. This struggle was being taken to the next level… spiritual. The daemon within me recognized it too and responded with a threatening growl.
Raw power from Razor’s unholy aura lit the room, blinding me for a split second, allowing him time to counterattack. He ripped his right hand free by peeling off the seared flesh from the scythe’s handle. With all his strength, he plunged a fist into my chest, pinning me against the wall and lifting me three feet off the floor.
Now it was my turn, summoning the minion to wrap around my body. While my form changed to shadow against the wall, I slithered to the floor and slipped past Razor’s legs. Whistling to my weapon, the scythe disappeared from the Bridge Crosser’s grip, taking with it more burned flesh. I felt the weight of the blade once again resting on my back, filling me with its power. This turn of events caught the winged creature off guard as he screamed out a stream of profanity while holding his other wrist tight. Both hands dripped blood, leaving an acidic, steamy haze around his body.
I used Ashen stealth to reappear behind the Bridge Crosser. With barely a whisper, I recalled my weapon. Now, when the cloak responded, it covered my body and completed the hood over my brow, giving me a thunderbolt of dark power. Fully prepared—I was death, armed with blade and cloak—aiming for the winged daemon.
Razor’s senses were still heightened with the faintest imprint of the brawl, and he flattened his wings against his back. The air escaping from around his feathers emitted different octaves of crackling as he turned back with blinding speed to attack me. We stood face-to-face with the blade between our bodies. Gnashing his teeth in a weak attempt to distract me, he grabbed at the harvesting weapon. Again, surprised at his brash behavior, I momentarily lost my grip when he attempted to snatch the scythe again. Razor flipped the handle end over end. The air in the room screamed as he pushed its velocity faster and faster until the room fell silent. Then I noticed his arm had steadily gauged the silver jagged tip over the hollow point of my chest. Through grinding teeth, he growled, “You will learn your place, demon.” Anger crested from within at his disrespectful way of pronouncing
daemon
. Vessels were misinformed and used the wrong enunciation, but Bridge Crossers knew better. It was a strategically placed insult, and we both knew it.
Before my cloak could dissolve from solid form, Razor followed through with his threat. With an outlandish display of overconfidence, he whipped the blade around once, firmly placing the hilt under his arm and plunging it into my chest. A bloodcurdling roar scrambled my brain as the beast inside wanted to make him pay for his actions. The two etched silver roses, meeting in the middle of the hilt, began to pulse a bright crimson. The chain and pendant around my neck became hot. A thick liquid resembling hot tar bubbled up from throat to mouth, causing my body to shudder. Being forced to swallow, I spat what remained at the vile face before me. Hands rising, I used one to swipe across my mouth and the other to clasp around the pulsing silver roses.
A hardened, blood-speckled face was inches from mine. He did not even raise a hand to wipe it. His tight-lipped grin matched the arrogance of triumph through his glazed stare. Razor spoke in a condescending tone, “How ironic, Tevin, that your own weapon is about to displace your existence. Ironic indeed. Poetic justice in a way.” His voice trailed as he turned to look at the child, his head making quick, side-to-side movements. “What’s possessed you, demon?” Clearly, Razor was baffled by my tenacity. When the Bridge Crosser turned back to face me, the indigo from my eyes illuminated his sneer. “Are you actually protecting her? Maybe you’re feeling some kind of emotion?” Razor mimicked me by spitting in my face.
He used the back of his charred hand to wipe the blood from his eyes. Then he cleared his throat to mask the pain from his wounds while twisting the handle farther into my chest. I dared not give this entity a sense of satisfaction with the sound of a single breath as the pain crippled my solid form. All I could think as I looked down was if the River had created Ashens with a heart, I would surely be nonexistent by now.
Heart?
An idea came to me, sharper than the tip of my scythe. When an evil smile threatened to show itself and give away my idea, I kept it at bay. All I could do was wait for the right opportunity to present itself. Death may not be kind, at times, but pride mixed with the art of patience was where I excelled.
With me impaled to the wall, Razor became over confident that I was no longer a threat to his mission. Reverting his attention back to acquiring the girl’s soul, he heaved his massive left wing over the hilt and turned, barely missing my face. He limped over to the gurney with hands still dripping blood, leaving a trail of hissing dots across the linoleum. The little Vessel lay there, broken and helpless, taking short, raspy breaths. Razor stood over the orange gurney, apparently unmoved by the small one’s condition.
Using the stealth of a shadow, I drew in what was left of my cloak’s power. I had never been recopied and was not about to let that happen today. Eternity was all I had, and this fight was worth winning. The shroud worked as instructed, healing my wounds. Although my chest burned, I focused on reclaiming my target.