cause attention.
As I neared the bridge to cross the iced-over river, I spotted water flowing beneath the bridge freely. Not a hint of ice hardened the surface. In front of the bridge, people—humans—worked, piling huge blocks of ice onto a flat structure. Their limbs were thin, gray, pallid skin stretched over bone, their bodies the same, showing hints of ribs and spines under their shredded clothes.
These were Lucifer’s workers from the river. His tirelessly working souls. The ones that must have led such unredeemable lives on Earth to endure whatever torture Lucifer himself deemed worthy.
I stopped where the corner of the bridge met the ledge. The drop-off down the canyon to the river turned my stomach. Beneath my robes I extended my arm that still gripped tight to Lucien’s head. His eyes were open, rolled back in his skull. His face was dead, every muscle slack.
As I dangled Lucien over the canyon, one of Lucifer’s workers across the bridge turned to look at me so suddenly I ceased to breathe. The hair on her head was sparse and her skin drooped so far down her face it was a miracle her eyes remained in their sockets. When she didn’t immediately call out a warning or move to get someone’s attention, I knelt beside the drop-off.
“He is Lucien, son of Lucifer,” I whispered barely loud enough for myself to hear. I put faith into believing this soul hated Lucifer as much as I did Lucien and would help extend his suffering. “Can I entrust you with his head?”
The woman’s whisper carried up from the bottom of the canyon instead of across from it where she stood. “We will take care that no one will ever find him.”
I nodded my thanks and forced myself to release Lucien’s blood-soaked hair. We both watched as he tumbled down and disappeared into the river that would eventually freeze.
Hopefully, with the souls’ help, Lucifer would never find him. Hopefully Lucien was still somehow alive and the souls below could torture him the way his father had been torturing them for who knew how long. Hopefully I’d sentenced him to a fate worse than death.
I took my time crossing the bridge. The ground was cold and slick, and there were so many eyes on me. All I had to do was make it past the platform—the stage—and through all the Fallen; the angels that once were. Most of them carried a weapon of some kind strapped to their hips or backs.
The sour taste of blood still permeated my mouth. My feathers were slick with sweat. But all I had to do was push forward. I kept my head down, stuck to the far side of the canyon wall, and just kept moving.
The drums centered on the stage pounded punishingly. The Fallen beyond the stage chattered quietly amongst themselves, all wondering why the gathering was called. That little nugget of curiosity swam around in my head too. The further away I moved from the stage, the thicker the cluster of Fallen became. I noticed several masked heads turn my way, but no one stopped me. Hopefully they assumed I was Lucien, the only being down here I’d seen with a human body and no wings. Then again, I was about a foot shorter than him.
Just keep walking.
One Fallen directly in front of me stood alone, not in the crowd, but not moving either. A long sword swung beneath his robe. I swallowed and skirted around him with all the bravery I could summon. He turned and followed me; I could hear it in his footsteps.
My chest rattled the sound of a sick, scared heart.
I kept an ear out, timing his steps. He couldn’t be certain of who I was, and I’d use this power until it killed me if it meant a chance to claw my way out of this hellhole.
The Fallen closed in on me fast, walking so he was almost clipping my heels.
A hand touched my back, broad fingers splaying over my shoulder blade, and my wing. I jerked up, straightening my shoulders, but never stopped walking.
I edged to the right, almost brushing the cave wall with my arm so he could pass. Instead, he turned and faced
As I neared the bridge to cross the iced-over river, I spotted water flowing beneath the bridge freely. Not a hint of ice hardened the surface. In front of the bridge, people—humans—worked, piling huge blocks of ice onto a flat structure. Their limbs were thin, gray, pallid skin stretched over bone, their bodies the same, showing hints of ribs and spines under their shredded clothes.
These were Lucifer’s workers from the river. His tirelessly working souls. The ones that must have led such unredeemable lives on Earth to endure whatever torture Lucifer himself deemed worthy.
I stopped where the corner of the bridge met the ledge. The drop-off down the canyon to the river turned my stomach. Beneath my robes I extended my arm that still gripped tight to Lucien’s head. His eyes were open, rolled back in his skull. His face was dead, every muscle slack.
As I dangled Lucien over the canyon, one of Lucifer’s workers across the bridge turned to look at me so suddenly I ceased to breathe. The hair on her head was sparse and her skin drooped so far down her face it was a miracle her eyes remained in their sockets. When she didn’t immediately call out a warning or move to get someone’s attention, I knelt beside the drop-off.
“He is Lucien, son of Lucifer,” I whispered barely loud enough for myself to hear. I put faith into believing this soul hated Lucifer as much as I did Lucien and would help extend his suffering. “Can I entrust you with his head?”
The woman’s whisper carried up from the bottom of the canyon instead of across from it where she stood. “We will take care that no one will ever find him.”
I nodded my thanks and forced myself to release Lucien’s blood-soaked hair. We both watched as he tumbled down and disappeared into the river that would eventually freeze.
Hopefully, with the souls’ help, Lucifer would never find him. Hopefully Lucien was still somehow alive and the souls below could torture him the way his father had been torturing them for who knew how long. Hopefully I’d sentenced him to a fate worse than death.
I took my time crossing the bridge. The ground was cold and slick, and there were so many eyes on me. All I had to do was make it past the platform—the stage—and through all the Fallen; the angels that once were. Most of them carried a weapon of some kind strapped to their hips or backs.
The sour taste of blood still permeated my mouth. My feathers were slick with sweat. But all I had to do was push forward. I kept my head down, stuck to the far side of the canyon wall, and just kept moving.
The drums centered on the stage pounded punishingly. The Fallen beyond the stage chattered quietly amongst themselves, all wondering why the gathering was called. That little nugget of curiosity swam around in my head too. The further away I moved from the stage, the thicker the cluster of Fallen became. I noticed several masked heads turn my way, but no one stopped me. Hopefully they assumed I was Lucien, the only being down here I’d seen with a human body and no wings. Then again, I was about a foot shorter than him.
Just keep walking.
One Fallen directly in front of me stood alone, not in the crowd, but not moving either. A long sword swung beneath his robe. I swallowed and skirted around him with all the bravery I could summon. He turned and followed me; I could hear it in his footsteps.
My chest rattled the sound of a sick, scared heart.
I kept an ear out, timing his steps. He couldn’t be certain of who I was, and I’d use this power until it killed me if it meant a chance to claw my way out of this hellhole.
The Fallen closed in on me fast, walking so he was almost clipping my heels.
A hand touched my back, broad fingers splaying over my shoulder blade, and my wing. I jerked up, straightening my shoulders, but never stopped walking.
I edged to the right, almost brushing the cave wall with my arm so he could pass. Instead, he turned and faced
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