Angel Of Solace (6 page)

But still, the quiet menace in the man’s voice and the almost feral glint in his eye sent a shiver down Avrick’s spine. He had rarely seen an Angel show emotion at all, let alone anger…

“She is at the Asuran’s base?” Vaelen asked.

“Likely, but we haven’t been able to track them down,” Zanek said. “Fortunately, we can make them come to us.”

“How is that, exactly?”

Zanek smiled. “They have been hounding a particular trafficking gang recently. They actually managed to kill their leader just yesterday. But they didn’t get the information they wanted, and we’ve struck a deal with one of the man’s lieutenants to act as bait for us. It’s not something the Asurans can afford to pass up.”

 Vaelen nodded. “I see. When have you set this up?”

“Tomorrow,” Marivean told him. “I requested the two of you because I cannot trust our other agents here to carry out a mission of this importance. They are loyal and capable enough, but they are not Chosen.”

“We are honored to serve His will, of course,” Vaelen said with a half bow.

“Good. There are others on their way, but we cannot afford to wait any longer. This may be our best chance to apprehend the Betrayer before she can do any more damage.”

“Are you certain she’ll be with them?” Avrick asked.

Zanek grunted derisively. “Kronn has become more and more reliant on her abilities. We suspected she was here working with him long before we received visual proof. She will definitely be there. Which reminds me…”

The stout man walked over to the metal crates on the far side of the room. He tapped the keypad to unlatch them then gestured for the Chosen to look inside.

“Excellent,” Vaelen commented.

Avrick had to agree. Inside were a huge variety of weapons, from basic flechette and pulse pistols to heavy assault rifles and even grenade launchers. Given how stringent Elassian law was on importing any type of personal weapons, he almost didn’t want to ask how they had gotten a hold of them.

“It goes without saying the Betrayer will be taken alive at any cost—even your own lives,” Marivean said flatly. “She has done enough harm to us already, and she will answer for her crimes before the eyes of God.”

Avrick watched as Zanek put the weapons away and closed the crate. More than anything, he wanted to be alone with Sariel right now, to ask her why she had left. But he would never get that chance. Instead, he and Vaelen would drag her back to the Covenant and roast her flesh on the Pyre of Judgment. There God himself would decide her fate, and for any Chosen, those who had sworn on their immortal souls to carry out His will, it should have been more than enough to put his mind at ease.

“Yes,” Avrick said distantly. “She will.”

***

Expectation was like a warm blanket, Damien though idly as he swept his gaze across the Solace cityscape. As a younger man, he had often looked out across the sea hoping to catch a glimpse of the sparkling lights from its massive spires. It was well over a thousand kilometers beyond the mainland and far out of sight range, of course, but his imagination had occasionally convinced him he could see a sparkle or two every once in a while.

Now it looked so…
normal
. Louvette was one of the largest cities in the world, and it wasn’t that different from Solace at a glance. Skyscrapers, spires, houses, worn-down businesses…he had seen it all before. There were more cars on the street, perhaps, and he could make out the flickering lights of dozens of shuttles heading into port, but otherwise he could have been looking out the window at the Agency’s tower.

He sighed and turned away. He hadn’t really been sure what to expect. Maybe a jaw-dropping skyscraper the likes of which he had never seen, or perhaps just a giant rainbow with unicorns dancing out of it. He smiled at absurdity of the thought. The banality of the real world had a way of tossing a cold blanket over imagination. 

“It’s not the best view,” Sariel said as she emerged from the washroom. “It’s not really possible for us to operate in the wealthier areas of the city, as you might imagine.”

“Makes sense,” he replied.

“I remember being pretty disappointed myself, but there are some places you’ll have to see. On the West side near the Trusean Spires you can see clearly for kilometers, and the sky is actually blue. It’s like an old holo of Earth.”

He nodded. “I suppose you’ll have to show me. What about the others?”

“We can head over now,” she said. “It’s not far, just over two kilometers. We can make it on foot if you’re up to it.”

“After you.”

He swept up his things—what little he had—and the two of them left the apartment and went out into the Solace streets. They were well-lit despite the darkness, and a gathering of people maybe a block away stood listening to a street-side band. A few cars hovered past, but in general traffic seemed light here at this time of day.

The two of them headed off down the street, and Damien couldn’t help but feel a bit overdressed. He had tried to scale down his outfit from the normal high-class attire he draped himself in when meeting with clients, but most of the people here were what Louvettans would call
shoude
—decidedly lower class and apparently oblivious to it. Otherwise Solacean fashion seemed eclectic and practical compared to back home, and he decided it wasn’t such a terrible thing.

“I’m told the ruins north of the city are amazing,” Sariel commented as they walked. “Much of it would still be livable if it were cleaned up.”

“You mean a pre-Reckoning city?”

“Yes. Most of this continent wasn’t touched, but some of the coasts were hit pretty badly. The city kind of gradually spilled away from the ruins over the last century.”

“Ah.” He glanced around to make sure no one was looking at them too closely. “You know, I’m still wondering how you managed to get me through customs while I was unconscious.”

She smiled faintly. “Security isn’t nearly as tight as most people think. That’s probably a universal truth. But more to the point, we have an arrangement with several private dock owners, both for shuttles and seaports. Docks like that are ridiculously expensive to try and discourage smugglers, but once you have one it’s very easy to move in almost whatever you want.”

“I see.”

“Keep in mind we have to smuggle people in and out all the time. Fortunately most of the Demons we pick up aren’t in any system—they don’t really exist anywhere. It actually makes things easier.”

“I would think a non-existent person would still throw up red-flags somewhere.”

“They do, yes. Ostensibly, anyone who wishes to travel on any type of public system has to be registered in the global database, but the system has a lot of holes. It isn’t usually difficult to get an ID good enough to smuggle someone into the city once, or to just bypass the whole problem with private docks or other means.” She shrugged. “That’s what I’m told, anyway. I’m not exactly a security expert.”

“Do you leave often?”

Sariel shook her head as they turned another corner. “This is the first time I’ve left the city since I got here. I convinced Kronn you were worth the effort.”

“No pressure,” he murmured.

She smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Come on; it’s not much farther.”

She wrapped her arm in his, and together they made their way into what seemed like a purely residential area. A part of him felt like he should have been nervous being out in the open like this, but he wasn’t. Being a Demon wasn’t a crime in Solace, and no matter what else they might do to a nameless refugee, they wouldn’t hand him over to the Covenant.

That was only part of it, of course. The other was hanging lightly on his arm, treating him as warmly as if he had known her his whole life. Not that this was an odd experience for him by itself—most of his clients liked to treat him that way. But she wasn’t a client. She wasn’t even his friend. She was, for all intents and purposes, only a few conversations away from being a complete stranger. Yet she wanted him to feel comfortable rather than indebted to her, and he had to admit it was working.

She nodded towards a small corner store as they passed it. “That’s one of our shops, for reference.”

“How do you mean?”

“Despite what the authorities think, we’re a very small group at our core. Most of what we accomplish is due to a network of sympathizers all throughout the city. The owner happens to be one of them.”

He nodded. “Isn’t that risky for them?”

“Yes and no. Officially, the local authorities consider us a dissident terrorist cell, but outside of some occasional information theft, we don’t bother them, and in return they leave us alone. We target the slavers and traffickers they’re unwilling to touch. And the Covenant, of course.”

“So you basically fight your own private little war against the Covenant, and the authorities just stay out of the way,” he reasoned. “Tidy little arrangement on their part.”

“Basically. I know it’s a shock coming from Louvette where the Covenant is everything, but that’s not the way it works here. I’m sure Kronn can explain it better.”

He shrugged. “I think you’re doing pretty well.”

Sariel smiled, but there was a subtle sadness behind it. Perhaps she was thinking of Louvette and the home she would never again be able to return to. Damien had only been gone a few days and he was already starting to realize that himself. There was a casual comfort to be found in the familiar, even if it was often dark and oppressive.

But change usually meant opportunity, as the saying went, and he wanted to be here. He had
dreamed
of being here for most of his life, and now it had become a reality. There might not have been unicorns frolicking around the street corners, but he wasn’t being mobbed by Covenant priests, either.

“It’s just through here,” she told him, touching her hand to his. The spark between them flared, and as their emotions swirled together he realized they were nearly the same: joy distilled with sorrow, hope tempered with fear. “You can begin your new life.”

A new life. A new beginning. A new chance to stand on his own and make his own way. It was as liberating as it was terrifying, but somehow, feeling the warmth of her thoughts against his, it felt
right
. As right as anything ever had before.

“I can’t wait.”

Chapter Five

Samuel Kronn made a face as he squinted down at the report Corin had just handed him. A week ago, he would have relished this opportunity. Now, following the unintended death of Kal Beren and the imminent arrival of Sariel and the Incubus, he found himself hesitating. Ideally, he would be spending the next few days acclimating their new arrival and hopefully convincing him to help Sariel. But one of the first lessons he had learned since taking the reins of the Asurans was that conditions were rarely ideal, and this type of opportunity wasn’t likely to repeat itself in the near future…or possibly ever.

“Before you ask, yes, I’m absolutely certain it’s genuine,” Corin told him, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the office wall. “There’s no indication they’ve found the new wiretap or know we cracked their encryption.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Kronn agreed softly.

It wasn’t really the validity of the information that was bothering him, though—it was the not-so-sudden realization that over the past few months, the Asurans had become more and more reliant on one person despite all of his efforts to keep them from being so. Even two years ago under Tolson’s leadership, things would have been different. He would never have let them become this dependent on anyone, no matter what she had to offer. But Tolson was gone, and so were those Asurans. In their place was a group more desperate than ever, often more concerned with simple survival than with attacking the Covenant.

And Sariel was the only person who might change that.

Kronn set down the data reader and leaned back in his chair. He still had good people here, and their rebuilding efforts had come a long way—but the bottom line was that none of it would have been possible without the powers of an Angel. The Beren incident was just the most recent proof of that. He didn’t blame Shyrah for the outcome at all; he blamed himself. He had been forced to put her in that position while Sariel was away…

“It will be a small op,” Corin said as if reading his thoughts. “With Sara’s help, it’ll be easy as pie. I’m sure whatever you’re planning can wait for that.”

Kronn repressed a sigh. It was a not-so-subtle gibe at the fact he had kept Sariel’s waning condition quite private. They were all clever enough to know that something major was about to happen, but so far Kronn had kept the details from them—Corin and Shyrah included. And of course, even when they learned the truth about Sariel, there would be other things he would still have to keep from them…

“Things are never that easy,” he replied, sitting up and pushing the thought away. “But you’re right: we can’t waste this opportunity. Get Shyrah, Regis, and Stanson on board—I’ll catch up to you once I’ve spoken with Sara.”

Corin nodded dutifully. “You know, boss, it might make for an opportunity to test the new guy out, see what he can do.”

Kronn grunted. It was another fishing attempt, but he wasn’t going to give anything away. “I think not. Now get moving.”

The young man studied him briefly, then turned and left the office. Kronn closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples.

In theory, the operation would be relatively simple. They had information that Donovan Esche, one of Beren’s top lieutenants and now possible heir to his trafficking organization, was going to be out in public tomorrow. Specifically, he was going to be at the Colburn Arena, which under normal circumstances would be relatively safe given the sea of spectators to hide in. But with this lead and Sariel’s powers, they had a golden opportunity to get a second crack at the Beren’s organization. With luck, they might be able to bring the whole thing down, or at least put a large enough dent in it to keep them out of business for a while. 

No, it was definitely not something they could afford to pass up, even if his gut was telling him something was wrong.

Kronn brooded over the poor timing for a few more minutes before one of his men outside heralded the arrival of his guests. He stood diplomatically and put on his warmest smile as the duo strode in shortly thereafter. Sariel looked as composed as always, and the well-dressed, twenty-something man she brought with her was a good match. Kronn wouldn’t have envisioned an Incubus any other way.

 “Come on in. I’m relieved you made it all right,” he said, standing and waving them inside. “Sara’s first transmission said you were wounded, and I was worried.”

“She took care of it,” the young man replied. “Easily, it seemed.”

“Of course. My name is Samuel Kronn, and I’m happy to welcome you to our little paradise here. It isn’t much, but we do try to keep it as tidy as possible.”

Damien shook the man’s hand and made a face as he did so.

“No, I’m not a Demon,” Kronn told him with a grin. “But many of the others here are, and I happen to know a great deal about their—your—condition.”

“Ah. I’m Damien Vendare, though I’m sure you know that much.”

“I’m just happy you managed to get a message through to us. The circumstances were remarkable, to say the least.”

“I suppose so,” Damien said neutrally. For a man who had just left behind a life of indentured servitude, he was very composed. Perhaps that shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. “So this is what a terrorist cell looks like from the inside, eh?”

Kronn chuckled and sat down, gesturing for them to do the same. “Even the Covenant stopped using that term for the most part. I think they prefer ‘heretics’ now.” He leaned back and waited for them to take their seats. “Regardless, I imagine this doesn’t meet your expectations.”

Damien shrugged. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Your contacts in Louvette weren’t really generous with details.”

“Such is the price of a life in the shadows. I’m sure you can appreciate that much.”

“Quite well,” he murmured. “It’s a curious name, by the way.”

“Asurans?” Kronn asked with a cocked eyebrow, then shrugged. “My predecessor came up with it. He thought it appropriate to pick a mythological name considering who and what we opposed. In ancient Earth religions, Asura were viewed by some as demons and others as gods. But in the end, it’s just a name.”

Damien nodded idly as he folded his hands in his lap. “So you aren’t one of us, but you’re willing to take on immense risk in order to help.” He gestured to Sariel. “I understand why she is here, more or less, and I definitely understand why a group like this would appeal to other Demons, but…why you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“A fair question,” Kronn replied. “Sara may or may not have told you that I have a medical background; I’ve spent most of my adult life researching Demons. Eventually I decided I could be much more useful on the ground, as it were. Over the last half a century, the Covenant has managed to convince nearly every nation on the mainland into embracing its values. But in the last ten years in particular they have been increasingly aggressive off the mainland, and they’ve been targeting Elassia—and subsequently Solace—in particular.”

“The richest nation and largest city in the world,” Damien said. “I’m surprised it took them so long.”

“Indeed. I’ve seen first-hand how they treat your kind. The more they grow, the less room there is for people like you. They’ve managed to scapegoat Demons for virtually every social and political problem, not to mention the Reckoning. It’s little more than populist rage under the guise of divine edict.”

“So you’re a philanthropist, then?”

Kronn snorted. “I’m not sure I’d go that far. I’m a skeptic in a world increasingly disinterested in asking the tough questions.” He tapped a finger against his lips. “And at this point, there’s no turning back. Once you get involved with any group like this, all the bridges you crossed to get there are little more than ash.”

It was only a fraction of the story, of course, but it was true enough on the surface. None of the Asurans really understood why Kronn was here, how an educated man could trade a life of prestige and luxury for this. But ultimately their understanding wasn’t important. He needed them, and they needed him. Nothing else mattered. 

“I can imagine,” Damien said. “So in addition to getting Demons off the mainland, what else do you do here? Sariel mentioned something about taking on local slaver gangs.”

“We provide a safe-haven for those who have none, that’s our primary objective,” Kronn explained. “In order to accomplish that, we have to lock horns with an impressive array of groups that try to exploit your people. The Covenant may be the worst and most powerful offender, but they are far from the only one. The Demon slave trade is much larger than most people realize. Many buyers are convinced your people can do more than they actually can—read minds with ease, dig out memories and secrets, possess people and control them. Others…well, let’s just say their tastes run the gamut of depravity.”

“So you’re saying my choice is to either join with you, or end up a slave somewhere in the colonies. The Agency used a similar line.”

Kronn chuckled. The kid was definitely smart; he could see the recruitment pitch buried in there deeply enough. “To be fair, it’s not as dangerous as your Agency likely made it sound. Despite what the Covenant wants people to believe, there’s no way to pick a Demon out of a crowd. The only reliable means of detection is physical contact with another Demon, which isn’t exactly convenient.” He shook his head.  “No, your people are mostly just a bonus for groups that already traffic women and girls across the globe.”

“Like I told you before,” Sariel put in, “we’re not the Agency. Nor are we the Valerian Syndicate or any other gang who uses fear to keep its people in check. If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be. There are risks on the outside, but that’s true for anyone.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “But you do want something from me. Something specific.”

“Look, Damien, I’ll be blunt,” Kronn said, leaning across the desk. “The Asurans survive because most of the people we save are grateful and want to help others like them. Plus, it gives them a purpose—few make the journey here with specific intentions, they just want to get away at any cost. Now that being said, some ultimately choose to go it alone, and we don’t stop them.”

The kid didn’t buy it, at least not completely; Kronn could tell that easily enough. It wasn’t unexpected, and really Damien had many reasons not to trust them at all. He had spent his adult years under the wing of an organization who also offered safety and the price of service—and he had been willing to risk his life to flee them.

But he was also probably smart enough to know it was foolish to turn away potential allies when walking into a new world. Tolson used to call the Asuran’s recruitment hook the lesser of many evils. Most Demons had lived their lives in desperation, and the modicum of stability the Asurans could provide was a welcome alternative. For an Incubus, though, who had likely lived in relative luxury, it might not be enough. And if it wasn’t…

Well, then they were in trouble. Sariel was in trouble. Without him, they were going to lose the chance of a lifetime.

“But before you make any decisions, I would ask that you at least listen to what we have to say,” Kronn added after a moment of silence. “We
do
need your help. Specifically, Sariel needs your help.”

Damien turned to face her. She sat still, her face expressionless for a minute before she turned away as if she were ashamed.

“I told you that you might be able to fix me,” she said softly.

“Which I still don’t understand,” Damien pointed out.

“I know. It’s not a wound, and it’s not a disease.” She turned back to face him, her dark eyes heavy. “It’s the Angel.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She took a deep breath and seemed to visibly brace herself. “It isn’t well known, but Angels—the human hosts, not the spirits that possess us—rarely live beyond sixty. Thirty years or so after the Bonding, their minds often begin to…erode. First their memories fail, and sometimes they even fall into a powerful dementia. Once the signs of this erosion become clear, the spirit is extracted and the host laid to rest at the temple.”

Damien glanced between them. “I’ve never heard of this.”

“The Covenant doesn’t exactly publicize it,” Kronn pointed out. “The Bonding is a death sentence, albeit a slow one.”

“The reason I bring it up,” Sariel continued softly, “is because it is happening to me.”

Damien tiled his head. “But you…you can’t be older than I am.”

“Younger,” she murmured. “I’ve been bonded for just over two years. I knew something was odd even after a few weeks, but then six months ago it started to rapidly grow worse.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Damien whispered eventually. “I’m sorry, but…I still don’t see how I can help you. Wouldn’t the priests know how to handle this better than anyone else?”