The Devil's Secret (20 page)

“—have been idle during our stay in these lands. Is something troubling you, Thorn?”

“Nothing of which I’ve not already spoken.”

“How goes your work with that Indian boy you follow around?”

“Well. He broke down in a cave while on the hunt, and I—I, uh, crushed his hopes even further.”

“Excellent. I would like to see you exercise more power, though. It won’t do for my right hand to spend all his time whispering to one measly human. We must begin a campaign against the whole tribe.”

“As you wish.”

“Indeed. You must show the local demons your own cunning and cruelty while I am gone.”

“Gone? Where are you going?”

“To a Sanctuary. Alone.”

Sanctuary.
The word cut through the air, sharp as a dagger and porous as a sponge, absorbing the chanting, the crackling of the fire, the night wind, and Thilial’s thoughts. All else drowned out in light of this new revelation.

Thilial swooped in to Xeres and whispered to him. “Take Thorn with you. Take Thorn with you! Send him to another Sanctuary so you both can be tested separately! He is ready for the challenge.”
He is ready to change.

“You will rule my territory for the day that I am absent,” Xeres said to Thorn, dashing Thilial’s hopes. “Every demon in Tugaloo will witness my departure tonight, and when I return unscathed, no demon in the New World will question my might. My authority will be absolute.”

“As you say,” Thorn said. His fingers brushed frantically against each other and his jaw shook ever so slightly.

“Then together, Thorn, we will bring humanity to its knees. The war we start between West and Far West will be the last war. We will spill enough blood to fill the oceans, to make mothers weep for their slaughtered sons and daughters until the end of time. I will be the greatest demon, and you will be by my side.”

“Our dreams will finally come to fruition.”

“They will.”

With that, Xeres turned and drifted into the forest, likely toward whatever doorway into the Sanctuary system he’d found. Some demons in the town noticed his departure and motioned to their peers to follow.

“Xeres,” Thorn said, before the other demons came near enough to hear. Xeres delayed his exit and turned to hear Thorn’s parting words. “Xeres, the Enemy claims that we are irredeemable. That our choice to rebel was our final choice, and that now we have no free will. We can never change. We are evil to the core.”

Xeres nodded. “Such is our pride.”

“Yes, but…” Thorn broke eye contact, looked back to the town, surveying it.
Searching for a glimpse of Flying Owl?

“… But do you ever doubt it?” Thorn asked. “Do you ever doubt that we can never change?”

Xeres’s eyebrows furrowed. He frowned and glanced at the forest’s dark crevices, as if to make certain no one had heard Thorn’s blasphemous question.

“I doubt nothing,” Xeres said. “Doubt is for the weak.”

Thorn looked toward the ground and nodded, and Xeres faced the trees again. The great demon lord drifted away, the two stubs that had once supported his wings shifting side to side as he weaved his way through the gloom.

“Weaver?” Flying Owl called out over the cornfields.

Insects hummed, and the few women picking corn kept their heads down. When Weaver didn’t answer, Flying Owl started his walk back to the town wall.

Thorn followed him, and Thilial followed Thorn. Today would be her best chance to talk to him. With Xeres gone in the Sanctuary, Thorn had no superiors to fear, and could thus act of his own accord. She’d considered waiting until Flying Owl’s next hunt, but that could be another month, and even then, solitude could not be guaranteed. She had to catch Thorn
today
, while Xeres was absent. If he accepted her offer, she would take him to Heaven to meet God Himself. How proud He would be of her. How ecstatic that she’d brought home one of His prodigal children.

Nighttime had come and gone, and Flying Owl had slept outside by the dance ground, where demons roamed. Morning had come and gone, and Flying Owl had eaten and bantered with friends, always staying in public places. But now the boy was walking toward Weaver’s mother’s house, and Thilial’s opportunity was fast approaching. She readied herself for what might be a tense encounter.

Next to the house lay a collection of logs and thatch: the beginnings of Weaver’s own house, which would have been built by now had the wedding transpired. Flying Owl stopped next to it. “Weaver?” he called again. No answer came, so he entered Weaver’s mother’s house. Thorn tailed him.

Inside, a pillar of sunlight slanted through the hole in the roof, illuminating small motes drifting through the air. Gray ash from a long-dead fire soiled the floor at the house’s center. No angels or demons were present, and none could see inside due to the orientation of the doors. Flying Owl again called out for his wife-to-be. Thilial stiffened with trepidation.

She dropped down into the demon realm.

“Thorn, do not be afraid,” Thilial said.

Thorn jumped back. His eyes widened at the sudden presence of an angel, and his body crouched in a defensive posture.
No. He looks terrified.

“I am not your foe,” Thilial said, reaching out her hand in a gesture of peace. “I know you crave love and forgiveness. I know you crave freedom from your demonic life. I can offer you that freedom. Take my hand and come with me. You need not be alone any longer.”

Her speech had sounded a little rehearsed, she thought, but she meant every word of it. She was all too aware of the risk she was taking by speaking to Thorn in this way, but if she could save him, the risk would be infinitely worth it.

Thorn looked her up and down, his eyes dripping with dread. She’d left her wings closed so as not to intimidate him, but now she drew them even further toward her body.

“Please,” Thilial said as softly as she could. “I’ve been watching you. I care about you. I want to help you.”

“Weaver?” Flying Owl called to the trees behind the house. He let out an exasperated sigh, then turned inward and glanced around the house, as if searching for some sign of his beloved. He found only baskets, pots, and mats.

“Flying Owl!” Grasshopper’s voice came from the front door.

“Mother, I have not seen Weaver since I returned from the hunt last night. Do you know where she is?”

“Feasting Wolf and the other priests have taken her. They are at the sacred dance ground now, near the sacred fire.”

“What? What do they mean to do?”

“They say they mean to cast out the plague from our town. They mean to sacrifice the most beautiful woman of the tribe to appease the vengeful animal spirits.”

The expression that blossomed on Flying Owl’s face was one that Thilial had never before seen. Not when a clever beast evaded his arrows, not during his arguments with his mother, not even at his attempted wedding when his fellow tribespeople had died. The look on Flying Owl’s face right now was one of utter rage. Thilial had no doubt that he would kill today.

Or be killed.
If she’d known this was about to happen, she would not have approached Thorn.

As Flying Owl raced out of the house, Thilial drew nearer to Thorn, her hand still extended in friendship. “Let us go handle this problem, then we can discuss your salvation later. Will you accept my offer?”

Thorn’s gaze flitted nervously around the room, then finally settled on Thilial. She locked eyes with the demon, and she saw in his eyes a change: he grew calm, focused, certain. He nodded to her.

Relief washed over her. She couldn’t help but smile at him. He diffidently raised his hand toward hers and grasped it. Flying Owl faced serious troubles today, but Thilial took solace in knowing that at the end of the day, she would take Thorn to Heaven, and his future would—

A flurry of motion. The world spun around Thilial in a dizzying whirlwind. She gradually stabilized herself and saw that she was just outside of the house, back on one of Tugaloo’s main roads. By the time she realized that Thorn had flung her here, he already gripped her by both wrists, trapping her wings between her shoulders. He struck her head. Pain bloomed.

“Demons of Tugaloo, witness what I have found!” Thorn shouted for all to hear. The town’s demons quieted and turned at the call of their leader’s right hand. “A servant of the Enemy has come into our midst! What shall we do with her?”

A small uproar rose above the houses as the demons caught a glimpse of Thilial’s wings and clamored to get closer to her and Thorn. They closed in. They prodded at her, scraped at her, tugged mockingly at her limbs.

Thilial fought panic and tried to organize her rushing thoughts. At any moment she could retreat to the angelic realm, but if the demons saw such an action and started questioning whether an angelic realm might exist, God would never forgive her. Besides, she could take degradation; she could take injury. God would heal her wounds.
I must not give up on Thorn, even now. I’ve seen the virtue hidden inside him.

“Thorn!” she cried above the ruckus. “I’ve seen you with Flying Owl. I know you can love. Please, choose that path for yourself. Do not give in to demonic doctrine. You’re smarter than that. Change, Thorn. Think!”

“You hear that, fellas? This stupid little angel thinks I can
love
!” The demons had a hearty laugh at that. Thorn drew Thilial’s face near to his and spoke with stinging venom. “I haven’t been able to love ever since your Heavenly Father abandoned me. Ever since He abandoned us all!”

The crowd roared its agreement.
They’re going to kill me if I don’t leave soon
, Thilial realized. Surely the town’s other angels had seen her predicament by now. Would they rush to her aid? Would they risk revealing that they’d won the war with demons after all?

And aid did come, or at least a temporary reprieve—but not from angels. From humans. Dozens of Tugaloo’s younger men ran through the gathering of demons, each man clutching a weapon. Thilial saw bows and arrows, war clubs, spears. All were hurrying toward the sacred dance ground.

Likely enticed by the potential for violence, the demons watched the men go, distracted, for the moment, from Thorn and Thilial. “What’s this, now?” Still grasping Thilial, Thorn rose upward for a better vantage, and soon she located Flying Owl at the head of the mob, bow in hand, an arrow at the ready. Thorn must have seen him too, because he swooped downward at a frantic speed, dodging the other demons in his way, dragging Thilial with him.

They stopped next to Flying Owl. Sweat beaded the boy’s brow as he notched an arrow and aimed it at Feasting Wolf, who stood with the other priests in front of the sacred fire. Weaver was with them, struggling desperately but held by two strong men. In fact, many of Tugaloo’s men stood
with
the priests, forming a defensive barrier around them. Each of them held a weapon as well. The situation was much worse than Thilial had thought.

“This is brash,” Thilial whispered to Flying Owl. “There are other ways to—”

A blow from Thorn across her forehead silenced her.

“Feasting Wolf!” Flying Owl bellowed. The throng quieted around him. “Weaver is a Real Person! You cannot kill a Real Person in a refuge town! It is a crime of the highest order! A Real Person cannot kill another Real Person!”

Like the First Rule
, Thilial thought absently.

Feasting Wolf raised his staff in a posture of dominance and spoke even louder than Flying Owl. His voice carried well over the crowd. “We are your priests! Your emissaries to the spirits! We know what must be done. Look at your brothers and friends surrounding us. They know it is best not to question us. They know that we hold ultimate knowledge of this world and the others. We must do this thing, and you must accept it. There is no need to fight.”

Flying Owl retorted immediately. “I speak for the men and women of Tugaloo, and for all the men and women of the Real People, when I say we no longer want you to control us! You are tyrants who hide behind your mystical teachings. We want to protect the balance of the spirit worlds just as much as you, but it is clear to us now that you do not speak for the spirits. You speak only for yourselves. For your own impulses, lusts, fears, obsessions. Or for your own insanities, as is the case here today. You will let Weaver go free, or we will kill you all.”

Flying Owl gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his bow.

“Violence is not the answer,” Thilial said to him. “Use reason—”

Thorn raised his hand to strike her again, but she spoke to the demon before he could hit her. “If he starts a battle now, Weaver will die and so will he! Surely you must see this.”

Thorn’s arm stood rigid in the air. Thilial saw doubt in his eyes:
real
doubt, not the pretense of doubt. He glanced toward Feasting Wolf, then back to Flying Owl.

“I know you want Flying Owl to live,” Thilial said. “I know it.”

“What is your choice, Flying Fool?” Feasting Wolf called. The men on both sides of the dance ground looked to Flying Owl with fierce apprehension. All of the demons looked to Thorn.

For a moment, all was calm, save for the fire and its rising smoke. Birds sang in the treetops. The river sloshed against its bank. A child tottered out of his mother’s house, but the woman quickly grabbed him and stole back inside.

Thilial studied Thorn as he looked out at all the demonic eyes resting on him. At the hundreds of malevolent gazes waiting for a decision. At the boy he loved, teetering on death’s doorstep. At whatever dark turmoil resided within himself.

Thorn haltingly approached Flying Owl with what looked to Thilial like a great effort of will. When he finally spoke, his voice came out in a rough croak.

“Kill him.”

Flying Owl loosed his arrow. It struck Feasting Wolf through the nose. The insides of the priest’s head sprayed backward into the fire behind him.

One of Weaver’s guards immediately slit the girl’s throat and tossed her into the fire as well. She grasped at her neck, trying to hold in the blood as the rest of her body burned. Feasting Wolf’s body fell on top of hers, pinning her in the flames.