BAHYITH
Sariel pulled his wings inward and fell from the sky. As the wind ripped past his skin, his large Iryllur eyes could already see that something was amiss. The trees rose quickly to meet him, filling every part of his vision. At the last moment, he extended his wings and flattened his trajectory, coming to a running landing in the grass field near the center of the Chatsiyr village.
Behind him, three massive felines burst through the trees and sprinted into the clearing, their animal bodies heaving great breaths of air as they shaped into their angelic forms. Moving rapidly across the field, the group maneuvered around a grass hut and approached the village center, with Sariel in the lead.
As soon as his feet reached bare dirt, Sariel came to a complete stop. Where once was life and movement, all was now still and silent. Everywhere he looked, he saw blood, spears, and the bodies of lifeless humans strewn about as on the countless battlefields he’d experienced in his life. But instead of soldiers, he saw humans who were innocent of the ways of war.
“NO!” he roared, his body shaking.
A flock of birds took to the air from a nearby stand of trees.
When the commotion passed Jomjael whispered, “What happened here?”
“This is Semjaza’s doing,” Tamael replied with calm assurance.
Breathing heavily, Sariel’s eyes scanned the village that had become his home, looking desperately for any sign of Sheyir. His feet carried his body slowly from place to place, walking him through memories that he would cherish forever. Gradually, the fog of sadness was pushed aside. His trained mind began to suppress his emotions, allowing his senses to collect minute details—footprints, blood spatters, the positions of the bodies—to reconstruct what had taken place. He saw the stone-tipped spears of the Aytsam lying alongside the broken khafars of the Chatsiyram. The obvious disparity between technologies only confirmed Tamael’s attribution of blame.
“What does Semjaza want with the Aytsam, or the Chatsiyram for that matter?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the gruesome sights.
“He’s using them,” Tamael answered.
Sariel looked to the cold fire ring at the center of the gathering area. In his mind he saw dancing flames and running children. He saw smiling faces reflecting orange light. He saw bright eyes filled with awe. But with his physical eyes he saw Yeduah’s body draped over the blackened rocks with a spear protruding from his chest. Sariel tilted his head and stared at the lifeless form of Sheyir’s father. “For what?” he finally replied.
“For years now, Semjaza has been strengthening his resources in the event of a confrontation with the Amatru. He’s been using the people to mine materials from the earth. To build his fortress. To make weapons. They’re slaves to him. Until recently, his ambitions only extended to the Kahyin tribes. They’re more numerous than the others, and physically stronger.”
“It looks like he’s expanded his efforts since we left,” Jomjael added.
Sariel remained quiet for some time, walking slowly from one gruesome sight to another as the Myndarym followed. The picture that he’d been piecing together in his mind was now becoming clear. And the fact that the Shaper’s explanation was incomplete only reinforced how dangerous and mysterious Semjaza really was.
Sariel stopped walking as he neared the edge of the village. The trail of footprints left by the Aytsam transitioned from the damp soil into a wide swath of bent grass as it moved south and disappeared into the trees. “If he wants slaves, then why did the Aytsam kill so many? And why did they take all the women and leave behind only men?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the trees ahead.6, 7
In the ensuing silence, he could hear the shuffling of the angels’ footsteps behind him. He could tell that they were just now becoming aware of the fact that there were no female bodies among the dead. When Sariel turned around, he noticed their slack faces and eyes filled with tears. He could see that they’d never looked upon a battlefield before. And the sight of human slaughter was even more disturbing.
“Look what you’ve done,” he whispered. “You should never have helped him.”
Jomjael turned away.
Batarel kept his eyes fixed on Sariel.
Tamael’s head slowly dropped. “We never meant for this to happen,” he replied, his voice cracking slightly.
Sariel could feel a deep rage welling up inside him now. It was not the kind of emotion that would cause someone to react rashly. Instead, it was the sustained resolution of someone who had spent hundreds of human lifetimes honing his skills of warfare. Slowly, methodically, he pulled a spear from the body of a nearby Chatsiyr man and knelt to lift another from the ground next to him. He adjusted his grip and found the point at which the stone-tipped weapons balanced perfectly in his hands. They were crude and fragile compared to the weapons he’d wielded in the past, but in this place they were apparently still effective.
“You’re either with me, or against me,” he stated coldly.
Tamael glanced quickly at the others. “We’re with you,” he replied.
Sariel turned back to the south and unfurled his wings.
* * * *
SOUTHEAST OF BAHYITH
Sheyir struggled for breath, nearly choked by the tight, animal-hide rope around her neck. She was sitting on the ground with hands behind her back, tied to the inside of a poorly constructed fence of tree branches which encircled hundreds of women. Near her were dozens of other Chatsiyr women and many more from other tribes.
“What do they want with us?” one of the women whimpered.
Across the grassy meadow, on the opposite side of the makeshift corral, were groups of other women that appeared to be arranged by when they arrived at this encampment.
“Gods want children,” another woman spoke.
Sheyir twisted her head to find who had answered, but the rope cut into her skin. “Who said that?” she wheezed.
“Take wives to make big men children,” the woman spoke again.
From the corner of her eye, Sheyir located the woman only a few feet away. Though her words were arranged oddly, her language was nearly the same as the Chatsiyram. Her face was scarred and she appeared to have survived something terrible in her earlier years. Judging by her clothing, made of plant fibers, Sheyir guessed that this woman was also from one of the tribes descended from the Shayetham, like her own people. Perhaps their tribes even lived relatively close to each other. Not that it mattered anymore. Her own people and way of life had been decimated in a few, torturous minutes.
“What are big men children?” Sheyir asked quietly, just noticing a man with a spear yelling at a group of women on the opposite side of the enclosure.
“God children very big. Mothers every die.”
Always die? “The mothers die giving birth because the children are too big?” Sheyir asked, trying to make sense of the women’s words.
“Yes. Every die.”9
Someone screamed from across the enclosure and Sheyir turned to see a section of the fence now resting open, with two massive creatures standing in the gap. A few months ago, she would have been confused and terrified all at once. Now, after knowing Sariel, she was only terrified. These creatures were several feet taller than Sariel as he had first appeared, but they didn’t have wings. Their complexion and hair were a light earthen color, and they wore odd loincloths that hung down to the middle of their upper legs in both the front and back. But even with their different appearance, she could tell that they were Baynor.
Are they here to save us?
Just as she began to hope, several men with spears quickly rushed over to the imposing figures and knelt in front of them. The Baynor had not come to save anyone. They were the leaders.
A shadow suddenly moved across the ground.
Sheyir instinctively looked into the sky. Hundreds of feet above, a winged creature circled and descended.
SARIEL!
The winged silhouette grew in size as it banked, eventually dropping gently into the grass inside the enclosure. Pulling its wings inward, it walked toward the other Baynor and began to talk with them. It stood a couple feet shorter, but looked to have authority over them by the way it carried itself. In form, it looked much like Sariel, but with dark brown skin, black hair, and black, feathered wings. After it spoke with the other two, it walked slowly around the enclosure, occasionally pointing at a woman. When it did so, the human guards waded into the group, untied the woman, and dragged her to the center of the prison.
As the trio of creatures made their way toward her group, the last and most recent to come to this terrible place, Sheyir realized that her fingernails were cutting into her own skin. Her fists were clenched and shaking.
One of the taller creatures said something to the dark one.
“Hene, og hene,” said the winged one, pointing to two women a few yards away to Sheyir’s left.
As the screaming women were untied, the dark one’s disinterested gaze swept over the crowd, then rapidly doubled back toward Sheyir. Now his fierce eyes locked onto hers and he slowly took a step forward. “Og du,” he said, lifting his upturned hand toward her.
Sheyir couldn’t take her eyes off the creature. She was horrified and mesmerized at the same time. Its red eyes held a fascinating intensity, and she could only guess at the emotion behind them. Was it anger? Was it lust? As the rope around her neck dropped to the ground, the violent motion of being jerked to her feet brought her abruptly out of her thoughts.
“Taka dessa konnur ad Semjaza,” he told one of the wingless creatures, pointing to the women that had been selected from the crowd.
The men dropped Sheyir to the ground in front of the dark one.
The towering beast looked down to the human males. “You. Go get more,” he said in a language that sounded very close to Chatsiyr.
The men nodded and backed away in fear, finally turning and running away when they’d put enough distance between themselves and this fearsome giant.
“And you,” he said, turning back to Sheyir. “You will come with me. Semjaza will want you for himself.”
Sheyir flinched as the dark one reached down and lifted her from the grass as if she were a child. Holding her with one arm, he stretched out his wings and jumped into the air.
* * * *
SOUTHEAST OF BAHYITH
The wind rushed by Sariel’s face and blades of grass whipped by only feet below him. His great wings propelled him forward, requiring just the occasional downward thrust to maintain his speed. With both hands he gripped the primitive spears he’d taken from the Chatsiyr village; their fragile weight balanced in his palms, adjusted for wind resistance.
Rising slowly over a low mound, he banked slightly to the west and rounded a stand of trees to obscure the sight of his approach. Under different circumstances he would have enjoyed feeling the air move across his wings; the graceful way his body cut through the air above the fields of grass; the way his wings expertly flexed to maintain lift as he banked. But he was not flying for pleasure. It was revenge that fueled him now. A desperate need to bring a violent and swift end to anyone who would dare harm Sheyir.
The stand of trees slid to the right and out of his vision leaving an empty field with a crude circular fence at its center. The two hundred foot diameter was only sufficient to enclose fear-stricken human women, but its height failed to shield the upper body of the single Anduar sentinel standing guard in the middle. Sariel straightened his heading and dropped lower until the blades of grass struck his chest and arms. He covered the expanse of open field in just a few seconds, unseen. At the last possible moment, he adjusted his elevation to glide just over the rim of the fence. In the blink of an eye, the Anduar guard was visible and Sariel thrust the stone-tipped, wooden spears downward. The impact ripped the weapons from his hands and he had to tilt his wings to keep from being pulled down. Just as he passed over the opposite rim of the fence, he started to bank to the left and glanced backward to see the Anduar fall.
Completing his turn, he now approached from the north and could see that Tamael and the others, still in their animal forms, had torn down the south end of the enclosure. The human captors ran in fear from the broken structure and into the fields, leaving their captives.
Sariel slowed his speed and dropped his elevation until he came to a gentle landing in the grass on the south side of the prison. Though he wanted to take the lives of the human men running in retreat, he restrained himself.
They’re only acting out of fear of Semjaza!
“I’ve never seen an Iryllur kill an Anduar before,” Tamael said, now wearing his angelic form.
Sariel walked passed Tamael and into the prison without a word.
Scanning the groups of women tied to the perimeter of the wall he could tell in seconds that Sheyir wasn’t among them. With a sigh, he stooped to the nearest woman and began to untie the rope around her neck.
She flinched; her eyes wide with horror.
Sariel let go of the rope and put his hands up. “I’m not here to hurt you. You’re safe now.”
Tamael, Jomjael, and Batarel followed his lead, walking around the prison and untying the women.
As Sariel moved from woman to woman, he asked, “Do you know Sheyir?” He only received blank stares, but he kept working, freeing the women and repeating his question in as many human languages as he knew.
When all were freed, Sariel walked to the center and looked down at the dead soldier. He lay on his side with his legs splayed. One spear had gone through the middle of his chest, while the other hit higher toward his neck. His blood darkened the earth and grass beneath him. It was the first time that Sariel had ever killed someone other than a demon.
“You were looking for someone in particular?” Tamael asked quietly as the others joined him.
Sariel nodded without looking up.
“And she’s not here,” Batarel stated.
They stood in silence for a moment as Sariel considered what to do next.
“Semjaza?” a quiet voice asked from behind.
Sariel turned around quickly. “What?” he replied in the Chatsiyr language, only now realizing that none of the women had left the enclosure. They remained huddled around the perimeter of the wall. Most were standing while a few were still sitting on the ground.
“Semjaza,” a woman repeated.
Sariel now saw who spoke and recognized her from his time at Bahyith, though she probably didn’t recognize him in his angelic form.
“A dark one came. He had wings like you,” she said, pointing. “He took Sheyir and said Semjaza will want her for himself.”
At once, hope and rage collided in his heart. Sariel closed his eyes and clenched his fists until he composed himself. “Thank you,” he finally said to the woman, then turned back to the Myndarym.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Tamael said quickly. “And it’s not possible.”
“Why?” Sariel probed.
“Because he has an army and a fortress. And you’ll never get to her. You don’t understand how dangerous he is.”
Sariel remained silent and let the words hang in the air for a moment. There were so many responses running through his mind. But only one that would bring him closer to the one he loved. “Then take me there and make me understand.”
“He’ll kill us before we get within miles of the place,” Tamael countered.
Sariel nodded slowly, and could feel the skin on his forehead tighten. “Does he ever leave the safety of his fortress?”
Tamael paused for a moment. “Yes. I guess he does. For years, he used to roam throughout the land, hunting as the Kahyin do. But he tired quickly of that. There are not many things on this earth to serve as a worthy opponent for him. Now, the only time he leaves is to Khelrusa, the capital city of the Kahyin. He likes to personally check the progress at the mines and to maintain his god-like status among the humans.”
“How often?” Sariel asked.
“Since we left? Monthly. But he is always accompanied by his personal guard—two Iryllurym and two Anduarym.”
“I can handle them,” Sariel replied with confidence.
“I doubt it,” Batarel said in a low voice.
Sariel noticed that the women still hadn’t left the enclosure. “You’re all free to go.”
“We have nowhere. Our villages are destroyed. Our men are dead,” the Chatsiyr woman responded quietly.
Now Sariel finally understood the expressions on the faces looking at him. He had been blinded by his own emotions. But now he understood why they weren’t leaving.
“We could take them back to our city,” Jomjael offered. “They would be safe there.”
Sariel slowly nodded in agreement as he plotted his next move. “Yes. You should do that.” Then he turned to Tamael and Batarel. “And we should go to Khelrusa.”
“Alright,” Tamael agreed. “We’ll take you there. But I can’t promise you anything.”
Sariel turned and walked closer to where the women were gathered, then knelt. “If you are willing, Jomjael will take you to a city. It is a far journey, but you will be safe there.” He repeated this phrase in different languages until he saw recognition on every face.
“Thank you, O Excellent One,” one of the women replied.
“Call me Sariel,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“I knew it was you,” said the Chatsiyr woman. “I could tell by your eyes.”
Sariel just smiled. “Go with him,” he said, tilting his head toward Jomjael. “And do whatever he asks of you.”
Then he stood and turned to Tamael and Batarel. “Take me to Semjaza.”