Chapter 1 – Angel of Death
Dull sounds reached his ears: the clang of steel, the screams of his people, the dark roar of their enemies. He couldn't understand the voices, and everything seemed far away and unclear, as if he was under water.
He lay on the hard ground, his body unmoving, weak, cold. He couldn't feel anymore, couldn't remember anymore, couldn't "be" anymore. There seemed to be a hole inside him, ripping him apart, twisting and turning. Hurting.
It just hurt so much.
He wanted to cry but his tears wouldn't leave his veiled eyes. He wanted to scream but his lips wouldn't open. Nothing would obey him, his limbs heavy as stone were pinned to the ground, his face was involuntary turned sideways so his lifeless eyes could follow the course of a hopeless fight, for more and more dead bodies of men fell to these dark creatures that were attacking them in the middle of the night. It was as if time froze around him, slowed down to a point where every second felt like a century. He couldn't turn his eyes away from watching his family, his friends and all those who earned a place in his big heart (also those who didn't) die in front of him.
He felt alone, utterly lonely, terribly lost and he just wanted to curl himself together, pulling his knees to his chin and listen to the beautiful singing of his mother, while being held by his father, save in those big, strong arms. Mother would tell him of sailing ships and crushing waves, of sunsets and beautiful, ethereal beings singing to the sky, dancing and laughing under the moon. And then she would laugh and dance before their campfire, and Father would rise from his place, still holding him, smiling at his wife and down at his only son, before he would join the merrymaking.
But now Mother would never sing to him again, and he would never again feel himself pressed against Father's warm body, and the three of them would never laugh and dance together again. Because they were dead. Mother and Father were dead. Dead like Eadmund and Algar, like Everild and Goderun, like everyone in his big family with whom they travelled the world. He knew it, 'cause he saw them, lying in front of him, their eyes wide and unseeing, their bodies covered in hot blood steaming in the cold night, their hands intertwined so they'd still be together even in death. Maybe he too would join them soon.
And then something changed. He couldn't say what, because when he looked around, only his eyes moving, the fighting still went on, his people were still trying to turn the fight over despite the sheer masses of Orcs attacking them, and still there were dead bodies all around him, and his wounds still hurt and there was still blood slowly seeping into the ground, leaving him weaker and weaker. But now the air seemed lighter and … vibrating, and there was a slight breeze, softly dancing over his face and dishevelling his dark brown locks, wandering up to the trees and getting stronger, shaking leaves and branches. From one moment to the other the forest seemed to liven up, as if filled with new energy and the wind (for it couldn't be described as a soft breeze anymore) travelled through the clearing, leaving the ancient trees groaning.
The little boy sensed big excitement and nerve-wrecking power, he could feel the forest tensing up and the leaves and branches trembling, hope and fear at the same time were capturing his heart, and finally tears filled the deep blue and o so young eyes of the child, focusing on the mesmerizing form of … an angel. An angel of death. Its slender body seemed to glide over the forest ground, the naked feet barely touching the cold ground. The pale skin glowed softly in the light of a thousand stars and the long, silver tresses flowing down elegant shoulders had the colour of the moon itself, as if woven of its divine light.
He – for now the little child saw the masculine lines upon the alluring, angelic face and the strong body of a warrior hidden beneath robes spun of sheer darkness – was the most enchanting being the boy had had and will have ever had laid eyes upon, that he knew in that very first moment when this angel appeared in the clearing, reaching back for his long, in the cold light shimmering bow and the first arrow. His glowing red eyes focusing on his foes with a stare so furious the boy was convinced he could have killed the Orcs by simply staring at them.
Every single movement was graceful and refined, a frightening aura of power surrounding the being that shot with great speed at its opponents, every arrow striking true at the frozen hearts of countless Orcs, dead before even knowing where their enemy was. It was a dance of Death, so beautiful and horrible, harmonious and heart-wrenching the boy couldn't bring himself to look away or even blink.
In a blur the angel put his bow back, instead sheathing two twin knives he twirled skilful in his slender hands before grabbing the hilts and slashing at the attackers, ending their shameful lives full of sin and torture.
This angel accomplished what a group of full grown men couldn't do in a matter of mere moments, and all too soon everything was silent. And this quietness was where the true horrors lay, for now the fight was over and one could see the bloodbath, red and black blood mixed together, countless bodies covering the ground, a picture of destroyed hope, of extinguished life.
The angel stood still. Sad, still glowing eyes screened the scene of death before him, taking in all the lives lost and all the futures destroyed. His delicate lips opened and words of an ancient speech the boy has had never heard before filled his ears, sounding like a prayer in form of an unknown lament so bittersweet the child couldn't help but heave a small sob.
In an instant the near being turned back to him, its widening eyes resting on the wounded youngling. "Hên [child]", he spoke, his silvery and soft-spoken voice full of surprise and horror. The boy couldn't help but watch wide eyed when the angel appeared almost in an instant at his side, kneeling beside his broken body and scooping the small form so tenderly up that the little one first didn't even realize he was lifted. Despite all ethereal beauty the skin of this angel was cold like ice, but still somehow soft and easing.
"Hush, young one, hush. Nobody is going to hurt your slender frame anymore. Horrendous deeds have been brought upon you and your kin, but now comes the time to rest and heal" The voice was so calm and soothing that the sobs of the boy grew weaker and weaker, his eyes fluttering tiredly, his thoughts dull and his aching body forgetting all pain; forgetting all he had seen this night for his young mind wasn't able to grasp what it all meant.
"What is your name, tithen pen [little one]?" The child opened his eyes again, slowly and weary, and instead of glowing red he was met with seemingly endless dark pools when looking up in the eyes of his saviour – or captor? But he didn't fear this angel, he couldn't bring himself to, even if this wasn't a warrior sent from heaven but from hell. It was his eyes … frightening, but also so reassuring.
The boy couldn't help but sink into this black clearness, to embrace the awaiting calmness with open arms and to drown in those depths, for drowning he was and drowning he wanted if it meant to always be able to look into the sheer soul of this Death Angel. Connecting. It was as if their true essences were connecting with one look, and despite all things happening, the young one smiled; not openly, not to be seen, but inside him his nearly diminished light began to glow in delight.
He … felt save, being in the arms of this stranger, listening to his melodious voice, staring at those dangerous fangs. The boy's blue lips opened slightly, but the answer to this ethereal being's question was lost to him. "It's alright. Losto vae hên, tithen maethor nin [Sleep well child, my little warrior]" More the child couldn't make out for now he finally passed out, indulging into darkness by free will. Would he ever wake up again? Maybe he would die, maybe he was already dead, but how could he dread it if there was this beautiful divine angel who'd sing quietly to him while he slowly lost his grip on the world surrounding him.