Izrail woke with dirt in his mouth and rocks digging into his back.
He sat up with a gasp and heaved in his first gulp of air. It was dusty, arid, scratching the back of his throat. He blinked at the brightness of the world and squinted out at the blinding land.
The blue sky sizzled above the prairie, orange dust sifting lazily on the breeze. Sagebrush and sweetgrass clung to the dry dirt and dotted the ground, the few trees that grew were twisted and gnarled. Off in the distance, red rocked mountains and striped mesas tumbled over each other at the horizon. Izrail's lips tasted like dirt and juniper and he tried not to lick them.
Dry. Dusty. Bleak. Desolate.
Death had sent him to a whole other kind of hell.
Groaning, Izrail pushed himself to his feet, his essence aching something fierce. He'd forgotten how much it hurt to hold a physical body. Rubbing his neck, Izrail slowly turned around and studied his surroundings. Nothing but the dusty desert as far as he could see. Of course Death would send him here. She liked to watch him squirm.
Which she had plenty already. When Izrail received his summons, he'd whined and complained and procrastinated until he was practically dragged into the Overworld by his toenails. Death called and he had to answer.
Izrail's answer was to get this mission over with as quickly as possible and go home.
"What in the h— are you doing on my ranch?"
Izrail whipped around. A cowboy on a spotted horse trotted up to him, a strange mix of awe and anger on his lips. His clothes were covered in orange dirt, his blonde hair hanging stringy and greasy at his neck. The brim of his hat cast shadows across his face, obscuring his eyes.
The cowboy pulled his horse up next to Izrail and he backed away from the creature. It pawed the ground anxiously, twisting its head from side to side. Animals had never liked Izrail.
The cowboy peered down at Izrail. "Answer my question, will ya? Who are you and what're you doin' on my ranch?"
Deciding that the whole truth was too big to give, Izrail offered, "I'm looking for someone."
"You sure have an odd way of going about it. Ain't no one out here 'cept me." The cowboy swung off his horse, his boots slamming onto the hard earth. He crossed his arms and marched towards Izrail, frustration rolling off of him in waves. Izrail tried to look under his hat but the cowboy lifted his chin away.
"Whatever business yer in to, leave me and my ranch out of it." The cowboy jabbed a finger at Izrail. "Got it?"
Izrail nodded sharply. "Yeah. Got it."
The cowboy spun on his heels and stomped back to his horse, bumping into Izrail's shoulder. Izrail staggered back as cold energy washed up the arm and into his chest. Izrail's heart beat harder and louder and that's when he realized.
"You're an angel!" Izrail exclaimed.
The cowboy turned to look at him, one foot in his saddle's stirrup. "Huh?"
"You're one of Death's angels!" Izrail grinned.
"Listen, kid—"
"I'm no kid."
"-I don't know what kinda moonshine you've been drinking, but I ain't no angel."
Izrail stomped right up to the cowboy and his stupid horse and yanked his hat right off his head. The cowboy's eyes glowed golden in the bleached air.
Izrail smirked. "Are too."
The cowboy scowled and snatched his hat back. "I ain't an angel."
"Don't lie to me—"
"I'm not." The cowboy sighed and slipped his foot out of the stirrup. He turned to face Izrail, his golden eyes worn and ancient. "Not anymore."
"What happened?" Izrail asked. "Why are you out here? How—"
"Shh!" The cowboy lunged forward and clamped a filthy hand over Izrail's mouth. "Not out here. The desert listens."
Izrail ripped the cowboy's hand off of him and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "There's nothing with ears out here. Just rocks."
The cowboy smiled. "Who said you need ears to hear? C'mon." He jumped up on his horse and held out his hand.
Izrail shook his head. "I'm not getting on—"
The cowboy grabbed Izrail's arm and threw him up on the horse. Izrail shouted in surprise and quickly righted himself on the saddle. The full force of the cowboy's stench filled his nose. Sweat and dirt and grease and Death knows what else.
The horse shifted uneasily under them, nickering softly.
"I don't think your horse likes me," Izrail said nervously.
"Pinyon?" The cowboy laughed. "Pinyon likes everyone."
"Yeah, but—"
"Hyah!"
The horse took off like an arrow loosed from a bow. Izrail frantically grabbed on to the saddle and hung on for dear life.
The heat beat down on them as they rode until Izrail could hardly breathe. Dust clung to his skin and the horse's hooves pounded on the bone-dry ground. The sun hung high above, the shadowless plateaus and mesas laughing down at his pain.
Once Izrail had gotten over the panic of being thrown on a horse and kidnapped, he started to figure out his next course of action. Right now, he was riding across the plains with a used-to-be angel, with no other humans in sight. He needed to find thw necromancer quickly, and it seemed that this cowboy would be his only source of information for now.
The necromancer…. Death said he'd messed with one of her souls a few months ago. He'd managed to completely bring someone back to life, a feat almost unheard of, even in Death's kingdom. Death wanted Izrail to go and put a stop to his antics so she could continue reaping souls in peace.
Izrail could care less about a rogue human raising the dead. All he wanted to do was go home. He missed it already.
Izrail's rear end positively burned by the time the cowboy slowed his horse down. The sun had sunk lower into the sky to burn the land with all its remaining energy before sleeping for the night.
"Just over this rise," the cowboy said.
The horse's hooves clopped on smooth rock and stopped just at the edge of a shallow cliff. In the valley below, a leaning, wooden house sat in the center of a glowing green field. Beyond the field, the flat desert stretched out to the horizon, a herd of cows the last thing Izrail could see before the end of the world.
"That's home," the cowboy said. "Twisted Root Ranch."
...
Izrail fidgeted in his chair and it creaked and moaned. He sat in the cowboy's front room, alone. A healthy layer of dust covered the floor and deep golden light filtered in through the dirty window.
Izrail leaned his elbows on the rickety table and waited for the cowboy to get back from his horse. An entire day had passed since his arrival in the Overworld and he was getting anxious. Every minute Izrail spent here drained his power. Soon, he'd be as useless as a wet sock.
The front door slammed and the cowboy's boots stomped on the floor boards. He poked his head into the room, tossed his gloves on the table, and plopped onto the chair across from Izrail. His golden eyes glowed in the dim light. He smelled of horses and cold air and all things wild. Out of the harsh sunlight, Izrail could see the cowboy's too-bright aura, golden and warm.
Definitely an angel.
"I don't think we've properly met." The cowboy reached his hand across the table. "I'm Phil."
Izrail took his hand. It was calloused, rough, hard. "I'm Izrail."
"Nice to meet ya, Izrail—"
"Are you an Angel of Death or not?"
Phil flinched. His eyes darted to the floor. "Let's get right into it, shall we?" he mumbled. He ran a hand over his face and for a minute they sat, gods old a new, dusty and sweaty, lost in the middle of nowhere.
Finally, Phil said, "I was. A long, long time ago."
"What happened?"
Phil stood, his chair squeaking on the floorboards. He drifted towards the window and stared out at the setting sun that painted the desert ruby red. A small smile tugged at his lips.
"I fell in love."
Izrail rolled his eyes. He'd heard the stupid story a hundred times over. Some angel would get sent on a mission to the Overworld, meet some special human, and give up all their powers to stay with them.
Was it worth it?" Izrail asked. "Was some silly human worth all your power?"
Phil laughed. "There's no human."
"Then what—"
Phil grabbed Izrail's arm and tugged him to the window. Outside, the sun lit the desert on fire. Dark-deep reds and midnight purples dripped on the fiery rocks as golden air danced at the horizon line. The mesas and twisting rock ignited like glowing torches. The entire desert burned and it was some kind of awful glory to watch it bleed.
"That's what I fell in love with." Phil smiled. "The desert."
They stood and watched the sun set and the desert ignite. The land was so calm and still, immovable. Those rocks had been there for millenia and they would be for millenia more and maybe that meant the world wasn't so hectic after all.
Still. Phil was an idiot. No matter how glorious and magnificent the Overworld might be, nothing was as marvelous as Izrail's home. It broke his heart every time he had to leave. Nothing was worth giving that up.
"You gave up everything…" Izrail said, "All your power, all your glory, for that?" He pointed out the window.
"Absolutely." Phil's gaze never drifted from the window, enraptured by his lover. "And I'd do it a hundred times over."
"But… why?" Izrail couldn't wrap his head around it. Besides sweat, sunburns, exhaustion, and heat, what did the desert have to offer?
Phil's eyes searched for something on Izrail's face, but didn't find it. "I hope someday you'll understand."
Izrail seriously doubted it.
"So." Phil clapped his hands, making Izrail jump. "What's this errand Death sent you on? I want to help."
Izrail sighed, deciding to ignore Phil's obvious insanity and accept his help. "I'm supposed to track down a necromancer."
Phil's eyes widened. "You don't say."
"You ever heard of one around here?"
Phil rubbed his chin, his eyes unfocused. "There's rumors of one near Yucca Falls."
"Where's that?"
"Just east of here."
"Anything else?"
"I'd be careful if I were you. That necromancer's caused quite a stir." Phil chewed on his fingernail. "The mayor and sheriff of Yucca Falls would do anything to get their hands on him."
"Good. Maybe they can help me."
"Not like that." Phil's gaze drifted back to the window. "They want his power for themselves."
Izrail wrinkled his nose. "Oh." No wonder Death wanted this necromancy problem solved. It spread like a plague.
Phil clapped him on the back and Izrail stumbled. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. After all, they're just human."
Izrail grinned and felt the power throbbing in his chest, waiting to be unleashed. Next to it, his heart yearned to return home. No human could ever stand in his way.
"Well, thanks Phil."
"Fer what?"
"Telling me where to go." Izrail stepped around Phil to the door.
"Nuh-uh." Phil stuck out his hand to block Izrail. "You ain't leavin' in that."
Izrail looked down at his clothes. "What's wrong with this?"
"Ya look like the grim reaper. You'll scare folks halfta death." Phil stomped out of the room and down the hall, the floorboards creaking. He came back in the room a moment later, arms filled with clothes.
"Phil, I—"
"I know what yer thinkin'." With a grunt, Phil tossed the clothes on the table. "You're just gonna waltz right into town, tell everyone yer title and business, and be on yer way." Phil stared straight into Izrail's eyes. "It don't work like that down in Yucca Falls."
"Why not?" Izrail picked up a light blue shirt and wrinkled his nose at it. He'd much rather wear his own clothes.
"Those people are a different breed," Phil explained. "They've been to hell and back and everywhere inbetween. They're vicious and malicious and they sure ain't afraid of the gods no more." Phil paused. "They wouldn't hesitate to kill you."
Izrail scoffed. "They can't kill me. I'm immortal."
Phil shook his head. "They'd find a way. Just… trust me. You do not want to let them know what you are."
"Did you?"
Phil bent over and rolled up his pant leg to show a bulging, blistering scar twisting from inside his boot to just above his knee. "There's a reason I'm alone out here."
Izrail shuddered. Though he didn't quite believe that some human could kill him, he couldn't help but believe Phil. Izrail grabbed a pair of pants to go with the light blue shirt.
"That's what I thought," Phil said.
...
Izrail stood on the dusty road, his face bathed in the early morning sun. He adjusted the cotton pants Phil had loaned him and vowed to never wear human clothes again after this mission. These itched enough that he wanted to crawl out of his skin.
Besides the pants, Izrail wore the blue shirt, a red bandanna around his neck, and a satchel on his back. He'd put on the socks Phil gave him, but refused to put on the second-hand boots until absolutely necessary. They were much too small.
"You should reach Yucca Falls by night." Phil tightened Izrail's bag and he straightened as it squeezed his back.
"You're not coming with me?"
"Naw. The mayor wouldn't take too kindly to me bein' there."
"I'm starting to think I should stay away from this mayor guy," Izrail joked, but Phil's face remained serious.
"You should," Phil said. "You very much should."
Uncomfortable, Izrail adjusted his bag again and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. As an angel he couldn't be killed, but there were a lot worse punishments than death.
Noticing his worry, Phil smiled and clasped his hand on Izrail's shoulder. "You'll be fine. Nothing an angel of death like you can't handle." He smiled. "Now, get out there and find you a necromancer."
Izrail smiled back. "Thanks, Phil."
"You're very welcome, Iz."
"Iz?"
Phil shrugged. "Short for Izrail. Has a nice ring to it, don'tcha think?"
Izrail rolled his eyes and headed down the dusty road to Yucca Falls. "Bye, Phil."
"Good luck out here, Iz."
