Chapter Four
The embers resemble fairies, climbing high into the night. Ogden's dark eyes reflect the rising ash, orange specks swimming in the pools of brown. He sits next to me, separating Hugo and me. His face seems to be taken to another era by the swirling dance of the embers he so keenly evades, and his ignorance to the rest of the world is lucid over his misshapen face.
However, Hugo had clearly heard the question. His lips pull back into an impish smile, the firelight casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face. He almost seems identical to the wolf whose head lies in his lap; the same pair of twitching eyes jumping around, the same ears that seem to swivel to the sound of any sound, the same candid smile. But in Scruffy, there is only the innocence of a pup grown large. In Hugo, there is a more mysterious manner that has me on edge.
"Well, if you must know, I'm not quite sure where the term 'steampunk' came from." Hugo's smile is teasing, his eyebrows cocked. "But we had to pick a theme, when we started travelling together. Good business, it is, plus it's fun to pick up outfit extras to switch out and trade. So, when we were picking this theme, I had to take in account Ogden's business, which is blacksmithing. He's a blacksmith, and I'm a mechanic and-slash-or merchant. So we gave birth to 'steampunk.'" He mimes tipping a hat. "Thank you very much."
"I'm still intrigued as to who you're selling things to. There are not that many buyers in the stuff you primarily are marketing." Raffe had not spoken this whole time, and his voice from the shadows of the campfire ring startles me a little, and causes Paige to lift her head in alarm. Ogden jumps to his feet, blushes, and sits back down on his log.
Hugo's eyes twinkle with embers. "Well, now, that's not necessarily true."
"Name species you trade with," orders Raffe. Instead of casting frightening shadows over his face, the firelight barely brushes his skin, a single tongue sweeping down his chiseled neck bones. His eyes glitter with the fire. "Not names, merely… species."
"Seraphim," reports Hugo. "I do business with them. Once, I met one named Seraphina. Best day of my life, it was. Hmm. Hunters, usually. There's always at least one of you angelic bastards on the Earth at any point in time, so I often find myself trading around for sword repairs. Ogden can do those, by the way." He nods at Pooky Bear. "Any damned human. My own species is my favorite, because, let's face it, we've got the perfect balance of assholes and airheads! Oh, and Nephilim, we can't forget them. Heck, I'd be broke without Nephilim. Also, Fallen. I have been –"
"Nephilim?" There is ice in Raffe's voice. "What dealings do you have with Nephilim?"
Ogden's face goes stony, but his eyes reflect the embers more than ever. Hugo glares at Raffe coldly.
"Look, I know you think that you've got Nephilim all wrapped up with a big bow," says Hugo flatly, "but you don't. Everybody knows what you did to the peaceful children on that mountainside. And ever since the first few survivors stumbled away, you've been making enemies that you didn't even know existed."
"Survivors?" Raffe thunders. "Their blood watered the Earth. There were no survivors."
Ogden flinches. Hugo tilts his head to one side, eyes narrowed, and I get the feeling that both of their testosterone levels are climaxing.
"Have you ever heard the expression, 'The mutt barks like a dog, howls like a wolf' before, Raphael?" Hugo questions icily. "It means that, as soon as you turn your back, somebody that's been playing the good little pup is going to become the big, bad beast. And that's the secret I'll give to you." Hugo's expression softens slightly. "Look, man, I was brought up on the belief that everyone has good in them. And I'm trying to make that apply to you, too. Archangel Raphael's got a god-awful rep. I don't think you're that bad – you are not insisting for sandals when all I have are boots, for starters. But there are other creatures out there that are a lot more powerful than me and won't give you that benefit of the doubt."
"What kind of creatures?" Raffe practically snarls, tension audible.
Paige shrinks into my lap, clutching at my knee. Scruffy's ears lay back. Ogden slips into the shadows like a ghost.
"To Hell if I know." Hugo waves a hand wearily, massaging Scruffy's ears in comfort. "Look, we'll have a testosterone facedown somewhere else more suitable than in a forest full of ears. Plus, we're scaring Scruffy. He's easily spooked."
"And Paige," I add, glaring at Raffe reproachfully.
From somewhere in the darkness, Ogden grunts.
It's hard not to smile. "Ogden, too."
Raffe's eyes reflect the firelight. He's too distant from the flame's embrace for me to see his expression. "May I speak to you alone, Penryn?"
If I were to judge from tone alone, I'd say that Raffe is mildly pissed.
Gently, I tap Paige's shoulder. Leaning down to her ear, I whisper, "Stay close to the fire, sweetie." Head swiveling so her eyes meet mine, Paige nods in stiff understanding. She draws near to the orange flames, holding her little hands out to the fire.
Rising on stiff legs, I follow Raffe into the darkness. My muscles ache even more than previously; it turns out that riding Scruffy had been much simpler than it'd been illustrated as. You only need shift your weight to guide him, to speed him up or slow him down. I took great pleasure in running his about in circles until darkness fell over the forest while Raffe toured all of Hugo's wonders. But now, after the glorious rides have come to an end, I feel their aching punishments all through my thighs.
"What is it?" I hiss when we near a safe distance.
Raffe whirls about. The moon only illuminates the contours of his hair, the leather of his wings, the gleam of his eyes, and the movement of his lips. "I don't like this, Penryn. I don't like this one bit."
"Neither do I," I admit. "But, even if Hugo seems a little bizarre, I trust Ogden. He's too innocent to travel with a total monster."
"Hugo is hiding something." Raffe's tone is absolute.
"Well, obviously," I mutter. "He stated that part of his profession was keeping secrets. And, if we don't piss him off, he'll keep ours, too. Look, Raffe, if this isn't working out, then we can leave. But I think we should at least stick around until this 'Bryon' man shows up. If he doesn't live up to our expectations, we can leave, immediately."
"Hmm."
"…That's all you've got?"
"For the time being, yes. My wit has gone wherever my alertness has galloped off to."
"Aww," I coo, batting my eyelashes at him. "Is the angely-wangely getting sweepy?"
"Your wit is intact, I see, but dull as ever."
"And yours seems to be making a comeback." I smile up at him. "Look, at least we've gotten a nice meal out of this and a nice place to spend the night. You heard Hugo. Scruffy will stand watch, so we can get a good night's rest."
"I'm not sure how much I trust a wolf monster," admits Raffe dubiously, his head turning in the darkness of the night to glance the wolf's way.
I roll my eyes. "You'll get over it. That mutt would never let anything happen to his master, or Ogden. As it so happens, we're travelling with Ogden and Hugo, so we're safe."
"I suppose it hasn't exactly ripped off anyone's head," Raffe acknowledges. "So I suppose he isn't a killer."
"Paranoia is a killer."
"So is recklessness."
I laugh. "Your wit is perfectly fine, it would seem!" I exclaim.
"This isn't wit, it's child's play."
"Well, yeah, Rome wasn't built in a day. You'll have to work up to meet my level." A frost-kissed breeze tousles my hair and whips strands into my mouth. My mood swings abruptly, affected greatly by the chills creeping through the fabric of my shirt and the lust to gather around the fire once more. "We'll figure out Hugo. I'm sure his personality will unravel. It's not like he's threatened you or anything. Just warned you."
"That was a rather belligerent warning," points out Raffe.
"Those were rather belligerent questions," I defend, choosing a neutral standpoint. "Neither of you are at fault so far. Let's just get back to the fire. It's too cold to just sit here and argue. We'll wait for Bryon?" I confirm, looking up at him in question.
After brief hesitation, Raffe nods crisply. "We'll wait for Bryon."
Ogden is back by the fire when we return, lounging upon the log beside Hugo with one hand fondling Scruffy's mane, his gaze once more fixed upon the fire lapping at the starlit sky. He smiles in greeting at me, waving timidly in the night.
"So, what else you wanna know about me?" wonders Hugo, eyes twinkling. "Anything of interest?"
"Scruffy?" I question, easing my weight down on the moist log again. The fire's warmth banishes the icy cold seeping into my skin, replacing it with scalding heat. Paige eases against my leg, and I play with her hair, absently braiding it sloppily.
Hugo beams, and cuddles the wolf to his chest. Scruffy's tail wags, hissing over the dry leaves. Pressing their foreheads together, Hugo softly fondles the thick fur on either side of his wolf's face.
"Honestly, I'm not sure what Scruffy is or how he came to be. I know that after I lost my family and home to a fire, he came to me, and he carried me to Bryon. Scruffy is so goddamned fast, he got there before I bled to death. Ever since, we've been inseparable. It's… like he understands me, you know? Like when I talk to him, he can comfort me by cuddling, or when I'm bummed about losing something, he'll go off and sniff it out with that retarded nose of his. It's almost like he's an apology for that living hell I went through."
"What living hell?" I question curiously.
"Another time, perhaps." Hugo's smile is brittle, and pain is kindled within his gaze.
Ogden grunts, slapping a knee for attention. My eyes flick to him from across the fire. He mimes strumming on a guitar, staring imploringly at Hugo.
Hugo laughs heartily and reaches for something beyond the fire ring, startling Scruffy. The wolf woofs in alert surprise, pulling his head up. Upon realization, Scruffy's tail wags, and he lunges for Hugo's face with a fat pink tongue, smothering his master's laughter. Trying to bat his wolf away, Hugo pushes himself off the log and crashes into the leaves behind it. Scruffy pounces delightedly on Hugo, despite the boy's rabid attempts to shake the pup off.
Ogden shrugs and shakes his head in mock disappointment, the grin spread over his face ruining any attempt at scorn.
Paige's shoulders quiver slightly, and I realize that she's laughing at the boy and his wolf.
That night, I dream of an angel.
His wings are broad, muscles pumping with each majestic flap. The golden feathers filter and reflect the brilliant light of the orange sun setting over the snow-capped horizon, each feathertip fringed with pure white. The angel bears no shirt, just simple pants, and those in themselves are threadbare. Against his chest, though, a swaddle of cloth rests, a bundled sling thrown over his head and crossing his body. One hand remains on the swaddle at all times, as if to secure it.
I cannot clearly see his face, not well enough to know if he is as handsome as every angel – my dream is blurred, unfocused if the attention is to any face. But I do know that his eyes are gold, and shine like two metal coins in the sunset. His hair is blonde, and maintains the same reflective quality as everything adorning his tanned body.
The angel at first dances on sunbeams, and his are movements quick and incisive in the air. But then he levels out over the mountain, coasting over the miles upon miles of leafy green evergreen trees reaching to the sky. It is not until sometime he finds a tree that is sole in its placement, canopy much higher than that of its surrounding duplicates. The angel alights on this tree, this tree located at the edge of a magnificent cliff dropping into more of the dark forests.
He folds his metallic wings and rests on a branch, a clear view of the gorgeous setting sun visible from the top limb. The sun is more gold now than orange – the clouds surrounding the sun are so beautiful it's like a painting more than a dream. I can almost taste the humidity in the air, feel the sun on my skin, and smell the scent of pine wafting into the evening sky.
But my attention soon returns to the angel as he unfurls something from the swaddle. I become aware of the wailing cries of a baby, a mere infant, originating from that little swaddle. I try to draw closer to the bundle, to see what the angel clutches in the palm of one hand, but the dream is taking me on a journey more than I am conjuring it.
I see the angel use one hand to stroke the child I am sure remains inside. For the first time, I hear his voice. It's melodic, like the thrum of a massive bell, or the throaty notes of a cello playing the deepest chords.
"Hush," the angel whispers in a language that is not English, and yet easily comprehendible to me and my dream. His golden eyes melt, his curbed expression faltering. He clutches the bundle back against his chest. "Are you cold, little demon spawn? Is that what it is?"
I know from experience that angels are warm; they have to be, to navigate high in the chilly air without shirts like they do. The baby soon figures that out as well, silencing without another whimper. The angel's expression only softens further.
"Ah. Yes. You are so fragile, little demon spawn." The angel watches the baby in his arms. "I could break your neck right here if I chose. I could save my wife of the torment I know will come from you, little demon."
But instead of bawling again, a single hand emerges from the swaddle, so tiny. Even tinier than what an infant would have. The tiny palm lies against the pectoral of the angel, right over the heart. The angel's eyes grow wide, and the baby babbles in unintelligible excitement.
"Do you hear my heart, little demon? Is that why you are so delighted?" The angel bows his head closer. "I can hear yours. That little thump-thump. Such a fragile thump-thump, isn't it?" The angel pauses. Then, with a hand large enough to crush the child with a single swipe, he touches the child's heart. "Does that please you, little demon spawn?"
Sure enough, the baby giggles again.
I can't be sure, but it seems that the angel's lips twitch in the slightest whim of a smile. "You will be the death of me," he informs the child, but it only responds by laughing a bit louder, perhaps hearing the vibrations of his magnificent vocals.
Throwing back his head of golden hair, the angel laughs alongside his child, thunder greeting zephyr. In the same moment, the last sunlight eases over the horizon, and the moon shines overhead instead like a large blind eye.
"Do you know what that is, silly one?" chuckles the angel, jabbing a finger at the sky. "It's called a moon. Not just any moon, but a full moon. Strange things happen on a full moon, little demon. Strange, but not necessarily evil. Do you wish to see?"
The infant giggles louder, and the angel seems to take that as consent. Securing the child against his breast once more, the angel glides to the forest floor. As soon as his feet hit the ground, a wave of luminescence passes through the forest, turning the ground black and the trees midnight blue. Each one of the wildflowers blossoming over the leaves glow like stars themselves, and the ones that the infant lands on drift into the sky like bubbles. They float up and up, entrancing both father and child as they disappear behind the clouds.
"Do you wish to touch one, little son?" the angel whispers. He takes his child in one hand, holding him out gently, and kneels. More flowers burst into the air, twirling upwards into the sky. The baby's hand flails, by accident brushing more of the blossoms. He giggles as they gently float up and up to greet the moon.
"They are beautiful, aren't they, silly one?" the angel laughs, clutching his son back to his chest. A heaving sigh echoes through the clearing. "The Lord knows that I should snap your neck, little son. Not only are you a demon, but you are a runt. You have no wings. You will not survive the first winter." The angel's fingers trail over his son's face, and his golden eyes are intense. "But your laugh, little son, I cannot take from you. To do so would be an even greatest sin. Your laugh is the most beautiful thing I have ever had the pleasure of hearing."
And to this, the little boy laughs.
I awaken with an ungraceful snort as Paige rolls over to find a more comfortable position, my thoughts still muddy with sleep. In vain, I try to close my eyes, to rejoin the dream I had just exited. But already, the boy's giggled laugh is fading from me, lost among countless other memories and discarded dreams.
To make matters worse, it seems that sleep had deprived me of the chill of the night now nipping bitterly at me. I curl tighter around my baby girl, shivering, trying to shake off Jack Frost's bitter grasp. Although Paige is warm, I am her blanket, like a sleeping cat and its kitten. I alone face the brutal elements.
A warmth does make itself know, a trace of heat against my back. Groggy with sleep, I try to lean into the warmth, seeking protection from the cold. My back brushes two strips of leather, and another grunt informs me that I am no longer the only one awake.
My guilt fully pries open my eyes.
Though I yearn to see who I had disturbed, I cannot turn, cannot risk jarring Paige and all her fragile bruises and stitches. I see Ogden sleeping beside us, clear in my range of vision. He must've crashed not long after Paige and I, though I am sure both of the other males sat by the fire long into the night. The question is merely who I have rudely interrupted.
Craning my neck back, I whisper, "Who is that?"
"Lucifer," mutters a sleepy voice back. "I've come to take you down to Hell with me for touching my wings."
I release a long breath. Of course Raffe wouldn't like Hugo to sleep beside me.
"Sorry," I breathe back, angling my words away from Paige's sensitive ears. Scooting away from him slightly, I coil my legs around Paige, too, trying to seek any warmth I can.
It is quite a while before my teeth chatter, clashing together crudely and slamming into my tongue. They jitter uncontrollably, harmonizing with the shivers racking my body. It's as if sleep had spared me from this cold, like a blanket on a child's bed. But now the blanket has been ripped from me, and I am alone against the Arctic winds.
"You're cold," observes a voice from behind me, his tone awake and concerned.
"No shit, Sherlock," I whisper, squeezing my eyes together.
He falls silent again, perhaps at last falling asleep after my rude intrusion on his heat. Again, I press my head into Paige's hair.
A hand lies over my own, warm fingers lain over each of mine. I start in surprise as a warm, warm body wraps around me like my blanket. He calms my startled response to his heat with a single word in my ear: "Hush."
Raffe's breath tickles my hair. Gently, he lifts my head, and pillows it on one of his massive biceps. His flex and relax of muscle snaps my eyes open and quickens my breathing to a noticeable degree. The hand lain over mine gently pulls Paige closer to me and me closer against the hard muscles of Raffe's stomach and chest. His legs curl into the nook of mine, pressing every inch of his body to mine.
"I can't let the Evil Queen get cold," Raffe explains in a deep whisper, his lips at my ear. A different sort of shiver rattles up my spine. "That would be disastrous."
"How benevolent of you," I whisper back, trying to cock my head to see his face. The chattering of my teeth is persistent, but my shivers are soon vanquished by his heat. "It's like I'm being given the grandest gift in all the world. One had to have put a lot of thought into such a present."
Raffe's smile is tangible against my hair. "But you see, I know exactly what you need, my Queen," he purrs, reverberating voice vibrating against my back. "So it took only the slightest thought to conjure an image of what I might provide for you."
"I suppose that if I am to retain my connection to hellfire, I must keep warm." Almost against my will, I feel my wit dulling, my eyes drooping, and my body warming from head to toe. "You're certainly very toasty."
Raffe chuckles, the warmth of his body not fit for comparison to the warmth in his laugh. "Go to sleep," Raffe urges softly, nuzzling against my hair. "You're tired, and we've got a long day ahead of us. I promise I won't leave you when you shut your eyes."
"Mmmkay." Snuggling against Raffe's chest and bundling Paige to mine, I allow my eyes to droop, shutting to crescents and then closing entirely. Our breathing synchronizes as I lose myself to the dreams returning. My deliriously sleepy mind seems to believe it can hear Raffe chanting in another language, singing me softly to sleep.
I had so much fun writing that last bit there.
Again, I'm not wholly sure when I'll post this – I'm not a very constant writer, I did all of this in one sitting, but other times I've been hopping around from place to place.
To those it concerns: Admittedly, I often lean much more towards fantasy than sci-fi with my writing – I apologize, and I do attempt to work at it. The steampunk aspect was explained here, but I feel that there may be more fantasy/sci-fi questions to come.
POLL: Ogden's got a secret! Can anyone figure it out yet?
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh