I am not certain how to feel about this day’s work.
For several days now, I have been searching for the Harbinger who has been helping Asoharith. It has not been easy, even with Simmah’s guidance, for the Enemy closely guards those few they possess who can look into the future. But today, I was told precisely where I might find this creature.
It was in a moonlit meadow that we waited, not far from Orison’s mountain, in fact. This made Orison believe that it was a trap, and so he came with me, along with Ananiah and Ophell. We kept ourselves well hidden. My eyes are nearly healed, but still tender, and so I was relying on my other senses to warn me of their approach.
In the end, it was her voice that came to our ears first, a whisper on the breeze. “Asa’el,” she sighed. “I know you are there.”
Orison scowled at me, but I was not about to take any undue risks. Still, it did not seem to me that there was a threat in that voice. It sounded very tired and sad.
Then we saw her, and we all knew that there would be no threat at all.
She came into the clearing on foot, and the reason for that was soon clear, as the burnt stumps of her missing wings showed above her slumping shoulders. There were more scars on her face than features, and similar scars marched up her arms and legs. She had only one hand, which she held close to her chest, and when she lifted her head we saw that her eyes had been put out, too.
But she came forward with unerring step, and finally she settled onto the ground with a sigh. “I know you are there,” she said again. “Will you not come and talk to me?”
I glanced at Orison, who nodded to assure me that he would keep watch. I rose from my hiding place and slowly crossed the ground to join the crippled Fallen. As I drew closer, I saw ghastly shackles of bone white around her ankles, with symbols so horrible that I looked away before I could recognize them. Three links of broken chain trailed from one of them.
Despite her frail appearance, I stopped short several wing-lengths away from her. “You are the Harbinger who has been helping Asoharith?”
For answer, she lifted her one remaining hand and turned the palm towards me. There in the hollow was nestled an Eye that swirled with thick fog, but I knew that it could see far more clearly than mine.
“Then you will die,” I said.
“Yes,” she sighed. “And I am glad.”
I was already drawing an arrow, but this stopped me. I stood still as she lowered her seeing hand and placed it in her lap. Just as she had said, there was an aura of weary relief around her.
Perhaps it was unwise, but I let the arrow fall back into the quiver. “What is your name?”
A faint smile came to her mouth. “Sofala.”
“Sofala, you knew that I would kill you, and you came to me anyway?”
“Yes.”
I was dumbfounded. No Fallen had ever before offered themselves up to me like this. “Why come to an angel, then? Surely if you wished to die, one of your brethren would oblige you?”
“My brethren,” she laughed, and her wing-stumps shifted behind her. It was painful to look at them. “The Fallen are no brethren of mine. I am cursed as none of them are cursed, because I have a power that they can use.”
Suddenly the infernal shackles and the marks of torture became clear. This was less an entity in herself than a prized tool of the Fallen.
I lowered myself to the ground across from her, placing my bow across my lap. If she attacked, which I felt would be all but impossible for her in her state, I could still nock and loose before she reached me.
“Are all Fallen Thrones kept prisoner as you are?” I asked.
She nodded. “Some fortunate are slain to prevent their use by their killer’s enemy, but most Fallen would rather steal us to use for themselves.”
“How did Asoharith take you?”
“I was a bargaining chip, in exchange for a favor she did for the one called Neige. Though you know her true name now, don’t you?” The smile became just the slightest bit smug. “That will not end well for her.”
I was glad to hear it. “What favor did she do?”
“You do not need me to tell you that.” She angled her head. “Asoharith released me, and ensured that I would escape to Earth, so that I could deliver a message to you. She wishes to speak to you, in peace, alone.”
My heart dropped.
Just behind me, Orison demanded coldly, “Why should we believe her? Or you? No Harbinger would have survived as long as you have if you had not served your many masters as well as you could.”
“Why should I not serve to avoid pain?” Sofala asked. She was undisturbed by his interruption, or by Ananiah and Ophell approaching. “Pain has been my lot since I left the life where I chose not to see the evil around me. Now evil is all I see, and I feed it because that is the only way I gain some relief. If you do not kill me, I will return to my suffering and I will continue to serve.”
“You are a costly chip to surrender, just to ask for a conversation,” Ananiah said. “Asoharith wants Asa’el dead.”
“Not as much as she wants him to suffer.” Again that starved hand lifted, and now the eye was clearer as it looked at me, like stars through clouds. “She knows that this is a losing battle she is fighting. She wants to leave words in your heart that will hurt you long after she is gone. That is worth a missed opportunity to injure you, as well as the loss of my service.”
It is very like Asoharith to think this way. “Then you would advise me to accept her offer?”
“You would heed my advice?” Sofala asked wryly.
“Yes, I think I would,” I said.
This had an effect on her, and she hid her palm against her chest again. It was a moment before she spoke. “Her words will hurt you, but not as much as she thinks. And if you are careful and she is not, you may learn something that will help you to defeat her.”
Once she said that, I knew that I would be accepting the offer. I glanced at Orison, who sighed, but he nodded.
“Where shall I meet Asoharith?” I asked.
“She says that she will find you using the thread, two days from now.”
It is unpleasant to think that Asoharith could make use of the thread too, but that is the nature of connections—they go two ways.
“Is it enough, then?” Sofala asked, turning her blind face upward. “Have I successfully purchased my death?”
“More than enough,” Ananiah said, raising her sword, and the light from it flickered across Sofala’s face. There was nothing there but blankness now.
“Wait,” I said, jumping up to stand between Ananiah and Sofala.
Ophell hissed and dragged me away, but Sofala had made no move at all, had not even lifted her head. It made me even more certain of what I had to do.
“Stand back,” I said to my siblings.
“Asa’el, she said it herself,” Ananiah protested. “If we let her go, she will simply return to helping the Fallen. She wants to die.”
“And that sits easily with you, to assist in the suicide of one who was once our sister?” I asked her.
“None of this is easy, Asa’el,” Ophell said.
I looked back at Sofala. She seemed so small.
“Let me do it, please,” I said.
Both of them looked to Orison, who studied me for one moment before inclining his head. He stepped back, and the others followed, leaving me alone with the Fallen.
Though she couldn’t see me, I went to stand directly in front of her. “Sofala, I am sorry for your suffering,” I said, raising my bow. “Allow me to end it.” I nocked an arrow.
She lifted her hand. “Strike directly at the Eye,” she said, “and it will be a painless death.”
I drew and took aim accordingly. For the longest moment, though, I could not released. Tears were gathering in my eyes.
Sofala gazed at me through the Eye, and it was blazingly clear now—the only beautiful thing on her. “I am luckier than other Harbingers, Asa’el,” she murmured. “I saw this moment long ago—that I would receive one last taste of dignity and kindness before my end. Thank you for remembering my name.”
I will, too. For as long as I live and longer, I will remember.
“Now,” she ordered, and I obeyed.
I know that I should not grieve. Her assistance is what led Asoharith to Esther, and only the Father knows how many others have suffered or died because of Sofala’s advice. But she did it only out of despair, not malice, and she brought it to an end as soon as she could.
Despair, I think, is the most dangerous thing in the world. What would a despairing soul not do? And so hope is the best and most precious thing that any of us can have.
To that end, I think it is time that I go back to my own hope. She is not going to like this at all, but even when she is angry, it is better to be with her than not to be.