RAFFE RAISES his sword into the air. The legion of angels lift their swords in response. A war cry goes up as row after row of winged men take flight.
It’s a breathtaking sight to see so many angels lift in formation. The legion flies to battle, led by Raffe.
There’s a whisper of a concept in my head.
Glory.
Then, as quick as a heartbeat, the blue sky and winged men disappear.
We’re in a field at night.
A horde of scary-as-all-hell, bat-faced demons rush at me like an avalanche, screeching a hellish cry. Raffe steps ahead and starts swinging his sword with perfect precision, just like in my dreams.
Fighting beside him and protecting his back are angel warriors, some of whom I’ve seen before at the old aerie. They’re joking and egging each other on as they fight and defend each other from the monsters of the night.
Another concept echoes in my head.
Victory.
The scene changes again and we’re in the sky, only this time it’s in the middle of a lightning storm. Thunder rumbles through the dark clouds and lightning lights up the scene in stark contrasts. Raffe and a small group of warriors hover in the rain, watching another group of angels get dragged away in chains.
The prisoners fly with spiked shackles around their wrists, ankles, neck and head. The spikes are on the inside so they’re driven into their flesh. Blood washes away with the rain in jagged rivulets down their faces, hands, and feet.
A squat, bat-faced demon with bat wings rides on the shoulders of each prisoner. The demons hold the chains to the collar, using it as a bridle. They jerk the chains one direction, then another, cruelly driving the spikes in and making them fly like drunks. More hellions hang off some of the ankle and wrist shackles that bind the prisoners to each other.
Some of these angels had fought beside Raffe in the field. They had laughed with him and protected his back. Now, they watch him with excruciating pain in their eyes as they’re driven like tortured cattle.
The other angels watch with immense sadness, some with their heads bowed. But Raffe is the only one who flies out of the group, brushing hands with a few of the prisoners on his way down toward earth.
As the scene fades, another word takes shape in my head.
Honor.
And then, I’m standing under the trees again in Stanford’s grove.
My stomach lurches as I finish my swing and smash the blade into the ground where the squirrel stood a second ago. My hands are clenched so tightly around the hilt that my knuckles feel like they might split.
The squirrel has scampered into a tree and is watching me. It looks puny and insignificant after the things I’ve just seen.
I let go of the sword and land on my butt.
I don’t know how long I sit there panting, but I suspect it’s a long time. There’s nothing but the blue October sky, the smell of grass, and the unusual quiet that’s been everywhere since people abandoned cars.
Could the sword be communicating with me? Sending me the message that it was made for epic battles and glory, not for chasing squirrels and being dressed up as a cutesy stuffed animal?
Of course, that’s crazy talk.
But no crazier than what I just saw.
I want to bury my train of thought. Anything that smells remotely insane is a scent I don’t want to follow. But I let myself do it just this once.
Raffe said the sword was sort of sentient. If by some truly bizarre chance that’s true, then maybe it has feelings. Maybe it has memories that it can share with me.
On the night those men attacked me, did it get frustrated that I had no idea how to use it during the fight? Is it embarrassing for a sword to be wielded by someone who swings it like a bat? Was it actually trying to teach me how to use it through my dreams?
The thing freaks me out. I should switch over to a gun or something that’s a little less invasive and has fewer opinions. I actually get up, turn my back on it, and take a couple of steps away.
But of course, I can’t leave it.
It’s Raffe’s sword. He’s going to want it back someday.
ON MY way back, I hesitate near the food line. It’s a new group of people but the line is about the same length. The Resistance is setting up a system that includes limiting food to two meals a day. But while that’s getting set up, the newcomers are still hoarding and spending a good deal of their time standing in the food line.
I sigh and go to the back of the line.
When I get back to our room, it’s empty. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for Paige to be out in public but I assume they’ll be back soon. I put three burgers on the teacher’s desk. I didn’t ask what kind of meat it was but I doubt it’s cow.
I had asked for the patties to be super rare, specifically mentioning the word “bloody,” thinking that’s as close as I could get to raw without raising suspicions. But I’m disappointed to find that the meat’s hardly pink in the middle.
I cut away the cooked portion from the pink center and set it aside for Paige. I can at least try to see if she can hold down pink meat. I try not to think too much about it.
I suspect she hadn’t been out of the lab in her new form before we found her, otherwise, she’d know what she could eat. If I had found her a day earlier, could I have saved her from this?
I shut away those thoughts in the old mind vault and methodically eat my burger. The lettuce and tomato are reconstituted from something that’s probably not what it’s pretending to be, but it reminds me of greens and that’s good enough. The bread, though, is fresh out of the oven and delicious. The camp lucked out and found somebody who knows how to bake bread from scratch.
I pull out Raffe’s sword and put the naked blade on my lap. I stroke my fingers along the metal. The light hits the liquid folds along the steel, showing the bluish-silver waves that decorate it.
If I relax, I can feel the faint flow of sorrow coming from it. The sword is in mourning. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it’s mourning for.
“Show me more,” I say, even though I’m not sure I can handle more right now. My knees are already weak and I’m feeling drained. Even in a world where angels exist, it’s still a shocker to have one of your possessions share its memories with you.
“Tell me about Raffe.”
Nothing.
“Okay. Let’s practice fighting,” I say in an enthusiastic voice as if I’m talking to a little kid. “I could use more lessons.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
Nothing.
“Right. Well, I guess I have nothing better to do now than to decorate the teddy bear with ribbons and bows. What do you think of dusky pink?”
The room wavers, then morphs.