Lucifer Ch. 04: The Floating City

I hiss and grit my teeth, swallowing. "I'm not an assassin," I croak against the yellowed paper.

The dagger twists harder. "They all say that."

"Marut!"

"May you be food for the jack..." He doesn't get a chance to finish as I explosively manifest my wings and sock him in the face with my balled-up talons. It knocks him back a few steps, and as I turn I see the glint of metal. I jerk to the side on reflex and sweep my left wing in front of me like a shield, managing by luck to knock the dagger out of the air. It clatters into a dark corner and upsets a few bottles along the way. In the dusty sunlight I see him at last, half sprawled on the floor in the middle of the room, and he looks horrible - scarred, starved, and harrowed as he glares at me. A slender, bony hand covers his face for a moment before he snarls at me in outrage. "How dare you! Tormenting me with that face even now?!"

I walk closer to the sunlight and crouch down, spreading my wings and unfurling my three claws on either side so that he can see them. Yet he doesn't look at my claws or my wings, he looks at my face, at my milky right eye. Marut grows quiet and confused, and I lift my tunic to show the healing scars of where the arrows pierced my chest and stomach.

"You're a ghost, aren't you?" he asks miserably.

"No. Not anymore," I whisper, smoothing out my tunic again before setting the figurine of the horse on the floor between us.

Very hesitantly, Marut reaches for the figurine and picks it up, turning it around in the sunlight. "Zinat..." He looks up at me again, clutching the charm to his chest. "How do you have this?"

My wings tuck up a behind my back as I explain, "A black horse came to the river, looking for me. She said her master was distraught and that I should come to see him. She would not take no for an answer."

He smiles just barely. "That sounds like Zinat." His smile fades as he looks at me, his expression lost and miserable. "You were unstoppable. The power of your command... I... told them to aim for you. I told them to kill you."

I nod gently.

Tears fill his eyes, and he shakily rubs at his face. "Have you come to kill me?"

"No."

To my surprise, he looks stricken. "Why not?!" he demands in a burst of passion. "Why can't I die? Why have you cursed me?! I just want this to stop. I can't... I can't..." I start to approach him but he shifts back, snarling, terrified. "No! First him, then you. It never ends! These dreams never stop, no matter how much I drink! He's always there, waiting for me. He's always there hurting me and making me forget, over and over again." Shakily, he lifts his hands to his head, sliding his fingers through hair that has been allowed to completely grow out. "And... you made me forget, too. About... about my son." My face flushes deeply red, and he lets his hands fall into his lap, limply. Heartbroken and innocent, he whispers, "How could you do that to me? How could you take him away from me?"

"He..." my throat clenches. "His memory hurt you so much..."

"That was never your choice to make!" he counters angrily, slapping the floor with his palm. "It is not up to you to decide that!" Tears slide down his cheeks, glimmering like jewels in the light. "It is not up to you to keep me from death. I remember... I remember that fight. You threw me out onto the sand, and there was a stake in my chest. And I... all I could think about was that this choice was mine, and I was ready to die and be with my child." His eyes narrow and his teeth grit as he sucks in a deep breath to scream, "AND YOU KEPT ME FROM HIM!!"

"THAT WAS NOT MY INTENTION!" I snap back, rubbing a tear from my cheek roughly with the palm of my hand.

"You're no better than Harut. Curses be upon you for all your life."

"He's dead," I whisper, and Marut's words catch in his throat. He stares at me for a very long time and his mouth moves but nothing comes out, and I add, "He can't hurt you anymore, Marut."

The other angel's eyes close, and his hand grips the figurine at his chest tightly. "Did you get your key?" I nod, and his composure slowly, inexorably crumbles until he begins to weep. My heart breaks to see him like this and I foolishly move over and take him into my arms, not considering whether or not he might lash out again. But he doesn't, he only hugs me and cries, burying his face against my neck and in my hair. I hold him for a long time, letting him cry against my chest. My memory flashes back to the Babylonian's camp when he held me like I'm holding him, back on that day when I realized I wasn't alone anymore.

"I'm so sorry I said you were ruined," he whispers, wiping at his eyes while still tucked up against me.

"I should have stayed and talked to you. I should never have run off... but you were right." He shakes his head, but I persist. "I let you down. I failed you by not respecting your wishes." There's a tense silence, and I swallow past a tight throat. "Do you still want to be with your son now? Because I can find someone to undo my spell, I'm sure I can."

He remains silent for a while, and I privately despair at how skinny he's become. "I don't know," he admits at last. His arms relax and he sits back, leaning against the nearby wall by the window with a sigh. "Back when Babylon fell and we were wandering, the pain was so fresh. I had never felt pain like that, and it was so consuming and unbearable that I just..." his hand lifts, gesturing vaguely, "...put it out of my mind. I shut it away, and after I did I found that I could finally live again and be happy with you. But when we were captured, I started remembering. About my son, and it hurt... but it hurt far worse. I didn't understand how that could be."

Marut looks over at one of the bottles on the floor, swallowing, but then he looks back down at his hands. "I didn't remember fully about Harut, but I think some part of me did. I was back there in my past, when we first came to the city of Babylon, living in that horrible time when I had no control. I was there again, and I couldn't stop thinking about my son whenever I saw the faces of my other children. You and I fought a lot during that time. I was so angry and I couldn't even tell you why because I didn't understand why. But when you sent me into the arena and the stake was in my chest, I was happy. I was so happy and I thought, 'I'm free', and I pulled the wood out without hesitation."

I feel hollowed out to hear it, and it's hard not to break down but I don't. I'm here to help him, and despite the urgent need to be alone and weep I keep it all locked down, nodding as I listen. He continues, "But the very moment I pulled out the wood, I was terrified. That wasn't what I wanted. My son would be so ashamed of me. I wasn't ready to die. I was scared, and I tried to tell you how sorry I was as I was dying." His hands lift, his shoulders shrugging slightly, "But I was dying anyway, whether I was actually ready to or not. In those last moments I resigned myself to it, knowing that I'd never have the courage to invite my death again. So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up."

I smile a little. "That was probably unexpected."

He nods tiredly. "I heard you humming that song from the palace kitchens. It pulled me out of my dreams and made me want to wake up. When I did I hardly remembered why I had been so upset in the first place, but I knew in my heart that it was my fault. When you told me later what you had given up to bring me back, I felt even worse. I tried to hide my sorrow from you by going on adventures alone while you carried out your yearly circuit, and for that month we would be together I could lock away my pain from you."

There's a period of silence as he looks down at his hands, fighting against something, debating. While he does I take a seat beside him, the side of my leg against the side of his, and the contact helps him relax and continue. "After so many years it all began to eat away at me. I began to remember what Harut did to me in vivid detail, how humiliating and frightening it was. He would berate me for having chosen a male body and made me pretend to be his... girl and I had... I had to... to serve him in all ways... and sometimes it would feel good." Marut lifts his hands to his mouth, his eyes closing tightly. My own eyes water and I find his hand and hold it, dipping my head against his bony shoulder as his fingers clutch so tight his knuckles pale. "I'm disgusting, L'laiya. I'm... I'm so horrible..."

"Marut, you aren't disgusting or horrible," I urge, closing my eyes tightly to stave off tears.

His chest is tight, his inhalation hitched as he lifts his other hand to wipe roughly at his eyes. "He made me forget, but I always felt ruined, like I was never good enough. It's... it's why I didn't think you'd want me for a mate back then, you know? Especially when he wanted you, too."

My brow is still pressed against his shoulder, but I smile, lifting my free hand to rub my cheek. "I bullied you into being my mate. I remember."

"Yeah, you did," he chuckles, squeezing my hand affectionately. "I'm happy you did. In all this time, all I could think of doing was finding your key for you. I didn't want anyone else to treat you like I'd been treated." His throat tightens up and he takes a moment, swallowing before he continues. "B...but then as we travelled north through the desert all I could think about was how you'd denied me my death, and it was such a stupid unworthy thought but it wouldn't leave me alone. It's why I smoked so much; I thought if we could just get your key, if I could just do that one thing for you, then this would all be behind us and we could start fresh. But I couldn't stop being angry, and finally you saw it."

"And I made you say it," I say sadly, and he nods miserably.

Sorely and stiffly he leans against me, resting his cheek on the top of my head, just like he used to do. "I didn't mean to keep secrets from you, L'laiya."

"It's hardly a lie if you're only just remembering it. And, well... there are things I haven't shared with you - dark times that happened long ago, things that I have chosen to keep to myself. Things I've been too ashamed to tell you, things that make me feel weak. One day I might tell you some of that, from those first days. But I may not, and I hope that's okay. If you don't want to tell me everything you don't have to, either."

I'm relieved to see that he's starting to calm down, and he shifts against the wall, sitting more upright and breathing slower. "Angels aren't supposed to have lives like this, L'laiya."

"Do you think you're less of an angel because you've suffered, Marut?" His lips tighten and he nods, wiping at his eyes in annoyance. "Who put that idea into your head?"

"Gabriel." I give him a disbelieving look, and he sighs, smiling down at me. "Our dear leader made these things very clear when we were all little. If suffering befalls us it's because we're no longer blessed. If we're no longer blessed, then we don't deserve the love of the Host." He looks down at our hands together, his voice thoughtful and soft. "I went to my father, you know, in a moment of clarity. I told him what Harut was doing and begged him for help. Instead of protecting me he told Gabriel instead, and Harut and I were exiled immediately." Scales manifest all over my skin in anger and I even start to growl before I realize what I'm doing. I try to suppress it, but Marut only caresses his thumb pad over my obsidian knuckles and snickers. "What, are you going to be my hero again and kill my father, too?"

"That depends. Who's your father?"

"Michael."

I pause, then lean my head back against the wall with a sigh. "That might take some doing."

Marut chuckles. "Yeah. And there's not much point. Father's as brainwashed as the rest by now."

"Will he be upset that I killed Harut?"

"I would imagine he'd be happy. He'd be more upset that you so selfishly refused to let me die, so maybe those two things will even out."

"Charming."

Many heartbeats pass, and he turns the little figurine of Zinat over in his hands. "L'laiya, do you think less of me because of the things Harut did?"

"No I don't."

He nods, looking on the verge of tears again, but he clenches his jaw and calms himself. I swallow, unsure whether or not he wants to hear this, but I feel the need to say it. It would be unbearable to keep it in for another moment. "I love you, Marut. All this time I've loved you and never stopped loving you." It's hard to get the words out past my clenched throat, but I manage it.

"My prince..." he trails off, gathering me up gently to straddle his lap and hug him. His arms wrap around me beneath my wings, and his brow presses to mine. "I love you, too, with all my heart. My beautiful Morning Star."

There is nothing I want more than to hold him in my arms forever and make everything better for him, to protect and him and comfort him like it no one else in his life has done. The feeling is so strong that I must project it into his mind without realizing it, because soon Marut begins to purr, the rumbling from his chest buzzing into mine. My purr matches his, and as the sun sets over the city, the lonely call of the Muezzin calling the faithful to prayer can be heard on the wind. I realize then, just then, that whatever the religions of men might say about us doesn't matter. So long as I have him and he has me, they will always be wrong about us.

Epilogue

Over the next few weeks I focus on helping Marut put on weight and take steps to soothe the terrors in his dreams. There are mornings when he wakes and says I was in them, protecting him and sending Harut away, and soon there are more mornings like that until at last he stops having those dreams altogether. When he's healthy enough we travel back to the ruins of Babylon, by now a barren spread of sunbaked walls and stone foundations lost to time. There, in the privacy of night, we hold a small funeral for Nebuchadnezzar and this time Marut finally feels free to grieve openly. It's difficult and heartbreaking, but after we leave our gifts for him and blow out the candles he says he feels relieved to be unburdened and happy that he can send off the memory of his son to the otherworld properly.

Only fifty miles north of the ruins is the new capital of this region, called Baghdad. The splendor of it is amazing, and it feels like a fitting metropolis to take Babylon's place. During our stay Marut is heralded as a hero of the last crusade. Listening to him tell the story makes his achievement sound mundane, but to hear the city's nobles speak of it is something else. Ironically, he chose to keep his name, the one infamously but briefly appearing in the Quran, and his admirers think it's his nickname to inspire fear. He laughs with them and jokes about it, but every so often he winks at me as I laugh at the real joke of it all.

What interests us is the development of the kingdoms of the Christian crusaders. While what I saw in Venice wasn't as refined as what the cities of Baghdad and Cairo have to offer, the Christians are beginning to regain some of the splendor they lost from Rome. I wonder what might become of them if they are given enough time to develop. Perhaps Marut and I will go and see, one day.