Because Dawn told me to:
“Tra’dielle”
“How much further?” Lord Zaurus muttered, his sharp voice growing weary, “have these stairs no end?”
A wide man, grey and awkward, led the young lord down the winding flight of stone steps. The staircase was barely wide enough for the large man to slip through and the wall torches were so sparse that every other twist of the stairs brought another round of complete darkness. “Not much further,” the portly man wheezed, his breath long since lost, “not much further, indeed.”
“What is it you wish to show me?” Zaurus asked, his voice exuding a dry curtness.
The fat man pressed his arm against the wall for support as he descended. “It was your father’s,” he panted, “he left it to you.”
Lord Zaurus looked about, his eyes straining to adjust to such faulty lighting. “What could he have possibly left for me down here? Why was this not mentioned in his will?” he inquired.
“You will see, lad,” the man said. It was clear by the tone of his voice that he wished to focus his energy on keeping his balance, rather than on conversation. The lord quietly obliged.
Almost ten minutes later, the pair of men came upon an old, cracked wooden door. The rusted metal handle barely held its place, and the holes in the door let the dim light from the other side illuminate small space where Zaurus and the fat man stood.
“Before we go through,” the man said, licking his lips that were chapped from his constant, heavy breathing, “I must warn you that your father did not want anyone to know this is here. He entrusted to me the responsibility of showing it to you, and to make sure that you,” the man paused, cracking a sickening smile, “use this however you see fit.”
Before Zaurus could reply, the fat man pushed open the door, revealing a small room. The depth forced the room windowless, but the few torches that lined the stone walls gave just enough light to see. It was completely empty, except for a woman, chained in the center of it. Zaurus counted them quickly, fourteen separate chains. Her feet, hands, neck, they were all chained to the floor or ceiling.
“What…” Zaurus stammered, his sword-like voice wavering for the first time in his life, “what… what is this? Explain this at once, Cerik!
The portly man took a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the sweat from his brow. “Your father captured it,” Cerik said, stuffing the cloth back in his pocket, “years ago, when you were still just a child.”
“It? What do you mean it?” Zaurus took a few steps closer to the woman. He had never laid eyes on such beauty before. Her face was sullied with mud, and tattered rags, barely enough to cover her, dangled about loosely on her worn figure. Even in such inhospitable conditions, though, Zaurus thought she was stunning. “What is she?”
“It,” Cerik emphasized, “is an angel.” He took a few steps closer to the woman. Raising the back of his left hand, the man began stroking her cheek softly. “Or at least she was, once. Lord Aursus captured her in attempts to stave off death, but after realizing that people still died even without this reaper of souls, he imprisoned her here.”
Lord Zaurus could hardly believe what he heard. “Reaper of souls?” he repeated, blankly, “but that is just a fairy tale, to scare children to do chores.” He moved closer to the girl, grabbing Cerik and pulling the round man behind him. “If men still died,” he said, examining her closely, “Then why did he not just release her?”
Cerik shrugged, waddling over to the wall of the room to rest against it. “Fear, most likely. He probably thought she would kill him for capturing her.”
Grabbing the angel’s chin, Zaurus raised her face so their eyes would meet. She stared back at him. Her eyes were white, lonely and hollow. He stood there, eye locked for a minute, before turning to his father’s companion. “Where are her wings?” he asked.
“Not sure. They began to kind of fade away a few years after we chained her up.”
Lord Zaurus turned back to the shackled angel. He knew his father had been cruel, but never could he have imagined this. Zaurus had followed in his father’s steps since he could remember. Now, though, he knew the true difference between them. Reaching up, he began unlatching the chains to her right.
Cerik looked at him. “What are you doing?” he squealed. “Stop that!”
“This is wrong, Cerik,” he said, moving to her left, “she should be free.”
Taking out his handkerchief again, Cerik wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, this time not from exhaustion. “Stop that,” he repeated, “she’s crazy! She’ll kill us all!”
Reaching around her, Zaurus unlatched the last chain that wrapped around her neck. It fell to the ground with an awful grinding. He looked at her, expecting her to turn to him in thanks.
Instead, she stared past him, directly at Cerik. She glared at him with a vicious intensity. Her expression was burn with a wild, unimaginable fury. Stepping out from the pile of chains that lay around her, she began to make her way to the plump man.
“Back!” he shouted at her, edging himself toward a corner of the room, “B-b-back!”
Lord Zaurus stepped forward to stop her. He knew that Cerik deserved whatever punishment she was about to unleash upon him, but Zaurus was a compassionate man. Placing his arm on her shoulder, he attempted to stop her. The angel threw her hand back, pushing him enough to cause him to stumble and fall over the metallic bindings on the floor.
“L-l-lord Aursus…” Cerik stammered, “L-lord Aursus said I c-could do what I wanted with you.” She was only a few steps from him, tall and emanating a furious anger. He was a pile of blubber, on the ground weeping. “It was h-him! Blame Aursus!”
Watching in horror, Lord Zaurus saw the angel bend over and grab the man. As she came to pull him up from the ground, however, Cerik did not seem to move. She was holding something, though. It was small and translucent, and shone with a strange illumination. Zaurus could see it, but yet could not make out what it was. Holding it from both sides, the angel began to tear it apart.
Cerik cried out in an awful squeal. He flailed and clawed at the angel in vain. She tore what she held in half, and Cerik slumped over lifelessly.
Zaurus lay on the ground, staring in disbelief at what he had just seen. He knew what had just happened, but could not bring himself to believe it. Suddenly, she turned. Zaurus could not ward off the fear that shackled him. It immobilized him.
She stared at him with her white eyes for a long time, before walking toward him. She held the same pace as she had while walking toward Cerik, and maintained the same intensity about her. Zaurus watched in silent, unmoving terror as she approached him. When she reached him, he closed his eyes, expecting the same torment she had shown before.
After a moment, he felt nothing. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. He saw a hand, extended out in offer. Puzzled, he grabbed it warily. Her hand was so warm. It made Zaurus feel calmer than he had ever felt before.
Pulling Zaurus to his feet, the angel stared blankly at him. Her expression was unchanging, locked in a joyless gaze. “Thank you,” the lord murmured. He could not find his words. She took a few steps back, casting her eyes to the ground. “What is your name?” he said finally after a few seconds.
She said nothing, keeping her eyes fastened to the ground.
Zaurus stepped toward her, grabbing her chin again and raising it to have her eyes meet his. “Do you have a name?”
The angel opened her mouth for a moment, but no words came out. She opened it again, this time, a breath of air slipping out. Zaurus nodded in quiet encouragement. She tried again. “…ra…”
“Ra?” he asked, but she shook her head.
“…tra…iell…” she sputtered, “…tra… dielle…”
Zaurus smiled. “Tra’dielle?” he asked. She nodded slowly, her expression still unchanged. The lord felt as though he had heard that name, somewhere long ago. It felt familiar to say. “It’s nice to meet you, Tra’dielle. My name is Lord Zaurus.”
She leaned forward, staring into his eyes deeply, as if she was searching for something. Her forehead furrowed.
“I believe you knew my father,” he said, softly, “it may calm you to know that he is dead.” He could see her worry lessen. Looking over her shoulder, Zaurus was immediately reminded of the corpse that now lay in the room. “What did you do to him?”
She broke his gaze, looking to the ground again. She opened her mouth to whisper again. “… g… gone…” she murmured.
“Cerik was a wicked man,” Zaurus said, “he deserved oblivion.” He sighed. “So many wicked men. My father was wrong in trying to end death. There are too many people who deserve it.”
Quickly looking up, Tra’dielle placed her hands on Lord Zaurus’ face. “…let… me…” she whispered, “let… me… kill… for… you…”
“Kill for me?” Zaurus smiled, weakly. “You wish to let me choose who should live and who should die?” She nodded. “I could rid the world of men, wicked men, like Cerik. I could rid the world of those who would take ten steps from others for but one step of their own…” He stopped, returning himself to proper thought. “But I freed you. Return to wherever you came from.”
The angel shook her head. “…cannot… I… am… yours…”
Zaurus did not understand, but did not push the subject. He could see how much struggling to talk was straining her. He grabbed her hands from his face, and pushed them together in his hands. “If you cannot return, and you are mine,” he said sternly, the sharpness of his voice returning to normal, “then I shall use you, Tra’dielle, to end the lives of the wicked. We will create a better world together.”
The angel nodded, but did not smile.
She could not smile.
