Titus strode up to it. “Wait.”
As she watched, he tore apart the wall with care not to damage the remains on the other side. Parts of the wall, almost burned through, crumbled into dust at his feet. She wondered why the flames hadn’t engulfed the entire village. Perhaps it was that the bodies hadn’t burned hot enough or the fire had somehow starved.
Enlarging the space with methodical concentration, Titus worked until he’d eliminated most of the wall and they were looking on at a makeshift crematorium. Piles of ash played witness to the intent of the fire. But the flames hadn’t been hot enough and skulls rolled around on the floor, while long thighbones as well as smaller finger bones lay in the light falling through the new opening.
She pointed out what had brought them here, the elongated hand . . . which she now saw was attached to a body. No wonder she hadn’t been able to see it during her first visit; the body was at the bottom of many others. Titus silently moved the other remains aside—with care, but at speed, to reveal the body at the bottom.
It hadn’t burned up in the fire, simply been scorched in a way that meant it had mummified in the interim.
It had no head.
Her eyes widened but her horror had nothing to do with the decapitation. She’d just understood the import of the body’s spinal structure. “Titus.”
Titus went to crouch down, then seemed to decide against it. Sharine wouldn’t want her wings dragging in all that death, either.
“That’s an angelic back,” he confirmed.
She forced herself closer. There was no avoiding the truth—under the skin, angelic bodies were built differently from mortals in ways both subtle and profound, because angels had wings and thus musculature not possessed by those who couldn’t fly. This was especially so when it came to the back and chest areas.
Even though this angel’s wings had been burned away, and no trace remained of any of the muscles or feathers that would’ve once overlaid the bones, that he was an angel was indisputable.
Her boots crunched on something.
Gut churning, she lifted her foot at once, and looked down. The bones on which she’d inadvertently stood were fine and long. Not mortal. “Wing bones.” She shifted back so Titus could see. “An angel died here.”
“No.” His hand fisted at his side, his voice harsh and deep. “An angelic reborn died here.”
26
Ice crackled its tendrils into Sharine’s gut. “That’s impossible. Angels aren’t susceptible to this infection.” Reborn could hurt them, but the creatures couldn’t turn them. “Lijuan created the reborn as a twisted promise of immortality, did she not? Angels are already immortal and thus immune.”
She wasn’t sure she was correctly recalling her conversation with Raphael; it’d taken place while her mind was yet a kaleidoscope. But she was certain when it came to angelic immunity. “Angels don’t get sick.” It was a fact of nature, as immutable as the wind and the sky.
“Do you know of the Falling?” Titus folded his arms, his biceps flexing. “In Raphael’s territory?”
Bile burned the back of her throat. “Yes. Charisemnon caused angels to fall from the sky.”
“He was able to create something that affected angels—we never discovered what, but as he was given the gift of disease by the Cascade . . .”
Her heart pulsed in her mouth, the horror of what he was suggesting turning her mute. Angelkind had no way to recover from a devastating disease; its birth rate was far too low. A single infection could annihilate their entire people.
The rays of the rising sun cracked the sky above their heads right then, bathing the entire site in a terrible golden glow.
Titus found no other signs of an angel, though he and Sharine searched the entire village twice, looking under every rock and in every cupboard and external building. It was possible his scientists would discover more when they sifted through the impromptu funeral pyre, for he hadn’t wished to trample through that and possibly destroy other fine wing bones, but for now he could confirm the presence of a single reborn angel.
“If the world is lucky,” he said, knowing it wouldn’t be so simple, “this angel will prove to be the one who crawled away from the court of my nemesis to die having infected no others.”
The champagne hue of Sharine’s eyes were haunted when her gaze met his. “Have you heard anything to suggest that other angels have fallen to this infection?”
“No, but I don’t know this half of the territory as well as my own.” He’d barely had a chance to catch his breath, much less do an intensive tour of his new territorial region. “It’s possible the infected are hiding—we’ve seen that the new crop of reborn have a survival instinct. That instinct might be even stronger in reborn angels, if we assume the strength of our immune system means the infection doesn’t progress as fast as it does in mortals and vampires.”
Sucking in a breath, Sharine said, “An angel might know what he was becoming, know he shouldn’t exist.”
Horror churning in his gut, Titus rubbed his face. “For now, we’ll inform my people using your phone, then head back home. If this angel was moving when you landed, it was nothing but a lingering spasm—he is very dead, and I need to return to eradicating the threat in the south. Especially if there’s even a small chance we may have to deal with infected angels in the coming days or weeks.”
“I can ask part of Lumia’s guard complement to stand watch in the skies until your scientists land.”
Titus considered that; he didn’t wish to expose Lumia or its guard to risk, but he also couldn’t chance this body being disturbed by the reborn or by animals. “Tell them to stay in the skies,” he said to Sharine. “When they need to land to rest, they are to do so in open areas where reborn cannot sneak up on them. Lumia won’t come to harm by this secondment?”
“It’s not much farther than the sentries normally fly—even if anyone has covetous eyes on Lumia at this time of chaos, they’ll notice no difference in its routine.” After making the call to her second, she began to take pictures “just in case.”
Leaving her to it as he was certain no danger lurked here, he decided to take a final look through the village on the slim chance that he might discover something more about the infected angel. It was on his last look into the general store that he trampled on something that crackled. It turned out to be an envelope.
Picking it up, he saw that it was covered in dust except for one corner that bore the partial imprint of his boot. Written on the front were the words: For our lord Archangel Charisemnon.
Titus gritted his teeth. Rather than opening the envelope, he took it with him to where Sharine had just finished photographing the scene of death. “The villagers appear to have left behind a note.”
When she said, “Shall I read it out?” he held out the envelope. The missive within could contain no good news; all he could do to soften the blow was to listen to it in her rich tones complex with texture. “Is the language one you know?”
She checked. “Yes.”
“‘My lord Archangel,’” she began, after opening out the piece of white paper folded inside the envelope. “‘We don’t know if this missive will ever reach you, but we have hope. We are in a terrible state—we have lost so many of our young and strong and the monsters who roam the land destroyed our crops and killed our animals. We don’t have enough food, nor the manpower to grow more before we run out of supplies.
“‘After much thought and because we know not many angels fly this way, we’ve made the decision to trek to the next closest habitation in the hope we can find safe harbor. We carry with us information for you. However, we also leave it behind here, for there’s a strong chance we won’t make it. The tainted creatures with their craving for flesh appear more and more. We know that you, Archangel, are battling them and that takes priority.’”