Chapter 1
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Chapter 1
And the daughter of Tyre
Shall be there with a gift;
Even the rich among the people
Shall entreat thy favor.
The King's daughter is all glorious within;
Her clothing is of wrought gold.
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Psalm 45:12-13
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Earth: 311 BC – Carthage
.
Death from above. That’s how the 101st Angelic Air Force 'screaming eagles' thought of themselves. Avenging angels sent in whenever the Emperor needed to hit the enemy hard and hold ground until the Alliance military could establish a base. It was funny how staring death in the face made you appreciate the little things in life, like Mom’s terrible attempts at home-cooked meals, or the way his pesky little sister followed him around like a shadow.
Especially his little sister.
He missed her the most.
“Private Thanatos—” a voice called into the communication unit pressed into Azrael's ear. “Have you found the source of the energy signature?"
"I've found no unauthorized technology." Azrael glanced at the rising sun. "Are you sure these are the right coordinates, Sir?"
"It's broadcasting from inside General Hanno's house," the radio squawked.
"But it's almost sunrise."
"You know the terms of the Armistice. Keep looking until you find what's sending that signal."
"Yes, Sir," Azrael grumbled. Some i***t must have dropped their device, and now he was stuck here, waiting to steal it back from whatever human had picked it up and was playing with it because the Armistice prohibited giving humans any technology they hadn't invented themselves.
He crouched down on the roof, trapped until nightfall since, the moment he took to the air; people would spot his ten meter brown wingspan. Why had Eternal Emperor sent him to study this planet? A cadet fresh out of the science academy? What had, at first, seemed like a dream assignment: the chance to study the fabled origin of their species, had quickly turned into a great big, tedious nothingburger.
On the streets beneath him, Carthage woke up. The city had more than three hundred thousand inhabitants, every single one of them forbidden to know they were being monitored by aliens from outer space. The hot Mediterranean sun pounded down on his dark brown feathers, gathering up solar photons and turning his wings into an oven. He spread them wide, panting from the heat. He tilted up his canteen and stuck his tongue out to lick the last drop.
What he wouldn't give for an extra ration of water!
In the courtyard beneath him, a statue stood in the middle of a fountain. Carved from rock in the shape of a man with the head of a bull, its eyes glittered as the sun reflected off of a pair of priceless, ruby-inset eyes. From an outstretched hand, water poured out of the statue's palm. It cast its cool scent up onto the roof: taunting him, tempting him.
If they see me, will anybody believe them?
No! The Eternal Emperor himself had ordered him to never interfere!
The sun grew hotter. The fountain beckoned. Flies buzzed around the mud he had smeared through his feathers to camouflage his appearance; mud which, now that sat, perched, upon the roof baking in the heat, smelled faintly of goat dung.
His skin crawled as insects burrowed into the soft flesh beneath his feathers.
“Bugger!”
The urge to fly became almost overwhelming.
He stared down at the bull-man, the way the mist cast a rainbow within the water which fell from the statue's outstretched hand into the sizeable pool of water, just perfect to take a bath.
The washerwoman just left. If you take a dip quick, nobody will even know you are here.
He fought his thirst, reminding himself that the Emperor had chosen him to complete this important mission. He couldn't just swim in the fountain; he was conducting surveillance on Carthage's de facto king. He was supposed to remain unseen. He was…
Crawling with sand fleas!
Argh!
He flapped his wings, desperate to shake off the blood sucking parasites. He could almost hear his little sister taunting: 'Azrael has cooties! Azrael has cooties!'
He moved to the edge of the roof to scratch his wing against the coarse stone edge.
“I see you,” a little voice chimed.
Azrael froze as his universal translator rendered the words.
“Are you really an angel?”
A small face peered up at him from directly beneath the roof. She had curly blonde hair; flawless, porcelain skin, and the most compelling silver eyes he’d ever seen…
A sense of panic raced into his blood. He'd been spotted by a human?
Now what? What should he do?
Lie!
“No—" his voice warbled. "I'm just a figment of your imagination.”
“Then why are you up there on the roof?” she asked. “Do you have a broken wing?”
“No. I’m fine!" he forced his voice to sound gruff. "Now go away."
The little girl scurried over to a ladder and climbed up onto the roof like a precocious little monkey.
He searched for an escape route, desperate to avoid detection. He couldn't fly. If he did, three hundred thousand Carthaginians would see his brown wings silhouetted against the clear blue sky. His orders were clear. They must not let humans know they were under surveillance. The mere sight of an alien could alter the course of human evolution. All because he, a private, fresh out of the Angelic Air Force Academy, had allowed himself to be irked by a tiny insect!
The little girl clapped her hands together with delight.
“You really are an angel!” she rushed towards him like an excited puppy. “Can I touch your wings?”
“No—” he backed up, praying she wouldn't raise the alarm.
“Don’t worry," she said. "I won’t hurt you. Would you like something to eat?”
The scent of baking bread wafted up from the kitchen. Azrael's stomach rumbled.
“Please,” he croaked. “I’d love some water.”
The little girl tilted her head as he spoke in Galactic Standard, and then as his universal translator repeated his words in the local Punic language.
“Uisce … water,” she said. “Hey? I know that word!"
Azrael flared his wings with surprise.
“You speak my language?”
"Yes. Labrhaionn tu means you speak—” she beamed proudly. “My tutor said it’s important I learn the language of heaven so I can someday become a priestess."
"A priestess?"
"Yes. For any god but Moloch!”
She pointed at the bull-man whose statue lurked in every courtyard in this city. Another myth...
…who watched with malevolent, ruby eyes.
“What’s your name?” Azrael asked.
“Elissar—” her eyes sparkled silver with pride. “After my great-grandmother who founded this city. Papa insists I learn the same things a son would learn even though I am just a girl.”
“Why would it matter if you are female?"
“Why—?” Elissar scrunched up her nose. “I don’t know. Just … because.”
“Because why?"
“Because everybody says so."
“That’s not how we do it on Haven.”
"Can you tell me about heaven?"
"No."
Elissar tugged at one of his long, dark primary feathers.
“Can you fly?”
“Stop that!” Azrael tucked his wing over the edge of the roof where she couldn’t reach it. “You’re not supposed to touch me. How do you know I won't bite?”
“You look too kind to bite.” Elissar gave him the exact same patronizing grin his little sister used whenever she was being a pest. “Besides, you’re an angel. You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”
“How do you know about Angelics?"
“My great-grandmother was queen of Tyre until her brother killed her husband, so she fled here and founded Carthage. Tyre was founded by an angel."
"Really?"
"His name was Lucifer. He’s my ancestor, too.”
Azrael sputtered.
“You're related to the Eternal Emperor’s son?”
Thirty-two hundred years ago, the Emperor’s adopted son had gone missing. Rumor claimed he'd staged a coup d’état, an allegation both Emperors adamantly denied, but Lucifer's diplomatic flagship had been named ‘Prince of Tyre.’
Azrael scrutinized the child. Unless Lucifer had evolved enough to ascend to Archangel status, he would have died 2,500 years ago, along with the all the other Fallen; long before this city had been built. But the child bore an uncanny resemblance to the photograph which stood in Parliament. Right down to her eerie silver eyes.
"What can you tell me about this ancestor—?"
"Elissar?" a voice interrupted from the courtyard.
Azrael flattened himself against the rooftop.
"I'm here, Mama!" The child bolted to the edge of the roof. "Guess what I found?”
One dark wing remained draped over the edge of the roof, in clear sight, only marginally disguised by mud.
"How many times do I have to tell you to stay off the roof?” the mother moved to the bottom of the ladder.
Azrael gave the child a pleading look.
“I saw a great big bird—” she pointed in the opposite direction. “Over there.”
The mother looked.
Azrael yanked his wing up and pressed it against his back.
“I don’t see any bird,” the mother said. “Now please, come down. Papa is joining us for supper tonight.”
“Papa’s coming?”
Elissar rushed to the ladder, pausing to give Azrael a fetching smile that so reminded him of his little sister, it gave him a pang of homesickness. She clamored down the ladder.
"You and your imaginary friends!" the mother said. "I didn’t see any bird.”
“Funny—” Elissar gave Azrael a conspiratorial wink. “I could have sworn I saw wings.”
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