The story of the FALLEN

8. Jerusalem, 1187 AD

“Zachariel! You have to do something!” Brother Thomas barges into his room. The man is in full battle gear, which is a bit unusual.

“I don’t have to do anything.” He answers. He keeps polishing his sword, slowly, gently. There is no need for it, since the angelic sword never dulls, but the motions are calming. “How did you get in?”

“Through the gates you never lock.” Brother Thomas tells him. “Please do something. I beg you.”

“What exactly do you want me to do? If it’s a demon, point me in the right direction, otherwise…” Zachariel trails off. He doesn’t see a reason for the Templar Knight to be here and so distraught as well. It’s early morning and all is quiet in Jerusalem. “How did you get past the guard?”

“What guard? The courtyard is empty.” Brother Thomas frowns. “But the real threat is Saladin’s army at the gates. They will overrun the city if you don’t help us. We don’t have enough men here.”

“Not my problem.” Zachariel smirks. PoliticalPolitics disputes don’t concern him. The petty wars of humans over a city that strategically means nothing, concern him even less.

“But, Saladin will raid the city. Innocents will die!” Brother Thomas implores. “Don’t you care about the women and children? They are defenceless here.”

“Rulers come and go. We do not meddle in human wars, especially in pointless ones like this.” Zachariel shrugs. “I heard Saladin doesn’t kill women and children. We can’t say the same for your side, can we?”

“You will throw that in my face? Men do things in the heat of battle that they regret later.” Brother Thomas glares at him. “Confessions were made, absolution was given.”

“You don’t see it, do you?” Nakir smirks. He was standing at the door for a while now and Brother Thomas didn’t even notice. “How does that erase the deed? People that died are still dead.”

“Be that way! You can’t stay holier than thou forever.” Brother Thomas yells angrily. “Don’t expect help when Saladin comes for you!”

“I would want to see him try.” Nakir grins. The bloodlust is there, just behind his dark eyes. “You know where the door is, Brother.”

“The Templars are good, but I fear for them. They lose oversight so fast. Nothing good ever comes from wars.” Zachariel tells Nakir.

“I know. Don’t they see they are both fighting in the name of the same God? Giving Him a different name doesn’t make Him a different God.” Nakir scoffs. “I just don’t understand humans.”

“What does it matter who rules this city?” Zachariel asks. “I don’t see a difference between Saladin and Guy of Lusignan. The rich are still rich and the poor only get poorer with every change of power.”

“It doesn’t matter to us. I couldn’t care less who rules.” Nakir says. “We are here to protect humans from demons.”

“I sealed the gate.” Tamiel says when she appears at the door. “What should we do with the servants? Can’t just throw them out to be slaughtered.”

“Tell them to hide.” Zachariel answers. He shouldn’t care for the humans, but they are useful to them.

“Sure.” She nods. “What did Brother Thomas want?”

“Our help in the war.” Nakir scoffs.

“Huh? We don’t meddle in that. It’s not our war.” Tamiel shrugs.

“It’s going to be too loud to sleep, let’s go gloat.” Nakir points to the roof.

“Could you hide your bloodlust?” Zachariel asks. “I know you relish in death, but this is pointless and in vain.”

“They don’t think it’s pointless. Who am I to stop them?” Nakir grins. The maniac will be up on the roof gloating over the deaths on both sides.

Zachariel cringes every time he hears screams and the clash of swords near their house. Nakir is probably laughing his head off up on the roof, Lailah hasn’t bothered to look out from her room and Tamiel is keeping the servants quiet. They might be neutral and refuse to take sides, but people are still dying out there. It’s hard to be indifferent when every death hurts you. When you know that both sides are wrong, and it doesn’t make a right. When every King and Lord in the known world desires to have dominion over a city with no real value, because some prophet lived here.

He makes the rounds to check on the seal Tamiel has put up. No one can enter their house, because the doors are not there. The seal conceals the door, making it look like a solid wall. The gate as well. From inside of the courtyard, he can see the metal gate, but he knows that anyone passing on the outside will only see a wall. His curiosity gets the better of him and he joins Nakir on the roof. A mistake he will regret for the rest of his existence.

“Look at them.” Nakir chuckles. “Running around like lost sheep. The Royals bargained for safe passage and left their people behind to fend for themselves.”

“I don’t see the Templars in the streets.” Zachariel comments. He sees the Persians and the town’s folk. Where’s the army? Where is the city’s defence?

“Most of them are dead. Well, the ones that stayed. Queen Sibyla took most of them as her personal guard.” Nakir reports. Their roof is one of the tallest in the upper part of the city. The only view better is from Temple Hill.

“So much talk about defending the city, of winning the war.” Zachariel scoffs. The humans couldn’t surprise him anymore, or so he thought. “They left?”

“With the Queen.” Nakir nods. “But you were right about Saladin. His men are not killing innocents.”

“There is still so much death in the streets.” Zachariel cringes.

“They only kill the ones that fight back.” Nakir shrugs. “Don’t fight if you can’t win. But the peasants fight anyway.”

“They don’t want to be sold as slaves. Not everyone can buy their way out.” Zachariel remarks. He knows how these power shifts work. The Persians would sell the poor as slaves, the Catholics would just kill everyone.

Later that night, a patrol of Saladin’s men passes their street. They are opening houses and rounding up who’s left. Just like he thought. The poor will be sold as slaves. They keep watching from the roof, because nobody down below can see them up here. Zachariel admires the Shamshir blades of the Persian soldiers. The blade is curved, thin, and long. With a crossguard and a backwards curved pommel. Seems light and agile in comparison to the double-edged longsword of the Templars. The classical Saif sword must have been replaced in favour of this lighter weapon.

“Don’t touch that house! Don’t even look for a door!” A loud shout reaches them. “It bears the mark of the Angel of death.”

“What did you do?” Zachariel inquires. He wonders how the guards can see an angel’s mark, but the smirk on Nakir’s face is the answer.

“I marked the corners of our home. Every Persian will recognise it.” Nakir whispers. “Tamiel’s spell made the marks visible. As long as we’re sealed in, they have the warning not to cross us.”

“And when she opens the doors?” Zachariel asks.

“We hunt for demons.” Nakir shrugs. The indifference of the guy pisses Zachariel off, but he knows it’s mostly a cover for his bloodlust. “And trespassers die at the gate.”

“Zack! Wake the Bloody Hell up!” Nakir drags him out of bed and slams him up against the wall. What in hell is wrong now? He could feel he left a dent in the wall, not to mention the pain in his back and the forming bruises around his neck. Nakir has an iron grip and his fingers are digging into a painful point.

“What? Is my bed on fire?” Zack growls. He opens his eyes to see nothing wrong in his room, except a very pissed off and almost-naked Nakir. “Niki! Let me go.”

“What is up with your dreams? Why did you have to drag me back to Jerusalem?” Nakir growls low and menacingly.

“I don’t know. I can’t choose what I dream about.” Zack winces. His back hurts like hell. Nakir can’t be gentle in waking someone up, but at least he let go of Zack’s neck. “How could I drag you in?”

“Were you dreaming about me? Because I found myself on the roof of our house watching the sacking of Jerusalem by Saladin’s men.” Nakir asks.

“Yeah, you were in the dream.” Zack nods. “Sorry. I don’t know how to stop the dreams.”

“Pancakes won’t save you this time.” Nakir glares at him.

“Oh, come on, Niki. It wasn’t all bad.” He pleads.

“No. We do have a nice weapons collection from back then.” Nakir chuckles. “Try to get some sleep before morning. Nobody likes a grumpy boss.”

“What was that loud bang? You scared Asmodeus.” Layla barges into Zack’s room with Tammy close behind.

“You took your sweet time.” Nakir chuckles. “Zack had another one of those nightmares.”

“And you shot him with a cannon?” Tammy inquires.

“No. That was my back hitting the wall.” Zack says. He has a hard time keeping a straight face. The idea of Nakir rolling a cannon into his room to shoot him with is hilarious.

“I had to wake him somehow.” Nakir shrugs. “Zack dreaming about me is just weird.”

“Yeah, well…” Zack drawls. “Just for further notice, the cannon stays in storage. That might damage the walls and upset the neighbours.”

“We own a cannon?” Tammy asks. Her eyes are big from lack of sleep and visible surprise. “Since when do we have a cannon?”

“I kind of borrowed one after the ‘Prise de la Bastille’. It looked so forlorn in the rubble.” Nakir shrugs.

“We have a cannon in storage since 1789?” Layla gapes. “How come I’ve never seen it?”

“How often are you there? We don’t use anything from storage, we have our own angelic weapons.” Zack asks her. He knows about the cannon, because he was the one who helped Nakir put it there.

“That’s true.” Layla shrugs. “I still want to see it.”

“We could have a little field trip. Simon can take it as a test of his skills. Let’s see what he knows about weapons.” Zack answers.

“That’s gonna be a trip down memory lane. Let’s hope it doesn’t trigger more bad dreams.” Nakir shakes his head. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“You always look good, you narcissist.” Layla smiles. “You’re just a bit less murderous if you get enough sleep.”

“Talking about sleep, it’s four am. Get some!” Tammy growls.