Archangel's Enigma
Page 71
His eyelids flicked up; he was on his haunches before she saw him move, his head turned toward the sound. “We have to run.” Taking her hand, he hauled her up.
And they ran.
“Should I fly?” she gasped, her chest straining at the speed. “You’d be faster on the ground.”
He shook his head, the silver of his hair flying. “They’re in the air.”
Swallowing, she wanted to go for the sword she hadn’t removed even in sleep, but had a feeling that wouldn’t help. Not with this. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw a deeper darkness against the sky. Memories of the recordings she’d seen of the Falling rolled over her—thousands of birds had fallen to the earth before the angels started to plummet. “Charisemnon.”
Her left wing caught on a trailing branch. Biting back a cry of pain as she tore it free, she continued to run but the buzzing was getting closer and closer with every heartbeat.
Not birds. Bugs. Locusts? Bees?
Naasir halted without warning, looked back. “Not enough time to get to shelter.” Dropping her hand, he went to the ground and, using his claws, began to dig up the arid soil.
Andromeda began to dig beside him, all but able to feel the insects on her back. In normal circumstances, bugs might make her skin crawl, but they couldn’t hurt her or Naasir. However, if this was Charisemnon’s doing, these weren’t normal bugs. The tiny creatures might be infected with the same disease that had taken down New York’s angels.
The angels had been hurt because they fell from the sky onto the unforgiving city below, but the disease had killed vampires—and Naasir had vampiric characteristics. Even if she was safe, he wasn’t.
She dug hard enough that her nails broke.
Sweat dripping down his temples, Naasir glanced back. “In.” Grabbing her arm, he all but threw her in the hole. “Facedown!”
Andromeda went to tell him he was the more vulnerable one, but knew she didn’t have time to argue. The faster she went in, the faster he could get to safety, too—because she knew he wouldn’t do anything for himself until she was protected. That in mind, she obeyed his order, cupping her hands in front of her mouth and nose to create an air pocket—more for her own psychological need than because it was necessary.
Even extended lack of air wouldn’t kill her, but it could leave her unconscious for hours or even days—in which time, anyone could cut off her head, dig out her heart and brain.
“Don’t be afraid.” That was her only warning before Naasir began to shove the soil back on her.
Being buried alive, her wings under the earth, was a terror, but she lay motionless and willed him to go faster. Her fear for him was viscous in her veins.
Then she was completely buried, the world hushed but for the roar of blood in her ears. A muted buzz surrounded her what felt like a heartbeat later. Panic stuttered in her lungs. Where was Naasir? Was he safe? Heart punching so violently it was painful, she listened as hard as she could, but all she could hear was the buzzing, as if the insects were right on top of her, determined to burrow through the soil.
But Naasir had spent precious time covering her up and the bugs finally seemed to give up. Though her heart screamed at her to get out, find him, she forced herself to stay under for ten more minutes; she would not cheapen his sacrifice by making herself a target.
When she did stir, she did so slowly. But the insects were gone, no buzzing in the air. Shaking off the soil that covered her, she rubbed away the dust on her face and looked for any sign of Naasir.
Nothing. No tracks, no glints of silver, nothing.
Breath coming shallow and hard, she thought of what he might’ve done. He hadn’t had time to dig another hole, but he was fast. Really, really fast. He could keep up with her flight speed; that meant he could have made it to a small cave they’d passed on the way here.
She went to head toward the cave, hesitated. He’d probably want her to stay in place. “Hell, no,” she muttered. If he was hurt, she had to find him. And if he wasn’t hurt, he could track her easily enough.
Sword out of its scabbard and in her hand, she began to stride toward the cave. Ten minutes of walking later, she wasn’t yet there and she’d seen no signs that Naasir had passed this way. Part of her said he couldn’t have made it this far. Perhaps he’d gone toward the water instead.
She hesitated, caught exactly halfway between the possibilities. The cave would’ve provided shelter but it wouldn’t have stopped the insects from getting in. The water on the other hand, would provide a shield—and Naasir was an almost-immortal. He didn’t need to breathe for long periods, though the need to breathe was instinct.
She ran through a grove of peach trees toward the narrow end of the teardrop, the part hidden from the village. Her wings were heavy weights that created drag on the ground and scraped against branches and thorny bushes. She knew she was leaving a trail, ignored it. Chest painful, she tumbled out on the water’s edge and looked frantically in both directions, the moon a spotlight that lit up the world in a soft wash of silvery gray.
Nothing.
A closer look showed her tiny corpses washed up on the rocks not far from her. As if the locusts—or whatever the bugs were—had tried to dive toward the water and drowned.
“Naasir,” she called in a low tone that wouldn’t carry beyond a short distance. “Naasir.”
Hearing no response, she slid away her sword and focused on the tiny insect corpses. They were gathered in a particular area, but the water had a quiet current. Walking her way upstream, she saw a spot on the edge where the grass was crushed and the soil disturbed—as if Naasir’s heel had slid as he dived in.
And they ran.
“Should I fly?” she gasped, her chest straining at the speed. “You’d be faster on the ground.”
He shook his head, the silver of his hair flying. “They’re in the air.”
Swallowing, she wanted to go for the sword she hadn’t removed even in sleep, but had a feeling that wouldn’t help. Not with this. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw a deeper darkness against the sky. Memories of the recordings she’d seen of the Falling rolled over her—thousands of birds had fallen to the earth before the angels started to plummet. “Charisemnon.”
Her left wing caught on a trailing branch. Biting back a cry of pain as she tore it free, she continued to run but the buzzing was getting closer and closer with every heartbeat.
Not birds. Bugs. Locusts? Bees?
Naasir halted without warning, looked back. “Not enough time to get to shelter.” Dropping her hand, he went to the ground and, using his claws, began to dig up the arid soil.
Andromeda began to dig beside him, all but able to feel the insects on her back. In normal circumstances, bugs might make her skin crawl, but they couldn’t hurt her or Naasir. However, if this was Charisemnon’s doing, these weren’t normal bugs. The tiny creatures might be infected with the same disease that had taken down New York’s angels.
The angels had been hurt because they fell from the sky onto the unforgiving city below, but the disease had killed vampires—and Naasir had vampiric characteristics. Even if she was safe, he wasn’t.
She dug hard enough that her nails broke.
Sweat dripping down his temples, Naasir glanced back. “In.” Grabbing her arm, he all but threw her in the hole. “Facedown!”
Andromeda went to tell him he was the more vulnerable one, but knew she didn’t have time to argue. The faster she went in, the faster he could get to safety, too—because she knew he wouldn’t do anything for himself until she was protected. That in mind, she obeyed his order, cupping her hands in front of her mouth and nose to create an air pocket—more for her own psychological need than because it was necessary.
Even extended lack of air wouldn’t kill her, but it could leave her unconscious for hours or even days—in which time, anyone could cut off her head, dig out her heart and brain.
“Don’t be afraid.” That was her only warning before Naasir began to shove the soil back on her.
Being buried alive, her wings under the earth, was a terror, but she lay motionless and willed him to go faster. Her fear for him was viscous in her veins.
Then she was completely buried, the world hushed but for the roar of blood in her ears. A muted buzz surrounded her what felt like a heartbeat later. Panic stuttered in her lungs. Where was Naasir? Was he safe? Heart punching so violently it was painful, she listened as hard as she could, but all she could hear was the buzzing, as if the insects were right on top of her, determined to burrow through the soil.
But Naasir had spent precious time covering her up and the bugs finally seemed to give up. Though her heart screamed at her to get out, find him, she forced herself to stay under for ten more minutes; she would not cheapen his sacrifice by making herself a target.
When she did stir, she did so slowly. But the insects were gone, no buzzing in the air. Shaking off the soil that covered her, she rubbed away the dust on her face and looked for any sign of Naasir.
Nothing. No tracks, no glints of silver, nothing.
Breath coming shallow and hard, she thought of what he might’ve done. He hadn’t had time to dig another hole, but he was fast. Really, really fast. He could keep up with her flight speed; that meant he could have made it to a small cave they’d passed on the way here.
She went to head toward the cave, hesitated. He’d probably want her to stay in place. “Hell, no,” she muttered. If he was hurt, she had to find him. And if he wasn’t hurt, he could track her easily enough.
Sword out of its scabbard and in her hand, she began to stride toward the cave. Ten minutes of walking later, she wasn’t yet there and she’d seen no signs that Naasir had passed this way. Part of her said he couldn’t have made it this far. Perhaps he’d gone toward the water instead.
She hesitated, caught exactly halfway between the possibilities. The cave would’ve provided shelter but it wouldn’t have stopped the insects from getting in. The water on the other hand, would provide a shield—and Naasir was an almost-immortal. He didn’t need to breathe for long periods, though the need to breathe was instinct.
She ran through a grove of peach trees toward the narrow end of the teardrop, the part hidden from the village. Her wings were heavy weights that created drag on the ground and scraped against branches and thorny bushes. She knew she was leaving a trail, ignored it. Chest painful, she tumbled out on the water’s edge and looked frantically in both directions, the moon a spotlight that lit up the world in a soft wash of silvery gray.
Nothing.
A closer look showed her tiny corpses washed up on the rocks not far from her. As if the locusts—or whatever the bugs were—had tried to dive toward the water and drowned.
“Naasir,” she called in a low tone that wouldn’t carry beyond a short distance. “Naasir.”
Hearing no response, she slid away her sword and focused on the tiny insect corpses. They were gathered in a particular area, but the water had a quiet current. Walking her way upstream, she saw a spot on the edge where the grass was crushed and the soil disturbed—as if Naasir’s heel had slid as he dived in.
