And They Marched Up: A Novel from the Saga of Fallen Leaves

By J.L. Feuerstack

And They Marched Up, Volume III of the Saga of Fallen Leaves, shines a new lens on the eternal struggle between Angels and Demons. The story revisits the contest of two Celestial brothers, God and Satan, who, by ancient decree, can only unleash their sibling rivalry when human beings engage in combat.

The citizens of both Heaven and Hell must find their place in the ongoing supernatural conflict. Readers will follow the adventures of the angel Anna Gold, and the demon Anorexia Nervosa Perplexus as each struggles to make her way through an ever-changing and dangerous world. Across their travels both warriors face treacherous foes and conniving members of their own brethren.

This novel of the epic struggle between Celestial forces covers great spans of human history from the building of the pyramids to the construction of cathedrals. Anna and Anorexia witness consequential battles and monumental events as they fight for their respective causes and make difficult decisions, while trying to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.L. Feuerstack
• Release date: Oct 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781961624221

Book preview

Author’s Note

The following story takes place across the same timeline as Over the Broad Earth. It may be helpful to refer back to your copy of Over the Broad Earth while you read. As always, I have done my utmost to tread lightly regarding subjects that may provoke emotional responses particularly regarding depictions of religion, physical and mental illness, warfare, terrorism, genocide, and abuse. I hope you will take time to explore works of non-fiction pertaining to the various personas and eras that make up the history of our species. Finally, I encourage you to listen to the works of classical and folk music mentioned in this story, particularly when reading the chapters in which the songs are referenced.

Demonic Lineage

Angelic Lineage (Asia)

The House of Mercury was founded by the creation of Angels of Asiatic appearance. The descendants of Mercury resemble humans from the Far East. The House of Arsenic (and its descendant Manganese) and the House of Sulfur resemble humans from Europe or the Near East; however, they historically have maintained close ties with the Asian Houses.

Angelic Lineage

(Northern Europe)

The House of Copper was founded by the creation of Angels of Northern European appearance. The descendants of Copper resemble mortals from Scandinavia and the Baltic.

Angelic Lineage (Africa)

The House of Hydrogen was founded by the creation of Angels of African appearance. The House of Lead, along with the House of Lithium (and its descendant, the House of Nickel), are of Mediterranean origin. Historically they have maintained close ties with the House of Hydrogen and its descendants.

Angelic Lineage (Europe)

The House of Carbon was founded by the creation of Angels of European appearance. The House of Tin was founded in similar fashion and maintains close ties to the House of Carbon.

Angelic Lineage

(Europe, the Near East, & the New World)

The House of Iron was founded by the creation of Angels of European and Near Eastern appearance. The Houses of Oxygen and Antimony resemble mortals from the Near East and historically maintain close ties with the House of Iron.

The House of Magnesium (and its descendant Molybdenum) was founded by the creation of Angels of Native appearance. Descendants of Magnesium resemble indigenous mortals. These Houses historically maintain close ties with the House of Iron.

Tutorial

Overview of the Realms

The universe consists of three overlapping realms: The Ethereal Realm (the home of the ancient Elementals, races of Fire, Earth, Air, and Water), the Celestial Realm (the home of God, Satan, and their armies of Angels and Demons), and the Mortal Realm (the home of humans and other earthly flora and fauna).

Celestial Creatures interacting with the Mortal Realm

Demons/Angels are invisible to mortals when they travel to the part of the Celestial Realm that directly overlaps the Earth. Celestial creatures are inhibited by the Mortal Realm even when they are within the Celestial. They cannot walk through walls or objects. They are subject to natural laws, such as gravity.

Possession

Celestial Travel

Celestial creatures can travel between locations (in the Celestial Realm or Mortal Realm) by combining any two of the four elements (Air, Fire, Water, and Earth). Combining these elements in the shape of the required symbol, along with the symbols associated with the desired location, creates a portal. This portal can only be opened in the vicinity of mortal or natural structures that form a doorway (such as a door, a cave, or an archway). Celestial creatures can open portals from within the Celestial Realm or while in possession of a mortal host. However, they must vacate a host to pass through the portal.

Warfare between Celestial Opponents

Option 2: Combat in the Celestial Realm can occur if the Angel exits his host. In this circumstance, the Demon and Angel would fight with celestial weaponry and would each be vulnerable to immediate injury and death.

Transitioning Between Realms

All Celestial creatures (Demons/Angels, Wraiths/Familiars, Priests) can bring objects small enough for them to carry from the Mortal Realm into the Celestial Realm. Once the Celestial creature is holding the object, it is no longer visible to mortals. Celestial objects, such as Angelic or Demonic weaponry, clothing, etc., do not transfer to the Mortal Realm when an Angel or Demon possesses a mortal.

Introduction

The Hunger

Alicia Gascoyne’s heels clicked against the marble tiles of the university hallway. The demure announcement of her presence, which echoed in her own ears, made little remark amongst the clattering and bustling of graduate students scurrying to various lecture halls. She listened to the tattoo of her own steps with the dread of an interloper, for although there were others her age, or even older, navigating the passages, most were several decades younger, and all save her were participants. They were invested in the outcome of their efforts: midterms, credits, fellowships, careers. Alicia could feel their concerns as though they hung in the air above the cacophony of mundane conversation that filled the hallway, anxieties that were foreign to the dowager auditor – the distracted emotiveness of youth and purpose.

Quietly, with an effort to elicit as little attention as possible, Alicia entered room 123 and found her way to her seat in the back corner of the classroom. The course she audited, each semester, year after year, was labeled PSYCH755 in the course catalog: Psychopathology. Long ago Alicia had successfully quieted any faculty curiosity regarding her obsession through a substantial endowment to the university. Her demeanor silenced any interest from her fellow attendees. The dowager felt content behind her invisible wall through which she allowed herself to gaze upon normative life without the tedium of explaining herself or feigning interest in others. Alicia was still young for a widow, and sometimes found irritation in the interest of the male students attending the lecture, however, she knew even the most interested of lads could be dismissed by her scowl.

Thoughts of repelling would-be suitors were banished from Alicia’s mind as the lecturer entered the room. The professor was a tall, thin man. He was slightly overdressed, harkening back to an era when men of knowledge dressed the part. Indeed, Professor Brixton appeared of similar age to Alicia and, like her, seemed to be better suited to the past. In some indiscernible way, the professor reminded Mrs. Gascoyne of her late husband. Though they were not alike in appearance, unlike the instructor Miles had kept his hair all the way until the end, there were similar notes in their voices and in their posture.

A similarity bred into all well-educated, men of that generation, I suppose, she thought.

Her eyes focused on the shiny dome that housed Professor Brixton’s sharp intellect and smiled a little as he struggled to connect his laptop to the classroom projector.

Oh, Miles, she thought.

The late Mr. Gascoyne had been a gentleman in every sense: breeding, comportment, character. Yet his mind had been stolen and with it, his health and eventually, his life. The tragedy had embedded a ceaseless yearning in Alicia’s mind, an unquenchable desire to understand the disease that had plagued the minds of human beings from time immemorial. Alicia was not susceptible to flights of fancy. She did not expect that a woman of her age could suddenly scale the heights of the ivory tower of academia. Nor did she expect her repetitious auditing of the class on mental illness would lend her a full understanding of what had happened to her beloved husband. Still, the hunger for knowledge had been planted within her; thus she relentlessly attended the course semester after semester as the years passed. The passage of time did little to dent her enthusiasm as she waited for the days when the lecturer addressed the plague that had so damaged her life: Schizophrenia.

Ashley Brixton’s nasally voice echoed across the confines of the lecture hall. Evolutionary Psychology is a theoretical discipline in which practical, useful mental traits are treated as adaptations. In other words, functions of the human psyche are assessed to have been shaped and cultivated through an evolutionary process. Mental traits such as memory, language acquisition, incest avoidance, foraging, mechanisms for detecting infidelity or alliance potential, et cetera, are the products of natural selection. Natural Selection, as I’m sure you are all well-aware, holds that advantageous traits increase an individual’s likelihood of survival, and subsequently are more likely to be passed on to future generations. If you have an interest in delving further into such a topic, Professor Nicholson, and… hmm… Professor Abubakar from the Biology department both teach fascinating courses pertaining to Evolutionary Biology and Evolutionary Processes.

Alicia sighed. She detested Professor Brixton’s blithering detours. She wondered for a moment if age itself was the sternest of psychopathologies. Yet, while she felt the muscles tighten in her hand as she clenched at her copy of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, Alicia felt her heart melt a little. She took note of the small, pink pocket square adorning the professor’s jacket. For a moment she could see Miles standing before her asking her if he looked decent enough for the vultures. She chuckled.

Oh, he did so hate social events.

Alicia wondered what Professor Brixton’s personal life entailed. He was circling back to the subject at hand.

So why am I discussing the evolution of adaptive traits in your seminar on mental illness? the professor asked. Well, adaptive traits are inextricably linked to some of the worst diseases and maladaptive behaviors. That is to say, some illnesses or some aberrant behaviors may well be the byproducts of evolutionarily advantageous mental traits. For example, I am certain none of you would assert that being a racist is a positive social attribute in today’s society.

He hesitated for a moment and shot an anxious glance in the direction of a cluster of students of South-Asian origin. An awkward silence followed. Undeterred, he continued, Of course not. Such a notion would be preposterous, yet strong identification of in-group/out-group dynamics may well have contributed to all of our ancestors’ survival. When resources were scarce for ancient man, an individual unable to identify members of his tribe, id est his race, would be less likely to survive and pass on his weak, in-group identifying traits. Today, we are all descendants of those individuals with a strong propensity to identify members of the in-group and members of the out-group. In other words, we are all descendants of and carry the traits of…ah… racism. Despite such notions being deemed abhorrent in today’s society.

The only sound was students shifting in their seats. No one looked at anyone.

Take another example even closer to our current curriculum: consider the illness Anorexia Nervosa.

The dowager had been mostly consumed by her own thoughts during the professor’s discourse. However, upon mention of the disease Anorexia, she twitched and felt her right eye begin to quiver ever so slightly. Then, from within Alicia, the casual observer who had been resting peacefully within the widow, sat up and began to pay attention.

Anorexia Nervosa Perplexus, the ancient Demon of wasting affliction, had taken possession of Alicia Gascoyne as a form of holiday. The woman was obsessed with Schizophrenia who was Anorexia’s closest confidant. Always self-effacing, Anorexia was extremely uncomfortable whenever her name was mentioned. However, even in her discomfort, she felt a burning desire to hear what the professor had to say about her.

As Alicia and the Demon within her waited with bated breath Professor Brixton continued. During times of starvation, it is typical of a human to become lethargic, to cease active movement, and to become listless. It is also common for a starving human to fanaticize about food. In extreme circumstances, a starving individual may even consume inedible objects. None of these behaviors are likely to result in someone successfully locating a meal. In comparison, consider anorexics. They are often highly energetic when deprived of food, they are prone to excessive exercise even when malnourished. Anorexics do not fantasize about food when they are starving and are not prone to eating inedible or spoiled food when denied sustenance. Thus, in many ways, ancestral humans with the genes containing the traits of Anorexia would be much more likely to survive a famine and pass those traits to their offspring. Therefore, something we study today as a pathology, historically was evolutionarily advantageous. Such a theory applies to some of the most debilitating mental illnesses.

Peacocks strut less than the professor. He strode across the dais with one thumb hooked in his vest. In his other hand, he massaged his watch fob – a Phi Beta Kappa key.

Consider Schizophrenia, he said. How could such a disease contain evolutionarily adaptive traits?

Anorexia felt her host’s consciousness respond to the professor’s mention of the disease they both knew all too well. Anorexia smirked as she thought of the ancient Demon. Indeed she loved him, and like all great loves, the bond offered the potential to be her salvation or her downfall. She continued to listen to the professor, and she wondered whether she or her host was more fascinated.

Within cultures where those who exhibit the traits of a schizophrenic are perceived as medicine men, shamans, or seers, such afflicted individuals are likely to be treated with reverence and would receive a substantial portion of the tribe’s food and resources. Such circumstances would make it very likely that a schizophrenic would survive and pass on the adaptive traits to subsequent generations. The professor chuckled. It is important to remember the theoretical nature of this construct; it cannot be tested as evolutionary outcomes take place across countless generations. However, the logic is sound and the link to biology makes for a compelling hypothesis.

Anorexia reflected on her own long life, the countless generations of mortals she had witnessed come and go. Despite her perpetually youthful appearance, she felt old, much older than the half-century old widow she possessed. She decided to leave the dowager to her own contemplations and actions. She stepped out of the woman’s body and into the Celestial Realm, where she was invisible to the eyes of the mortals in the room. She reclined against the wall beside the classroom door and waited for a mortal to exit. She didn’t want to open the heavy door and startle anyone.

While she waited, Anorexia looked at her Celestial attire: a dull gray tunic, cargo style trousers, and simple black boots. For centuries, the uniform of Hell had consisted of robes, however, all things eventually change. She did not miss the flowing gowns. They swallowed her thin frame. Anorexia thought she looked much better in the new, modern style uniform.

A young man who had been copiously consuming energy drinks throughout the lecture rose to his feet and slunk out of the lecture hall. Anorexia followed him into the hallway. She trailed him for a moment – he had no idea she was behind him. When he turned towards the lavatory, she went straight. The halls were empty; she was grateful for the solitude. Anorexia had possessed the widow out of a desire for a contemplative reprieve, as close to a vacation as her existence allowed. Naturally, she had used her time in the Mortal Realm to infect some students with her malady, however, the primary purpose of her current venture was thoughtful consideration. Lord Satan, the King of the Underworld and her supreme leader, had asked her to undertake a venture she would have never imagined possible. She was assigned to work with the forces of Heaven to eradicate a mutual foe.

Although she understood the rationale behind her orders, her mind – her very essence – rebelled against the notion of collaboration with the foe. It seemed impossible to deny a request from Satan. Though he was despicable, he was her sovereign. Yet to partner with the enemy that had killed her parents and two of her siblings, a multitude of her peers, and her husband (although in title only) was anathema. The Angels had brought suffering and death to her kind; now she was asked to fight by their side.

Upon confirming that she was alone, Anorexia pushed open the exterior door to the Psychology Building and stepped into the warm spring air. An afternoon shower was passing over; she appreciated the refreshing mist, even if it left her Celestial uniform damp. As she walked along Woodstock Road, Anorexia closed her eyes and tried to quiet her swirling thoughts. Competing notions plagued her mind.

Kill the Ancient.

Cooperate with the Angels.

Nostalgia tickled her brain. She thought about Schitz and her abiding love for him. The professor’s words echoed in her mind: Countless generations. She looked down. The stone steps of the London pavement began to morph in shape and substance, gradually replaced by sand.

And Anorexia’s thoughts carried her to another time and place.

Gazi felt deep unremitting pains emanating from her midsection as she trudged through the harsh, barren landscape. The Assyrian forces had pushed her people north along the Euphrates, farther and farther from their ancestral homeland. Yet, Gazi’s hunger lay not in a lack of food, or the desire for rest. Though her young body was racked with pain from the flight her clan had undertaken in the face of Sargon I’s forces, her truest pain lay in her deepest secret and her most earnest yearning.

As long as Gazi could remember, she had recalled instances from another life. She could remember her mind within another body, though much still like her own. She could summon memories of another world, one with rolling grassy hills and forests, so different from the desert she called home. Most of all, she could see the face of Circades, a man who loved her in that past life – Circades was so different from the man her father had insisted she marry, the unloving sire of the offspring that grew within her.

She could hear Circades’s voice; he called her by her true name, Pulwabi. Gazi groaned with yet another labored step. She longed for a reprieve from any of her ailments. Each step brought agony: pain within her empty stomach, throbbing within her full womb, tightness in her dry throat.

I will continue on, she said. Each labored step came with another gasping breath. I will find my Circades someday.

And so she continued, driven on like all who seek rest from the torment of thoughts.

Chapter 1

Brothers in Arms

Long after a pack of golden jackals killed the young gazelle, its skull sat on the rocky desert ground and slowly bleached white in the blazing sun. A refuge seeking scorpion skittered through the vacant apertures that had once been eye sockets. There was, of course, no protest from the disintegrated animal. This was Nature’s way. The world had taken everything from the creature, but its usefulness was not exhausted.

A stone’s throw from the gazelle’s remains, the clatter of swords and wailing of dying men rose over the banks of the Euphrates. The people of the Zagros Mountains had resisted the spread of the Assyrians beyond Harrån. Still, the Assyrians were persistent. They saw the lands as far west as Karkemish as their ancestral territory, their inherited right from the Akkadians. The nomadic Mitanni made their stand with their flank secured by the Euphrates and the Assyrians were paying dearly for each step they took. Stones and arrows sailed through the air and men collapsed in pain as their lives stained the earth in torrents of blood and gore.

Smallpox was shouting from within the body of a Mitanni archer. They hold the line well.

He punctuated his sentence by nocking another arrow and firing it through the maze of friendly forces, its flight terminating in the neck of an Assyrian officer.

His brother Bubonic Plague grinned despite the situation. That they do, he said. He had possessed a Mitanni commander. Bubonic had a habit of finding mortal hosts that resembled his own features. The Mitanni general was a perfect match. Both had wild, dark hair and scruffy beards. They were towering, muscular specimens, epitomes of the strength born through hardship. Smallpox was glad to have his brother by his side on such a day.

A piercing scream rose up above the melee, compelling Smallpox’s attention to the Mitanni woman, possessed by his mate Lyme Disease.

Is it time? he asked. He noted that her host had not yet manifested the outward appearance of pregnancy.

Soon, she replied with gritty determination in her voice.

Brother, they have out maneuvered us, Plague shouted.

He grabbed Smallpox by the shoulder to divert his attention away from his wife. Smallpox groaned as he saw the Assyrians maneuvering to break the stalemate. Their war chariots moved past the Mitanni’s exposed flank. He knew the mortal he possessed would recognize the danger of encirclement and annihilation. All of their doctrines called for them to break ranks, flee, and utilize their superior knowledge of the region’s topography to escape.

Such an action would be devastating for Smallpox. His mate would be vulnerable through the birthing process, a mandate of the punitive laws governing their kind. Smallpox swore as he watched the situation worsen. Among the cadre of Assyrian charioteers, he beheld the aura of Angelic possession.

Now we’re really in for a fight, he groaned.

You stay here with her, Plague said. He gestured toward Lyme Disease with a massive stone-headed mallet. I will shatter them.

Bubonic Plague breathed heavily and propelled his mortal toward the floundering Mitanni flank. He rallied his forces to him as he ran toward the beleaguered position.

Follow me, he shouted to the rear guard while extoling the main force to continue to hold their lines.

From within his host he could see both the Mortal and Celestial Realm. As he neared the foe, Bubonic saw at least six Angels among the Assyrian chariots; they were in teams of two, one possessing the chariot’s driver, the other an archer aboard the chariot. He knew the odds were not great for a Demon in a pitched battle. The tactics of his army called for him to strike and maneuver away, however, Plague also knew that the Angelic presence was likely due to his sister-in-law’s birthing. He did not have the option to disengage.

Despite his large frame, Bubonic Plague possessed catlike reflexes. He dodged and evaded several attacks as he approached the lead chariot. Stepping out of the path of the galloping warhorses at the final moment, he swung the mighty mallet and crumpled the driver’s chest. He dismounted the archer with the same swipe. He watched with glee as an Angel fell to the ground, seizing from the violent departure from his host.

Plague stepped over the dismounted archer and mashed her skull with the stone head of his mallet. He thirsted for Angelic blood, however, he needed to be certain he had utilized his current possession to the fullest. The Celestial laws meant he could not repossess the mortal once he stepped into the Celestial Realm.

Two chariots bore down on him. He recognized an opportunity to present the Angels with a time consuming quandary that would greatly assist his goal of stopping them from reaching his brother. He launched the mallet through the air with a gargantuan heave, then stepped into the Celestial a moment before his host was trampled by the violent hooves and flanks of the Assyrian warhorses. Within the Celestial, Plague assessed the scene. The two Angels he had dispatched were still seizing and vulnerable. So was the one he had felled with his hurl of the mallet. The Angels would be required to split their forces to defend their vulnerable kin.

Bubonic rushed toward his most recent kill. The mallet had fully decapitated the mortal charioteer and left the Angel in the grips of a departure seizure. A female Angel had stepped out of her mortal host to protect her stricken colleague. He swung his massive battle axe at her head; she deftly avoided the blow, however in backpedaling from his assault she left her comrade exposed. Plague returned his focus to his primary target. He crashed the axe down on the writhing Angel’s neck and severed his head.

Years of fighting had imbued Bubonic Plague with instinctive prowess. He knew the Angels that had gone to the aid of the pair he had dispatched would be by their side. He also knew they would try to engage him while their comrades recovered. Plague could see the entire scene playing out; he could almost sense the danger coursing through the air. He felt more like a spectator than a participant; he knew the outcome before it happened. As the female Angel swung her sword toward him again, Plague stepped out of the way. At the same time, he dodged the two throwing knives hurled by the other Angels. Plague smirked as the knives buried themselves into the chest of his female adversary. She crumpled to the dusty ground, felled inadvertently by her own confederates.

Plague turned his attention to the quartet of surviving foes. The two beleaguered Angels appeared to have recovered from their fits and sought refuge by jumping into retreating Mitanni troops and fleeing. Now Bubonic faced the same difficult decision he had presented to the Angels. His objective was to protect Smallpox and Lyme Disease, but he had to deal with the two Angels ahead of him. The situation was additionally complicated by a trio of newly arriving Angels.

Where did they come from? Bubonic thought. My brother will have to do his share of work.

Bubonic Plague leaped into the body of a passing charioteer. From within the body of the Assyrian archer, he fired two bolts at the Angels who had attempted to flee the engagement. They struck each of the possessed mortals through the heart. The chariot had carried him away from the Celestial bound Angels who had obstructed his path. Thus, he was free to dispatch the Angels he had stricken for the second time that day.

It’s been a bad day for you lot, menaced Plague as he leaped out of the mortal and stood over the writhing duo.

He hacked the foe to pieces with his giant, rat-shaped axe. He looked at the blood dripping from the rat’s teeth and grinned.

Smallpox had watched his brother deal with the Angelic threat from a distance while he stood guard over his wife. His attention was pulled away from Plague by the trio of Angels who had veered away from Bubonic and were coming for him. Smallpox swore at his bad luck. The laws governing the conflict between Hell and Heaven mandated that Demonic and Angelic offspring be born in the midst of mortal combat, however the births of his other children had taken place during battles in which Angels were not present. Reflexively, he looked over his shoulder toward Lyme Disease. He witnessed her handing a tiny wriggling mass into the hands of a young Wraith.

It’s a girl, Lyme Disease said with a weak, yet radiant smile, before she collapsed to the ground. The birth process killed the mortal host, which preserved the mystery of Hell and Heaven from the mortals, however the death pitched the possessing Demon into a departure seizure. The Wraith had already fled with his offspring. For a moment, Smallpox wondered if he would ever meet his first-born daughter. His other three children were boys. He banished fatalistic thoughts from his mind and readied himself for the rapidly approaching foe.

Plague stood over the bodies of the two deceased Angels. He loved the sensation of their blood pooling around his feet. A maniacal grin split his face and he watched his foes advance with trepidation.

Come on then you cowards. It’s time for you to join your brethren in peaceful slumber – well, slumber in pieces. He cackled. Angels typically attacked in large numbers, so Plague was not particularly surprised when the remaining Angels turned and fled. Bubonic took little time to relish the victory as he knew his brother and Lyme Disease were still in peril.

With hurried steps Bubonic made his way back toward Smallpox who was in the process of fending off three Angels simultaneously. Smallpox ducked a swipe from an Angelic sword, ran the Angel through with his own blade, and kicked another squarely in the chest. As he wretched his blade from the Angel’s midsection, he rolled across the rocky ground, narrowly avoiding a blow from the club of the third Angel. He stood and sliced his blade across the Angel’s back. He did not have time to rejoice – the Angel he’d kicked tackled him, pinned him, and raised a menacing dagger. From a distance, Plague unleashed his axe in a desperate attempt to save his brother.

A veritable fountain of arterial spray splattered across Smallpox’s face and eyes as the Angel’s head was torn from his shoulders. A moment later a colossal arm reached down and hauled him to his feet.

What would you do without me brother? Bubonic, covered in gore, laughed like he was at a party. Smallpox took a moment to survey his surroundings before allowing a semblance of levity to appear.

Well, I would die. He chuckled.

As would I, with such a useless husband, Lyme Disease said. She pulled herself to her feet with a broad grin.

Smallpox laughed and kissed her with brief passion. Plague pulled both of them into a hearty embrace.

Today has been a good day; one more for our cause and a handful less for theirs.

Smallpox surveyed the scene. The Assyrians, having paid dearly for the upper hand, were taking part in a wholesale slaughter of the remaining nomads.

Indeed, Smallpox replied, now let us return to Hell.

Yes, Lyme Disease said, I am exhausted.

I’m sure you are, Plague said. What was it?

A girl, Smallpox answered, flush with pride.

Have you thought of a name? Plague asked.

Smallpox looked at his wife; he was immensely curious regarding her answer.

I will call her Anorexia Nervosa Perpexlus, Lyme Disease replied.

A strong name, Bubonic Plague said. We will toast to Anorexia tonight. Come, there is a cave yonder that will suit our need for a portal.

The Assyrians had routed the men of Gazi’s clan, who had fought with nobility and died viciously. They left a tributary of blood flowing into the ceaseless Euphrates. Afterwards, the old and young had been put to the sword as well. They took the woman. She resisted and took several Assyrian lives with her rough dagger before they bludgeoned her until all feeling left her broken body. Slowly, sensation returned to her mind, and she became aware that she was floating on her back in a warm, gently flowing river. Pulwabi immediately knew she had traveled through the river many times before. She recalled her prior trips and the other lives.

And she recalled Circades.

Well, what are you going to do? Silver asked. He reclined in a chair in his brother Gold’s dwelling place.

If it was up to me, I’d smother the brat and open her mother’s treacherous throat, Gold replied. He paced the room.

Silver shifted uncomfortably in his seat before taking a sip of Elixir from his chalice. I mean, she could be yours, he said. He winced a little. The drink, though refreshing, was always bitter.

With that hair and complexion? Gold asked, snappish. Silver chuckled. It’s not funny, Gold said – now enraged.

No, it’s not, Silver said. He held up his free palm toward Gold while swirling his cup with the other, but you’re not the paragon of marital faithfulness yourself, you know. I’m sure you’ve sired a few offspring attributed to some other Angels.

Gold motioned as though to speak, then cracked a small, begrudging grin. He scooped his own goblet from atop an ornate table and took a swig. Touché, but those females were lucky to have such a prize beast sire their progenies.

Undoubtedly, Silver said.

Whose inferior seed do you suspect will I be claiming as my own? Gold asked.

Silver shrugged. Victoria has given you many sons and daughters that fit your resemblance to an uncanny level. What happened?

I don’t know, Gold said. Maybe she got wind of my dalliances and wanted to get even.

Silver sighed and glanced toward a mirror. He ran his hand through his silver-gray hair, Sometimes it’s not so cut and dry, brother. Father had darker hair.

Gold waved his hand as though to bat away the notion. At this point I’ve made up my mind; Victoria says she’s mine, so Anna will be mine, but she and her mother will remain on the outside of my affections and my plans, even if I require my wife’s functions to produce further scions. I will just have to keep a closer watch over her.

Plans? Silver asked. He refilled his cup of Elixir.

Indeed, brother, Gold said, "these humble trappings are not fit for me. I will elevate myself and those around me that are truly deserving will rise with me. Once I have worked out the details, I will make you fully aware. All