Radicle (Terminal trilogy #2, can stand alone)

7: Unsettled

By the end of my work day, it was dark, my temporary name had been changed to 'Fardeau', and my co-workers had started to call me Dewey. I was physically exhausted from the manual labor of my job by the time I returned to Tecie's apartment, and was irritated to find Stacy Baruth outside the door.

"Stacy Baruth." I tried not to sigh when I spoke. I knew to expect his presence. I did not particularly mind it either. I was just tired.

"Hurry on now. You have a lot of work to do."

He led me down in the light of the setting fake-sun to a small building with windows covered by white wood. And he left me there with a pat on the back and a single word:

"Wings."

Wings. I could feel mine bristle restlessly at the thought of taking them out. I hadn't seen my own for a long time now. They were light blue, that I knew, like the sky.

Angelic wings are not quite wings at all, and I suppose to use a very poor metaphor, they were similar to demon's wings. They didn't quite exist. We could 'put them away' and they would leave no trace of ever having existed. And when we took them out again, they'd be there, as real feeling as anything. The only oddity being, unlike demon's wings, they were able to phase through clothing- but again, they were never physical objects to begin with.

It took a certain level of emotional commitment to keep them hidden, and in times of danger or great stress, angels would often accidentally show their wings.

We know our wings to be extensions of our Grace. To show them is to show our Grace, and thus at once our strength and weakness. Because of this, only friends could see your wings, and only the closest could touch them.

Because our wings were merely projections of our Grace, they could not fly. They were really quite big, inconveniently so, but not big enough to even allow for gliding. Iilal once tried to glide. He broke his legs and was felled shortly after.

I had to navigate a series of odd blockades in a damp alley to even approach the entrance of the rotting building. Once I had found the doorway, indistinguishable from the wall around it in the dark, I nervously drew my wings and folded them behind my back. The air did not feel good.

I remembered that I had to show confidence. I was these demons' savior. They were going to love me.

I opened the door. A heavy scent of rot bothered me immediately, but otherwise the place seemed fairly clean. The floor smelled of new wood, the lights were aesthetically charming, and the people, while still demons, did not appear malevolent.

They watched as I entered the door. I held my head up high and let my arms hang by my side like I was going to twirl in a circle, hands horizontal and stiff. And I slowly spread my wings. Luckily the wall space was large enough to allow me to, and luckily the lights above shone ever so nicely on my feathers.

The effect was immediate. They bowed. They actually bowed! It was more of a kowtow, honestly, as many of them scurried onto the floor to proper lower their heads to the ground. I had a thought then. 'This is how all demons should react when they see angels.' It wasn't the best thought I ever had, but it made me giddy never the less.

Some of them raised their heads as I walked- I was more or less aimless really, but felt I had to walk. Their eyes were so wide, and so many seemed to be crying. It was only after a moment that I had the sense to ask them to rise.

Their leader, a woman whose long red hair I approved of, greeted me. But she always kept her eyes rather low to the ground.

"You came." She murmured.