Fowlhunter [GL]

In a daze, as if she no longer controlled herself, Ennanis stumbled after the Cockatrice.

They walked down the valley. The ground eventually levelled out as they reached the base of the mountain. Soon, they came upon a place that looked like an abandoned quarry.

It was a deep pit, the bottom of which brimmed with stone. A set of wooden steps had been built into the side, allowing them to descend relatively easily, though Ennanis seemed to be having trouble taking every step. The angel gazed out into the pit, almost like an attempt to distract herself. Meanwhile, the Cockatrice danced ahead, ebony skirts trailing behind her.

In a normal human quarry, men pushed rock off the top of the cliff, allowing it to smash into the base of the pit, the fractured, smaller pieces being more manageable for cutting into brick for building. These pieces often came in jagged slabs, large and small as they naturally shattered at different angles. However, as they drew closer to this quarry, Ennanis squinted… and found that these particular pieces of stone appeared fairly regular in size. One might have thought it was stone already cut and set aside for later transportation.

She might have thought this… if she hadn’t already guessed what was coming.

When they reached the base of the quarry, Ennanis came face-to-face with rows upon rows of frozen angels. From head to toe, they bore no colour; they were white as bone, as if they were unpainted statues, their features immaculately chiseled into the stone. The fine hand of a master sculptor had captured, unerringly, the blood-chilling terror that stretches a face when an immortal is faced with certain death.

Not a hand, but rather an eye.

The Death-darting Eye of the Cockatrice.

The sculptor weaved her way through her oddly beautiful creations, humming a tune that echoed through the chamber. Meanwhile, trailing in her wake, the angel commander walked through this ivory cemetery in silence. It was like, for the first time, Ennanis Zoleil truly comprehended with her own eyes, why this division was called the Graveyard. The mountain that became a tomb. Every angel their own tombstone. An inescapable, inevitable end.

At last, they reached the centre. As if raised upon a pedestal, an effigy was positioned on top of a pile of stacked rocks. It was draped out of view by a heavy black cloth.

Ennanis’ heartbeat thumped in the base of her throat, though she could scarcely hear it. She watched the Cockatrice scale the pedestal, slab by slab, tall heels clicking on each one as if they were an elegant stairwell of a castle, synced with the slow beating of her heart. She both wanted and didn’t want the Beast to reach the top. But it didn’t matter, for she simply stood there, at the base of the podium, helpless but to watch.

Nightshade hands snagged on the hem of the black cloth. The princess gazed down at the rose-haired angel below. “Not even a little drumroll? And after I spent all this time looking for it.”

Ennanis could only stare blankly at her, hands dangled uselessly by her sides.

So the Cockatrice whisked the curtain away.

Amanita Zoleil stood there. Her once vivid, flowing red hair was now strips of bleached stone, sun-bronze skin pale as dust. The only part of her that was the same colour was the pure white of her Warden robes, mid-swish around her boots. Her hands were dropped at her sides; her slitted eyes were thinned, her lips slightly parted. Her expression was… complex. There was shock, obviously, but in the stone-moulded twist between the brows, her face was almost wrought in a kind of sadness. Like guilt, or regret.

The Cockatrice, too, studied the general for a long moment. Then, she stepped up on another slab of rock, so that she towered over the statue. She leaned herself across its broad shoulder, a wan smile.

“You know, back when you asked me in the prisons, I knew where your mentor was, all along,” the Cockatrice said. “I could never forget a hag like her. After I had killed her, I went the extra length to bury her underneath the rubble, to be trodden underfoot by my Beasts. I never wanted to see her face again for as long as I lived. Still, I dug her up just for you.”

She poked the cold stone cheek of Amanita Zoleil. “You admired her, didn’t you, Ennanis? You wanted to be like her, follow in her footsteps? Well, do you want to know what your peerless, virtuous mentor did?”

The Cockatrice didn’t wait for her answer. She started. Or rather, she continued a story that had been left unfinished.

“The girl named Lark had been accused by her village of poisoning the well. Chased out by her kin, she fled into the forest. She was taken in by a group of strangers—the reviled Beasts. Still, they were far kinder than any humans or angels in her life, and so there she stayed. They raised her, and she became their family, as they became hers.

“When Lark was fourteen years old, she was out in a nearby town, buying bread for her den. On the way back, she happened to pass by an angel sitting by the fountain. She had long red hair, and robes that haloed her like white sunlight. She was reading to a bunch of children gathered at her feet. Lark, unable to hold back her excitement, joined the circle.

“The angel gladly allowed her to join. As it turned out, she was reading a book of ancient folktales. In the folktales there were often legendary creatures, animals that spoke and walked on two feet and wore human faces, some ghastly cryptids meant to scare children into obedience, others revered as protective spirits. Lark recognised many of these Beasts. After the story’s conclusion, she approached the angel and eagerly discussed these creatures with her.

“The angel seemed very taken with what Lark had to say. She introduced herself to the little girl as Amanita Zoleil. Amanita took her out for treats and sightseeing all day. At the end of the day, she told the girl to come by the fountain in future.

“Despite the Beasts’ warnings about not talking to angels, Lark continued to go to the fountain, where Amanita would be waiting. They would spend the day together. Amanita took Lark out hunting, to the library, to museums. Lark thought that she had made a cool, grown-up friend, and followed along happily. Sometimes, she would let slip details about her family too, just leaving out their nature of being Beasts. Only, of course, she didn’t know the angel’s true nature, either. Amanita Zoleil, the famed Beast huntress.

“One day, on her birthday, Amanita gave her a single poppy flower to tie in her hair. Once Lark was home in the den, everyone in the vicinity of the enchanted poppy soon fell drowsy.

“Right at that moment, an angel with flaming red hair crashed through the roof of the den. It was called the Vermillion Massacre. In front of Lark’s eyes, she slaughtered over half the Beasts before she was eventually warded off. But before she left, she stole Lark into her arms, flew out into the forest, and asked the girl if she wanted to join her. The angel said that she could rescue her from the Beasts’ den, said that she would teach her. Said she could train her into a fine citizen, have Lark use her sunblood powers for good.

“You know what Lark did? She punched her in the face and ran away. She’s had no greater wish than to kill her, ever since.”

Wind blew between them.

“So, what do you think? After hearing my story?” the Cockatrice said. “Did you know this about Amanita Zoleil? You know, she’s not dead yet.” She ran light fingers over the effigy’s stone neck. “Merely frozen. There may yet be a cure for this affliction, a reversal for petrification. As long as no one touches the angel’s mortal weakness, she will simply be forever young. Heh. As young as that hag can be.”

“I… had no idea she did those things. But please,” Ennanis breathed heavily, “spare her.”

“Why? Don’t you think she deserves death? Shouldn’t a murderer be brought to justice? Isn’t that what an angel does? Isn’t that what you’ve done, to so many others?” the Cockatrice replied. She took a step back, gesturing at the statue. “I’ll even let you do the honours.”

“........”

The Cockatrice’s smile widened. “Don’t worry, wallflower, you don’t have to answer. I know why you won’t do it. Because she’s the one person you have ever cared for in your life. And I’m going to enjoy being the one… to take her away from you.”

She stepped up behind the frozen Amanita again, wrapping her arms around her as if in a childish embrace. Her fingers walked out from the statue’s ribs, then to its sculpted arms.

As if suddenly shaken out from a stupor, Ennanis’ wings snapped—she soared for the Beast, arms outstretched. But, just as she was too late to save Brigadier Rodwyn, just as she was too late to save Kikko Apple—she was simply too slow.

Amanita’s wrists snapped like eggshells. The Cockatrice flung the two severed hands into the pile of rock below her. And the pedestal crumbled, bringing her and Amanita down with it.

Ennanis let out a horrible, strangled yell.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” She dove after the woman.

“Why so distraught?” the Cockatrice called out. “Doesn’t knowing what she did change anything?”

“I,” Ennanis seethed. “I, don’t, care! You’re a monster! You’re all monsters! She should’ve killed every last one of you that day, and since she didn’t, I’ll be the one to fucking do it!!!”

“Hm,” the Cockatrice mused. “I would’ve guessed so. You really do care about her, after all.”

“Raaaaaaaaugh!” Ennanis launched herself at her, wings ablaze.

The Cockatrice turned and ran for her life.

Soleki beams slammed all around them, exploding the surrounding statues into dust. Ennanis had lost all sense of rationality or reservation. She was blind, firing and punching and screaming, not even knowing where she was flying anymore as she chased the Cockatrice out of the quarry and into the forest beyond.

Her body sheening with magic, she tore through the trees after the sprinting Cockatrice. Bark went up in flames, torching grass and flower. For the grey-belted soldiers who watched from the first and second peaks, it must have seemed like an incredible forest fire, tendrils of smoke curling into the air, bleeding the night sky orange.

But without the sun to watch her, Ennanis could’ve never lasted long. In mere minutes, her magic puttered out. The glow around her body faded. She felt a mighty wave of tiredness crashing over her, like an ocean come to claim her, and she found herself dragged down to the forest floor with it, tattered wings like seafoam.

She barely had the strength to roll over, but she did. When she saw her own body, through her blurry vision, bile rose in her throat. Her muscles had wasted away, leaving her limbs thin and flabby, beneath greyed-out skin. The knobs of her bones jutted out from her limbs, her ribcage popping out from her tattered uniform. She could feel every joint in her groaning, searing at the slightest intake of breath from her.

She threw up. Her head dropped to the dirt. The ground smelled like vomit and animal dung and burnt carrion. Ennanis couldn’t see where the Cockatrice went anymore. But it didn’t matter now. She already knew that she wasn’t going to make it.

She had withered. Withering was unhealable and irreversible. She would never stand again.

The fire around her crept closer. It was warm, almost like a welcoming hearth. But even that wouldn’t be enough to take her away from her misery. For an angel could not die that way.

So, with her last remaining strength, Ennanis removed her right armbrace.

And snapped her own wrist.

At the age of nineteen, Ennanis Zoleil died.

But before that, lying face-down in the filthy earth, she squeezed her eyes shut and made a wish.

And from the sky, a light like a comet fell—buzzing and electric-blue.

Like a gentle dream, it floated in front of her eyes. With her last breath, the rose-haired angel reached out and caught it in her palm. It wrapped around her right index finger, clutching tightly to it like a baby.

When Ennanis died, the fires suddenly burst even brighter than before. It would be a long time until the fires quelled, and the forest there would never regrow. It became known as the Phoenix’s Nest, or the Nest for short. For villagers in nearby towns swore up and down that in the deep of night, they spotted a golden, flaming bird rising from amid the smoulder and destruction.

This was the birth of Lienna.

~~~

Commander Ennanis Zoleil returned to the battlefront.

In front of her was a sea of expectant faces. She showed them how Lienna worked: how she could spin sunlight from the dark of night. The shape of a golden ring wound around her finger, it glowed like a flame at her will. When she called its name, she could transform it into a tall spear with a five-pronged tip, keeping all her enemies at a distance.

The greybelts gasped and murmured. In their slitted eyes, something else came alight, too—their gazes began to brim with hope.

Meanwhile, Ennanis’ eyes were darker than ever.

For there were this many faces…

But they were all strangers to her.

You’re the only one left now.

She would let no one else get hurt. Not by her, nor by any other Beast. Not ever again. Never would she stand there as she once had, paralysed as if frozen in stone. She had been given a second, miraculous chance, and she would do everything in her power to hunt down the Cockatrice.

So she made everyone stay on the third peak and beyond. She alone would take watch of the first and second peaks. Armed with Lienna, she would decimate the lines of Beasts for eight years to come, the Cockatrice her prime target.

Thus a new legend was born that night, too.

The legend of the Graveyard Commander.