Arc 7: Chapter 7: The Cupbearer
The angel had six arms and three faces.
The front facing one looked mostly human and young, a youth no older than fourteen, but to either side of it, facing outward, were two other faces. The left looked to be a venerable old man, the right a woman nearing her middle years. Its form was androgynous, with long and flowing hair the color of a stormy sky and toned limbs. It had only one leg, mostly hidden behind garments of spun mist and fractal light. The body beneath was alabaster perfection, white and translucent, carved by an immortal hand into an image of cold, serene beauty.
The spirit floated level with the tops of the trees, its four shining wings poised and still so they seemed more like accessories than the mechanisms of its levitation. Two of the angel’s hands held objects. One balanced a golden cup that spewed misting fumes. The other gripped a long pole with a blade at the end shaped like a crescent moon, some kind of staff or glaive. Both objects blazed with phantasm, as did the halo floating above the spirit’s head.
The halberd was forged from a black metal that gave off an odd sheen. Hithlenic bronze, just like my axe, with sacred gold worked into the alloy.
“Headsman.”The seraph’s voice was a physical shiver in the air, warm and chilling at once. “You should not be here.”
I did my best to hide my shock at the Onsolain’s unexpected appearance. He was a member of the Choir. I’d immediately considered that this might be another Zosite, one of the infernal spirits like the one that’d protected Kross once, but I’d seen this being’s image before, inscribed into religious art and named in sermon.
“Lord Chamael.” Taking a breath to calm myself, I bowed my head to the holy spirit.
The young face at the front of the Onsolain’s uncanny head shifted slightly. His eyes remained closed, and his lips barely moved when he spoke. “Blood still dries upon your blade, Headsman. Explain yourself.”
He had a kindly voice. It reminded me of Eanor — tinged with sadness and compassion at once. Yet, I couldn’t shake the atmosphere of danger I felt. Why was he here?
The Penitents didn’t move — they seemed to be waiting for something. Orders? For me to do something?
“You lead these?” I asked after a minute, indicating the soldiers.