‘What sort of bird was that? Is it from our homeland?’
Pitch had forgotten the sorcerers were present. Now Macha’s voice filled the quiet of the chamber . Gabriel withdrew his wings, taking the light and the wildness with him. Pitch swung gently under his constraints, feeling vapid enough to be blown away by the merest breeze.
‘That was no replica of any creature of Elyssiam, nor Arcadia.’ Iblis, with Azazel within, stared at the box in Gabriel’s hands like a starving dog at a bone. ‘It was likely a whimsy of the creator.’
‘I rather thought it a peacock,’ Gabriel said, caressing the lid as he turned away.
‘You would.’ Pitch snorted his derision, and gods it hurt. Blood dribbled from his nose. And he didn’t even get a rise out of the angel for his troubles.
‘It is a simurgh.’
The voice had everyone looking about, even Pitch, whose weariness was like chainmail.
‘You dare interrupt his grace?’ Harut, who’d been as quiet as the fae all this time put on his best air of righteousness. Pitch tried to turn his head, but that was a terrible idea, one that left him dizzy and gasping.
‘I don’t need your interference, Watcher. Stand down.’ Iblis scowled as Azazel reprimanded. ‘What did you say, lorebider? Step forward, all of you.’
Three elves stepped into view. Their armour bore large crests upon the chest-plates. Various animal parts; a pair of rabbit ears, a galloping horse, and, a dubious choice, a goat with ridged horns that flicked upwards at their needle-point tips. Below the various animals, all three etchings bore an identical crown, with three upright prongs, each like an elaborate leaf, one at the front of the head, the other two set over the ears.
The ears of the Erlking, he didn’t doubt.
Harut came with them, glowering when one of them did not stand to attention in quite the precise way he preferred. He hissed something to the elf who quickly adjusted his stance. The lorebider who stood at the centre brushed his icy gaze over Pitch as his comrade was quietly berated.
‘What the fuck are you staring at.’ That is what Pitch sought to say. What came out was the gibberish of an infant. The lorebider’s gaze shifted to Pitch’s face, and this time their eyes met. He felt the strangest urge not to flinch.
‘Ignore him,’ Iblis commanded, Azazel keeping silent. ‘Tell me what you know of the creature. It is not of the Faelands and neither of our lords recognise if from Arcadia or Elyssiam. How is it that you know it?’
‘Where it hails from hardly matters,’ Gabriel muttered. ‘The Seraph probably dreamed it in a fevered sleep. He was not master of all his faculties in the end.’
Iblis set Azazel’s eyes upon him, the lick of flame rising. ‘You will know that better than us, but he was the highest of all angels, and his attention to the finest detail was well known, a symptom of the obsessive nature of his personality. So I disagree that the origins of this creature are unimportant.’
Gabriel grunted. The Archangel had eyes only for the box he held.
‘Tell me what you know.’ Iblis delivered Azazel’s command with aplomb.
The lorebider licked his lips, taking his sweet time to answer. Perhaps he regretted saying a word, he should do. He was taller than the other two, but decent height was not so remarkable in the Faelands, where all tended towards lean as reeds and just as liable to grow high. His armour was suitably gleaming and catching the light in a way that made his companions’ seem dulled. The crest he bore altering its design from respectable galloping horse to the goat. In fact, all three of the chest-plates were doing the same. Rotating through the three animal types. Lokke was a showman of the highest degree.
‘It is nothing, your grace. I have spoken out of turn.’Nowthe elf realised.
‘Indeed.’ Iblis stepped in closer, and the guard did not move. Rather large balls on this one. ‘But you seemed very certain. Speak up now, quickly.’
Pitch was terribly dizzy, the room was swaying. And he felt so gutted, he wondered if he lived at all. Maybe he watched from the far side of death…maybe a large ankou would stride in shortly and do something untoward with his corpse. Pitch’s laughter nearly killed him, at least the jerk of his ribs felt murderous, but the room's inhabitants ignored the strange grunts and jerks coming from their prisoner.
The lorebider nodded, but hardly seemed pleased with being made to speak. ‘At first glance the creature reminded me of a simurgh, but perhaps I’m wrong.’
Gabriel frowned. ‘And what is this simurgh?’
A clearing of the throat enabled another delay. The lorebider’s winter-lake eyes raised to Pitch briefly. Did this elf have a fetish for a beaten body? His gaze was penetrating, disconcerting.
‘They are a mythical creature, from ancient human folklore. The Persians, I believe.’
‘Folklore?’ Iblis was haughty. And it was Iblis rather than the Exarch. ‘Then it exists only in the heads of simpletons, or on dusty pages.’
‘See,’ Gabriel declared. ‘A whimsy of the creator, just as I said.’
‘You said no such thing, I did.’ Azazel returned.
‘Either way,’ Gabriel was steely, cradling the box against his belly. ‘There is nothing of note in the design. The simurgh is a fairy tale.’
