Broken Angels

88

Roland was floating. His arms and legs were bound with strong rope. The moon was high, the snow had stopped, the clouds had lifted. In the light reflected from the luminous white earth he saw many things. He was floating down a narrow canal. On either side were large skeletal structures. He saw a display of a huge storybook, open at the center. He saw a display of stone toadstools. One exhibit looked like the decayed facade of a Norse castle.

The boat was smaller than a dinghy. Roland soon realized he was not the only passenger. Someone was sitting directly behind him. Roland struggled to turn around, but he could not move.

"What do you want from me?" Roland asked.

The voice came in a soft whisper, inches from his ear. "I want you to stop the winter."

What is he talking about?

"How… how can I do that? How can I stop the winter?"

There was a long silence, just the sound of the wooden boat tapping the icy stone walls of the canal as it moved through the maze.

"I know who you are," came the voice. "I know what you've been doing. I've known all along."

A black dread descended upon Roland. Moments later the boat stopped in front of a derelict display to Roland's right. The exhibit contained large snowflakes made of moldering pine, a rusted iron stove with a long neck and tarnished brass knobs. Leaning against the stove were a broom handle and oven scraper. In the middle of the display was a throne made of sticks and twigs. Roland could see the green of the recently snapped branches. The throne was new.

Roland struggled against the ropes, against the nylon belt around his neck. The Lord had abandoned him. He had sought the devil so long, only for it to end like this.

The man stepped around him, to the front of the boat. Roland looked into his eyes. He saw the reflection of Charlotte's face.

Sometimes it's the devil you know.

Beneath the quicksilver moon, the devil leaned forward, gleaming knife in hand, and cut out Roland Hannah's eyes.