Free Descent of Angels by Mitchel Scanlon Page B

beast’s widening mouth as the black void of its maw expanded to swallow him whole.
    If he were to be left any headstone or grave marker, it would take the form of a regurgitated bolus created sometime later, incorporating only those parts of him that were indigestible to his killer.
    This was the end he expected. The creature had seemed too strong, too formidable, and far too primal a force to ever be killed.
    But for Brother Amadis, those thoughts would have been correct.
    He would keep these thoughts from his fellows when he told the tale. He would be asked to tell the story often, but he realised no one wanted to hear of his private doubts. They wanted to hear something more stirring, full of heroic exploits and the expression of valour, something that spoke of the inevitable triumph of good over evil.
    It was human nature, he supposed, but his listeners expected him to be the hero of his story. They wanted him to be confident, wise, debonair, unflappable, dashing, handsome, charismatic, even inspiring. The truth was that at the time he had fully expected to fail. He had not allowed that thought to undermine his resolve, but it was there all the same.
    No one wanted to hear that truth.
    No one wanted to know their heroes could have feet of clay.
    Occasionally, in the brief quiet moments he would experience in the life ahead of him, he would wonder at the folly of human judgements.
    To his mind, his victory had been more special precisely because he had been afraid.
    His fellow supplicants, however, seemed to think it was improper to speak of the emotion at all. It was as if fear was a secret shame in every human heart, and his listeners wanted to be reassured that their heroes did not feel it, as though it meant they might one day be freed from their own fear.
    It seemed to Zahariel that this was wrong. The only way to overcome fear was to confront it. To pretend it did not exist, or might somehow disappear one day, only made it worse.

BOOK TWO
    BEAST

FIVE
    Y EARS PASSED, AND Zahariel’s standing within the Order grew. His fight with the winged monster of the woods had almost cost him his life, but it had been the making of him. The senior masters of the Order knew his name, and though the monster had been slain by Brother Amadis, the knight had ensured that every member of the Order knew of Zahariel’s bravery in fighting it.
    The dead boys were buried with full honours, and life went on as before, with the supplicants training and living within the walls of the fortress monastery on the road to becoming knights.
    Zahariel spent more time than ever honing his skills with pistol and blade, more than ever determined that he would not be at the mercy of another beast in his lifetime. The next time he faced a monster of Caliban, he would be ready to kill it without a moment’s pause.
    As the latest lesson concluded, Master Ramiel said, ‘Always remember, you are more than just killers. Any fool can take a knife and try to push it into his enemy’s flesh. He may attempt to strike, feint and parry with the blade. Given some instruction, he may even become proficient. But you are more than that, or you will be. You are knights-supplicant of the Order, but in future, you will be the protectors of the people of Caliban.’
    ‘Fine words, eh?’ said Nemiel, moving to one of the rest benches and picking up a linen towel to mop his face.
    ‘Fine indeed,’ agreed Zahariel, ‘just as fine as the first hundred times I heard them.’
    The lesson had been spent mastering the principle of the inner circle sword defence, and both boys were lathered in sweat from the sparring session. Though honours were still more or less even between them, Nemiel had begun to claw ahead in their perpetual rivalry.
    ‘Master Ramiel does love to quote the Verbatim .’
    ‘True, but I think he thinks we’re all like Attias, writing down every pithy quote we hear.’
    ‘Well, so long as we master the fighting, I can live with hearing a few