Dogs of the Father: A Legion Fanfiction - Episode 1: Little Prophet

Chapter 4

Cold permeated Gabriel's flesh and crept into his bones like an icy sepulcher. How long had he lain upon the dirt? Time had no meaning. There was only the next breath, the next shiver, and the pain.

The wind howled an ominous, vengeful song. Where was she? It seemed like forever since the Prophet had left to go and fetch supplies. What would he do if the Prophet left for good? She often told him how much she despised him, but the diligence with which she cared for him told him a different story. At least he hoped she didn't hate him.

Maybe she'd finally abandoned him?

For the first time in his life, Gabriel felt afraid.

He struggled to roll over, but no matter how hard he tried, he felt so heavy he could not make his body move. "Serve me!" he commanded his fingers, but they clenched into frightened fists which trembled from the cold.

"Sonofabitch!" The wind carried her voice like an offering to his ears.

His heart leaped, though whether it was gratitude, or joy, he could not give the strange emotion a label. Blasphemous words floated to his ears, but the light of heaven radiated out of her curse-words. Give me an order? Please? His teeth chattered as he gave the prayer.

Of all the sons of heaven, Gabriel had always been the most obedient angel, obedient without question, eager to serve without a fault. If there was one defining trait which he could point to about himself and be proud of, it was his unquestioningly loyalty and obedience. Obedience sat at the core of who he was.

A small, cool hand touched his forehead, and then moved down to touch the hole Michael had cut into his belly. He turned to face her voice, for some locomotion had returned to his neck, but his eyes refused to focus enough to see anything except a blurry oval of white surrounded by darker hair. He focused instead upon her scent, fruity and feminine beneath the bitter taste of desert dust. It reminded him of the fruit which grew upon the forbidden tree.

"Listen," the Prophet said. "I don't know if this will work, but there's this tree thing that appeared on my arm when I said you needed antibiotics, and then I looked up and there was that exact same tree. Right there in the middle of the dessert, go figure?"

She lifted up his tunic and smeared something sticky over the wound in his abdomen, bitter and astringent, not quite pine sap, but something similar. He recalled smelling the scent at other times, but never had it been so pungeant. As though, for the first time in his life, he was noticing what he smelled.

A sharp sting bit into his flesh. Gabriel flinched, but while she did not coddle him, her touch was compassionate, even if it wasn't gentle. He was acutely aware that, if she wanted to kill him, he lay helpless at her mercy.

"Anyways," the Prophet said, "there was this stuff oozing out of the branches. I read this novel once where the heroine used tree-sap to fight infection. So, I mean, it can't hurt, can it? I might as well give it a try."

She then moved to smear the sticky substance on other injured places on his body. Gabriel clenched his jaw, refusing to let her hear him cry out as, one damaged piece of skin at a time reminded him that he had skin. All morning, there had been this inexplicable discomfort in his lower abdomen, deep inside, beneath the place where Michael had sliced him with his sword. The pain felt urgent, insistent, telling him to do something, but he could not remember what. Maybe it was just the infection? Angel flesh wasn't supposed to putrefy, but he wasn't an angel any longer, was he?

"That's all I was able to get." The Prophet wiped her hands on the hem of his tunic. "If it works, I'll hike back to the Joshua tree tomorrow and see if I can't get a little more to help fight that nasty infection. Okay?"