Airel (29 page)

Chapter II

We got on the freeway. I didn’t begin to relax until after we were headed out of town and on our way to Sun Valley. I didn’t hear a single thing more from Kreios. I was still in awe and speechless about that whole thing.

The road was long and wide open out there, just desert. We flew on at a comfortable 85, ten over the limit, which was as far as I wanted to push it. I was in my own world. I didn’t look at Kim the whole time, and it wasn’t until we had stopped for gas outside of Mountain Home, an Air Force town, that an opportunity presented itself. 

She had just come back from a much deserved break in the powder room while I searched the Yukon for a way to buy gas. Her voice was slow and shaky—not at all like her. “Are you going to talk to me?” She let the question fall to the ground, flat.

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine, nothing’s broken. Now talk to me.”

I paused. “Kim… I can tell you some, but not all. It’s just too much to take in all at once.” I heard in my voice the
exact
same tone and attitude that Kale—Kreios—had used on me, and it burned my pride fiercely. I tried for the save: “Anyway, some things I just have to show you.” 

She didn’t look like she was buying it. 

I wondered how much I could tell her—would she reject me as a friend now that I was a proven freak? Not all human? I considered it. I didn’t think she would, but the thought of how important it was to keep this a secret; and with Kim’s big mouth, everything was in play. Never mind my feelings. Could I trust her to keep this under wraps?

“Ariel, I won’t tell anyone. I swear on my life!” 

What! You’re reading minds, to,o now?
I sighed, swiped a card in the reader that I had found in the console, and started the pump. “The only way to tell you is to start from the beginning. Do you remember when I started getting sick?”

“Yeah, I asked if you were preggers.” She laughed. 

This girl is resilient.
“Classic…” 

The rest poured out over the next few hours as we drove on. I told her everything—everything I knew up to that point. 

I told her about the Book and the way it kept changing, like how I could read a story one day, and the next a new one would be in its place. I wanted to write in it so badly that a few times I almost had. I didn’t know what that might do, however, and I wasn’t sure if the book would work that way. 

Kim had put her hand to her mouth, shaking her head in protest. The way she received it was all amazement and joy, just like a child. She was more excited than I was, and wanted to see for herself how I could heal. 

The cigarette lighter and my sizzling hand cured her of that particular curiosity, and she clapped in glee when my hand returned to its fair milky color. She had already noticed my clear complexion, as well as the life in my hair. I wondered if my metamorphosis from what I
was
to what I was
becoming
would end soon, or if it would be ongoing.
For how long? 

It was difficult when I got to the point in the story where Michael’s total betrayal was realized. She had trouble believing that part. “Airel, for what it’s worth, I think he really did have feelings for you. Otherwise, why would he leave you that note? If you were just a job, a mission… then he would have just gone, without a second look.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t know how to trust anymore.” The truth was that I was vulnerable, and it wouldn’t take much either way. 

“I just want to hate him, to forget I ever met him. Is this pain worth the love I have for him, to know it was all a lie?” My heart was so broken and with each memory I felt like it was just breaking all over again. 

Why couldn’t I get past this? All I wanted was to move on and be done—it hurt far too much, and I couldn’t make sense of it. I wanted him to disappear completely, as completely as he had betrayed me. 

“I don’t know Airel, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“Why did he do it, Kim?” I was having trouble seeing the road. “Why did he try so hard? Why did he let me fall in love with him, knowing the whole time that he was baiting me into a trap? Why not at least just be a friend, and get close that way; why lead me on like this? Does he hate me that much?”

Kim didn’t have any answers, and neither did I.

Chapter III

1250 B.C. Arabia

“Hold until I make contact.”
Kreios stood alone, the Shadowers’ gift cutting a divot around his position, leaving him exposed and fully visible to the enemy on the moonlit little hill.
“I want them to believe they are fighting only one.”

The clanking ripping sounds of the demonic army came through the night to the angels much clearer now as the horde began to emerge from the forest in a swarm, torches held high. 

This was the kind of day for which he had been made. Kreios felt the leeching pull of the horde begin to try to attack him, but the Sword deflected it, even adding to his reserve.
“Stand ready the trumpet…”

The army ascended the hill, weapons and teeth bared.

Kreios stood still, resolute. 

Like the point of a spear, the first wave of the horde attack converged on Kreios, assuming he was ready to martyr himself, and that the fight would be over before it had started. Wicked men and demons ran on top of each other and killed one another in order to be the first to reach Kreios and snuff his life. 

“Trumpeter, sound the attack.”
Kreios held up the Sword, and Glory sprang forth from it in long spiraling webs of light. The enemy army threw up their hands to cover their eyes but it was too late. Blindness overcame them and they fell, crying out in agony, crashing to the earth, clawing at their eyes. Their coming damnation was revealed to them by the light of the Sword; the trumpet resounded, and the Shadowers covered Kreios. The first angelic wave charged immediately, killing two or three of the cowering horde with each strike of the blade, axe, mace.

Kreios moved lightly, wading through the horde, parrying, stabbing, cutting. The thirteen at Kreios’s side were unmatched. One of them, Veridon, at least a head above the rest, wielded the mace and took three or four of the enemy with each swing. The demons attacked each other in panic as they tried to meet with their invisible enemy. 

A monstrous man worked his way toward Kreios, keying on the body parts that were being thrown outward from where he stood. A massive club was in his hands, dripping with blood. Spikes protruded from its working surface. Kreios leaped into the air, Sword held high, and brought it down squarely on the man’s crown, splitting his massive head in two. A fountain of black blood rushed forth from the man’s wound as he fell to the earth, flopping like a headless fish. Kreios saw that this hordesman was still unmanifest, his Brother still hiding within him.
“Some have not yet divided their forms!”
The message was received, and the angelic army engaged the deception.

The Seer hovered above the trees, robes billowing wickedly, chanting in ancient tongue a powerful spell. With upraised hands he finished the incantation and red flame sprung up from his feet, licking at his body to a point well above his head, removing his human form from view, casting an eerie light on the battlefield. The incantation created a massive shroud over the field of battle.

Slowly, the gift of the Shadowers began to recede. The angelic army on the ground was no longer hidden, the protective shadow pierced by the power of the Seer’s diabolical shroud. The angelic army at Kreios’s side came into full view of the enemy. The tide on the battlefield turned, and Kreios saw his warriors begin to fall quickly before the demonic horde.

Kreios could feel his anger rise; he could sense each one of his men as they died, could hear them cry out in his mind.
How could the Seer have known of our Shadowers?
He did not allow himself to think about the treachery of the council now. 

He searched through the ether for the mind of Yamanu.
“You must engage your troops now, Yamanu. We fight to the death from here on.”
The angelic second wave moved in thunderously, and there was the sound in the treetops of a great army. Kreios breathed more freely as fresh troops landed at his side, and the spent troops retreated to the safety of Yamanu’s shadow in the air. The angels were much stronger than the Brotherhood, but the advantage was short-lived. If not for the Sword, all would be lost.

Kreios took stock again. The thirteen at his side were still strong. They did not feel the drain. Veridon, to his right, stood face-to-face with four hordesmen, bleeding them in a single stroke, hewing them where they stood. Kreios dodged an enemy stab from his left, spun fluidly, brought the Sword back around, and took the fool’s head off. 

The angels on the ground, refreshed, roared lustily and charged into battle.

The troops now moved like lightning, but Kreios could feel the death of yet another number of angels from behind him. 

His hand was forced.
“Assemble, Army of El! Rally to my position!—
TO ME!” His voice rang out into the red night. An answering roar came from the horde and they charged forward. 

Down from the heavens came Yamanu’s contingent, barely refreshed. Gladly they came back to the restoring source of the Sword; a veritable link to heaven itself. Kreios quickly counted heads and estimated that their numbers had been cut down by nearly one hundred.

Together, the angelic army made progress. Though they made an easy target being grouped in a single unit, the problem for the horde was being able to get at them—the angels were very strong in the vicinity of the Sword. 

Attacks were repelled with ferocity, and the horde army lost hundreds as they threw themselves against the bulwarks of the angelic formation. It threw them into confusion for some time. Kreios exploited the situation by retreating to the high ground, forcing the horde to come and get them by climbing up the little open hill after them. It seemed the advantage in battle was swinging back to him, and he considered his options as he lopped off yet another enemy head.

The horde flowed up the side of the small hill like water, and the Seer hovered over the mass of men and demons like a protective father. They kept coming and coming; as if in the forest they were breeding and multiplying. Kreios was amazed by their numbers. He only wanted to get to the Seer and finish him, but that was not yet an option. 

Blood and gore covered the glowing angels as they fought in the open, exposed, the Shadowers unable to overcome the Seer’s powerful incantation of black magic. The horde then regrouped at the rear of their formation, their strategy changing. 

The demons reentered their hosts, the possessed men grew wild, and their eyes blazed: together they were stronger. This new concentration of force was then sent against the angelic army and smashed against it with great force. Kreios felt the pain of many more of his army fall in that moment. They tried to hold the horde at bay, but their defenses were failing and they were weakening. He counted again. He was down to only around twenty. Of the thirteen that had fought by his side, only three remained, including Veridon. To his great joy, Yamanu was still among the living. 

Kreios’ mind was invaded with the thought of death and walking through the door. Even now it called to him.

He paused for an instant as the battle continued to rage around him. Weapons clashed; oaths and curses were flying. 

He inverted his Sword and rested the tip of the blade on the ground, kneeling, bowing his head, resting it on the pommel at the opposite end in prayer. He closed his eyes as warmth and power from the Sword radiated throughout his body. He ran down the corridors of his mind to the Door.

He could see it with his eyes closed. It was standing there, solitary, precisely how he felt: alone, exposed. Time was relentlessly flowing past him as he paused between realities, and he knew that the longer he tarried, the more dangerous the situation in battle became for all of them. He ran to the door and opened it. Beyond was a dark hole, nothing visible on the other side. 

He stepped through, knowing that he had been driven to the ends of his choices, that this was the last one remaining to him. It felt like he was falling, but the darkness was so thick it was impossible to tell. He reached out into the dark void in his mind. Suddenly it was there, not in fields of grass, but in the dark this time, and invisible: The Sword of Light. His eyes flew open, and he snapped back to his body, knowing what must be done. 

Standing, he took the Sword in his hands. With a great battle cry, he launched himself upward, the Sword held above him, pointing menacingly at the shroud concocted by the Seer. He rocketed straight up into the heavens on a trail of pure white fire, and lodged the Sword deeply into the shroud itself, sinking it all the way to the hilt. It had pierced the Seer’s wicked spell.

Cracks appeared in the firmament, and light was breaking through, ripping the shroud of the Seer’s black magic asunder. Great chunks of it broke free and began to fall on the horde, dousing the red fire in pure heavenly light. The horde army stood in stark terror as the light began to filter through, revealing all; and even the Seer cowered, raising the sleeve of his garment to cover his face. He fell to the earth awkwardly, landing in a heap. 

White light flooded down from the Sword as the night began to crumble away like rubble. Kreios was lifted up, the grips of the Sword in his hand, and as he wielded it, awaiting the coming rout of the enemy mob, power and light like the sun poured from the blade over the remnant of the angelic army, enfolding them in its invincible protection. This, then, was the Presence of God—despite their decision to leave paradise for their other love—El never abandoned His children, especially in their darkest hour. 

The Sword began to hum a high-pitched song, and as it did, even the rocks of the dark dome of night cried out, broke apart, and fell to the ground. Shining brightly, Kreios descended now, and landed with a stone face set toward the battle. 

The horde army was stunned. They stared at it like children, and a new feeling washed over them: deep and abiding fear.

All was deathly quiet and still for an instant. The battlefield stood frozen. The angels on the high ground, about twenty in number, and the horde masses on the plain and in the forest, were all still. The Seer regained his feet, limping, trying to heal, seeking the power of the bloodstone. The Sword was raised in Kreios’s hand, and he spoke simply, quietly, eyes blazing. “Trumpeter, sound the charge.”

The Trumpet sounded forth with mighty blast, and it shook the hill. At its sounding, the angelic remnant took to the air in an instant, hovering at the ready, motionless again in brief pause, bristling with weapons. The horde army stood in shock, for all their numbers, and defeat called soothingly to them, begged them bow down with her and die. 

The angels blasted out into the horde with the force of a powder keg, wilting the enemy infantry, breaking their line, decisively smashing and crushing them into oblivion as they went.

Kreios noticed Yamanu; his weapon shone like the Sword of Light—in fact, as he looked around him he saw that all the angelic weapons had the same halo around them. Angels were arcing on shallow trajectories into the air in short bursts, careening back to earth, and enemy body parts and blood flew outward from their impacts. They would loop up into the air again, readying to deliver their next blow. The angels were killing over a hundred of the Brotherhood at a stroke, and soon, inevitably, the will of the evil army was broken. Command and control of the Seer hung by a thread.  

Atop a heap of the bodies of his own men, the Seer stood with black robes billowing in the light of a supernatural midday. For the first time that many of the angels had seen, he had a weapon in his hand: a staff of obsidian, whichemanated darkness.

Kreios said to the remnant in a small but commanding voice, “Go and find any who have escaped. Kill them; there shall be no mercy for these.” Yamanu took them and flew to reconnoiter the remains.

Kreios removed his blood-soaked and stinking cloak, letting it fall to the ground at his feet, revealing his gleaming burnished breastplate. He pointed the tip of his Blade directly at the Seer, and from the distance between them, called him by name. “Tengu! You
shall
bend the knee!” A howling screech of agony greeted him in response. Kreios’s body rippled with white light, making his birthmarks gleam in silver and gold. The Sword was perfection, glowing as if it had just been drawn from the forge.

“No, Kreios!”
He spoke in spitting disgust, firing out barbs of speech like wet wood on hot coals.
“I shall not bend the knee!” 

“You are wrong; you have been marked and you have been overmatched. Bend the knee you shall; if I must kill you to bring it about more quickly—I am ready.” Kreios took to the air very slowly, sizing up his prey, waiting for him to show a chink in his armor. 

The Seer laughed raucously.
“You cannot kill me, Kreios!”
There was a long pause as they sized one another up; the Seer on his mound of flesh, Kreios riding the air.
“You would not kill your own brother… would you?”
He held his staff aloft, brushing his dripping hood back, letting it fall around his shoulders. He moved the head of the staff in a hypnotic series of circular motions, bathing himself in the light that now streamed down on them from heaven above, raising his face to it, feeling the unfamiliar warmth. The act was sacrilegious. It was clear in that light that he bore a likeness to the angel Kreios. 

The Seer called his name, singing it like a child’s lullaby.
“Krei-os,”
He laughed hideously, his face marred by beauty; its features uncomfortably hung and draped over emptiness. He was a picture of what once might have been lovely, but the thought of such things was fleeting and repulsive, out of place. 

Without any warning, The Seer’s host changed in appearance, becoming a withered old man, and he cried out in agony. Kreios lunged forward. The Seer was manifesting into two forms, and he needed to kill the host before the demon Brother could emerge. If he successfully split, the kill would be much more complicated. 

A black bat-like wing protruded. Kreios was closing fast; he raised the Sword and hacked it off as he landed on the heap of bodies, the end of the wing skittering off, curling inward upon itself, rolling into a ball and finally exploding in a pungent whiff of sulfur. The Seer’s scream was surreal, being a mix of host and demonic parasite.