House of Ravens (The Nightfall Chronicles Book 2) (4 page)

"So you follow simply because I am stronger than you."

"Because you exist, Darkness. The Almighty would not have created beings as you, if you were not meant to guide us. Just as he would not have created animals, if they were not meant to be our food." He believes in a hierarchy, a pyramid of power. I do not. He appears to note my silence, and bows lower. "If I have offended—"

"You have not."

He bows lower still and holds out his hand. "A blessing, Darkness."

I do not believe I am a God, but I believe in hope, and so I touch his hand with mine. "My blessings upon you, Allen." The words are the best I can come up with. They seem to be enough.

Allen smiles and returns to work, driving nails into wood faster than before. I walk inside the Cathedral which has been painted the colors of the Twilight Court: one half gold, the other black. I take the stairs toward voices that grow louder as I approach. I let myself into the room we've set aside as our meeting place. Inside, Zorin, TR and Trix sit at a large round table made of one solid piece of wood. A fire roars beside them, filling the space with the scent of pine. They've added a red carpet to the room, to cut down the draft of stone floors, but there's more work to do. Spider webs still hang in the corners and old paintings, covered in layers of dust, still hang on the walls.

Zorin taps his pale fingers on the table. Unlike me, he wears no mask. His entire life is devoted to The Dark Templars. "We need more Nephilim."

TR snickers. His dark blonde hair is messy and a growth of stubble on his chin proves he hasn't shaved in days. "How will you control them? What if one of them goes out on their own and creates an army?"

"Without Nephilim," Zorin says, "we don't stand a chance against the Orders."

TR glares across the table. "I've fought the Orders for years."

Zorin raises his voice, scowling. "And look how much you've accomplished."

TR jumps out of his chair and slams his fist on the table. "If you create more Nephilim, you'll be the death of this rebellion."

"The death of this rebellion?" Zorin laughs. "The death of this rebellion will be the men and women you're letting move in outside the Cathedral. They're fixing houses, putting up fences. Is this our base of operations or a summer retreat?"

Trix sighs, swiping the red hair from her face. "We're only allowing a few dozen trusted people to move in. None of them will leak our location."

"When they are tortured, they will talk," Zorin says softly.

"Some of them have been tortured before, I can assure you—"

"Enough." I don't say it loudly, but they freeze and stare at me. I march up to the table and face Zorin. I'm tired of this bickering. "The people stay. If we are to inspire hope, we need to be seen. The Nephilim have returned. The people need to know we fight for them." I study the papers on the table. Maps of New York City, maps of Italy. "And TR is right. We can't create more Nephilim. Not while we're still organizing."

Zorin shakes his head, pushing back his black hair. "When the Orders come for you, and they
will
come, you will want Nephilim to stand beside you. Not a few humans and Zeniths."

I step forward, towering over him as I stand. "No new Nephilim."

He grits his jaw, his blue eyes fierce, but then bows his head, resigned.

I turn to Trix. "Have you received any messages from the other rebel groups?"

She nods and sips from a gold cup. The drink is red, smells like wine. "We've received messages all right, but they aren't good, N. No one wants to meet with you."

I expected some to decline, but not all. I thought a few would appreciate how I destroyed the aircraft when I confronted Ragathon. I'd hoped others would at least be curious to meet a Nephilim. "Did they give a reason?"

"'If Jaxton Lux declined her offer, then why shouldn't I?' I told them you secured my escape. It didn't help."

If Jax had come with me that day, so much would be different. He would be here, helping us plan. He would know my identity, and we would… no, I can't think of what may have happened. I can only think of what must happen next.

"Contact them again," I say. "Tell them I have outsmarted Ragathon, Grandmaster of the Inquisition, twice. And when I do so for the third time, with their help, it will be to end the Inquisition."

Trix whistles. "Big words, N."

"Too big," says TR. "The Red Eagles and Sons of Eden will think you're bluffing."

"I'm not. Tell them."

Trix nods. "Alright, N, but if you ask me, you need to focus on something smaller first. Something that can show the leaders you can win this war."

She's got a point. I'll have to make a list of possible small victories that could draw the leaders' attention. I need them to help end the Inquisition. But first, I need them to stop their daily attacks. They are foolish, and innocents are dying.

"More Nephilim would draw their attention." Zorin sips from a silver cup. The drink is also red, but it's not wine. The scent stirs my hunger.

I rein it in. "We won't create new Nephilim, but we can search for old ones." I point at Zorin. "You were kept alive. There must be others."

The door behind me creaks. A parched voice speaks. "You will find none." I spin, drawing my mother's sword. An old man, cloaked in black, a thick shackle on each wrist, stands before me. "You will find none," he says. "Except me."

Zorin puts a hand on my shoulder. "I know him," he says. "His name is Carter. He served me, long ago. He can be trusted."

I don't trust anyone. Not since my parents ripped apart my life with secrets. "What are you doing here?" I ask Carter.

The man frowns at my hostility. "I thought I was the last, but then I saw you on the networks. I wish to help."

His eyes are gentle. If he's a Nephilim, then he's on our side. He must be. "Show me your wings."

"I'm afraid I can't."

"What do you mean—"

"Nightfall." Zorin squeezes my shoulder. "He
is
Nephilim."

"It's alright, Zorin," says Carter, and Zorin lets go. "I can't show you my wings, because I don't have them. They were taken from me."

Such a thing is possible? "How?"

"Nightfall." Zorin tilts his head at Trix and TR. "There are things we don't discuss outside our kind. Weaknesses we do not divulge."

TR frowns. "Are we enemies now?"

"Not yet," growls Zorin.

"I don't care about your weaknesses." TR relaxes in his chair, waving his hand dismissively. "If I wanted you dead, you would be."

Zorin chuckles. "I would crush your bones and cut the eyes from your sockets."

TR smirks. "I've killed Nephilim before. I can do it again."

There is silence. This information is new. TR stands and walks up to Zorin, poking him in the chest with his finger. "I'm here because of Nightfall. I know that Zeniths and Nephilim are people. I know they need to be treated like people. But I also know that not all people are equal. So if you get in my way, I'll put a bullet in your head."

He waits, and Zorin says nothing. TR walks out, slamming the door closed. I want to follow him, ask about his past, but he needs to cool off first.

Carter clears his throat. "Perhaps I'll return later."

"No," I say. "Walk with me." I lead him out the room, down the stairs, and we walk the cobbled paths together.

***

"Your wings were taken. How?" I ask.

He frowns, his pale face creasing. "Long ago, I was an Emzara."

I raise an eyebrow. "Emzara?"

"A soldier of the Twilight Throne," he explains. "I fought many battles. I killed many people. One day, I could kill no more, as if there was a limit to sin, and I had reached mine. I was asked to burn down a church. I could not. Of course, I was captured and sentenced to be executed. Zorin defended me. My sentence was changed. My wings were taken… I do not know the process... and I was ordered to serve Zorin."

"So he became your master?"

"At first, and later he became a friend." His eyes turn fierce. "I would do anything for Zorin."

I point at the thick shackles he wears on each wrist. "What are those?"

"A reminder of my sins," he says jangling them. "When you live as long as I, it is easy to forget."

I stop near the gate, turning to face him. "We have many warriors here. It's time we are joined by someone more… gentle."

He smiles, bowing. "I have served Zorin many years. I look forward to serving you."

I nod. "You may stay at the Cathedral. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must retire for the night."

"Before you do," he says, "may I offer a word of advice?"

"You may."

"Before you seek to challenge the Orders, you must unite the people here. Your commanders may quarrel, but they must not quarrel needlessly."

I nod. He refers to Zorin and TR. They are like the other rebel groups, torn apart by different methods, even when their goal is the same. I must unite them all, or see everything we've built crumble.

***

Next morning, I find Zorin on the Cathedral roof overlooking our budding town. He sits, his legs hanging off the edge, the golden sun lighting up his face. He looks more Sunrise than Nightfall. I walk up beside him and study the dark clouds in the distance. "Do you worry the Angel will return for you?" I ask.

He shrugs. "No point in worrying about what you can't control." He leans back, letting his elbows rest on the roof. "Out of curiosity, what will you do after you find the Angel?"

"Kill it."

"No. After."

"I'll…" I pause. I've never though about it before. I try to imagine a life after my revenge is complete. I can't.

Zorin smiles. "If all you care about is the Angel, why create the Dark Templars?"

"For my parents."

"Were they secret rebels too?"

"No—"

"Then why?"

"Because I've seen injustice, and I will end it."

"Because you know what is right?"

"No." I soften my voice. "But I believe more than one person should decide."

He nods. "Remember those words. When you find your Angel."

"You think the Angel should live?"

"I just wonder whether you'll give it a trial or play judge and jury."

I know he intends to challenge me, to broaden my way of thinking, but it's still irritating. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours," he says, his smile fading. "Always yours." He leans closer to me and speaks more quietly.

"I traveled with a Prince, once. His father, the King, disowned him when he was a boy. 'No weakling is a son of mine,' he said. So the Prince vowed to grow strong and one day return and destroy his father.

"For years he traveled, collecting mercenaries, bandits, thieves, until he was no longer a boy. 'I'm not ready,' he said. 'I need a castle of my own,' he said. He did not pillage or burn. He marched his army to the castle of a warlord, one known for terrorizing the countryside, and forced him to surrender before his might. As the Prince took his new throne, his right-hand man informed him that his father, the King, has passed away in his sleep. The Prince felt rage, for he had failed at his revenge. And then he felt hollow, for he realized it didn't matter. And he felt happy, for he realized he had stopped a warlord and turned criminals into an army. For him that was enough."

I frown. "So my vengeance will feel hollow."

"Vengeance is powerful, but it is not justice."

"It can be both."

He shakes his head. "It cannot."

"Why?"

"Motivation."

I remember the Angel bashing in my father's skull. "I have enough."

"But what kind? Good men steal, bad men steal. Good men kill, bad men kill. What is the difference between good and bad, right and wrong, if not motivation?"

"So I should forget the Angel? I cannot."

I expect him to chuckle at my resistance, as he often does. Instead, he stares at the horizon. "If the Prince had forgotten his father, would he have accomplished as much as he had?"

"No. He would have grown complacent in an easy life."

"And instead he became a great man. What would he have become if he had killed his father?"

I don't know. I have never killed with my own hands—and never outside of self-defense. "You worry about who I will become," I say.

He doesn't answer for a while. When he does, his eyes are full of sorrow. "I've made mistakes, Scarlett. I pray you are not one of them."

***

Zorin and I watch the sun rise, and he offers to show me the progress on our base. He escorts me inside the catacombs under the Cathedral. Blue lanterns light the gray walls of the spacious tunnels. We enter a circular clearing where a man and woman spar with swords. The woman throws sand at the man, blinding him, and then lands a strike to his ribs. "I've been training some of the Dark Templars," says Zorin. "Some show more promise than you."

I nudge his arm and he winks at me, his mouth turning up in a small grin.

We continue on through a tunnel and enter a different clearing. Here the roof has been torn open, allowing sunlight to pour down. The Night Raven, covered in dirt, sits in the center. Zorin points at the opening above. "Eventually, we'll install a door you can control remotely."

Trix slides out from under the aircraft, wiping dust from her hands. She studies a bolt in her palm, then throws it aside. "Stupid piece of metal."

"What are you doing?" I ask. I hope it's not tearing apart my billion dollar aircraft.

"Upgrading." Trix pets the Night Raven like it's a puppy, putting me at ease. "Some of these parts are old. Sure, they still work well, but not top-of-the-line anymore. You know?"

"The Night Raven is new."

"New official military aircraft, yes. But they're making better prototypes now. See what I'm saying?"

I nod. "How do you know so much about planes?"

"Planes. Tanks. Cars. You name it, my mom taught me how to fix it." She walks over to a workstation and grabs a wrench. "You know, if it wasn't for the war, I could be sitting somewhere with a wrench in one hand and a beer in the other." TR walks in and tosses her a beer. "Well," says Trix, smiling. "It's sunnier where I imagine."

The war stopped her from doing what she loved. I'd been lucky, my daily life nearly unchanged. I wonder if my Templar parents made sure of that. "Were you conscripted?" I ask.

"Nah." Trix opens the beer and takes a sip. "But TR and I couldn't sit around and let others do all the fighting."

TR nods. He looks more relaxed since last night, but when his eyes meet Zorin's, both men grit their jaws. Before things can escalate again, I tell Trix good work and, with a slight push of my wings, I jump out of the open ceiling, landing on a patch of grass to the side of the Cathedral. Zorin lands at my side.

"You will cooperate with him," I say, walking back to the Cathedral.

"He killed Nephilim."

"And you've never killed?"

He stays silent as he keeps pace with me.

I smile. "You and TR are more similar than you think. You'll both do whatever it takes to win." I raise an eyebrow at him. "And if I knew you better, perhaps I would notice more similarities."

He chuckles. "So you want to know about me?"

"Yes. Tell me more about your life."

"When you have thousands of years to choose from, it's hard to pick what to share."

"Then tell me about your week." I stop near a large white rock and sit on it, emulating Rodin’s Thinker.

Zorin rolls his eyes. "I did some research to catch up on the times, learned the new Pope likes tournaments."

"New?"

"Well, new for me. How about you? How was your week?"

I shake my head. "We're still on you."

He sighs, then speaks rapidly. "I started the week buying more marshmallows. Then I painted part of the Cathedral. Then I had a snack. About mid week, everyone was asleep, and I considered getting a dog for company. But then I thought about the smell and the poop, and I thought what if I ever get hungry, would I really be able to resist? So, I decided no dog. That enough?"

I grin. "For now."

"Now your turn." He pulls a bag of marshmallows from his cloak and starts snacking.

I jump off the rock and grab one for myself. "I saw a play. Nox Aeterna."

"Oh, yes. I've seen it. Not particularly historically accurate."

"That's what my roommate said."

"Who's your roommate?"

"Princess Corinne of the House of Ravens."

He freezes mid bite. "That's a dangerous roommate to have."

"It gets better. Her father's coming to New York. To capture Nightfall."

He hides the marshmallow bag back in his cloak. "If Varian is coming here, we must be extra careful. I've seen him fight. You are not ready for him."

***

After my news, Zorin insists on training right away. We walk into the Cathedral and he tosses me a practice sword and tells me to repeat the Way of Nyx. After twenty minutes, I sigh as I keep running through the drill. "Zorin, I need to fight. To fly."

"You need to practice your form."

"I've done it a million times. Can't I learn the other six now?"

He rubs his head as he reclines in one of the golden chairs. "Trust me, I know what's best. You need to learn patience. You're an immortal now. Stop acting like a whiny human girl."

I groan and continue the drill. At least I can keep it interesting by talking. "New subject, I need your help with something. I need an apartment in the city. My new friends at school were getting suspicious about me leaving, and I needed a cover."

Carter walks in with a cup of water. "I'm happy to set that up for you, miss. Is there a particular part of the city you'd prefer?"

I look at Zorin. He shrugs. I take the water and sip. "I don't know. Someplace fun, artsy. Someplace my friends would believe I would pick."