by Faith Hunter
Rock and debris scattered and shifted and I felt Audric join me, his body heat like a furnace at my frozen back. He said, “If the omega mage has earned the pleasure of the Most High, then offer her a boon.” There was something formal about Audric’s voice, the tones of a mage’s legal counsel. I wanted to glance around, but suddenly this had become something other than a chance for me to be spiteful to a seraph who had survived, when the most important one in my life was dead. I kept my eyes front and center.
The Raven closed his eyes a moment, turning his beautiful face to the night sky. When he reopened them, he said, “A blessing is acceptable. Raziel comes.”
The night sky brightened and my seraph circled the church, scarlet wings outspread, shining the clear ruby light of seraphic energies. With a dip and curl of wings, he dropped down and landed, toes pointing. He was wearing a white tunic and a crimson robe, the exact shade of his plumage. His ruby eyes reminded me of the gold and ruby aura that hovered over Barak. Lolo? Another one I lost.
Raziel looked at me, took in the stances of my champards, and something in his expression flickered. “What would she have?” he asked Audric, his voice beautiful and serene.
“Bless her by bringing back Rupert,” he said.
Hope, which I had thought buried and dead, shot through me.
“That is forbidden,” Raziel said, flicking his eyes to me and away. The hope died, settling like ash in my heart.
“His sacrifice was a gift of great power in the heavens,” Raziel said. “But I will save the lives of the mortals my mage cares for, and restore them, heal them. I will bring her additional seraph stones that she may share and use as she will, that others of her choosing may be part of us. And we will fight together, my mage and I and the wheels.” Turning to me, he said, “You are blessed. A boon you may ask at a time of your choosing. Blessed, blessed indeed.”
Blessed. The thought was a curse in my heart. Tears, long cried out, gathered in my eyes, making the seraphs waver. Making Rose look soft and innocent, her matted hair and tattered dress fluttering. She glowed with mage energies, and I noted the conjure she used to keep warm. Noted it and hated it because it was torn from Rupert’s life.
A third unarmored seraph touched down behind Raziel, his approach not noted until he landed. It was Barak, but a changed Barak. Shock scudded through me, my heart thumping painfully. They’ll bring one of their own back, but not one of mine? A spike of fury stabbed deep. The snake tightened on my leg in commiseration or warning. If I let go of the anger I held in check, I would bring down destruction, boon or no boon.
Barak stepped around Raziel, toward me, pale green robes flowing, his wings tightly furled, hands empty as he knelt at my feet. The seraph was glowing with white light, his hair falling shimmering over his shoulder. Dark green feathers were bright with radiance, an iridescence that came from within more than reflected from without. His silver-flecked gray eyes lit on mine, his face smiling and peaceful.
“He fell among the Watchers,” Raziel said. “He was punished. He suffered in the prison of the Dark.”
Barak lifted his face. “You set me free,” he said, “you and Daria, who gave her life for mine.” I felt my heart crack at the words. Mages always gave too much when seraphs were involved. Gave the ultimate.
“Now, you must judge him,” Raziel said, ruby irises sparkling like gems.
“Me?” my voice broke, ugly against the backdrop of seraphic tones.
“Child of man. Omega mage,” Barak said. At the titles, the seraphs stood.
“You saved us from temptation. You judged the Dragon,” Raziel said, “a Prince of the Fallen. You must also judge the Watcher.”
I remembered Jasper’s prophecy: The children of men are gathered. The dragon breaks free. All the old things have passed away. I licked my lips. I couldn’t bring Rupert back. I couldn’t exact revenge for his death by killing my twin. My hands clenched, reaching for swords I no longer carried. I took a breath of the frigid air and blinked away the useless tears. There was so much I couldn’t do. But I could help the Watcher.
I cleared my throat, wishing for water that was long gone. “Barak gave up his life to destroy the Dragon. He gave his bones to be burned,” I said. That sounded like scripture, but I couldn’t have said which one. “He gave himself in the fight against Darkness. Against”—I tested the word before I spoke it—“against chaos.” That felt right. The snake turned away from me and stared at the seraphs.
I drew on the visa for advice and considered the scripture it gave me, Genesis 1. God, in the original creation story, was always plural, the singular names for him appearing only later, as he began to interact with humans—and after the Fall. So I quoted the scripture, using the plural Hebrew word for God that was in the creation texts. And I did so to let the holy ones know that I understood about the Stars of the Morning and the group effort it had taken for creation. A group effort that may have included Azazel…“‘At the creation of the universe, the Elohim said, “Let there be light”: and there was light.’”
The seraphs didn’t look away, expressionless faces seemingly patient. Raziel finished the quote, “‘And Elohim saw the light, that it was good: and Elohim divided the Light from the Darkness.’” He nodded once, as if in agreement.
“Barak stood in the balance, between Light and Dark,” I said. “He chose Light and order. He gave his body to be burned. I say let him be restored to the Host.”
Wordless, Barak fell to the ground at my feet. At first, I wasn’t certain that I had said the right thing, but when he opened his eyes, he was crying and smiling, ecstasy so strong on his face that I closed my eyes.
Raziel knelt beside him and said, “Welcome, brother. You are home.”
The seraphs threw their arms around one another, clasping one another close, wings lifting and flight feathers intermingling. Barak and Raziel stood together, the ruby and the…the emerald.
Oh no. No.
“Damn. He used you,” Eli muttered.
It was clear, clearer than the moon on a cloudless night. Raziel and Barak were more than brother warriors, they were brothers indeed.
“Yeah. He did,” I said. Raziel had pushed and herded me toward Barak. From the very beginning, as had Daria, my Lolo. A seraph of the Light can’t help a Fallen, not even a Watcher. But he could make sure someone else did.
My seraph? If I’d had a blade, I’d have skewered Raziel where he stood.
Epilogue
I woke feeling warm and safe, surrounded by the smells of human, kylen, and, more distant, half-breed. Eli’s arm was around my waist, my body cradled against his. Lucas slept facing me, his head on my outstretched arm, his breath soft and scented with the anise aroma of manna. Across the foot of the bed, Thadd slept, his healed wings draped over his body, plaid flannel pajamas peeking through the plumage, my crocheted afghan twisted around him.
They weren’t sleeping with me following multiple-partner sexual antics. Well, not yet, anyway. They were here because there was no other place to sleep. There hadn’t been much of the town left standing. Mineral City, with the exception of the shielded lofts, dress shop, and Thorn’s Gems, had been a smoking ruin.
Downstairs and in the landing outside my door, I heard the soft susurration of breathing and the muted footfalls of someone going to the bathroom. Seventy people still routinely slept here, though more moved out of the shop each day, as they began to accept that the danger had passed, that safety had been restored to the hills.
I raised up on an elbow to see Audric, his big body sprawled across the leather couch that had once been in Rupert’s apartment. It was one of the few things he had claimed from Rupert’s estate. No one had gainsaid him. Not even the orthodox, who had looked a bit dazed when we walked out of the night, trailed by three seraphs, and shouted for Ciana to open the shield. The seraphs had been singing, voices like bells and oboes. It was weird. I wasn’t able to understand a single word they sang, but I was pretty sure it was a song about me. About the
prophecy they were so sure I had fulfilled.
Rose slept on my old couch, pushed into the corner of the room. Away from the rest of us. So far, all my champards had shown a distinct disinclination for being around her. I made it a point to look at her with only human vision, so I didn’t have to see the strange aura she now carried, pale rose spiked with green. It wasn’t a healthy mage pattern. Rather, the one time I had looked at her, it had been ragged, as if chewed at the edges. Ugly.
Eli mumbled and pulled me to him, but I eased away and draped the covers to keep him warm. I didn’t want him to wake with me snuggled close. The day before had been uncomfortable enough, with proof of his interest pressed against me. For the last few weeks, several of my champards had been silently urging me to take one—or more—of them as bed partner, but I was resisting.
Unsurprisingly, Eli had brought the silent tug-of-war into the open, boldly suggesting I take all of them, together. He’d been serious, or as serious as he ever was, offering to have an orgy-sized saddle specially made for us.
Though she had to know she was an outcast of sorts, Rose had looked interested. But I had been raised in Mineral City, under the hand of the orthodoxy. Lucas and I had both looked away at his suggestion. Thadd had laughed and released kylen pheromones, reminding me he could give me something none of the others could offer. And I knew I wasn’t ready. I may never be ready to either choose between them or take more than one.
I was undecided about a lot of things. Like, what now? What was I going to do? Stick around and help finish rebuilding Mineral City? The reconstruction had been moving fast, with Rose, Cheran, and me helping move and transport stone for buildings. It was tiring work, but we had found a way to meld our disparate gifts in a useful way. It was the only time I could stand to be around the other two, and even the useful work left a sick taste in my mouth.
Or I could head back to the New Orleans Enclave. They had issued an invitation to join a research group on the nature of the Most High.
Me. In a research group. Eli had laughed at that one too. Audric had pronounced it a ruse to get me back there and dissect me. Especially the angry black ring that marked my side, like a tattoo of the link that had chained Azazel. The fact that they knew about the ring was evidence that Cheran had been in communication with them. Needless to say, the mage had been ousted to sleep elsewhere, crowded among an adoring gaggle of human females.
My greatest fear, however, was for Ciana. Fear that the mages really wanted her and were using me to get her close enough to take her. I had no idea if they would honor my jurisdiction over her as mistrend.
I crawled out of the bed and gathered up a tunic, T-shirt, and jeans and moved on bare feet to the front of the loft. Outside, I heard the drips, tinks, and pings of water, the gurgle of runnels, the splash of melted snow. Spring was coming early, the sun rising each day to reveal more of the green earth budding out.
Dressing in the gray light at the front window that overlooked the ruins of Shamus Waldroup’s bakery, I looked down, straight down to the Toe River. Everything between it and the loft was gone but for a few old stone buildings. Only three new ones had been rebuilt so far.
As for the river, it was flowing again. As if the snake knew what was needed, the wheels had appeared in the second week after the battle that chained Azazel, and cleared the avalanche debris from both ends, melting the tons of snow, burning splintered trees, and restoring the river of water. Amethyst had said nothing, sitting like a marble statue in the navcone of her living ship, eyes closed. I knew I had made an enemy. I hadn’t seen the snake or the ship since, but the citrine pear hanging on my amulet necklace now had an eye in its center. A purple eye that never closed. It was more than disconcerting.
I could hear the Toe River over the sounds of the loft as I pulled on my socks and shoes. It was roaring, the way it did in spring when the winter’s accumulation of ice and snow began to melt. And far down the mountain, I heard the sound of a train whistle.
About the Author
A native of Louisiana, Faith Hunter spent her early years on the bayou and rivers, learning survival skills and the womanly arts. She liked horses, dogs, fishing, and crabbing much better than girly things. She still does.
In grade school, she fell in love with fantasy and science fiction, reading five books a week and wishing she “could write that great stuff.” Faith now shares her life with her Renaissance Man and their dogs in an Enclave of their own. Faith is working on another book and a role-playing game, called The Rogue Mage, based on Thorn.
To find out more, go to www.faithhunter.net.
