“But not uncommon,” Paris spoke quietly. “We’ve seen the slave trade of humans to other humans, and the ever-widening pool of suffering. Soldiers in the East have even gutted expecting mothers for ‘fun.’ How unbelievable is it that humans would hunt mirage and sell the corpses to the highest bidder? We admit, there’s a bit of…”
“Melancholy?” Castor offered.
“Yes,” Paris chimed. “La mélancolie, given we met the twins on a number of occasions before they left the Vanir. But that was years ago. When you live as long as us, the emotion of it all just doesn’t take hold.”
Avia swallowed. There was something twisting and curling up inside her chest. They were right; her emotions blinded her judgment. But it was through rage that judgment had to be made. She may not have lived as long as they had, but she was the Sin of Wrath and just as powerful.
Punching a fiery fist into her left hand, her eyes blazed over in determination. “We’re going.”
“Without question,” Castor said. “They’re obviously not genuine sempiternus. However, to perform a zombification rite on two former gods would require the strength and expertise of an angel, demon, or an extremely powerful necromancer. But where one would even get the spells for such—? Wait.”
“The Kirkos-Arkhen!” Avia exclaimed.
“We have a couple hours until the show starts,” Paris said, transforming back into her own body. “Let’s come up with a plan.”
Chapter 20
Perhaps it was luck. Perhaps, a preternatural command from the Seph Ọkan himself. Whatever it was, several steps placed Val back in the familiar hall of medieval tapestries, solid floor, and narrow windows. Excitement bubbled as she rushed to the nearest sill to bask in golden rays. She was finally—
The impending joy dowsed itself to soppy puddle. She was still trapped.
She leaned against the wall and sunk down. “Nissra,” she swore. Her eyes opened in surprise. She had only been in Le Ciel a number of hours and was already swearing in the native tongue. Ynsri. She hadn’t had a name for it before, but here it was, plain as daylight. Though, by the shadows flitting from the windows, daylight was nearly gone. A hand absently went to the Mark on her chest. She tracked the sharp lines and curved runes, feeling where magic met flesh in cosmic preordination. Maybe she wasn’t so hopeless.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the Mark, calling upon the torrent of images from when she first awoke. It took a moment, but frames started to trickle into focus. She could see the castle, protruding like horns from its mountain perch. The city lay below. Another breath revealed the halls. The twisting, changing, living things that seemed to embody the primordial ancestors of every culture. Then the rooms. Within the minute, a working map lay sprawled behind her eyes—eyes now alive with violet pulse.
Val pushed herself up and started down the hall. Nothing would hold her back.
Nothing was a strong term. The servants never bothered her with more than simple greetings. There were no guards either, ironically enough, but she supposed there was no need in an impenetrable magic realm. Even still, the venomous strides of the breakout plan were grinding to a halt. She could conjure the image of a room and travel there, but that meant little in the larger scheme of things. From private chambers, to servant quarters, to the armory, kitchen, dining room, common room, lavatories, everything was exactly what it seemed— yet another room in an impossibly large building.
Thankfully, no one of stature had approached her. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she ran into one of the archangels. They had to live in the castle, didn’t they? She considered dredging more information from the Mark, but thought against it. The info stream had come easily last time, but had left her mildly depleted. She had no idea what was coming ahead and steeled herself for confrontation.
Val blinked at a sudden change in lighting. The halls stole her few seconds of distraction and spat her through a large archway.
The Library?
The largest space by far, rows upon rows of shelves lined the golden floor. Sunbeams poured from the transparent skylight to blanket the wooden frames in a radiant glow. She looked to the closest shelf and craned her neck. Their height should have been impossible, given the smaller wing she was in. Yet, spiral glass staircases stretched to uncountable floors to reach the tops.
Val wandered between the hundreds, if not thousands, of shelves in a daze. There were works from all over the world, ranging from The Sayings of Confucius and Plato’s Symposium, to what looked like the original transcripts of the Jewish Torah. There were biographies of the famous and recluse, works of fiction, and compilations of written music.
“This is crazy…” she whispered, running a hand along the leather spines. She found it odd that there were no scrolls, tablets, or loose paper. Then again, it was probably easier to organize everything as books.
Val removed books, skimmed their contents, and returned them to their shelves. By the seventh or eighth repetition, she realized the pages of every book were gilded-edged. It was like each volume held the holiness of a Bible. Recognizing another name, she stopped her hand and pulled it from the shelf.
“The Complete Collection of Edgar Allan Poe. Interesting,” a voice said from behind.
Val jumped and quickly turned around, but there was no one there. Carefully stepping back, she peered around the shelf and froze.
The Seph Ọkan stood in the aisle, one book in hand, dozens more floating around his head. He glanced up from his volume and offered a smile.
Val raced through the options to fight or flee but couldn’t bring her body to do either.
“No need for all that. Give me a hand, would you?” He motioned to the collection of levitating books. Val resolved obedience was her best option. She carefully approached the king’s adviser and began pulling the volumes from the air. She had expected some form of resistance, but the full weight fell into her hand when she touched one.
When her arms were full, he glanced up from the book he was currently reading. “I’m sorry to be rude. I have a meeting with Michael in a little while and had to freshen up on some things.”
As she stared, Val couldn’t help but notice how much he actually looked like a bird. He had a long nose and careful, observing eyes. His hair was slicked back like feathers and his bony arms looked like they should have had been wings.
“I- I’m sorry for spying earlier.” It sounded stupid, but she didn’t know what else to say.
He closed the book, then lightened the load from her weighted arms. He started placing them back on the shelves, extending a hand every so often for her to hand him another.
“It wouldn’t make much sense to move you up here, then ban you from exploring your home.”
She flinched at the last word. His back was turned, but he still seemed to notice her clenched teeth and nails dug into her palms.
“But this isn’t home, is it?” He turned to face her, silver eyes studying every angle.
Val’s shoulders slumped as she set her remaining books on the nearest shelf. “No, it’s not.” She hesitated, but once again, he seemed to predict what she would say.
“You think we made a mistake.”
“I-” She bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “I think your plan is extreme; humans have worked problems out before.”
He smiled. “And then they repeat.”
“Well, yes. But even still, it’s not your right to just wipe us out.” Her fist clenched tighter. The trepidation that had sat moments before began to steam. “You leave us alone for thousands of years, and now you decide you want to help. By killing everyone, no less. Can’t you see what you sound like? Just leave us alone; let us live or die as we choose.”
Val wasn’t sure what she expected. Offense? Apathy? Surely not the amused grin and shaking head as Dove ran a hand through his plume of hair. “Well said, Miss Stephens. In another life, in another world, that may have actually been a reality. But you should be more than familiar that a new generat
ion is not its ancestor. Michael’s father was a good king, and at the time, separation was needed. Now…” He gestured in a half-shrug, half-head tilting motion that almost said ‘what can you do?’
“Michael was always a sensitive one,” Dove continued. “Not that you could have seen it, but it was there…” A sigh, then the sound of ruffling feathers. He moved past her and began sorting the books she’d left lying haphazardly. “If you’d like the statistics I can provide them, but humans will drive themselves to extinction within the century. The imbalance will cause the Annwn to follow suit; the stress from earth’s destruction will distort the aether and the nothing. This will threaten both the Celestials, and Le Ciel’s own borders. All that to say—” he paused at the last spot on the shelf before pulling back, keeping the book in hand. “We’re acting out of more than just humanitarian efforts.”
Val swallowed.
She forced herself to meet Dove’s gaze and was taken aback. Michael had spoken with something between pride and arrogance; Vladimir discussed the impending genocide with apathy. The face of the king’s advisor, however, was one of compassion. His sharp edges seemed softer and his narrow eyes carried a warmth that Val couldn’t quite place. His mind was made up. That was without question. But unlike everyone else Val had encountered, his decision had clearly been forged moreso by research than haughty morals.
“This is quite fascinating.”
Val furrowed her brow then noticed the book he was still holding. It was the one on Poe.
“History and fiction,” Dove continued, handing her the volume. “All tied together in the gothic ravings of a dying man.”
“What do you mean by history?” She examined the cover. Silver text over black. It was nothing extravagant, yet the longer she held it, the more she could almost feel a pulse beneath her fingertips.”
“My predecessor, the last Dove, was one of the fallen—even before Daemon’s coup. When he abandoned his bloodline, he became a demon. But unlike most demons, he didn’t seek power or wealth; only ways to satiate eternal boredom. The ‘predictability’ of Le Ciel was one of his primary reasons for leaving.”
A crease formed between the angel’s brow; something between anger and disappointment. “Currently, his most frequent… pastime is to visit artists through dreams and visions. He’s the devil on their shoulder that whispers what to write, how to paint, and what is real. The further he leads them, the greater they become—at the cost of their sanity.”
Val’s cheeks blanched and a chill went down her spine. The book suddenly felt like a box of bricks. The soft pulse that she wasn’t sure existed was now vibrantly real. She set the book back down, almost in fear that it would begin leeching away her lifeforce. As her fingers left the cover, a melodic whisper played in her mind.
The Angels lie, and you are their fifth transgression.
They are coming, but we will save you from the saviors.
Close your mind and open your soul.
She had heard it somewhere before. The touch of the cover turned slimy under her fingers and a nauseous feeling crept through her insides. She blinked and stared blankly at the book with a sensation like someone was staring back.
“Valerie?”
“Hm?” Dove’s voice broke through. The book returned to being just another book.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Val took a breath and willed the color to return to her face. “He sounds terrifying, that’s all.”
Dove gravely nodded. He eyed her a moment, as if he saw the lie the second she thought it. Whether or not he could, he seemed content not to press the issue. “He is. However, it’s been over twenty years since he was last seen.”
“Any idea why?”
“We have some thoughts, but nothing solid.”
Val made an understanding noise and stepped away from the shelf. Dove was also withholding information, but by that point, she was just desperate to get away from the book. Whatever that line, or poem, or curse was, she would work it out later. Right now, she had to find a way out of the castle.
Her back bumped against the opposite shelf and another book toppled to the floor. She picked it up and glanced at the cover, then did a double-take to make sure she saw correctly. A chiseled Hispanic man with long, dark hair stared into the sunset. Grasping onto each leg was a beautiful, though comically disproportioned, blonde woman in lace lingerie.
“Umm...” she managed. “What’s this doing here?”
A bemused smirk played against Dove’s lips and he shook his head. “The library contains every book ever written—even if we never read them.”
Val found herself grinning and placed it back on the shelf. “Understandable.”
“Mmhmm.” Dove opened his mouth to say something, stopped, then eyed her over. Before she could ask, he reached over his shoulder and plucked a white feather from the air. He held it out and Val gingerly took it, confusion splayed across her face.
“Follow the stairs to the nineteenth floor, then go down the corridor. You’ll find a silver door on the right. My feather will allow you past the spell locks and guard runes.”
“Why—” Val started, but he held up a hand.
“When I told you why we cast the curse, my intention wasn’t to convince you here and now. At the same time, there’s no way for you to return to Earth Proper unless someone were to take you. That room has been sealed for ages so there may very well be something tucked away that can help.”
Val’s fingers tightened around the feather, heart hammering in her chest. “Thank you, Seph Ọkan.” She wasn’t sure how to even express the gratitude surging forth, but shakily settled on a small bow.
“It’s nothing.” He stepped past her to the end of the aisle. “You are the fifth sin, but that doesn’t mean you’re only a monster. Remember that, Valarie.”
There was a flash of light, followed by a dove quickly ascending. The air in his wake had a sweet smell similar to mint leaves. She tried to stare after him, but his white feathers soon blended with the golden rays.
Val looked back to the white feather in her hand and beamed. She may have found her ticket out.
Avia grimaced as she stared in the ladies’ room mirror. Her tawny skin was now a charred layer of black and red scales. Fire gently pulsed over her eyes to give them a warm orange color, parting slightly at the pupil to complete the dragon veneer.
“And why is it that I’m the one who has to go backstage?” Avia grumbled with crossed arms.
“Because we need to make sure it’s not just an enchantment, but that they’re really sempiternus,” Paris answered. She was obviously half-listening, busy comparing different mascaras with her now brown skin—courtesy of a glamour rune. “Cas and I will scope out the crowd. We’ll meet up once the show starts.”
They had gone near the outskirts of the city where the wind was strongest. There, Avia repeatedly ignited her entire body. The icy gales snuffed her out each time. After nearly forty minutes of this, her skin lost its color and became dry and cracked. At that point, she just had to call up a soft flame under the surface for a red hue. The result: nearly indistinguishable dragon scales.
The staff shirt fit comfortably enough, but it was hideous. Circ D’Undead was printed in grey bubble-font across pumpkin orange cotton. Beneath it was a cartoon image of the ringmaster. He was riding an elephant while eating cotton candy. It was bad enough she had to go to a circus, but the effort involved in her disguise made it even worse. Huffing out a small gust of smoke, Avia rolled her eyes and headed out the door.
The underground cavern was huge. She could barely see the ceiling or even just how far the place stretched. While there were decorative torches on the walls, she couldn’t make out where the central lighting was coming from. Regardless of the source, she could see just as easily as she did on the surface.
Though Gemini had initially opposed, they’d shadowed the children to their parents. The espionage took them back to the family’s hotel room, where Avia burned a small peephole in the
door. The father had pulled out an invitation, then handed a second to his wife. Both cards glowed bright yellow as a baritone voice asked:
“Identification?”
“Manuel Javier,” he responded. “Herbalist trader between the Northern and Southern kingdoms. An invitation was extended to my family by Sir Rayeluk as appreciation for our continued service.”
“Approved. Place one card on the floor. Step left foot first, then wait for your family on the other side. Your children shall enter second, then your wife. She will keep the second card. That will be your gate back to this location. Given the volume of guests that will be arriving, we cannot provide a replacement gate. When you are ready, you may begin.”
For whatever reason, the card never asked Avia for identification. Instead, they were just sucked down into the floor like a ghost in an old sci-fi movie.
Avia shivered as she shoved past a glacial couple to the area demarcated as “Staff.” She’d been on edge since they’d gotten down there. Her faint connection with the aether was enough to tell her they were beneath Ys, but that was about it. The air wasn’t really air, but a mist; a thin shadow-like substance. She couldn’t see it unless she tried, but she could feel it. It wasn’t thick like smoke or water, but an amorphous cloud that put her on high alert.
Avia’s breath caught as a large man in a matching orange shirt marched towards her with a giant crate in tow. She quickly side stepped out of his way, but he never looked down. A small sigh escaped her lips and she continued weaving through the crowd.
As much as she loathed these situations, the masses were an invaluable cover. There were too many people swarming about for anyone to question the legitimacy of her employment. Even finding the shirt and headset had been a breeze. With the show starting in less than thirty minutes, the chaos had left the staff lounge unlocked and empty. Her gear was either spare equipment or belonged to someone running late. Either way, she was happy that she didn’t have to resort to locking a guard in a storage closet as she’d seen on TV.
When We Were Still Human Page 21
