Vladimir gave a soft laugh and laid back across the bench. “Glad to see His Highness is taking it so seriously.” His eyes drifted to the colored bricks beneath them. He followed them past Zadkiel. They circled around the stones until they formed the mural of the late king and queen.
“He’s been…” Zadkiel paused, searching the sky for words. “Occupied. Wrath surprised us, to say the least. She channeled the aether into her body and opened a gateway directly onto the castle grounds. Not even angels can do that without a pre-existing Avenue.” He scratched the roman number two that ran along his neck. “Michael has also been distracted by his new spell book.”
“He does love his spells.” Vladimir glanced up when Zadkiel didn’t answer. The angel was again lost in the passing clouds. Shadows crossed his face and the scarlet mane outlined tension in his jaw.
“It’s crazy, the thing with Greed,” Vladimir continued.
Zadkiel blinked and turned, as if slowly remembering he wasn’t alone. “Yes. It’s… strange.” His eyes wandered across the stone sculptures that ornamented the enclosure.
Solomon. Ramiel. Fin. Arthur. Joan.
Heroes of Heaven, Earth Proper, and the Annwn were all scribed into the history of the world. Zadkiel’s gaze fell on the statue of Solomon, and he turned away in response.
“What’s that thing humans say? Die a hero…”
“Or live long enough to become the villain,” Vladimir answered quietly.
His gaze fell; Vladimir could practically bend the shadows that crossed the angel’s face. Cheering him up was a pointless endeavor. It always had been. Standing to his feet, he stretched and cracked his neck. “I want to get going. I’ll go crazy if I sit around until the Summit starts.”
Zadkiel laughed. It was a small sound, but genuine. “So, what you mean is that you don’t want to risk running into the Queen of the Eastern Kingdom?”
“Exactly.” And with that, Vladimir spun on his heels and walked to the waterfalls. There were seven that ran down the east wall. Each poured into one of a dozen tiny ravines that branched through the courtyard. They would continue down the mountain into the main river that ran through Le Ciel. From there the cycle would repeat.
Down. Across. Down. Up.
Down. Across. Down. Up.
It was like a soldier following the orders Queen Hyacynthie had given when she enchanted the river millennia before.
Vladimir swung his arms in a mock of the Host’s march as he led them inside. “Just think about it. We get to stretch our wings and chill in the God of the Dead’s palace. They have the best food—”
Zadkiel sighed. The ever-familiar kill me now expression replaced the somber visage. “It traps you there forever.”
“Then it must be good!” Vladimir turned down the next hall and looked over his shoulder. “And I’ve heard the women are to die for.”
Zadkiel rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smirk.
Several minutes later, the hall shifted. The Fenestram to the Underworld was smaller than the other portals. It was a swirling arch of black and brown. There wasn’t another doorway for miles. Vladimir stared into the darkness and tightened his fist. There was no lock, no spell. It was just common sense to stay out of the realm of the dead without an invitation.
Tearing away, he stared past the endless expanse. He narrowed his eyes on where the castle would be. It was only four steps away. He hadn’t realized how long he’d zoned out until Zadkiel forced an impatient cough.
“Worried about your ghoul?”
Vladimir looked back to the gate and smiled. “Not at all.” And with that, he closed his eyes and stepped forward into death.
Outerlude
“It looks like another piece will be entering the board,” the blue player said. “I want it as my bishop in the next game.”
“Fine with me,” the red player muttered. After an excruciating pause in contemplation, he moved his rook and took the blue player’s queen.
“It wasn’t his time yet!” she protested. She shot a demanding look to the green player, but he only shrugged.
“This game is just with a mundane set. None of these pieces will matter once he arrives.” He motioned to the white side of the board.
“You think he’ll come?” the red player asked.
The second man pointed to the blue knights. “Sister, you have the First and Second on the next game, correct?”
She nodded.
“Well.” He flexed his fingers and leaned closer to the board. “If we play this correctly, he will have no choice.”
About the Author
Vaughn Aaron Foster Jr. exists as a musician, writer, and mental health practitioner. He is also a host on the Vatic podcast. When he’s not playing music or hiking through state parks, you can probably find him hunting for stories and worlds where fantasy and reality collide.
Feel free to say hi @ vaughnafoster.com :)
When We Were Still Human Page 30
