The Rise

by Nathan Parks

  “Am I not to take on the role that may bring me to sacrifice myself for the one I guard?”

  “If need be, but not out of—pardon me for saying this—pure stupidity! We can save her. She may even be able to save herself, but we need to be smart about it. So, for now, you will not take any action other than to be by her side.”

  “I understand,” the Guardian acknowledged. “She did ask about you.”

  “Me?” Michael inquired.

  “Yes, it was your appearing to her that brought her to where she is today. She is questioning her faith and reality because she has not had a vision for a while.”

  “Faith is funny like that, though. Mortals must learn that faith is truly the belief in what you cannot see and an understanding that you may only see the object of that faith once . . . or never.”

  “I don’t disagree; but again, she is not a Mortal.”

  “Nice touch, Leah. Doesn’t change anything, though.”

  The Guardian bowed.

  “Thank you for allowing me to voice my concerns. I will return. We are to meet with her Watcher tonight, and I just hope that you are correct in what you are asking me to do. I believe you know more than I do, so I will trust you on this; but I also can’t say that I will be able to just stand by and watch as the Clan destroys this young warrior for something I do not fully understand.”

  Metatron cocked his head inquisitively.

  “What do you mean by that, Guardian?”

  “We have a task, and that is to ensure that the Clans do not destroy mortal man. We have a duty to protect the Mortals. To stand by and watch them snuff the life out of such a warrior for a purpose that I am unable to see . . . I just don’t understand that.”

  “You, yourself, just educated Michael on how Joan is not a Mortal.”

  “You are right; and as he stated to me, it doesn’t change anything. This young Nephelium, since the moment she was called forward, has given everything to us. We owe her safety and protection.”

  “Then,” Gabriel stated, “I suggest you hurry back and ensure that we are providing that.”

  “I will.”

  With that the Guardian left.

  “Do you think she will be able to do what she is told?” Metatron asked Michael.

  “I don’t know. I believe that she is one of our best, if not our best; but I also know that stubborn streak of hers is going to cause us frustration for ages to come.”

  * * * * *

  “You wished to see me, My Lady?”

  “Thank you for coming, Father. I did send for you.”

  The priest stood dressed in a simple, brown tunic and sandals. He looked around the room at the many servants who were milling around and then back to the lady sitting in a high-back, stuffed, and ornate chair. Her dress was elaborate; and she was the envy of many in the area that surrounded Rouen, as well as within the city.

  She motioned for everyone to leave the room to allow her and the priest some privacy. It took a moment; but then the door closed, and it was just the two of them.

  “I have given you ample time, Father.”

  “You have been gracious, My Lady. I still am not sure why you believe I can offer anything to you.”

  She stood up and walked toward him. He was slightly shorter than her and a little on the heavy side. His face had numerous pockmarks on it from a battle with smallpox when he was younger.

  “Your ward was once found to be pure and without refute, but now she is being tried as a heretic. She, as a teenager, was able to lead grown, battle-hardened warriors into numerous victories against many forces . . . forces that included several from—shall I say—my family. You, as a priest, rarely leave her side.”

  “As you stated, My Lady, she is my ward. It is my duty to provide protection and spiritual guidance for her.”

  “Father, you and I both know you are so much more than a spiritual mentor; and I dare say you are not the one who provides her with protection. No . . .” She turned away as she held up a finger, waving it in the air. “No, for stories have come from the battlefield of a miracle protection, as if an unseen force provides a shield around the Maid of Orleans.”

  She turned and watched him. She could feel it. He was so close. She had been playing this game of cat and mouse for several days now, and she was figuring out the priest’s vices and weaknesses.

  “Tell me, Father, do you believe in the Devil?”

  He crossed himself.

  “Yes, My Lady, of course!”

  “Tell me, what do you know of him?”

  “My Lady?”

  “It is not a trick question. There is no one here hiding in the shadows, looking to prosecute you for heresy like your young ward. No, it is just you and me.”

  “He is the epitome of evil, the Father of Lies, and the leader into temptation.”

  She laughed, “Ah, yes. Temptation is all around us, and we must ensure that we do not fall into its snare.”

  “You are correct.”

  “What tempts you, Father?”

  “My Lady, I do not believe it proper . . .”

  “Spare me. Please!” She held up her hand. “I know temptation. I am surrounded by temptation but not in the sense that you would think.”

  He stood puzzled. He just wanted to leave. Around her he felt weak, unsteady, and even unsure of himself. Her voice danced in his thoughts; visions of her plagued him at night.

  “I am not sure what we are talking about, My Lady.”

  “Oh, I believe you do. I see your eyes follow me.” She swept her arms from her neck down, her fingertips brushing against her curves. “Your eyes linger upon my body the way a caged and hungry animal looks at food that it can’t reach. Do I tempt you, Father?”

  He did not respond. He stood there frozen. She began to walk toward him like a big cat stalking its prey.

  “Do you lust after me, Father?”

  “Ma’am, I must leave.”

  She began pulling her dress off her shoulders, her white skin exposed to his sight, her corset tight and accentuating her curves.

  “No, Father, I do not believe you really wish to go. Do you know what tempts me?”

  “I do not, and I do not believe I should be the one to whom you confess your temptations.”

  “Those that I cannot have, Father . . . individuals like yourself . . . one who has sworn to not be with a woman. Have you ever been with a woman?”

  She was once again standing in front of him. He could smell her skin. He watched as her chest rose and fell with every breath. His mouth was dry.

  “My Lady, I have not.”

  She took his face in her hands and lifted his chin so that he was looking into her eyes. She held him there for a moment and then leaned in and passionately kissed him. She could sense him go weak, and she knew. She knew at that moment she had won.

  “Dear Watcher, there is no one around. They have all been sent away. Come join me; enjoy what I have to offer. There will be no one who will know the difference.”

  Her dance of seduction was strong, but even stronger were the Soul Slayers who were dancing in and out of his being. Hecate was able to see what the fast-falling Watcher could not. She was connected to them, and they were telling her everything she needed to know.

  She had been correct. He was a Watcher, and the young Maid of Orleans was a descendant of the Nephelium Rephaim. She loved seduction and the weakness of mortal man.

  * * * * *

  The massive wood and iron door swung open, and Leah waited for the guard to step back so that she could enter into the cell. There were no windows, no bed; and the straw that was on the floor was minimal to say the least. She observed that the teen girl had been given back her own clothes, clothes given to her to mask her femininity during battle and to offer protection while she had travelled across the war-torn country. There was a time when her hair had been long and thick, but even that had been cut to make her appearance look more like that of a young man.

  “Leah!” Joan s
houted as she saw her Guardian walk in. “They finally gave me back my own clothes!”

  “I see that! Although, I will say it was nice to see you wearing clothes that fit properly again.”

  Joan looked down at the tunic and hosen that hung loosely on her young frame.

  “Well, it was difficult to find something that fit me correctly, but it worked when I needed it.”

  “True.”

  “Have you heard from Father Franque?”

  Leah shook her head. “No, I was attending to other business; but I thought I would find him with you.”

  “I haven’t seen him all day. I have asked the guards to see if they could have him come see me. I have really been spending a lot of time seeking help through prayer, but . . . nothing. I am scared, Leah.”

  The two ladies sat down on the hard stones that made up the floor. Leah had been with Joan for several years, and they had experienced so much together in the short time she had been alive. She looked at the teenager as a mother would look at her own daughter. She loved her, and she had no doubt that Joan loved her in return.

  “I know you are scared. I understand that more than most, but you must have faith that your mission is not over. There is still a bigger purpose.”

  The young warrior leaned her head back against the wall. Her hand began to play with a small glass vial that hung around her neck; it was a nervous habit that she had. She wasn’t sure why but when she touched it, she felt peace and comfort. It had been given to her by Gobert Thibault, an older knight of the king.

  When she asked why he would give her such a piece of jewelry—one that seemed of great value—he answered, “Those who have guarded it have always known they would be told when it was to be passed on. I know, now, it is to be passed on . . . and passed on to you.”

  She asked him what he meant by that, but he refused to share any more information. She had never let it out of her sight for the last two years. It was made of glass and had beautiful metal work in the shape of vines surrounding it. It hung strong and beautiful on a silver chain. It had a deep red liquid inside that, at times, acted as a prism, pulling light in and then reflecting it out in brilliancy. She loved it.

  They both were lost in their own thought. Leah was going back over in her mind what Michael had told her. She was never one to go against the Council. They were in charge for a reason. He was right: she did not know the bigger picture, but she also still stood by her words when she expressed she could not just watch Joan’s life be taken unnecessarily. Maybe the Council already knew that she would be released, found not guilty, or had a plan to rescue her. Why wouldn’t they tell her? True, she was just a Guardian, but she was Joan’s Guardian; and one would think information like that would be something she should know.

  “Leah, if I am found guilty and I am sentenced to be burned at the stake, will you please be there? I know that is a lot to ask; but if my visions will no longer appear, then what am I? Who is there for me? Maybe they are right! What if all of this has been for no other reason than I am unstable in my head?”

  Leah reached over and pulled Joan’s head to where it rested on her shoulder. She then moved and put her arm around her and drew the young girl in. She didn’t say anything for a minute, but just held her.

  Joan’s parents had never explained to their daughter of her supernatural heritage; and when Leah had been assigned to guard their daughter, they had one request: “Unless there is no other way, do not ever tell her what she is or where she comes from.” Leah had honored that request.

  “No, Joan, you are not unstable. I believe that your visions were real, and the good things you have done for so many people will be talked about for ages to come.” Leah paused and swallowed hard. “Yes, if—and that is IF—you are sentenced to die at the stake, I will be there with you. You are not alone. I will always be here for you. I believe in you, and so do many others. The wheels of this world are not always easy to understand; but it is where you are, and you must do what you can with where you are and with what you have.”

  The young saint fell asleep within her Guardian’s arms. Leah watched over her, still wondering where her Watcher was.

  * * * * *

  The court was full, as it had been since the start of this farce. Leah looked around to see if she could catch any sign of Father Franque.

  “What in the . . .”

  She spotted him, but that was not what had shocked her. Instead, it was whom he was standing next to. Instead of being up near where Joan was being kept, he was sitting beside . . . Hecate?

  It was a gut punch. She didn’t want to assume, but there was a clear sense that something was not right! What was a Watcher doing with a Fallen Overlord? Leah knew that much of what had been taking place had been orchestrated by Hecate; but as Joan’s Guardian, she had done everything in her power to ensure that the Clan leader was not made aware of who she had within her grasp.

  Leah felt faint. She had to figure out a way to let Michael and the Council know! There was no way that Joan’s Watcher would have betrayed her, right? What would have been the purpose or reason?

  She felt like she was going to pass out. The crowd was pressing in around her. Voices of accusation rung out. She had to get to Joan. She could feel all of her senses warning her that there was grave danger. She looked up to where Hecate was sitting in the loft, and the Overlord was looking straight at her. She had to know! Did the Watcher also expose her as a Guardian?

  She heard a strong voice behind her, “Do not do whatever it is you are thinking you are going to do.”

  She turned quickly in shock.

  “Michael?”

  “I know you think you know, but everything in its time, Guardian. This is not the time or place. Anything you do to try to get her out of here will expose not only you but also so much more.”

  She was about to answer when she heard the strong voice of Joan speak out over the crowd, “I will tell all who hear my voice! If you were to tear my limbs from my body and separate my soul from it, I would not say anything differently!”

  “Burn her!” someone shouted, and the crowd erupted in cries for her death while others called for mercy.

  * * * * *

  Leah stood with no expression. She looked at the burn mark across the palm of her hand. She just looked at it. She didn’t feel any pain . . . at least not on her hand. Inside she felt pain beyond anything she could explain. The smoldering ashes of the execution were pungent, but she didn’t care. She held the pendant up and looked at it. It had fallen into the flames, and she had rushed forward to grab it. The hot chain had burned her hand, but she had to make sure she saved it. It was the only thing other than memories that she had left of the young Nephelium.

  Memories . . . and now a burning rage inside at Michael and the Council for not allowing her to rescue Joan. She had tried; she had tried to break Joan free just hours before when they allowed her the chance to see Joan one last time.

  Michael had stopped her. Leah had taken out three guards and had Joan almost out of the tower when Michael appeared before them. Joan, of course, took it as another vision, one that would at least bring her peace in death. Leah took it as the Council leader sending a lamb to the slaughter.

  Chapter One

  “Everyone just shut up! I get it! Every single one of you have questions, and every single one of you have their own opinion on where we should go from here. The fact remains that everyone in this room is exactly in the same place the person next to them is. We are confused and angry!”

  “Screw you, Ki! Don’t speak for me . . . or for that matter, anyone here. We all have given and lost so much for the Alliance . . . and for what? Try to think back to all we have done. Have we really changed anything? No . . . in fact, in all honesty, we have really done nothing but create a false sense of security for ourselves. You can’t tell me mankind is any better. Name one success that we have had that we can point to as a true success against the Clans. You can’t!”

  “You k
now that Gideon has a valid point, Ki,” Troy stated solemnly. “We can’t. We have become supernatural referees instead of soldiers and warriors against darkness. When I served in the military, there were many times when we found ourselves in a foreign country working as mediators between warring factions but never seeing any real progress. Sure, some guy down the street brought us an armful of broken and rusty guns, pretending to seek peace; but we all knew that he kept the new explosives and weapons hidden out of the way. Want to know what will demoralize the warrior spirit faster than anything?”

  Ki threw up his hands. “What Troy? What will?”

  “Showing the warrior the fight and then telling him that his job is to pass out candy to children.”

  “Really? That is what you think we have been doing? Passing out candy?”

  Yara leaned forward to speak. They were all in the Sanctum's Conference Room sitting around the large operations table.

  “Haven’t we? When was the last time we actually took the fight to the Clans? When was the last time the Arch Council allowed us to go on the offense? Someone tell me!”

  Her questions were met with blank stares and silent tongues.

  “My sister was sent into the darkness of the Abyss around five years ago. Even then she was frustrated with the restrictions we continually face. Everyone that is around this table has a warrior heart; we are fighters! Every single one of us has a desire to stand and fight for those who need us. So, let us fight!”

  Ki now understood the pressure and stress that Leah seemed to carry with her on a daily basis; it was not easy being at the head of the table. He truly would die for each person here. He had asked them to speak openly and freely, but nothing prepared him for the voices of anger and rage that were hurled at him. No, they were not mad at him; but now he was the one who must listen and bring order to chaos.

  “Faheem?” he looked at the intel chief. “Anything you care to add?”

  “Nope,” he shook his head. “Pretty much I would just echo what they have already said.”

  The new Alliance leader placed his palms face down on the table.