Gates of Rapture (The Guardians of Ascension)

by Caris Roane

If all went well.

  Oh, God. If all went well.

  To Leto, she sent, I know you’ve told me, but is your army ready to fold?

  He looked down at her and smiled. Hells, yeah, he sent.

  Thorne called out. “Obsidian flame, mount up.”

  Grace felt her stomach take a spin. This was it. Leto stepped away from her, and despite the ferocity of her nerves, and because of the practice of two millennia, she let her wings fly.

  Much to her surprise, suddenly she could breathe. Something about the simple act of mounting her wings had steadied her. She even chuckled.

  She glanced at Fiona, who in turn winked at her.

  Marguerite also turned back and smiled first at Fiona, then at Grace. She stood two feet in front of them, in the position they intended to sustain while in the air.

  Grace nodded and smiled, even though her heart raced.

  Yep, showtime.

  She looked once more at the image of Endelle on the monitors. She was clearly glorying in her trip down the parade route. Maybe it was for that reason—that Endelle could enjoy a moment so fraught with danger—that Grace finally let go of her nerves and began to focus on her obsidian power.

  With a whisper of a thought, she could feel the rumble beneath her feet, feel the earth-based power ready to flow through her and enable her to do things no vampire should ever be able to do. She flexed her wings, just feeling them.

  She glanced at Thorne. He turned toward her and offered a curious frown. You okay? he sent.

  She nodded. “I’m good.”

  He smiled, then returned his attention forward. He touched his headset almost continuously now, shifting from one entity to the next, speaking softly the whole time. He was fully in command.

  With that, he gave the order to take to the dark night skies.

  Grace reached out in her obsidian way, touched her obsidian sisters, felt the answering response, and as one they launched.

  Grace’s wings plowed air. The fireworks still boomed, lighting up the sky in an array of colors and patterns. Every once in a while, she’d watch a dragon-shaped series of lights pass by her peripheral vision. Motion was good. The music wasn’t as loud now that she flew above the amplifiers and the marching warriors. The DNA-altered swans and geese flew in front of their group and behind. She could occasionally hear the handlers calling to them.

  Spectacle.

  One of the best parts of ascended life.

  If Endelle was right, if Grace had been right in suggesting this scheme in the first place, then another kind of spectacle was about to hit the air.

  Her com lit up and Thorne’s gravel voice said quietly, “You may fold the first section at will.” Which was code for the first part of Greaves’s army.

  Grace let the coordinates move through her mind, and she held her mass-folding ability in the forefront. She apparitioned, took possession of Fiona, and without hesitating let the fold begin. She felt the mass movement of a quarter of a million Militia Warriors, from Mongolia to North Africa, as obsidian flame folded them. She felt dizzy with excitement.

  Leto came on the com, something she could perceive even in her split-self. “Brynna confirms.”

  She wanted to give a shout, but Thorne came on softly and said, “Prepare for the second fold. Grace, when ready proceed.”

  She focused on the second group, from the Australian Outback. She felt the power flowing in an almost constant loop from Marguerite, to Fiona, then herself, even split as she was. She concentrated on the coordinates, and once more she let the fold just happen. It was an amazing sensation, and all this was happening as the fireworks continued to boom, the warriors below marched, and all the swans and geese kept the focus on spectacle and not on a war-changing secret folding operation.

  “Brynna confirms the second group arrived,” Leto said. “She’s folding to the Superstitions so that she can confirm the third fold.” A moment later. “She has arrived at the Superstitions. She’s ready to receive the third fold.”

  Thorne’s voice once more spoke softly. “Grace, fold your third group when ready.”

  * * *

  Greaves heard Thorne’s voice over the com. He stared at the parade ground but couldn’t see any special movement of troops. They all moved in formation and had remained constant in number the entire distance, so what could Thorne have meant by “fold your third group”?

  He had heard both Thorne and Leto talk about obsidian flame folding something somewhere, but if they were doing so right now, it wasn’t on the parade grounds.

  He glanced at the monitors and spoke to his staff. “Do any of you see movement, like some kind of mass movement of the troops?”

  When he received a general negation, he peered once more at the monitors. What he was seeing looked like plain old spectacle to him.

  An aide approached. He would have brushed him off, but he held a piece of paper, was sweating like a pig, and had a wild look in his eyes. Greaves got a really bad feeling. “What?” he barked.

  The aide shoved the paper at him. “Your … your Mongolian army is gone.”

  Greaves blinked. He looked at the paper. Glanced at the aide. Shifted to stare at his generals, who wore blank looks. He didn’t bother asking what the aide meant.

  To his staff, he asked, “Has Thorne made another fold request?”

  The aide that kept the monitors alive with ongoing footage, said, “Warrior Thorne just spoke of a fourth fold to his sister, Grace.”

  When Greaves saw another aide flying at him from down the hall, Greaves knew.

  Leto. Fucking Leto.

  His army.

  The fold wasn’t on the parade route. The spectacle was one big fucking distraction.

  “Launch the artillery now.”

  Approach the gates of rapture with wonder,

  Lay down the past,

  Then fall.

  —Collected Poems, Beatrice of Fourth

  CHAPTER 17

  Grace had just heard Brynna confirm the fourth and final fold when Thorne’s voice intruded again, this time with an edge. “Obsidian flame, get us the hell out of here.”

  Grace’s heart rose in her throat. This was it. She was still in possession of Fiona and she needed to do the mass fold of the parade route, but she couldn’t calm down. Then Leto’s words filled her mind: Ease down, Warrior, and focus on the coordinates. You can do this.

  Grace took a deep breath and turned her attention to the spectacle performers in the air, to the slow flap of Fiona’s wings, to the troops on the ground and in the stands. She took another deep breath and simply let the fold begin.

  She began the slide through nether-space just as the first bomb exploded.

  Her mind swirled around and around. Her head hurt. Then her mind went blank.

  After a long moment, she opened her eyes and blinked. She was on her feet, and Leto was holding her upright. Her wings flapped slowly. In the distance, she could hear bombs exploding.

  She gave her head a shake. Leto was in front of her, his hands on her waist as he looked into her eyes. She could tell he was worried. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Did we make it? Was I too late? Is everyone safe?”

  “Obsidian flame got everyone out, to the last swan. You’ve been dazed for about five minutes, which is why you feel disoriented right now.”

  “Dazed?”

  “Yes. I think it happened because you folded while in your split-self configuration and within half a second a shell exploded as we were all mid-fold.”

  “That was close.” She looked around, but all she saw was the row of tanks. She was alone with Leto in the desert. “And are you sure all our troops got away?”

  “Yes. As soon as the fold took place, and because of all the training that Seriffe has demanded of his Militia Warriors for years, all two hundred thousand of the parade troops, as well as the warriors that held civilian places in the grandstands, started folding to prearranged barracks around the world. The spectacle performers, th
e birds, and their handlers are in Apache Junction Two.”

  “And Greaves’s army—or rather your army?”

  “Brynna confirmed. We have one million warriors on our side.”

  She rubbed her forehead, but she smiled and her heart expanded. “That’s fantastic. Now, tell me what the parade grounds look like?”

  “Like a battlefield.”

  “Did Greaves show up with his troops and tanks?”

  “No. It looks like he meant only to blow the site all to hell with his artillery. Fortunately, Marcus got it all on film. No doubt he’ll have this flying around the Web right away, along with obsidian flame’s mass fold.”

  “And everyone’s really safe?”

  He nodded slowly. “Everyone’s safe.”

  “We did it,” she said softly.

  “Yes, we did. Now retract your wings so I can get you back to the palace.”

  She looked around, then called out, “Casimir, show yourself. I can feel that you’re here.”

  Casimir became visible and he was smiling. “That was a beautiful show you just put on. I’m proud of you, Grace.”

  “Thank you.”

  Casimir glanced at Leto and waited.

  “What?” Leto snapped.

  “I won’t leave until you’re both out of the desert.”

  Leto scowled. “You would have taken me out of the air if you’d had to, wouldn’t you?”

  Casimir merely dipped his chin, but he added, “I didn’t need to, though, did I?”

  “No, you’re right. You didn’t.” He put his hand on Grace’s shoulder. “To the palace.”

  With her wings safely retracted, Grace smiled, and was once more flying through nether-space.

  * * *

  Greaves still couldn’t believe what had happened. He had even viewed the disastrous results on the Internet. The ruse had been perfect. All he’d thought about over the past twenty-four hours was when and how to obliterate obsidian flame with a bombing; it never occurred to him that he was looking at a massive fucking deception.

  But to add insult to injury, the Web was full of Marcus’s propaganda about how Greaves had attempted to do harm to the women of obsidian flame and to a bunch of swans and geese. PETA Two was in an uproar. Talk about spin.

  He might have found it amusing that he’d actually been duped, but he was far too angry and the stakes had been way too high. The terrible reality had already begun sinking in that Leto had taken back at least half the army he’d built on behalf of the Coming Order. Half.

  He couldn’t say he was heartsick. You had to be in possession of a heart to be heartsick. In this sense, he was a true vampire, the kind of Mortal Earth mythology, the creature without a heart.

  He didn’t even particularly feel despair.

  No, what possessed him so strangely in this moment was a rage so pure, it was like a flame in his soul expanding, growing hotter, burning brighter, and most of all demanding recourse.

  He needed recourse.

  Action.

  A hunt.

  A devouring.

  Now.

  This night.

  If he’d been interested in sex in that way, he would have killed someone right now for the pleasure of it and orgasmed hard.

  But what he needed was different. He needed destruction of that which he believed had caused his failure. His dreams for the future were everything. He had a vision for the world, for Second Earth and for Mortal Earth, and once he had accomplished this goal, he meant to tackle the cesspool that he knew Third Earth to be.

  He would transform three worlds, then over time continue to move upward until he saw the fulfillment of everything, a transformation of all six known dimensions.

  That something so ridiculous as a beast and the blue variety of obsidian flame had gotten in his way seemed the height of absurdity. He understood now so well just why it was necessary for the true ruler to begin his reign with murder and to sustain that level of killing so long as opposition presented itself.

  He was forbidden by the rules of COPASS to kill anyone outright, just as Endelle could kill no one outright. These rules had been designed to serve him, because he knew that Endelle had more power than he did and that if she was ever unleashed upon the world, she could cast a net of dominion far wider than he.

  But she just didn’t have the right frame of mind.

  He believed in his cause, but he also believed in the law. He just wanted a greater command of the creation of the law so that his purposes would always be served.

  Therefore, he could not kill outright.

  But that didn’t matter.

  He had many arms to do the deeds that needed doing.

  And a killing this night was required.

  He gathered a squad of four powerful death vampires, then folded with them to the Seers Fortress. He found Stannett, just as he suspected, naked again, all the women dead, and the man covered in his own juice.

  Following a peculiar stench, he turned to his right, and there was the Militia Warrior, her chest gone and her internal organs spilling out of her body, all very charred.

  He ordered his death vampires to hold the still-unconscious Stannett upright. He then folded all of them to the basement and strung him up in chains.

  He put his hand on Stannett’s head, letting healing waves flow, until the bastard came around.

  Stannett blinked and squinted, then said, “Forgive me. I don’t know what happened.”

  Greaves clucked his tongue. Already his temper was settling down. “You know precisely what happened. You killed the woman so that you could do as you pleased.”

  “It was all too much,” he whined. “I’m not used to working that hard, and my head hurt.”

  “So you are saying that you’ve been suffering terribly?”

  “Yes, very badly.”

  “Well, let us take care of that.”

  “Thank you, master. And I am sorry.”

  “As am I.”

  Greaves signaled to his squad. “Please, take what you need from him.”

  “No,” Stannett cried. But Greaves was done with the man’s pleadings, whimperings, and failures.

  And now Stannett was done.

  The vampires moved on him as by great practice, each choosing a vein. One sank to his knees and struck one of the lower access points. Another moved behind him and struck one side of his neck. The other moved in and attacked the other side. The fourth grabbed an arm and punctured Stannett at the inside of his left elbow.

  Stannett cried out repeatedly to Greaves, begging for a second chance. As his blood left his body, he continued to call for mercy. The sound of his pleading voice as he was drained of life was exactly what Greaves had needed to calm his rage and his frustration.

  The death vampires were killing machines and did their job systematically.

  Within two minutes, Stannett’s head slumped.

  Another two minutes brought the death vampires rising from a very white body. Each made a fist to exhibit arms bulging with muscles. Their eyes were manic with pleasure. Dying blood was a glorious thing.

  Feeling much calmer, Greaves sent the squad back to their bunker beneath Estrella Mountain, then folded to Geneva. Julianna welcomed him with open arms and gave a squeal of delight as he released his claw from his left hand.

  Her screams further eased his soul so that by the time he had finished deep inside her, he knew what steps to take next. He focused first on Casimir. Because Greaves had been associated with him recently, he had a sense of the man. Using his voyeur window, he was able to locate him at the portal to Third Earth.

  He knew that Casimir was making use of his own voyeur window to keep track of Leto, and right now he needed Casimir to focus on something else.

  Greaves created his own little deception: Using a trick he’d been developing lately, he messed with Casimir’s window reception so that images of Leto would fade in and out. Casimir would assume it was his own difficulty, which hopefully would buy Greaves enough tim
e to get the next job done.

  And he would not wait until morning to do it.

  * * *

  Back at the palace, Endelle was having a great time. The hour was past ten, and the celebration of such a profound victory, without one casualty, was one of the most pleasurable moments of her life. Marcus and Havily already had the Web full of the stories of obsidian flame’s ability to do a mass fold, which also featured a video that showed the folding-away of the entire spectacle event, including swans and geese, followed by Greaves’s illegal bombing of the empty parade grounds.

  Endelle had asked that the video be kept on a loop so that at any time she could look over her shoulder at the monitor and laugh.

  Fighting a battle without a single loss, and at the same time bringing over to her side half of Greaves’s army—well, damn, she was in a state of bliss.

  She had her own bottle of Silver Patrón and filled her shot glass to the rim for about the tenth time. She stood up and lifted it high. “This toast is for Grace, for coming back to us, for taking her place as obsidian flame, for coming up with the most awesome strategy ever, and mostly for having the courage to enter my own twisted soul and pluck my mass-folding ability right out of what she says is a blue flame lock, whatever the fuck that is. To Grace.”

  All her warriors were present, all nine WhatBees. She’d freed up the rest of them from Borderland duty so that she could celebrate with her elite Warriors of the Blood, the men who had kept Second Earth safe for all these centuries.

  The men, as well as the women bonded to Kerrick, Marcus, Medichi, Jean-Pierre, and Thorne, all gained their feet and held up a variety of glasses in Grace’s direction. The woman blushed at all the praise.

  “To Grace” resounded to the top of the dining hall rotunda, then back again.

  The sound, made big because of so many masculine voices, pleased Endelle’s soul.

  She sipped her tequila, smiling as she drank. Goddam but she felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this fantastic, this free, this satisfied, and sex hadn’t been involved at all. But this had been as good as a good lay, flying like that, knowing she could pose for the cameras and show off her costume, heading up her army, leading obsidian flame. Yeah, damn good.