Standing between him and Janice was the most amazing sight that he could have ever wished for—Melissa, her wings full and flecked with fire, her burning sword pointed at their former teammate.
“Janice?” Melissa asked.
“Hey, girlfriend,” Janice answered, climbing up from the dirt and spreading her own batlike wings.
“Watch out for her claws,” Cameron managed. The numbness was passing, but slowly.
“What’s happened to you?” There was genuine emotion in Melissa’s voice, but she didn’t let her guard down.
“Well, there was that dying business,” Janice replied, her wings of solid black fanning the air ever so slowly. “And then I got better.”
She leaped.
“Watch out!” Cameron screamed, attempting to maneuver between Melissa and her attacker, but stumbling.
“Get back!” Melissa commanded, lunging to meet Janice’s attack.
There came an explosion of holy fire, tinged with spots of darkness, as claws of shadow met sword of divine flame. The former friends were thrown apart, repelled by the force of their clash.
Cameron lurched toward Melissa, practically falling at her side. “Hey.” He reached down and placed his arm around her. An unnatural black smoke snaked around her body as she tried to shake off the effects of the explosion. “You okay?”
Melissa blinked repeatedly and looked up at him, focusing on his face.
“Yeah,” she said. “You?”
“Good now,” he said, attempting to help her to stand. “Probably wouldn’t have been so good if it wasn’t for you.”
“Glad I could help,” she said, as they stood side by side.
Janice began to scream, and they turned their attention to their foe. Tongues of divine flame clung to her armor. She trembled violently, and sparks of golden fire fell like beads of water, to burn upon the ground.
Still screaming, the dark angel unfurled her wings and leaped into the sky, her cries slowly fading until she was gone.
Melissa suddenly leaned into Cameron. He grabbed her by the arm to steady her.
“You all right?” he asked, and she nodded. “What just happened?”
“I—I don’t know,” Melissa said. “I think it had something to do with the explosion. When my sword hit her claws, something happened. Some kind of connection was made. I saw what was going on in her mind, and I think she saw inside mine.”
Cameron gazed up into the night sky, Janice’s mournful scream fading in the night making the hair on the back of his neck prickle.
“If that’s the kind of response a look around inside your skull gets,” Cameron said, “in the future, remind me never to do that.”
* * *
The power of God stirred within the shriveled breasts of the Sisters of Umbra.
Satan Darkstar had demanded that they re-establish a link between earth and Heaven, using ancient magicks at their disposal.
He did not know it by name, this connection—the Ladder—but he wanted it to exist again, so he could lead an attack on the gates of Heaven.
With just the thought of the Ladder, the power that had been theirs for countless millennia had become agitated.
And it was all that they could do to keep it under control.
The Sisters told the Darkstar that they needed time to research ancient texts to see if what he was seeking was within their powers to create, and they fled through a passage of shadow.
Back in the safety of their lair, the three experienced the full effects of the divine power as it struggled excitedly to take control.
As it attempted to free itself from the constraints of ancient flesh, blood, and bone.
The Sisters remembered how it had been—how the power came to be theirs.
They had been the high priestesses of the Mirthra tribe, an ancient people long forgotten to the mists of time. The Mirthra had been some of the first peoples of the planet, descendants of the world’s first murderer, Cain, who killed his brother Abel and was sentenced by God to wander the world in punishment for his heinous act.
They were the descendants of Cain, and as if somehow marked by his murderous lineage, they were hated by the other tribes of the ancient world and forced to hide themselves or suffer the wrath of the superstitious rabble.
But the other tribes still knew of the Mirthra and blamed them for any ill fate that befell them. One of these tribes, having had a particularly dismal hunting season, and unfertile women, decided that the reason for their misfortune was all due to the existence of the Mirthra. And the Mirthra, already hiding themselves away, became the hunted of these angry ancient people, and met their fates at this tribe’s hands.
The Sisters had prayed to their ancient deities, and even to the ancient father Cain himself, but the gods were not listening.
But something was.
As the high priestesses lay in a cave, dying from wounds sustained in the genocidal attack on their tribesmen, the Architects came to them.
Beings of equal parts light and shadow, the Architects hung above them in observation, like the stars in the night sky. The priestesses had never seen their likes, and believed that these beings—these new gods—would be the last sights they saw.
The Architects stopped them from dying, freezing the moment of their passing from this world to the next, with a question.
“If allowed to live, will you serve us?”
Fearing the nothingness that clawed at them, threatening to drag them down into its hungry embrace, each of the Sisters accepted the offer of these new gods.
“Yes,” croaked the first.
“Serve,” managed another, beckoning to the gods above her with a blood-covered hand.
And the last, who had been injured the worst, just stared with her large eyes, her gaze providing the Architects the answer that they sought.
“So be it,” the Architect’s leader spoke, his words filling the cave.
And then the new god withdrew a pulsing sphere of light from within him. The Sisters remembered how bright it was, and the feeling that radiated from it as the orb gently floated from the Architect leader’s hand, to hover in the air above their mortally wounded bodies.
They were terrified by the orb’s presence, and though they had never admitted it to one another, each of them, at that very moment, believed that it might be best to die.
And to escape what was to follow.
The orb of light floated closer, tendrils of crackling light reaching out to caress the Sisters’ withered flesh.
The orb wished to know them better, before . . .
Deep within their lair, the Sisters gasped with the sharpness of the memory, their clawed hands clutching at the front of their heavy robes as they again experienced the moments of their death.
And rebirth.
They recalled that the power had divided into three separate spheres of light—three miniature suns—that took position over their prone forms, waiting for the precise moment.
And the power that had once lived inside the godlike being, the Metatron, before being seized by the Architects, entered the Sisters’ bodies just as the last spark of their existence was to flicker out, and reignited their dwindling life force to burning.
And the God power had burned inside the Sisters for thousands of years, providing them with the magickal means to serve their masters, the Architects, and to assist them in their plans to create a perfect world.
A Heaven here on earth.
But the wishes of Satan Darkstar had somehow stimulated the power that had once belonged to the Metatron, which had been theirs to control for so very long, rousing it to seek autonomy from its ancient hosts.
After oh so very long, the power remembered that it was of Heaven, and wanted at last to go home.
But the Sisters would not hear of it, for without the power that had returned them to life and sustained them for all these many millennia, they would cease to be.
And the Sisters could not imagine a world without them.
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br /> On the wall there was a vertical gash that glowed with an unnatural light. An opening into a reality inhabited by their masters, the Architects.
“We beseech you, masters,” the first of the Sisters called out.
“Come to us,” said the second.
“The Sisters of Umbra are in need of your counsel,” said the third.
The split began to tremble ever so slightly, as the room filled with an intense humming that grew louder by the second.
The Sisters waited, as the light opened a window to another reality.
A reality that existed only for the Architects.
The Overseer floated weightless in an environment composed of multiple windows of ever-changing images, which looked over the world. An environment that the Architects used to steer the planet toward perfection.
The Sisters were quiet, waiting for the master of their masters to address them, but the Overseer did not acknowledge them.
When they could wait no more, the bravest of the three shambled toward their own window.
“We are in need of your counsel,” she said.
The Overseer remained as silent as the grave.
“What is the subject?” the Overseer finally asked.
“It is the Darkstar,” another of the three said, stepping forward.
“His aspirations, they threaten to undermine the plan.”
“Satan seeks something from us that we fear to give,” said another.
The Sisters felt it again: With the mere thought of what the Darkstar wanted from them, the power of the Metatron grew wild, struggling within them to escape its confines.
But they could not let the Overseer see.
They feared their master’s reaction, feared that they would be stripped of the gift that had sustained them and had given them vast amounts of magickal strength for countless years.
No, their masters could not know. They would deal with the unruly power; they would wrest it back under control.
“What does the Darkstar ask of you?” the Overseer asked.
“He wishes us to reopen the original passage. . . .”
“To re-create the Ladder.”
“The Ladder to Heaven, so that he may lead an invasion.”
The Overseer of the Architects turned his golden eyes to them. They felt so very small under his gaze.
“You will not do this,” he ordained. “We have worked too hard to sever the connection between the earth and Heaven. We cannot risk the Lord seeing what we are doing before the world is ready.”
The Architects had such grand plans for the world of man, and were desperate for the chance to show their Creator how wrong He’d been. The Architects were determined to save a world that would have obliterated itself if allowed to proceed without intervention.
They were so very excited to show Him what they would achieve, but first . . .
“You will tell him that it cannot be done,” the Overseer said.
“Of course, but the Darkstar is not one to be denied his wants,” said one of the Sisters.
“He will demand that we find a solution,” responded another.
“And if he cannot get what he desires from us, he will seek out another source. He is most industrious.”
The Overseer contemplated their argument. “Distract him.”
The Sisters did not understand, but the Overseer clarified. “I’m sure that there are diversions that could take his attention away from you.”
The Sisters considered this option. But how?
Before they could inquire further, they noticed that the glowing window began to close. Their audience was at an end.
The Sisters stepped back into the chamber as the ground began to violently shake, sending fragments of the ceiling raining down upon them.
Stumbling awkwardly to one side, they looked at one another in amazement.
“What was that?” one of the Sisters asked fearfully.
They shambled across their lair to investigate, when the entire room shook again with the sound of thunderous explosions in the distance.
“The unthinkable,” answered a Sister brave enough to utter the words.
“There is no other option to consider. We are under attack,” growled another angrily.
The Sisters of Umbra then joined hands, using their combined might to take control of the divine power once again.
And to ready themselves to deal with any who would dare attack their dwelling.
“May whatever gods they worship have mercy upon them,” they spoke as one.
Leaving to confront their offenders.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Why is that baby screaming at the ladders?” Gabriel asked, as he and Dusty arrived in the shadows of the gardening aisle in a department store.
“He is remembering what he is here for,” Dusty responded as he watched the child shriek and cry.
“And it has something to do with ladders?” the dog asked.
“In a way, it does.”
“If you say so.”
It was getting easier for Gabriel to accept Dusty’s vagueness. He knew that Dusty saw multiple possibilities and multiple futures, but the meaning of that was too much for the Labrador to grasp. He simply understood that his companion functioned on another level entirely and just did as he was told—shown. That had included transporting them both here, to a department store in Amsterdam.
There was a commotion from close by, and Gabriel tensed.
“Enoch!” a familiar voice yelled.
Gabriel was surprised to see Jeremy Fox run to scoop the screaming child into his arms.
“It’s Jeremy!” Gabriel looked up at Dusty, his tail wagging.
“Yes, it is.” Dusty was gazing off at what, Gabriel did not know.
“I was wondering what happened to him,” the Labrador continued, observing how the British boy cared for the crying child. “I think he’s changed.”
Dusty suddenly moved, as if startled.
“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asked, turning toward his companion.
“We have to leave. Now,” Dusty answered, placing his hand on the top of Gabriel’s head.
“I’m not even going to ask what you see,” Gabriel commented. Sparks of divine fire began to leap from his thick yellow coat, as thoughts of their next destination filled his head.
“Good,” Dusty said as they were swiftly transported away. “That means you’re learning.”
* * *
The Architects searched.
They were aware that those who opposed their efforts—the Unforgiven—had reached out to Heaven in desperation when they realized what the Architects had set in motion.
The world was to be isolated from the divine.
The Unforgiven prayed for help, and Heaven answered the best it could in the time before their communication was cut off. Heaven’s response was so quick—so desperate—that the mysterious answer to their prayers did not fall into the proper hands.
It was out in the world, needing to be found.
And so the Architects searched.
But the object sent from Heaven continued to elude them. The only balm to this disappointment was that the Unforgiven had not located the object either.
The world was in transition. Evil was overflowing the land. What it would do to God’s chosen! Most would not survive, but that meant they were not fit to live.
It was the survivors who most interested the Architects: those who confronted the darkness and rose up from the wreckage of a once-great civilization.
It was the survivors who would claim this new world.
A world that God intended, but He did not know.
A world shaped by the Architects.
A world glorious to behold.
* * *
The Overseer experienced the first of the flashes while he gazed at the ghostly facsimile of the world as it slowly turned beneath him and his Architect brothers.
One of his brethren released a sound of alert, rousing all of them from their
scrutiny of the world.
Another of his family made a similar sound, and that was when the Overseer began to feel it as well.
He took control of the representation of the world beneath him, moving it in such a way that all its dark, secret places would be more visible to his eyes, and the eyes of his brothers.
It was only a flash of light, a brief pulsation of red that could have been any number of strange anomalies that had dappled the globe since the Darkstar and his legions had overrun the planet.
But this was different.
“Alert the Agents to this location,” the Overseer proclaimed.
The area on the ghostly globe had gone quiet once more, but the Overseer still saw it, flaring brightly in his mind’s eye.
A beacon to exactly what the Architects had been yearning to find.
* * *
The cooling rock was slippery, and it took every ounce of coordination that Mallus had to keep himself and Tarshish on their feet.
“Are you sure the shell is here?” Mallus asked once again.
They had descended deeper and deeper into the earth through a tunnel formed by the Malakim’s power.
“Patience, Mallus,” Tarshish said, his voice sounding older—weaker. “You got a big date tonight or something?”
“Big date,” Mallus repeated, reaching out a hand to steady himself against the smooth walls. “If only it was something so trivial.”
“It’s here,” Tarshish confirmed. “We haven’t gone far enough yet. Looks like geological upheaval buried it good.”
The farther they went, the warmer it got. Tarshish’s nearly naked body had finally stopped shivering. Mallus had offered his shirt, but the Malakim had refused, muttering something about the discomfort being part of his penance.
The tunnel suddenly dipped precariously in the darkness, and Mallus lost his footing. The two of them fell, sliding a short distance to land in a heap on the floor of a much larger chamber.
“Are you all right?” Mallus asked as he climbed to his feet, then tried to help his companion.
Tarshish leaned back against the wall. “I’m fine,” he answered, nodding toward the other side of the chamber.
Mallus followed his gaze and gasped.
What remained of the Metatron lay curled in the fetal position. The body’s shell was huge, far larger than Mallus even remembered.
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