The serpent hissed out a laugh, and its tail rattled gently. “Perhaps,” it conceded with some amusement, “but that would ruin the first step of the game, don’t you think?”
“Because nothing says ‘let’s have fun’ like the looming end of the world,” Dask’iya scoffed.
“It isn’t my world,” the snake reasoned placidly, tipping its head to one side. “Is it truly even yours?”
“I was born in that world, even if I sold that part of myself,” Dask’iya returned stiffly. “Is that important?”
It tipped its head to the other side. “That is for us to find out,” it mused, sounding as if it was speaking more to itself than to Dask’iya. “You came all this way, after all. I would be remiss not to put you through your paces.”
Dask’iya’s lip curled. “And just what paces are those supposed to be?” she asked curtly, folding her arms over her chest so she could curl both hands around the opposite forearm, her fingers tightening with waning patience.
The snake hissed, in much the same way a mother might click her tongue at a toddler. “It’s more fun to find out as you go, don’t you think?” it wondered, leaning toward her but drawing to a halt at the ring of fire. Dask’iya got the impression that the fire would not actually stop it if it didn’t feel like being stopped; she was being humored, and it rankled at her nerves like nails over a chalkboard.
“What are you, exactly?” she asked, eying the serpent slowly from its head down to the tip of its segmented, rattling tail. “And don’t say something like ‘a snake.’ I can see that plainly, but I’m not so stupid as to believe that’s all you are.”
It sighed and gave its tail a dreary rattle. “Well, now you’ve gone and drawn all of the fun right out of it.”
Her eyebrows rose expectantly.
“I am the Trial Keeper,” it answered, with no small amount of pouting irritation. “It is as it sounds; I was placed here for the purpose of this trial, so the Fang of Eden cannot simply be picked up and swanned off with by anyone who wishes to lay hands upon it.”
“Because I’m certain it’s in high demand,” Dask’iya interjected, her sarcasm clear.
“One of your number already has a Piece of Eden; you know what sort of power they offer,” the snake remarked, its tone turning dark for just a split second. “Though the demand, as you say, may not be high, do you truly wish for just anyone to be able to pick them up?”
She dipped her head, conceding the point.
“And lo, we have my purpose,” the snake concluded. “I decide if those who come here are worthy of my Fang, and I dispose of those who are not.” Its head bobbed once, and it looked at her just as expectantly. “What of you? I do appreciate when people share.”
“Pleasant,” Dask’iya stated, free of inflection. “You know what I am and what I’ve come here for, and I’ve no real desire to do a dance for you. So, might we skip the pleasantries and move on to what I’ve actually come for?”
“Not the most patient, are you?” the serpent observed dryly, its voice laced with wry humor. “You’ve heard that it’s a virtue, have you not?” it wondered, as if it was trying to give her advice.
“Patience is for people who don’t have somewhere to be,” Dask’iya explained blandly. “I’ve no doubt that my entourage is being attacked as we speak. I would like to get back to them with something as close to haste as you can manage.”
There was a sound, split somewhere between a hum and a hiss, and the rattling of the snake’s tail didn’t make it any easier to decide what the sound truly was. “I think,” the snake decided after a moment, “that we should begin with the very basics.” It cocked its head to one side and peered at her closely, as if it was searching for something it didn’t expect to find. “Why have you come here?” it asked, phrasing the question slowly. “While I am not allied with the angels, I’ve also no incentive to lend my aid to you or your contemporaries.” The rattling of its tail picked up once again, as if to underscore its words. “I’ve no incentive to give handouts to much of anyone, if we’re being honest.”
“I’m not here for myself or for the Vampire Lords,” she snapped, rolling her eyes. They burned black and red, ember-like in the glow of the fire. She was hungry. The reptile’s attitude was not making her patience wear out any slower. “I’m here for the people. The ones the world truly belongs to, whether they are vampires or anything else.”
“You should be above them, should you not?” the serpent reasoned, coiling lower toward the ground for a moment to bask in the fire’s warmth. “Sad to say, but they have little to offer, compared to the likes of yourself and your fellow Lords.” It straightened up again, the fire’s light shifting over its gleaming scales. “Surely you have other things you could be doing with your near limitless time.”
Dask’iya sighed out a slow breath, and it tasted like smoke on her tongue. “They deserve to exist; someone needs to fight for them,” she pointed out, in much the same way a teacher might explain that no, it was not time for recess, nor was it time for recess the last twelve times. “It’s an unfortunate turn, true enough, but that is irrelevant. The fighting is going to happen, regardless of what I say or do or feel on the matter, so why should I not lend my blade to the melee?”
The snake’s head dipped as it made a show of contemplating her words. “A fair point, I suppose,” it conceded, its voice like silk, “though I admit I’m unsure of how committed you are to it.”
“What is all of this supposed to be for?” Dask’iya finally demanded, snorting smoke out of her nose as she did. “I’m here for a trial, and if that merely involves speaking with you, I will be disappointed, but I can accept it. But all you have done is talk in circles and ask questions you don’t seem to have any plans on listening to the answers for.”
The serpent, for its part, seemed amused. “Truly?” it sighed. “Is that how it seems to you?”
“You’ve done little more than prove that you enjoy the sound of your own voice,” Dask’iya deadpanned. “If you’re so starved for company, perhaps you should bring that up with those who put you here.”
“I’m simply asking what the people of the mortal world have done to earn your fire,” the snake wheedled, sounding oh-so-rational and reasonable. “You are a warrior. They must seem like ants to you.” There was a quiet hiss of laughter, and its tail rattled for a long moment. “Or is that the point?” it asked, its neck rising higher so it could peer down at her from above the fire. “Are they your ant hill? A curiosity you wish to preserve for your own amusement?” It lowered its head toward her face, its voice lowering to a croon as it assured her, “You can tell me. I’ve no lips to seal, but I’ve few enough visitors you need not worry about me telling anyone.”
She met the snakes swirling, windswept eyes evenly, her own eyes narrowed in a way that could only be called unimpressed. “The people of this world are children,” she stated, her voice terse. “They may fumble as they grow and learn, but at the very least, they are growing and learning. They strive to do so with every passing year—every passing day. They are curious and determined, and when they stand together, those bonds are unbreakable. They wish to grow and change and adapt, and more than that, they succeed.” Her hands were fisted at her sides by then, her knuckles blanched to near white with how tightly she held them. “That is more than can be said for the angels who seek to destroy them.”
“But if that is such a charming quality, why is it the angels seek to eradicate them for it, I wonder?” the serpent mused, the end of its tail rattling in idle contemplation. “Were it such a benign—nay, benevolent—trait, then would the angels not encourage it?”
“The angels have not changed,” Dask’iya returned sharply. “In all of their millennia, they are the same now as they were at their inception.” She jerked her chin up, and the flames encircling the snake brightened to near white. “They are afraid,” she stated fiercely. “Afraid of what will happen when small mortals evolve beyond the need of a higher power. They w
ould rather begin again than try to grow and risk failing.”
Her gaze turned challenging, and she leaned into the snake’s space. Despite itself, it recoiled slightly as Dask’iya informed it, “The humans are better than the angels. Perhaps not in strength or speed, but in every way that truly matters. And I will gladly fight for their ability to be better, if that is what it will take.”
The serpent was silent at first, watching her cautiously but intently. And then…it laughed, just a quiet hiss of a sound. It leaned forward through the flames, heedless of their white heat, so it glowed as if it was made of fire itself.
“If you wish to fight,” it crooned, “you will need a weapon, will you not? Only the very best will do, I assure you.” Its tail rattled, and it opened its mouth up wide, its silver fangs on display.
Without hesitating, Dask’iya curled her hands around one fang and pulled. There was a sound like cracking glass, and then the fang came free, root and all, with all of the smaller, needle-like teeth behind it still attached.
The serpent burst apart into pieces, diamond scales scattering into the breeze and blending seamlessly with the snow, leaving Dask’iya standing there in the chill with a fang the size of her forearm clutched in her hands.
Nothing much happened after that, other than letting the fire go out. She inspected the fang curiously, but it wasn’t until she wrapped one hand around the root that anything happened.
As the root broadened into a hilt and the fang broadened into a short blade, the row of shorter teeth wrapped down and around, curling past Dask’iya’s knuckles to finish the hilt.
She had hardly a moment to appreciate the curved short sword before light engulfed her once again.
The world reoriented itself around her, leaving her once again standing in middle of the woods, pine needles beneath her feet. Siobhan, Jack, and Gabriel all stood in a cluster, halfheartedly picking needles from each other, and the grass was blanketed in broken branches.
“There was a fight,” Dask’iya observed mildly, unsurprised.
Very calmly, as she pulled a small branch from her hair, Siobhan offered, “Thank you for noticing.”
*
The manor was quiet that morning. The sun was not yet up, but according to the clock, it was morning. Most everyone else was outside, watching Dask’iya and Allambee go at each other like wildcats with the Scale and the Fang. From in the kitchen, Siobhan could only just hear the occasional clash of metal against metal.
Siobhan was content to pass on the spectator sport, sparing it only a brief glance through the window. Admittedly, it was fascinating, the way sparks and light erupted every time the sword and shield struck, as if so much power in one place had to go somewhere, and into the air was the only escape. She watched for only a moment, though, before she continued on to the by then familiar storage room.
…It was empty. Empty of occupants, at any rate.
A voice drifted down the hall as she closed the door once again. “In the library.”
Following Gabriel’s voice down the hallway, Siobhan leaned into the library, where he aimlessly perused a shelf, his wings folded tightly to his back to keep from knocking anything over.
“You left your burrow,” she observed, bemused.
“People are less inclined to keep me penned in when I’ve no incentive to leave,” he replied. “I will be hunted by my own kind just as much as I would be hunted by yours. More so, probably.”
Siobhan’s expression fell. “You just suck the joy out of everything, don’t you?”
“As is my prerogative,” he sniffed, turning his attention back to the shelf.
Siobhan rolled her eyes and punched his shoulder. “Well, thanks for not letting me get flattened into a pancake. I guess that makes up for sucking the joy out of everything.”
Slowly, he slid her a glance over his shoulder. “It was not an issue.”
“I’m thanking you anyway.” Siobhan shrugged.
Gabriel arched an eyebrow and offered the barest hint of a smile. “Well. I would hate to be called unhelpful twice in a row.”
Siobhan huffed out a startled laugh. “Well, damn,” she sighed, feigning a pout. “Here I just thought you liked me.”
Thoughtfully, Gabriel added, “I will not discount that as a possibility.”
Slowly, Siobhan grinned. “I’ll take it,” she conceded, shrugging loosely. “Also, I’d go for something about astronomy,” she added, pointing a finger toward the relevant shelf before she backed out of the library once again and left him to his own business. He seemed like he had a lot to think about.
CHAPTER FIVE
“What’s the best course of action, do you think, if the seraphim try to attack before we’ve gathered all of the Pieces of Eden?” Regina wondered, looking at the Scale and Fang, both of them sitting on a table in her room. She wanted to wield one, just for a moment, to see what it would feel like, but she knew it wouldn’t work. She would just have to be patient. “Is there a best course of action for such a turn of events?”
Allambee scratched the edge of his jaw absentmindedly. “Well, we’d be outnumbered, but Dask’iya and I are no slouches,” he reasoned, folding his arms and shrugging. “We could likely at least keep the seraphim busy while you, Osamu, and Harendra cleared out the manor. Granted, it’s a very temporary solution.”
“I’m pretty sure everything left to us in that case would be a very temporary solution,” Regina pointed out.
“True enough,” Allambee acknowledged before he tipped his head back toward the door. “You done listening in, fledgling, or would you rather lurk out there a bit longer?”
Sheepishly, Siobhan crept into the room, picking at a seam in the bottom of her shirt. “We’re ready to go,” she reported, her voice a mumble. “Jack and I, I mean. Gabriel’s basically always ready to go.”
“As long as he’s going somewhere with you,” Allambee corrected wryly. “Whatever spell you’ve cast on him, you’ve got to tell the rest of us. It would be very useful.”
“It’s a passive magic,” Siobhan informed him, her words thick with bland sarcasm, though she couldn’t quite hold back a smile as he hooted with laughter.
Shaking her head, Regina ushered Siobhan from the room. “Let’s be off, then, shall we?”
*
The third trial, like the two before it, took place in the middle of nowhere. It was hot, so even at night, the air wavered and wobbled even from just a few yards away, shimmering with a dry heat haze above the endless sand. It pooled around their steps and dragged at their feet, dry and warm to the point of baking, and Siobhan was glad she was only allergic to sunlight, and not to heat in general. As it was, she felt a bit like a pot roast that hadn’t been tented well enough.
“What’s this one?” Regina wondered, eying the sand distastefully. Listening to Allambee and Dask’iya recount their experiences with their trials had taught her well enough that wherever the trial gate was located likely had nothing to do with where the trial itself would be, but she kept her fingers crossed anyway, just as an added layer of protection. ‘Sand as far as the eye can see’ was not her preferred habitat.
“The Bough of Eden,” Gabriel replied, faintly distracted as he shook sand out of his wings.
“Maybe it’ll be a sidewinder this time,” Jack suggested dryly, looking down at the sand, silver in the moonlight.
Regina sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Speculating on what it will be is of little use,” she pointed out. “We’ll find out soon enough.” She turned her attention expectantly to Gabriel, her tone pleasant as she added, “If you would be so kind?”
Gabriel nodded once and adopted the pose that Siobhan had come to expect. As his attention turned inward, Siobhan tipped her head back, staring up at the sky and at the countless stars spread across it, like diamond dust on velvet. It reminded her of her cabin and her telescope, before Jack had found her and turned her into a vampire to save her life. Though, even then, the view had never been quite so spe
ctacular.
It was a temporary thing, though. Rapidly, clouds were swirling in the sky, shadowed and ominous, until Gabriel took a knee and lightning arced between the stars and the sand below. Where there should have been glass from the burning sand, instead it was as if nothing had happened, though symbols were rapidly beginning to glow through the sand, heedless of the way the grains shifted.
Regina needed no prompting before she looked toward the clouds and declared, “I have come seeking the Bough of Eden.”
As had happened twice before, brilliant light engulfed Regina, and she was gone. Gabriel straightened back up to his full height and began carefully pulling himself out of the sand, as Jack and Siobhan tensed, bracing for what seemed to be the inevitable arrival of another angel.
Shadows fell over them, and all three of them looked up sharply to see not one archangel, but two, hovering over them like watchful gargoyles. There was Michael, as expected, but there was also a woman, with features as fine and pretty as Siobhan could imagine. Her four wings were pale—white, but with just enough of a tint to them that they were very nearly blue—her skin was like porcelain, and her eyes glowed like fire opals. Her hair was a deep red, contrasting almost startlingly with her skin and wings, and it fell down to her waist in a pin straight sheet.
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