The concrete around the door was charred in a black circle one hundred feet in diameter, and the building was destroyed for hundreds of yards, as if a bomb had went off right where we stood. It still smelled. A light patina of snow had begun to fall here, somewhat dousing the flames.
“Witness what you have wrought. This happened when I died.” Technically it had happened after Gavin had thrown my blood at the door, but… semantics.
Jafar appraised me curiously. “Died?”
“Yes. I died.”
Jafar cast a doubting gaze back at me, eyebrows furrowing like a caterpillar taking a nap. “Surely you are exaggerating.”
“No, I died. I can even get you a signed affidavit from Death confirming this. The … ultimate alibi, if you will.” I smirked.
“Death?” I nodded. “How are they really involved? I command you to tell me the truth.”
I decided not to rise to the bait. “They weren’t involved. He can merely confirm that I died. So, thanks to your curse stealing my power, I was unable to protect myself, died, and apparently lost control of the Armory. But you knew the curse was permanent, didn’t you? You designed it that way.” Jafar merely stared back. I thought I caught a flicker of concern at my knowledge of his ruse, but he hid it well. And it didn’t matter anymore anyway. I was now a free agent, as War had stated. “I didn’t even know for sure that the Armory was here until you pointed it out. But of course, thanks to you falling for Gavin’s lies, you knew all about it.”
Jafar grimaced. “And what of Gavin? Why would he do such a thing?”
“You know as much as I do. He knew about the Armory. Tried to get in. Killed me, but died in the process. Othello killed him before he could get in. She’s the hero. I don’t know what was in there, but it’s your fault what happens next. If War wasn’t clear enough for you, I’ll restate it. I hereby resign. Immediately. You want the magical world to work together, yet you cursed me for not complying with your extortion scheme. Two members of our own caste were killed. My parents. You never helped. Like sniveling family members, you tried to come to the estate sale and take what you could. You wouldn’t help solve the crime, but you wanted a share of the profits. Karma bit you in the ass. You not only lost your opportunity to work with me to keep the Armory safe, but you also allowed the door to be fucking blown off. Who knows what is loose in the world because of your greed. I won’t be a part of your club. And apparently, I’m a hot commodity. A Maker.” I winked at him with amusement. “Now it’s time for you to get the fuck out of my city.” I sent out tendrils of my new power to latch onto any wizard nearby and yanked them all back to the salvage yard with a slightly rougher version of Shadow Walking than before. They weren’t pleased, and apparently didn’t feel me doing it ahead of time, judging by their squawks of surprise. I very unceremoniously dumped them onto the ground, which didn’t make Jafar very happy.
Everyone else was waiting patiently for our return.
Jafar drew a freaking sword, taking an aggressive step toward me after he had composed himself. “You lost it all. You are hereby found guilty of unleashing a weapon of mass destruction upon the world. The sentence is immediate death.”
I smiled, and then used my hungry Maker power to inch the sword closer to his face rather than mine, watching as his muscles rippled in protest. Everyone froze, listening to Jafar grunt in disbelief. “What power is this? It can only be Demon craft!” He hissed. His minions extended hands towards me, and a single ball of white-hot flame abruptly screamed towards my face with a wailing shriek.
Before I could react, the fireball froze in midair as one of the Angels struck it down with a sizzling flash of blue light. Simultaneously, a sickening red bolt of lightning shot forth from the Demons’ side of the yard, shattering the frozen flame into a muffled implosion of darkness, eating the flame in a puff of shadows. “Touch him and die, Academy. We may have use for him someday…” It was the Knight of Hell. I shivered. “He has done no Hellcraft. Or Angelcraft for that matter. Do you think him that reckless? A mortal to wield the power of God? In the presence of God’s favored and disfavored children?” The Angel waved his hand around the room in agreement. The shadows of both sides hungrily watched the Academy, anticipating.
Jafar spoke with a quivering voice. I released my power and he sighed in relief. “How could we not sense anything if it’s not from Heaven or Hell? It must be magic but I sensed nothing.”
Eae shook his head. “It is old magic. Not of ours or our brethrens. You cannot sense it because you do not have the imagination to comprehend what Master Temple wields. Perhaps it is because he truly is a Maker.” His eyes grew pensive as he appraised little old me. “I must insist that you leave this place at once. Before your presence offends your betters. More than it already has. Take what Master Temple has so graciously offered you. Life. I dare say you are no match for his new power. Even without the aid of the horseman.” Then he smiled, slowly counting the Justices. “Even with seven of you.” They blinked at this in sheer disbelief, and then looked at me in an altogether new light. I shrugged innocently. As I dropped my hands to my sides, I felt Death’s motorcycle keys resting in my pocket. I frowned. How the hell? But I didn’t let any of my surprise show.
I grinned at Jafar, clutching the mask in my other hand. “The grown ups have important things to discuss. Run along, now, children.”
They disappeared instantly, but Jafar’s eyes fairly smoldered in hatred. I knew it wasn’t the last I would see of old Jafar.
Famine spoke up, clutching a scarecrow mask in a bony hand. “I’m famished. Let’s eat.”
War rolled his eyes. “It’s still not as funny as you seem to think it is.” Then, without my permission, I found my ass violently teleported to a strange dimension. Much less gracefully than Shadow Walking. It felt like we were momentarily ripped out of existence, making me think I had actually been attacked. Othello gripped my hand tightly as a brave new world opened around us.
Chapter 41
I found myself in a fiery courtroom of sorts with volcanoes and glaciers in the distance to either side of us. The skies roiled hungrily. I instantly realized that we were the only mortals in a very immortal world. I managed to peel my eyes away from the scenery after a few moments, and with a start, I noticed that I stood before a chair, clutching the mask in a forgotten hand, all by myself.
As the accused would stand in a trial.
I saw War leading Othello off to the side, as if she was a… witness.
He left her there, and then approached a long ebony table with his brothers. It looked like aged bone. The Four Horseman sat behind the table facing me like judges, and I abruptly felt all sorts of nervous. The Angels sat on the left, the blue glow from the towering glaciers behind them limning their now visible true Angelic forms. Which was terrifying. They had chosen not to reveal their true forms earlier. Now things were more… formal. It was blinding to look at them with their glowing white wings outspread — each pulsing with natural, but different sources of power, whether it was fire, stone, ice, glass, jewel, ether, or water. They began neatly tucking them back behind their shoulders as they organized themselves efficiently — by rank, I guessed. I looked to the other side to see the Demons also flaunting their true forms, flickering geysers of lava spewing into the air behind them like acne from the surface of the planet. They were all uniquely different, some lizard-like, animalistic, and yet others representing the various elements with a darker emphasis than the Angels’ elemental power. And they appeared to be restless rather than orderly, their black wings fidgeting as they snarled at each other for better seats.
Death cleared his throat so I turned to face him, but he was interrupted almost instantly. An IHOP waitress was suddenly there, pushing a cart of… pancakes towards the Horsemen. Her face was blank, devoid of any humanity.
She set a plate before each Rider, flinched when Famine thanked her, and then she disappeared. They began to chow down as if they were the parents at a family dinner, the
Angels and Demons the children.
But what did that make Othello and I?
After a few bites, Death cleared his throat again.
“We are here to determine this young Maker’s fate. Ultimately, it is up to me, but since there are… extenuating circumstances that could possibly ignite Armageddon, I called you, my brothers to stand Watch with me.” They nodded between mouthfuls, looking disinterested, as if this happened all the time. “Now, since we went over most of this in the salvage yard, this is really just a formality. Begin, Eae.”
Several Demons snarled to themselves as the name rang out, most likely past victims of his various Demon thwarting excursions throughout history. Eae stepped forward, and I got a fresh whiff of his being. Frost and burning gravel. Then he told his version of the story. It seemed pretty straightforward. It seemed none of the Angels knew how I had managed to survive, or how I had damaged Eae’s Grace, but he and his brothers seemed to agree that it was because I was a Maker. At least that’s what Eae told the Court. I was pretty sure that they just didn’t want to admit to everyone that the Demon had been strong enough to do it. Save face and prevent any particularly motivated Demons from trying it in the future. Which was smart. But it was a lie. Here I was, listening to an Angel flat out lie. If I weren’t sitting as the accused I would have run away screaming. Political intrigue was apparently not limited to the mortal world. These pigeons could lie with the best of them. Then again, maybe Eae simply had a free pass to lie when convenient in order to thwart the Demons. I shrugged, cataloging the thought away deep in my mind for later scrutiny. Overall, the lie suited my purposes. It only added to my mystery. And I was still trying to come to grips with the fact that I was still breathing. It kind of messed with a guy when he prepared for his impending death only to find out that at the penultimate moment, it wasn’t going to happen the way he thought. Or at all. But I was still on trial. Maybe this was the right time, place, and way Hope had warned me I needed to die. After Eae’s story, there was silence as The Horsemen considered.
“Nothing further to add?” Death asked between mouthfuls. My stomach began to growl as I watched them eat. Eae shook his head.
Death glanced at his brothers and they gave varying nods of understanding between mouthfuls of pancakes. “We will allow your Grace to be restored. If I don’t, then this would be the end of days. As much fun as that might sound, it is not yet time. Agreed, brothers?” They nodded distractedly. I stared open-mouthed. This was ridiculous. They didn’t even seem to care. Were these trials that common? My reverie was interrupted as Death continued. “Then I shall restore the Angel, just as I have brought Othello and Master Temple back from the grave.” The brief warning glance he shot my way could have been measured in nanoseconds, as if to say, don’t say a word. After all, he hadn’t brought us back. I had done that. Death’s mercurial gaze let me know that he was impressed, offended, and seriously, seriously didn’t want Armageddon to start. Funny. You would think that he of all people would want Armageddon to set off with a bang. Death was the source of his power, because, you know, he was the friggin Horseman of Death. That many souls would make him and his brothers amazingly strong.
Only a nanosecond later, he continued for everyone else. “Since the Demons inadvertently started all of this, they do not get this boon.” There were a few grumbles from the Demons, but they remained seated, having expected this outcome. Death flicked a hand at Eae. The Angel visibly shuddered, and then a ragged set of tiny, wilted wings snapped out from his back, reaching only a few feet to either side of him. He looked rough, no longer like a Calvin Klein model, as if he had just been found at six in the morning outside a Vegas strip club with no recollection of the last few hours. Or days. Several Demons chuckled lightly at the sight, but lucky for them, no Angels noticed. They were entirely transfixed on their brother.
Without warning, jagged bolts of lightning from both the nearby volcanoes and glaciers simultaneously hammered into the Angel with twin explosions of light. As the initial flare of light faded, I saw him again. He grunted. Once.
Holy crap.
He set his shoulders defiantly, withstanding the raging flood of crackling energy pouring into him in a continuous stream — fire and ice, the children of the unforgiving, merciless Mother Earth — and was slowly imbued with the powers that God had once created in seven days. The torrent continued unabated, the bolts of power only growing thicker, and thicker, wilder and wilder. Sets of eyes — inky obsidian from the Demons and galactic ice chips from the Angels — watched the spectacle with intense interest. Eae’s wings slowly began to flesh out, sprouting gleaming, pristine feathers over rapidly growing corded muscle, until they stretched a good six feet to either side of him, quivering with sizzling elemental energy. With a crack that split one of the volcanoes down the middle the cord of fiery power from over the Demons’ heads simply ceased, and a single feather rose above Eae’s head, gathering light from the remaining cord of power emanating from the glacier. Lava began spewing wildly into the air, a dust cloud filling the already dark skies. The feather began to glow as it slowly rotated on its axis, faster and faster, brighter and brighter with each passing second. A shockwave built around the feather and then screamed outward in a sonic boom that shook my hair. The glacier calved, sounding like the earth beneath me had suddenly split in two. The bolt of power disappeared, leaving a purple haze in my vision. I blinked several times to clear my sight.
Eae stood before us, a veritable mountain of muscle, much larger than when I had first met him, and his newly remade body would have made the famous Renaissance artists envious. His Grace had been restored.
“I declare the murder of the Demons, the Nephilim, and injury of the Angel even. Both were misunderstandings or misguided actions caused by the summoner, who I will deal with in my own way.” The last was a dark promise that caused several pleased nods from the Angels, and hungry, thoughtful looks from the Demons. “It’s not a crime that Master Temple successfully and fatally defended himself from several Demon attacks. And it is not his fault that he found a way back to the land of the living. It’s mine.” No one argued, as Death’s judgment was the final word on the matter. After all, the Horsemen were the judge and jury of Armageddon, and I had been acting in self-defense, having done nothing wrong in the first place. I nodded in appreciation, but held up a hand.
Famine clapped excitedly, pointing at me. I blushed. Was he for real?
“I have a last request, if it’s not already clear”
Death nodded.
“The little boy, Othello’s nephew. He is to be released.” I did my best to sound confident.
The Demons began to grumble unhappily but Death held up a hand. “Agreed.”
I nodded in thanks. Othello’s knees almost gave out but she managed to maintain her feet, shooting me a smile of such happiness that I couldn’t help smiling back. Famine leaned closer to her and offered her a sip of his orange juice with a friendly smile. She accepted, with wildly terrified eyes, as if fearful of refusing his offer. He beamed as she took the faintest of sips. I chuckled to myself, feeling my tension begin to drain away.
It was… neat.
Clean. Orderly.
The Angels couldn’t be pissed, and neither could the few surviving Demons. They had only been on earth thanks to the Greater Demon and the summoner. Sir Dreadsalot and Gavin, and I had sent them both packing. Everything important concluded, the Angels and Demons left. Somehow. I didn’t exactly dare to watch where they left to, not sure if directly catching a glimpse of Heaven or Hell would permanently destroy my brain.
Death held out a hand and I nodded in understanding. I handed him the motorcycle keys and his mask. As soon as they touched his hand, I collapsed in pure agony, as if every single one of my recent wounds had suddenly happened for the first time.
Simultaneously.
I was whimpering on the ground. The torture slowly began to recede, leaving behind only the lingering effects I had felt prior to the church. Whi
ch was enough all by itself to leave me as a quivering puddle of throbbing aches on the ground. Several eons later, the pain began to subside enough for me to move. Barely. I still hurt. Everywhere. But it was somewhat tolerable. Death was speaking to me as I felt Othello lift me back to my feet, supporting me completely. I survived it, but scowled at her for good measure. She winced. “You can either have your original power back or allow Othello to remain alive.” Death repeated. I felt Othello go rigid beside me.
It took me a few seconds to trust my throat with identifiable speech. I looked from him to Othello. I managed to answer with several pauses for breath amidst bouts of pain. “Not that this is my deciding factor, but… you think I want to get my magic back and be under the purview of the Academy… after all I said to them?” I grunted at a particularly nasty shiver, glad Othello still held me upright. “No thanks. Othello is the true hero. I consider it a win-win. No more asshats in charge of me, and she gets to keep on ticking.” I was definitely a crock wizard, and didn’t deserve my old power back. It would be a reminder, the grueling years it would take me to learn my new Maker ability — the cost of arrogance.
And failure.
I slowly began to feel more or less human, able to withstand my injuries on my own two feet. But Othello was shaking slightly with barely contained cries so I kept my arm wrapped around her, squeezing her shoulder for comfort.
War came down from the table, but Famine and Pestilence continued eating their pancakes. “If you are still alive at the End of Days, I vote that you become a Rider with us. It seems you already have a horse, Grimm, and he will fit in splendidly with Gruff. The grumpy bastard is intolerable.” Death scowled back, but War merely smiled good naturedly before continuing. “You will be the rider of Hope, as that is your most cherished value.” I began to nod in respectful appreciation for the offer, and the fact that he had considered Hope to be a cherished value of mine. Then he continued. “You will pillage and rape all Hope from the world.” My nod froze instantly. What? I hoped that this was just idle talk, and that I wasn’t actually being bound to such a career path.
Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) Page 35
