Jovian could see the other votaries down there, hoisting bodies onto the stacks of wood, their chants muffled by distance. Maeven walked behind them, his head freshly shaven, his blue robe blowing in the stiff wind. He carried a censer that billowed red copal into the air, a miasma of blood reaching toward the sky. Jovian tried to follow the smoke, see the point where it faded away to the whiteness of the snow beyond, or into the gray cloud coverage, but he couldn’t. The wind was too strong, whipping tails of scented smoke out behind Maeven as he walked somberly around the pyres.
Jovian clasped his hands, thoughts of home weighing heavy on his heart. He had spoken reverent words over the mass pyre they had built. He remembered the bodies, the parts of bodies whose identities he still didn’t know, melting in the flames, billowing their smoke to the skies. He wondered if one of them had been Dauin. They hadn’t found their father. Jovian wondered if the fact that he didn’t hold stock in religious ceremony would affect the people he had prayed for, wondered if their souls would find their way from the grave and to Death and his three wisdoms with the aid of his baseless words.
Already they had missed their darkest hour. Would they have been stranded on the realms? Were these soldiers, dwarves, frement, ooslebed, dryads, trolls, and giants all bound to the realm now, since the prayers didn’t come soon enough to help them along their way?
Jovian looked to the sky and remembered the purple void he’d seen many times. He knew the Goddess existed; he had seen her in those purple clouds. He had even seen the silver radiance of her distant Kingdom that first night he met Baba Yaga. He couldn’t believe she would strand her believers to wallow in purgatory if someone wasn’t by their side soon enough to chant a senseless prayer.
No, this ceremony was for the living.
The scent of the sacred red copal drifted to his nose as priests and priestesses walked up and down the aisles, brushing the smoke toward all who lingered there, helping them find peace with the death, with the Goddess, and remembering those souls who were even now being transmuted to smoke.
The pyres below came to life with fire, and as the first licks of flame reached the heavens, the votaries on the field below began their death chanting. They would hold vigil through the night, watching the flames and praying the souls to the Ever After.
Angelica felt the hands clasped in hers long before the dream unveiled what it had to show them. One strong, callused hand in her right that she knew was Jovian’s, a delicate, smooth one in her left that she knew was Joya. There was another with them there — she could feel them, other minds with them. One beside Joya, and Angelica could feel the hum of Cianna’s sleeping mind within the darkness before the dream.
Before Angelica, the darkness wavered like a pebble dropped into water. It rippled out, and from the center, stretching out as far as her eyes could see, color flowed, until a picture hung before her. It was a picture of her family table. At the head of it Dauin sat, lifting a glass of whiskey to his lips as Jovian and her sisters laughed around a mouthful of apple pie. Grace sat next to Dauin, and they shared a secret smile. Angelica had never really known Grace to smile the entire time they had lived under that roof, but she must have, hiding her mirth behind a surly mask.
Angelica couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about, but she remembered the night well. Alhamar had excused himself, and the kitchen staff were in the kitchen eating their dinner and enjoying their dessert. It was those times of night, when the house hushed from activity, that Angelica loved the most. It was a calm time, restful from the active day, a time to enjoy the company of her siblings and enjoy the sweets conjured in Ashell’s cooking fires.
But all of that was gone now. She turned her head from the sight, but wherever she looked, the image followed. It stung now; the pain of seeing all of them together was more than she could bear. Amber was gone, Dauin dead, their home lay in ruins. This would never happen again. They would never taste the smoky flavor of Ashell’s roasts, never smell the mingled scents of their father’s liquor and Grace’s tobacco, never share a meal ever again.
As if the thought had drawn attention her way, Amber turned to look at them, her mirth gone. She stared straight at them, chewing silently, as if she knew they were watching. Angelica remembered that too, she remembered how Amber had suddenly sobered that night. She excused herself, saying her stomach hurt.
Amber stood and walked around the table, into the darkness of the room beyond. They followed, not with steps, but with a tug in Amber’s direction.
Angelica felt her feet slide over the floor in the dream, dragged behind her sister, barely seeing her bobbing blonde head in the near-blackness of the living room. Amber turned right, and up the flight of stairs she went, toward her room.
Hand in hand with her dream companions, Angelica was a slave to follow her sister. But when they crested the top of the stairs and turned left into the hallway, there stood the graceful figure in black from their dream of the tower.
Angelica’s breath caught in her throat, and from the end of the hall a bright light flared, blotting out all images other than the figure in black. When the light receded like ocean waves, a new image was shown: the trampled field where they had seen the angels before, poised, ready for battle.
Now the angels were gone. Some of them lay in a tangle of limbs and torn wings. Black and white feathers flitted through the air like blossoms in the wind. The smell of blood rose from the wasted earth to Angelica’s nose.
Behind the black-robed figure stood the Pale Horse, as if tethered to the ground with an invisible line. It tossed its head, but wouldn’t leave the figure.
And then the earth rumbled and split open behind the figure. A great force was rising from the earth, and Angelica and her companions stepped back away from it.
From the chasm in the earth rose a giant figure straight out of the Otherworld. With the iridescent body of a great wyrm, it slithered from the depths. Seven necks protruded from its body, ending in seven heads decorated with fourteen faces. From the back of the wyrm snapped open twelve black leathery wings, all beating at the air, trying to take flight. But it didn’t take flight; it eased toward the black robed figure.
Come and see, she heard whispered in her mind. The wyrm came to stand behind the figure before them. Its tail wrapped around the legs of the figure, and its wings enfolded the form, blocking it from sight.
When the wings opened again, a new figure stood there, clothed in a white toga with silver bangles upon her wrists. A spill of honey-blonde hair cascaded around the woman, down to her waist. Upon her brow sat a silver tangle of chains, twisted artfully into her hair. Her head was back, leaning against the wyrm, her eyes closed as if sleeping, her mouth parted in a peaceful sigh.
Wings unfolded from her back, black and beautiful.
The head tilted toward them, and her amber eyes opened, gazing into Angelica’s eyes. Amber smiled to her, held a hand out, and with one finger beckoned them forth.
Angelica felt a pain in her heart, and she clasped her chest.
The Beast! Angelica thought. A scream rose in her throat, and chased her into the waking world.
Her scream split the darkness of her room, and Angelica sat straight up in her bed. Hers wasn’t the only scream that tore through the suite. She hear Joya scream as well, and Jovian shout from his room.
Angelica was out of the bed before she knew what she was doing. Tossing a white dressing gown around her shoulders, she cinched it tight, speeding from her room.
Joya was already in her doorway, her black hair tousled from the nightmare. Jovian was pushing out of his room, sleep heavy in his haunted eyes, wearing only a pair of sleeping pants.
Maeven followed him.
“What—?” Angelica started, but a knock on their door made her jump and cuss. When her heart stopped racing, she opened the door to Cianna, Devenstar standing behind her looking frazzled and still half asleep.
“What was that?” Cianna asked.
“Your father,”
Joya said, walking further into the room. She perched on the edge of the couch, but then stood abruptly, not able to even feign serenity.
“And Amber,” Jovian said. He crossed his arms and leaned against his doorframe.
“What were they doing there?” Cianna asked, stepping in. Devenstar closed the door behind them.
“All beings of angelic blood are being called to the Turquoise Tower to witness what is coming,” Angelica said, repeating something Sara had said before. “She was drawn there, from wherever she was running, and into his trap.” Bile rose in her throat.
“But her wings,” Cianna whispered. She and Joya shared a look Angelica couldn’t read.
“He’s corrupting her,” Jovian said. Angelica nodded her head in agreement. “Only chaotic half-breeds have black wings. It’s not her. The dream showed that he is corrupting her.”
Cianna looked to her feet, her face flushing. Angelica’s eyebrows knitted together, watching their cousin.
A glass smashed on the floor, and Angelica jumped. Joya stood by the window, glass at her feet. One hand was clenched in a tangle of hair on top of her head, the other at her waist. She itched her head.
“We failed,” she murmured. “We failed!” she said again, louder, angrier. The fire roared with her unsuppressed rage. She flung the decanter off the table and it smashed against the wall, oozing whiskey into the carpet beneath.
“Joya,” Jovian said, going to his sister, disregarding the glass on the floor. He winced, leaving bloody footprints, but made it to her side. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to look at him. “We know where she is now. He won’t harm her as long as he knows we’re coming. She’s the bait to get us there.”
“But he has her, Jove!” Joya said. “Who’s to say that he hasn’t already killed her, or corrupted her?”
“I think he will wait for us to watch the corruption, or the killing,” Jovian told her.
“He’s right,” Cianna said. “I feel it too.”
Joya shook her head and turned toward the window. It was one of the few that hadn’t been sent beyond the Black Gate. “We have to go there,” she said.
“I agree,” Angelica said. “We were going to go there eventually, when the pull became too strong; now we have a reason to go of our own accord.”
“And what if you’re playing into his trap?” Maeven asked, his voice hesitant, as if he didn’t want to say it.
“He’s right,” Devenstar said. “What if Amber isn’t there at all?”
“She’s there,” Jovian said, turning back to the room. “And we’re going to find her.”
Sara settled into the chair behind her desk, resting her cane against it. Annbell stood beside her, her arms crossed, relaxed. Before her and to her sides sat a group of people she had come to know as friends.
Joya sat to her right, Caldamron and Shelara posted behind her. Directly beside Joya sat Cianna, chatting quietly with her cousin. Then came Angelica and Jovian, both looking bored, but not talking. Maeven was whispering to Grace, who in turn laughed, then repeated what he’d said to Rosalee and Dalah. Mag came next, looking around at the gathered people, wondering what they were talking about, but not being rude enough to join in a conversation she wasn’t part of. Beside her was Flora, seemingly as much an outcast as Mag.
“I’ve received notification from the other Realm Guardians,” Sara said, and the idle chatter came to a close. “Aladestra says we are not the only place to suffer from fallen attacks. She, herself, had to stave off one such attack on the Ivory Tower.” Sara held up the black parchment with the shimmering silver words. “She must have been truly frightened — she wrote it on her important and scary parchment.”
Annbell chuckled, and a few others who knew Aladestra smirked.
“The damage was extensive, I’m told. Thousands of people were killed in the attack, and much of the center city lies in ruin. She’s called an emergency Guardian meeting to deal with the threat. She doesn’t think this will be the last attack, and I tend to agree with her. Knowing what we do of what is coming — or has already come, as it appears — in the west, Annbell and I agree that the attacks won’t stop there. Most likely the angels are dealing in terror now, trying to shake us up before the real attack. It’s now that we must be the most courageous.
“However, we can’t deny that what Angelica and Jovian have seen of the Turquoise Tower, and what Joya and Cianna have also witnessed, is a very real threat right now. I’ve been counseled by Grace, and I think it is very important we take the threat to the west seriously.”
Grace nodded, but wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. It was as if she were embarrassed, or reluctant that anyone go to the west. With Sara’s next words, Joya knew why.
“Angelica, Joya, Jovian, would you please stand.” They did so, shuffling to the center of the room, not sure why they were there. “The last time Arael rose, it was a LaFaye who put him down — your mother. You are LaFaye blood, and as it was a LaFaye that saved us last time, it is my hope that a LaFaye will save us this time. I would charge you three with going to the tower, and taking care of the threat.”
“Do you have that authority?” Shelara asked, no doubt worried about her Guardian.
“I don’t, but they are being called there anyway; there might as well be a plan in place for when they get there,” Sara answered. Without saying anything to one another, Shelara and Caldamron took up their position behind Joya, indicating they were following the Shadow Guardian, even if that meant into death.
“Then I will go as well.” Cianna stood and took Joya’s hand.
There was a pained look in Sara's eyes, but she nodded. "It is fitting the daughter of Pharoh go with the children of Sylvie."
“Who says Arael will still be there?” Maeven asked.
“He has Amber. He will stay there,” Annbell said.
“He has a score to settle with Sylvie, also,” Jovian said. “He won’t miss that chance to try and destroy us.”
“Grace, Rosalee, Dalah, Flora and her troupe, Annbell, Mag, and a few others will go with us to the Ivory City and see what Aladestra thinks we should do about the threat to the realms.”
“I’m going with Jovian,” Maeven said, standing. “There’s no need to argue, I won’t hear it. I’m going, and it’s settled. If not with them, then behind them. Either way, I travel to the west.”
Sara noticed the look on Jovian’s face, part relief, part fear, and all anger. It didn’t stop him from slipping his hand into Maeven’s, however. She looked at the five of them, bathed in the sunlight coming through her office window, and closed her eyes. They were all so young to be facing such a powerful threat, but it was the only hope they had.
Word had traveled to her that Sylvie still resided inside Jovian and Angelica, and Sara had noticed the medallion around Cianna’s neck in recent days. They traveled with powerful allies — if they were to succeed, this was how they would do it.
“At this point our paths will part. Prepare yourselves, and may the Goddess bless our paths, bringing us together once more.”
It was a sad couple of days as they all prepared to leave in their separate directions. Joya had come to think of Grace as part of her family, even if at times she hadn’t really cared for the older lady. Now that they were preparing to leave, it hit her hard how much she, Jovian, and Angelica had lost.
They sat in the common room of their shared suite, eating dinner. Rather, they were supposed to be eating dinner, but Joya couldn’t focus on the food. Her stomach was a mess of nerves and emotions about their coming travel. They had been through a lot of things together, this war being the most dangerous, but they had pulled through. But when Joya thought of what was to come — the angelic army they would all face, and Arael at the end of it — Joya just wanted to throw up.
How are we supposed to survive? she wondered. She couldn’t keep her gaze from lingering on her brother and sister. They were joined together by a bond bestowed upon them at their births by their mother. Sylvie still c
oursed in their veins; her memories still dwelled in their heads. They were better equipped for this than she was.
Cianna even had the necklace now, and she was full angel. What did Joya have?
She closed her eyes and schooled her thoughts. She was a Realm Guardian, a sorceress, and these thoughts shouldn’t be plaguing her now. She was strong in wyrd, and swift in action. She would be fine.
But part of her knew she was going to her death.
She looked across the table at Angelica, sitting there chewing on her food in a manner that wasn’t like Angelica at all. She took one bite at a time, instead of diving into her plate. That was the only indication Joya had that Angelica was nervous.
Jovian hadn’t even made the attempt to eat. He had pushed his plate away, and now sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his feet propped up on the coffee table between the couches. Maeven was at his side, eating regularly, as if nothing was happening, no dark future was looming before them. Joya wished she could be as calm as him. He kept casting glances at Jovian, though, and Joya knew he was worried.
She wanted to stay up all night, sitting beside Grace, smelling the tobacco that billowed in tufts of smoke out of the end of her long pipe. She wanted to imprint as much of the woman’s face in her mind as she could, in case she never saw her again. But the longer she sat up, the longer she worried about what was coming, the worst her stomach got.
Finally she excused herself for the night. She wrapped her arms around Grace and took a deep breath of the crone’s rose and tobacco-scented hair. Joya kissed Grace on her withered cheek, marveling at how much it felt like wax.
Grace locked eyes with her, and Joya stared into the older lady’s watery blue gaze.
“Sleep now, child,” Grace told her, patting her cheek. “You need your rest.”
Joya nodded and went to bed, but sleep evaded her, and before she knew it the sun was rising in the east, painting the tips of the snow-capped mountains in pink and honeyed-yellow warmth.
On Wings of Chaos (Revenant Wyrd Book 5) Page 24
