by Ward, H. M.
Again, I nodded, too ashamed to speak at first. “I found him dying inside here, towards the end of the maze. I thought he wanted to tell me something, but he couldn’t speak. His vocal cords were burned away by brimstone dust.” I spoke in a soft monotone, staring blanking at the painting. “I thought he wanted me to turn him Valefar—so he could tell me. But, I misunderstood…” my voice trailed off. I didn’t know what else to say. This was the first time I’d admitted my sin to anyone. I assumed he wouldn’t care. Most Valefar didn’t care about anything except themselves.
When I looked over at Lorren he had a stern look on his face. I thought he’d say something more about my demon kiss with Eric, but he didn’t. He stepped forward towards the next painting in the series, and asked, “What about the rest of these?”
My heart sank. I didn’t want to look at these. They showed a future that I was trapped in, but wanted no part of. Swallowing hard I stepped towards the next horror encased in paint. The first prophecy canvas I saw was happy compared to these. The rest of them looked like nightmares frozen in paint.
We moved back to a painting that we skipped. My hand floated up to my mouth, and I pressed my fingers to my lips as sorrow overwhelmed me. It was a painting of Eric covered in chains, sitting in a small chair—completely alone. Fierce loyalty burned in his defiant eyes as he refused to answer Julia’s questions. Pressing my eyes together, I shook my head sadly and looked away.
Lorren watched my reaction to it and then said, “This has happened already as well, right?” I nodded. “Tell me what happened here. This was before the Martis was turned Valefar.”
Nodding I said, “Yes, it was.” I told Lorren about Eric’s trial.
He looked at me in shock, “They condemned him to death?” His tone sounded incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe it. “But that’s not right.” When I looked over at him, he was shaking his head with his brows knitted together.
I laughed bitterly, “Since when do Martis do what’s right? Eric tried, and look where it got him. He was a dead man the moment he met me.” I stared at the painting for a few more minutes until I couldn’t look anymore. Remorse filled me. I wished he wasn’t the Seeker, and then maybe things wouldn’t have ended the way they did.
Lorren pulled me to the next painting, recapping what I told him. And we continued down the wall. He showed me the succession of prophecies and with every painting, the images got worse. Some of them depicted grotesque scenes—battles yet to happen. I was in every painting, prominent on every canvas. We stopped in front of a prophecy in the middle of the series, my breath caught in my throat. It depicted me in a flowing black ball gown with a jewel encrusted bodice. Corset strings laced it up tightly. I was in that room, the same room I saw myself in during a vision I had several months ago—a vision that ended with me realizing I was the demon queen. My eyes seemed different in the painting, vacant, hollow like I wasn’t me anymore. These things would come to pass. The paintings didn’t lie, but I couldn’t see how they could possibly reveal the truth either.
I turned away, covering my mouth. “I can’t look at these anymore.” I felt bile rise up in my throat. What had I become? How did it happen? Some of these things had already come to pass. That’s what made it so horrifying. This was real. It was true. These things would happen.
Lorren shook his head and shoved me towards the next painting, “No,” he said fiercely, “You have to look. This is what happens.” His fingers wrapped around my wrist as he pulled me to the next painting, and then the next. “Do you see? Have you noticed the one unifying element that is in every single prophecy?” His eyes were cold.
I pulled out of his grip, and turned to him. “I see. I see myself in every single one. I see that I look haunted and hurt.” I pointed to one that showed me in battle, with the tips of my hair glowing like violet flames. “In that one I look fierce and certain. But in none of these is there a damn thing that says I wanted all of this to happen. Yeah, maybe I play a part, but so does Eric, Collin, Shannon, Al and every other person in any of these! It’s not just me! The whole world doesn’t go to Hell because of one shitty decision that I made!” I was yelling, and didn’t realize it. “I’m sorry, but it’s not a destiny that I wanted.” I hung my head, as Lorren walked away from me.
He pointed to a painting, asking me more questions and folding his arms. He walked back to the painting of Eric’s trial. “This part mattered, greatly. And the thing that acted as the catalyst wasn’t only you. There are several factors at play…” he glanced over at me. “How did he escape punishment? I assume that he wasn’t turned into a Valefar in front of the Martis army.”
“He wasn’t,” I answered, “I saved him.”
Lorren looked surprised. “You saved him?” I explained what happened and how the Martis condemned Eric for helping me. “We’d saved each other several times over the past few months. And down here. It’s just, that last time I tried to save him, well…I screwed up. He was dying and I couldn’t understand him. I thought he wanted to live and that was the only way I knew…” my voice hung in the air and I’d stopped speaking mid-sentence.
“But…” he prompted.
But, I liked it, I thought. But, I enjoyed tasting his soul. The thoughts brushed the back of mind and were too horrifying to acknowledge. I shut my eyes and shook my head. “But nothing. It’s my fault he’s a Valefar.” Looking at the rest of the paintings it was clear. I set this in motion. My decisions were causing a cascade of effects that I didn’t anticipate. There was no way I could have possibly known. I swallowed hard. “So this is it. This is what causes the Apocalypse. Me.”
He nodded. “You and some other factors, but mostly you. But it seems to be an accident, which is shocking. A girl ends the world by mistake.”
Normally, I would have sneered at him. But he was right. I shrugged, “I thought I could change it. I thought the prophecy could bend and become what I made it.”
“It doesn’t work like that. The prophecy is set in stone. This stuff happens,” he gestured towards the paintings. “And you’re the key. Do you see anything in these? Does anything jump out at you?”
I was about to say no, but something did seem odd. I knew all the people in the paintings. In every painting Collin’s face was obscured, but I knew it was him. One painting depicted Shannon swinging her silver sword like a warrior. That was the night we closed the portal on Long Island. I walked down the line looking at the paintings again, and instead of seeing my demise, I saw… something. Something with Collin and Eric. But what? I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. Collin and Eric. I stared at the paintings and realized it seemed like a piece of the puzzle was missing. I counted and there were only twelve paintings. After a moment I paused and looked back at Lorren. “There’s one missing.”
He nodded. “There is. It’s the last one in the series. We were missing the first until recently. It was tossed in here a few months ago. But it’s that last painting that says what happens—who wins. If you win, you defeated Kreturus and take his power. That makes you Demon Queen. If he wins, if he steals your power when you die, then…God help us.”
I looked up at him. “You don’t think that I’ll turn evil by the time I kill Kreturus, if that is what happens? How could you think that?”
He looked at the painting and back at me. “Because. It’s all over your face. You don’t want to be this girl, and yet you are. She is you and you are her; and yet, you aren’t the same—yet. ”
I laughed, but it was completely hollow. What were the odds that I would find the only Valefar who knew where these paintings were located? Valefar knew a lot and the ones I’d met were older for the most part. And everybody seemed to know more than I did, but no one knew where the other paintings were. I was lucky I’d seen the one. And as far as the Martis were concerned, the other twelve paintings didn’t exist any longer. I wondered why they thought that. While I was thinking about the odds of me stumbling on the one guy who knew where all but one of the prophecy painting
s was, I decided it was luck. But, I was a little too lucky. I mean, what were the odds of that? And for that matter, what were the odds that he’d know how to heal me, too?
I turned to him and shook my head. I couldn’t ask him directly why he knew all this stuff. That usually didn’t go over well. So I asked the next best thing, “So tell me, because I can’t figure it out. Why are you showing me this instead of sucking out my soul?”
Lorren laughed. He laughed out loud like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Suck out your soul. Why would I do that?” A huge smile spread across his lips as he wrapped his arms tightly around his middle and tried to contain his laughter. “You really think I’m a Valefar!”
My words sounded like I was offended, and I was. Lorren thought I was an idiot. A bumbling prophecy girl. I snapped at him, “Of course that’s what I think! You’re in Hell, you look like a human, and you’re slightly insane. You might as well have Valefar stamped on your head!” He was still laughing softly and shaking his head.
I cocked my head and considered him for a moment. He didn’t show any signs of being a Valefar. It was just a weird place for anyone but a Valefar to hang out. “Fine. But, then what are you?” Lorren folded his arms and looked down at me. His green eyes sparkled as the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. His smiles seemed condescending at first, but I couldn’t really tell anymore. I wanted to kick him; he was irritating me so much. Instead I said, “You smile an awful lot for someone living in Hell.”
He laughed again and replied, “I can’t see the harm in telling you, although I don’t think I’ve said this to too many people over my lifetime.” I had no idea what he was about to say, but since it wasn’t public information I was a little more eager to hear it. The expression on his face shifted. The smile smoothed out and his eyes were locked with mine. “Ivy, I’m an angel.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Stunned, I stared at him with my mouth hanging open. “What?” I squeaked. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. “That’s not possible! You’re in Hell. Angels don’t live here. I think the Lorren smacked you in the head one too many times.” My lips twisted into an uncomfortable smile. Was this why he was so intimidating? There was something about him that was so overwhelming, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Now, looking at him—even with his confession—I still couldn’t believe it.
Walking down the wall, he began to pull back the golden flowers that hid the prophecies, concealing them completely with golden vegetation one at a time. He spoke over his shoulder while he did it, “You’re very astute,” he teased. “No, most angels don’t live here, but I do. Let’s just say I’m a remnant of the old guard.” There was a smirk on his face as he said those last words.
A chill ran through me, as my stomach lurched. The old guard? Some very scary angel had occupied parts of the Underworld after Kreturus was defeated nearly two thousand years ago. They were the twisted freaks who left the Guardian at the Pool of the Lost Souls, and set traps to keep the demons contained within their world and out of mine. They were merciless. Their traps were cruel, but extremely effective. Still stunned and increasingly weary of this boy, I managed to whisper, “So you’re an angel named Lorren, huh?” He smiled, nodding. I watched him as he moved the golden vines in front of him, not really paying attention to what he was doing. My mind was spinning faster than I could think. If he was an angel, and was left here by the old guard, it was possible that he didn’t just live in this hideous maze. Dread filled me as words flew out of my mouth before they fully formed in my mind, “You made the Lorren, didn’t you? The angels left it here. It wasn’t something that was made by demons. The Lorren was made by you.” There was an accusatory tone to my voice. I hated this place. The person who made it was one screwed up bastard. And yet, it was this guy—and he was an angel. Confusion contorted my face, although I tried to hide it.
He finished covering the last painting and turned back toward me. “Yeah,” he laughed, “I’m an arrogant bastard, and after I finished with it, I named it after myself. Seemed like a good idea at the time. The Lorren was the strongest defense to hold back the demons. No one has passed through it and lived—except you.” He flicked a glance at me and scoffed, “And I seriously wonder how that was possible.”
I shirked off his jab and said, “That’s why you can live here, and the magic of this place doesn’t affect you? It’s not because you defeated the Lorren, it’s because you are Lorren.” He nodded. I looked at him again, as if seeing him for the first time. He was an angel that was living inside a tomb. In Hell. I folded my arms and looked up at him, suspiciously. “So, did the angels kick you out, or what? Why are you down here?” Eric had told me that all the old guard pulled out. There weren’t supposed to be any remaining angels down here anymore—hence the hideous traps.
Lorren shrugged and began walking back down the golden passages that we passed through before. I followed him, still wary, not knowing what to think or if I could believe him. It was so weird. Why would he stay here? I wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible. Everything from the cold, damp air to the eternal night made me feel twitchy, like I was trapped in a tomb. Why would anyone stay here by choice? Lorren walked with a confident stride, but his shoulders slumped forward a little bit like he thought he was too tall. I raced to keep up with him.
He’d been quiet; walking away from me quickly like my question pissed him off. “By choice,” he shot me a sharp look. “And, I wasn’t kicked out. I check on things once in a while. We noticed there was a lot more going on in these parts than there had been—portals being opened from the wrong side.” He shot me a snide look, “Ya know, from up there,” he gestured upward with his thumb, “and that’s a bit unusual. Most people don’t want to go into the Underworld. A few months ago a portal was opened somewhere near New York. And then another one was opened a few weeks ago near Rome.” We entered the golden room where he drew most of the poison out of my chest. The silver rose that he used to heal me lay on the ledge where he left it. He picked it up before turning to me. Tipping the petals toward me, he said, “That was you. You were the one responsible for opening the portal to the Underworld. Both times.” It didn’t sound like a question, but it seemed like he was asking me. It seemed like he was leery of something, but he didn’t give me any idea of what.
Hesitantly, I confessed, “I opened the catacomb in Rome, and I was there when they opened the portal in New York. But it wasn’t me who opened it. It was the Valefar.”
He walked toward me and stopped less than a foot from me. I could feel the heat pouring off of him like he was on fire. I tried to step back, but he took another step toward me. Why did everyone think they could intimidate me? I was short, but I wasn’t powerless. Angel or not, I could fight back. Part of me wanted to scream at him to back off, but part of me wanted to know what he was afraid of. I could see it in his eyes. He was afraid. What types of things scared angels?
His voice was deep and came out in a whisper, “The Valefar couldn’t have opened the portal without you. You have the key.” His eyes burned into me as his gaze intensified. “One Valefar can pass through a portal without your key, but that wasn’t what happened, was it? Demons tried to escape. Valefar went in. And Kreturus tried to come out. You tell me that you aren’t helping him, and yet you’re the one who opened the portals, you are the one who has the key, and you are the one who gave him part of your soul.” He inched towards me as he was speaking, like he was scolding a child. His face was inches from mine. His eyes blazed with fury.
I bristled, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You weren’t there. I told you that I don’t want this. If you had the means to break the prophecy and make it so that it didn’t exist, I would tell you to do it right now—no matter what it cost me. You don’t think that I feel guilty about everything that’s happened? You don’t think that I tried to stop it? When you found me, I was half dead. I gave up my life to end all of this! You’re bli
nd if you can’t see that.” Somehow my angry speech made me stretch to my tip toes, so I could scream in his face. Breathing hard, I noticed how angry he made me. I didn’t care if he was an angel or not. I knew who I was, and what I wanted, but he had no clue.
There was silence. Neither of us said a word. I backed away from his face, but I didn’t look away. Lorren ignored me for a moment and gazed at the wall. Finally, his eyes cut to me. “I believe you.”
What an ass! My jaw dropped open in disbelief. He acted as if I needed his approval—as if I cared what he thought. When words finally formed a coherent thought, my voice was sharp, “I don’t care what you believe.” I pushed past him and into the labyrinth. “I’m leaving.”
He called behind me, “I’m here to draw out the rest of the poison when you need me.” I didn’t turn around to acknowledge him. My hands clenched into fists at the thought, If I needed him. Shit! I totally needed him. If I didn’t get the sapphire serum out of me, I’d make the prophecy come true that much faster.
