The Storm

by Elizabeth Hunter

  She hadn’t been surprised to feel Azril’s presence around the house. It had grown stronger every day, but it did not frighten her. The angel of death was neither Fallen nor Forgiven. He played by neither set of rules but lived in a limbic space between the heavenly and earthly realm. And if her father Barak had anything like friends, Azril had been one.

  “He is familiar?”

  “He often visited my father,” Kyra said. “I do not fear him. He was always gentle with my sisters.”

  Artis’s eyes were wide. “I see.”

  “Are you afraid?” Kyra laid a hand on her belly. “Or reluctant now? I told Leo I didn’t want to tell you about the baby because I wasn’t sure if you would feel obligated.”

  “My great-grandchild will be well protected. Of that I have no doubt. I am ready.” He took a deep breath and slowly released it. “I have been ready for hundreds of years.”

  She nodded. “I promise, if you welcome him, he will be kind to you.”

  “I will remember that.” He laid a tentative hand on Kyra’s shoulder. “Thank you, daughter.”

  “You’re welcome.” She looked at the cradle. “And thank you. I will treasure it.”

  Max and Renata sat in the woods, perched on logs in the middle of a ring of trees where the strange presence felt strongest.

  “What are we doing here?” Renata asked. She wasn’t afraid, but she was uncomfortable. Something about waiting for death scraped on her nerves. Death was a thief, stealing her family from her. It had stolen Max’s mother and father, stolen any kind of childhood from him.

  “Wait,” he said. “Just wait.”

  When her mate had become a Zen master of calm was a mystery to Renata. They had been at the farm for seven days, having one-sided conversations with Artis and Peter, milking cows, and taking care of repairs. Kyra had baked enough bread to feed a small village, and Renata had spent time caring for the animals, which was soothing. Leo sat in the smithy with his silent father, and Max had spent most of the week walking through the woods.

  “I can hear you thinking,” Max said. “You need to quiet your mind.”

  “I can’t quiet my mind.”

  “Then sing something,” he said. “Sing a song that Azril might like.”

  “Why do you want to meet him so much? Do you have a death wish I need to know about?”

  Max chuckled. “Not at all.” He put his arm around her and grabbed a handful of her backside. “I have too much living to do right now.”

  “Then why—”

  “I have a theory,” Max said. “And it has to do with two baby boys left after a massacre. Boys that Death didn’t take when he came for their mothers. Boys who disappeared for some time and then reappeared, completely unharmed, at a scribe house near their destroyed home.”

  Renata’s eyes went wide. “You think Azril is the boy you remember?”

  Max’s eyes danced. “I don’t know. But he would have been there, wouldn’t he? To carry their souls to heaven. He would have been with them. He would have seen us and… I don’t know. Done something.”

  She couldn’t ask why knowing mattered so much to him. She had books of history written in her heart. She knew every story about her birth and childhood. The roots of her family were dug so deep that even when the tree had been chopped at the base, it had sprung up again in her, too strong for death to kill it.

  Max’s roots had been ripped out and never truly replanted.

  So Renata did the only thing she could do. She opened her mouth and sang a song to welcome Death.

  My soul is ready

  I am ready to fly.

  Fly to the heavens

  where my ancestors rest.

  My soul is ready

  to take your hand.

  Death, where do you stay?

  Bringer of peace, where do you rest?

  Old friend, I am waiting for you.

  You visit the king in his bed of gold

  and the beggar you treat the same.

  Full welcome are you,

  friend to singer and scribe.

  Death, come swiftly for I am in wait.

  As Renata sang in the Old Language, she felt the air stir around her. She blinked and saw a man who was not a man appear in the middle of the clearing. He was beautiful and his face was unlined, though the silver eyes that watched them through thick black lashes bore the weight and bearing of eternity.

  Far from a celestial being, he seemed to grow from the earth. He sat on the ground. His face was unlined, with light brown skin and Baltic features as familiar as Max’s. He was shrouded in a cloak made of fine bark and grass, but when he moved, it sounded to Renata like a bird taking flight. An eight-pointed star shone on his forehead. His presence was immense, though he appeared no taller than Max.

  “You’re Azril,” Max said. “But you’re not the boy.”

  The angel smiled. No.

  The words didn’t leave the creature’s mouth, but he spoke them into their minds. Renata knew Max had heard the same voice, because his shoulders slumped in disappointment.

  Wait. The angel raised his hand. Wait.

  They waited for what could have been minutes or hours. Renata had lost all sense of time and space as she stared at Death in corporeal form. “You took them all,” she said quietly.

  He nodded. It is my purpose.

  “Did it hurt?”

  This earthly realm offers pain, but my touch is gentle. Do not fear me. When I come for you, I will be a welcome friend.

  “I may have sung the song,” she said. “But I’m not ready. Not nearly ready. So don’t remember where I live, do you hear me?”

  Azril smiled, and a laughing voice echoed in her mind. I never forget anything, but I’ll do my best to misplace you. Will that do?

  Max grabbed her hand. “That will do.”

  In the distance, Renata heard footsteps rustling through the forest. Leo’s voice was the first thing she recognized.

  “…don’t like it when he just shows up like this.”

  “I didn’t call him this time.”

  “This time? You mean the other times you did call him?”

  “Leo, he’s young! I think he gets lonely.”

  “That’s not true.” A clear voice rang through the woods. “I don’t get lonely.”

  Leo, Kyra, and a very sullen-looking Vasu stepped into the clearing in the middle of the pines.

  Max immediately tried to stand, but Renata kept him next to her.

  Vasu walked into the clearing and pointed at Azril. “He called me.”

  There are stories that need to be told, little brother.

  “Why?” Vasu leaned on a tree, his arms crossed. That day, the fallen angel appeared to be little more than a teenager and entirely deserving of the sullen label Kyra had given him. His hair was thick and black with gold streaks woven through it. He was dressed entirely in black and looked far more like an angel of death than the wild creature in the middle of the wood.

  Tell them.

  “Does it matter now?”

  That is not for you to decide. Tell them because they want to know. Azril looked at Kyra. And she needs to hear it.

  Vasu huffed out a breath. “I don’t know where to start.”

  Then I will start and you will finish. Azril stared directly at Max. Picture a forest very much like this one.

  Max closed his eyes, and Azril’s voice flowed over them, lulling Renata into a kind of trance.

  She hid you in the forest while her mate fought them back. They had already killed her twin. She felt her soul tear in half, but she was determined. Though she called out for my mercy, she was adamant. They could not have the children too.

  Max said, “My mother. You’re talking about my mother in the forest.”

  I was there to take their hands, son of Leoc. If you reach very far, you might find their last moments. Your blood would allow it, but do not look for them; remember their bravery. Your father fought so your mother could escape with the babes. She h
eard them in the woods. I saw them run after her.

  “But you did nothing?” Leo said.

  Azril cocked his head. It is not for me to intervene. That is not my purpose.

  “But you did intervene!” Vasu shouted. “You and Barak both. You called him and he came, and was that His will? Was it, Azril?”

  Renata felt the chill in her bones as Max gripped her hand. Barak? What did Kyra’s Fallen father have to do with this?

  Azril continued as if he’d heard nothing.

  She lay on the forest floor and I came to her. She was angry and afraid. “You cannot take them,” she told me when I took her hand. “They are not for you.”

  “She hid us in the forest,” Leo said.

  In a cradle made of grass.

  “A basket cradle,” Kyra said. “Like Artis gave to me.”

  She put a spell over the babies. You slept for many hours.

  “And then my father found them,” Kyra said. “Didn’t he? Vasu said you called him.”

  I always called Barak; he listened.

  Kyra reached for Leo’s hand. “He and the wolves came; he’s the one who saved Max and Leo. The boy with the golden eyes.”

  His true visage would have been too frightening.

  “But why?” Leo asked.

  I could not take the children. They were not for me.

  Max spoke in a hoarse voice. “But why did he save us? Hundreds of children died in the Rending. Maybe thousands. What were we to him?”

  Vasu cocked his head and finally spoke. “The Rending offended Barak. He saw the world in a state of balance, and the massacre disrupted it. He withdrew from the world after it happened, killed any of his sons who had taken part. He let others take his territory. Eventually he even let his children think he was dead.” Vasu nodded at Max. “That was your doing. Both of you.”

  “You think two Irin babies influenced the course of an archangel’s history?” Leo said. “You give us too much credit, Vasu.”

  “Your blood mixed with his,” Vasu said. “It’s always the beginning of the end for us. Once we cross into the terrestrial realm in that way, we begin to feel things.” Vasu shivered. “That’s why I avoid Forgiven children as much as possible.”

  Leo said, “What do you mean, our blood mixed?”

  “You had a wound on your leg from one of the wolves,” Vasu said. “Barak kicked the wolf back and healed the cut with his blood because it had been his animal that harmed you.”

  “And that was it?” Max asked. “Barak gave up his power on earth because Leo had a cut on his leg?”

  Vasu frowned. “Blood has power, scribe. Barak gave his power to the powerless. He saved the children of his enemies. In doing that, he altered his history and your own. He tied your line together with his. If you think any of this is an accident, then you haven’t been paying attention.” And with that, Vasu blinked out of sight.

  Leo, Kyra, Renata, and Max were left in the forest with Azril, whose eyes rested on Kyra.

  She walked over and sat on the ground in front of Death, crossing her legs and putting her hands on her belly.

  Leo started forward. “Kyra, don’t.” He reached out but let his hand fall when he saw the angel pass a hand over his mate’s head in a caress as maternal as any human or Irina mother.

  Kyra smiled. “Hello, Azril.”

  Daughter, you touch eternity.

  “Do you know?” Kyra asked. “Can you see it?”

  Yes. The joy in his voice was incandescent. The air around them shimmered with it. Your child will be blessed in this realm and the next.

  “Thank you, Azril.”

  It is good to see you so happy.

  “It is good to see you.”

  The shining note that echoed in Renata’s mind was nothing like a voice, though she knew it came from the angel. It was a pealing bell and an exuberant birdsong. A pure expression of joy so acute it made her eyes water.

  Azril spoke to Renata. Thank you for calling me. Your song honors your mother.

  “Thank you.”

  Max squeezed her hand. “It’s been you in the forest this week, hasn’t it?”

  I know the old one waits for me.

  “Will you come when he’s ready?” Leo asked.

  Of course. Azril began to fade from view. I will always come.

  Leo lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. His hand rested on Kyra’s belly, and he listened to the rapid heartbeat of the child in her womb. At first the pace of it had frightened him. Then the doctor assured them it was the way all babies’ hearts beat. His child was healthy. According to Azril, his child would have a long and blessed life. Or at least that was what Death had told his mate. And what had he told Leo?

  I could not take the children. They were not for me.

  So Barak and Azril had saved two children and returned them to half-dead men who raised them without evident love or affection. They had raised warriors who went on to hunt demons and bring down angels.

  Leo rolled over and watched Kyra as she slept. Her dark hair splayed over the pillow beside him, and he tucked a piece of it under his cheek, smoothing the silk between his fingers. Reshon. Lover. Mate. Mother. She was all things to him.

  Perhaps Barak heard the echo of the Creator’s will in a baby’s cry. By protecting Leo and Max, Barak had saved a life that would eventually connect with his own line.

  Your blood mixed with his.

  Leo laid his hand on Kyra’s belly again. Barak’s blood. Fallen blood. Forgiven blood. They lived in this tiny child just as Jaron’s blood lived in Malachi and Ava’s children.

  Who are we becoming?

  Wiser men than Leo had tried to answer that. But maybe it came back to what Barak had believed. A world in balance. Life and death. Dark and light. One life entered the world as another life left it. He pulled Kyra closer as she slept.

  “Leo?” she murmured as she tucked her face into his neck. “You all right?”

  He took a deep breath and inhaled the sweet frangipani perfume she used in her hair. He ran a hand over her arm, which was growing plump and full as her body prepared for their child. His restlessness fled, and he felt a peace beyond understanding fill his soul.

  “I am,” he whispered. “I’m all right.”

  Joy could be built on pain, just as good could come from evil.

  Leo finally believed that, and he slept.

  Epilogue

  Artis stayed outside his last night on earth, staring at the stars in a night filled with music and singing. Max played the guitar while Peter played the mandolin. Leo built a fire, and Artis sat in front of it wrapped only in linen, his body in touch with the earth that had held it for so long.

  Kyra sat next to him on a cushion Leo had insisted on. She fed small sticks into the fire and watched the smoke rise while Renata sang softly next to Max. She watched Artis turn his face up to the heavens. His soul was drifting before her. His expression was peaceful, and Kyra was glad.

  She said, “My father used to tell his children we weren’t at home here. That we had no home. But I don’t think that’s right.”

  “No?”

  “No, I think we have two homes. One here and one in heaven. Why limit yourself to only one home?”

  Artis turned his eyes to Leo and Max. “Do you think they will come back here after I am gone?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They should come back to visit Peter. Bring the baby to visit Peter.”

  “You should tell them that.”

  Artis shrugged. “They will do what they want.”

  “You should tell them anyway.”

  Kyra hummed along with Renata’s song. The night was cool, but Leo had draped a blanket around her shoulders. Between the blanket and the fire, Kyra was comfortable.

  “What should we talk about?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Artis said. “I think we have talked about everything important. Maybe that is how you know when you are ready to go.”

  “You
will see Evelina again.”

  A true smile crossed Artis’s face. “Yes.”

  “And Lauma. And Stasya and Ivo.”

  The old man nodded.

  “I don’t know if you will remember the things of this world when you are in the next. But if you do, tell them about their magnificent sons.” Kyra’s eyes filled with tears. “Tell Lauma and Stasya and Ivo their sons are loved and celebrated. That Leo is going to be a father and that Max has found peace.”

  “I will tell them.”

  “Tell Lauma…” Kyra cleared her throat. “Tell Lauma that even if Leo doesn’t come, I will bring the baby to visit Peter. That he won’t be alone.”

  Artis turned to her, and there were tears in his eyes. “I will tell her.”

  “Good.” Kyra sniffed. “That’s good.”

  “And if I see your father in the heavenly realm, what should I say to Barak?”

  Kyra took a deep breath. “Tell him… thank you for saving the other half of my heart. And tell him I am happy.”

  They slept outside on makeshift pallets of blankets and straw mattresses. Renata lay on her back with Max’s head on her breast, staring at the stars that dotted the sky.

  “You’re not sleeping,” Max murmured.

  “I’m not tired.” She blinked when a star crossed the sky. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to him. We don’t have enough elders in our world.”

  “We have plenty of cranky old men. We’re lacking women though.”

  “Do you understand, Max?”

  He lifted his head. “What?”

  She blinked away tears. “He’s leaving us. I just met him, and he’s leaving us.”

  “He decided over a century ago how this would be. He’s already fading. Would you keep him from his mate?” Max brushed a thumb over her cheek. “From his daughters? You know better than I do how he must be missing them.”

  She nodded.

  “Then we say goodbye,” he said. “It is not forever.”

  Renata kissed his hand. “No, not forever. But for a very long time.”

  “Do you remember what I said to you at Midwinter? About the thing that I feared?”