“What?” Noland asked. All of the other rooms had been lush, finely furnished, warm, and comfortable.
“Noland,” Achaia said, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. “It’s okay.”
Noland looked down to her pale resolute face.
She fixed Bale with a steady gaze. “Whatever you see fit to offer me is appreciated.” Her face was stone cold and unreadable. Noland wished he were Emile so he could tell what she was feeling; if she had fallen for Bale’s gift, and was just trusting that he was right to place her in a glorified cell.
Bale looked as if he didn’t know what to make of her either. “You all must be hungry. Tell your friends, once you get settled, lunch will be served down in the dining room. You need only follow your nose to find it.”
Achaia walked into the room, but before she shut the door, Noland winked at the fireplace. The fire roared back to life. Bale hadn’t noticed, as he had started down the hall. Just before her door closed, Noland saw Achaia’s lips spread into a smile.
Noland moved to catch up with Bale. “We will discuss the plan for Achaia’s education while she is here. But, if she brings destruction upon this place, I will remove her myself,” Bale said bluntly. “How do you know she is what you say?” Noland asked, unable to contain his curiosity.
“I am not limited like those who are fallen.” Bale stopped and looked Noland in the eye, the way his father used to look at him when he was trying to teach him something. “I am a liaison. I still hold the glory of God, I can see her.”
“What do you see?” Noland asked quietly.
“Death.” Bale whispered. His eyes were weighed down by a deep sorrow, as if he had just witnessed the death of thousands, and fear.
“And,” Noland began, taking a step nearer Bale, “what do you see in me?”
Bale studied him for a moment. “You are the fury of heaven.” He turned and began walking back down the hall.
“Wait! What does that mean?” Noland asked, catching up to him quickly.
“Your room, Brother Amsel.” Bale stopped outside of the next door. “Get some rest before lunch.”
Noland entered the room, and went as if to close the door. As Bale rounded the corner, Noland doubled back to Emile’s room. He knocked on the door, and only waited a second before it was opened. Noland pushed his way in, shutting the door behind him.
“Why Russia?” Noland said as he turned to face Emile, who looked incredibly confused. “If there was something going on, where would you send us?” Noland asked, looking at Emile’s confused expression, waiting for him to see it.
It took a second before Emile’s eyes lit with realization. “To the one Nephilim that you immediately and blindly trust.”
Noland nodded curtly.
Shael entered the cage and looked up at the largest demon he had seen yet. In fact, the cage he had just entered had been expanded to fit it. The demon was easily twenty feet tall, if not taller. He had a dark blueish-grey skin that looked a bit like used coal that was cracked and ashy. He had broad muscular shoulders, and long sculpted arms. His torso was equally chiseled and on his head were massive horns. Now this is what humans pictured when they thought of demons, Shael mused. Unlike some of his previous opponents, this demon was not at all laughable.
Shael stretched his neck from side to side, cracked the knuckles in his hands, and shook out his arms, bracing himself for combat. The demon mimicked him, only the cracking sound of his bones, sounded like boulders crumbling from a rock face; like an avalanche of stone, instead of small pops. Shael could feel each one vibrate through his chest, and felt a little like throwing up. But he swallowed hard, and refused to “pull a Gaki”.
“So,” Shael started lightly, hoping to humanize the beast in front of him, “what’s your name?”
“Orobas,” the demon replied in a low rumbling voice, like thunder.
Shael nodded politely. When the demon spoke its name, the ground beneath Shael’s feet shook violently. Around the room, the iced walls cracked and the demons in the stands cowered. Shael realized that Orobas must be the demon of “natural” disasters, but pretended not to be intimidated by any of these effects. How was he supposed to fight an earth quake?
Shael looked up at Luc, who looked anxious with excitement, but also a little like he didn’t know what he wanted to see happen. More than ever, Shael wished he had his wings back. This was it, the last blood game he needed to win to get into Luc’s inner circle. The fights had gotten progressively more violent and difficult. Shael’s human strength was failing him. He was sore, and injured, and tired. He had hoped that Orobas would be dim witted, so that he could simply out strategize him. But with Orobas’ size and ability, Shael didn’t think that would work now.
Shael prayed silently, “Lord if You can hear me, here, I’m going to need Your help with this one. Forgive me my falling. Guard my Achaia. If I perish into the void, remember me as I was, when I lived love for You. Grant me the opportunity to go fighting for Your light in the darkness. May they see the spark of Your power in me, and tremble, knowing they will fail. If I am lost forever, Lord, let me perish for good.”
Shael felt a peace wash over him, and with it warmth. The warmth turned into a heat in his chest that blossomed and spread throughout his body. He hadn’t felt warmth in so long, he had forgotten the strength of it. The aches in his muscles eased, and his hands felt sure, and strong. He looked down at his arms, half expecting to see fire strung through his veins. (He thanked God there was no visible indication that anything had happened). Shael knew that God had heard his plea, and given him strength. He looked up, studying Orobas for weakness, and noticed a fracture in his left horn. Shael wondered how deep the fracture ran, and if it were enough to weaken the horn’s integrity.
Luc stood, and held out his arms. The demons in the stands looked on with a hungry sort of anticipation. “Let the match commence!” He yelled, and the demons in the stands cheered loudly.
Shael side stepped as Orobas brought down his enormous fist to smash him. Though Orobas missed, the ground shook so violently, Shael lost his footing and fell to his side. As Orobas lifted his fist, Shael saw that the floor beneath it was cracked. Shael moved quickly, hoping that Orobas’ size would make him slow or unsteady. He ran behind Orobas, hoping to get him to turn in circles and dizzy himself. Shael zigzagged, running between his feet and around him. Orobas shook his head, looking around and around, like someone trying to find an annoying fly.
Orobas yelled in frustration, and Shael stood frozen in place, shaken through with the vibration of every muscle in his body. His brain went fuzzy for a moment as if even his brain were shaking in his skull. Shael fell to his knees, dangerously close to one of Orobas’ feet. Orobas lifted the foot to stomp. Shael rolled to the side, barely missing the impact, but was again shaken through his bones.
Shael took a deep breath to try and steady himself. He ran in circles again, and was pleased to notice that Orobas did in fact seem to be getting dizzy. Shael dogged between Orobas’ legs and leapt up onto the cage, climbing as quickly as he could, looking over his shoulder to keep an eye on Orobas. The demon was looking around and around on the ground at his feet, dizzy and confused, unable to spot Shael. Once Shael was high enough he pushed off the cage, flipping backwards in the air, and landed on Orobas’ shoulder.
Orobas roared, causing Shael to cling to his neck to avoid falling off, as he felt the quake through Orobas’ body rush through his own. Shael’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his hands were losing grip, when the demon finally took a breath in, affording Shael the silence to move once more.
Shael sprung from the neck, up off the demons shoulder, and grabbed hold of the fractured horn. He swung from it launching himself forward and pulling with all of his weight and might. The horn cracked, and the demon cried out, tilting his enormous head to the side. It took every ounce of Shael’s strength and control not to release his grip of the horn.
Orobas shook his head violently, like someone trying to shake water
out of their ears. Shael tucked into himself, bringing his legs up to wrap around the horn. He clung to it desperately, knowing this was his only chance at defeating Orobas.
As Orobas shook his head even more violently, the motion together with Shael’s weight, finished the job, and the fracture deepened, severing the horn from Orobas’ head. Shael, with the horn, hurtled toward the grown. He landed hard on his back. His arms and legs still wrapped around the horn.
Shael stood. Orobas wept loudly with his hands feeling frantically at his head where it now bled. He was disoriented and unbalanced, with his remaining horn causing him to lean heavily to his right side. Shael threw the horn up into the air, spinning it, and caught it point up. He ran as fast as he could, feeling like he was wielding a tree as a weapon, and launched himself up, pinging from leg to leg, up Orobas himself. The demon looked down just as Shael thrust the horn up, through Orobas’ skull, just between his eyes.
The demon fell back, landing hard on the floor. Shael crouched to absorb the landing, then stood on Orobas’ chest. He looked around. The stadium was silent. The demons looked shocked, appalled, and disturbed, as if Shael had just done something unspeakably wrong. Clearly, none of them had been expecting him to win. Shael realized that the chest he was standing on was still rising and falling slowly. Orobas was not dead, but was somehow only unconscious. However, Shael leapt gracefully down from his chest, knowing he had won. His muscles all seized, and were shaking from the quakes they had endured, but he managed to walk slowly to the door of the cage, and open it.
“I could really use a drink,” Shael said exasperated, looking up to Luc, who was just as stunned into silence as all of the demons.
Luc huffed, and a weak fleeting smile crossed his lips, before his face fell back into shock. “Yeah,” he shrugged. He looked to Orobas, unconscious still in the cage, and stood slowly. “I’m sure you could.”
Achaia took in the small room around her. It looked like a cleaning closet converted into a minimalist Airbnb. There was a chair at a small table against the wall that she pulled over in front of the fire Noland had started for her before he left.
She removed her coat and draped it over the back to dry. She took off the sweat shirt she had on under it, and threw it over the back of the chair as well, before sitting down to take off her boots.
She wasn’t surprised that Bale didn’t trust her. After meeting the council, she hadn’t been holding out much hope that the keeper of the safe house would be altogether welcoming. But she wondered what he had meant by “what she is”. Wasn’t she a Nephilim like the rest of them? Or was he offended by her humanity? She didn’t fully understand what it meant for her mother to be a human, in this community. But it was obviously a big deal.
She put her frozen feet in front of the fire, and held her hands up to the flames with them. The more she thought about the council, the more she wasn’t sure she liked Nephilim, her friends excluded. She could see why her father had chosen a sort of exile, and had chosen humanity, over his people. As she thought back to the questioning of the council, she realized her jaw hurt from clenching it. She didn’t trust angels, not the majority of them.
Her father had sided with Luc, knowing everything. If the story everyone was telling was true, he had been willing to sell his soul to Luc… so, Luc couldn’t be that bad. Her father wouldn’t have agreed to leave her for a life of misery, would he? Maybe hell wasn’t what people made it out to be… granted, she didn’t know much about it at all, her father had seen to that.
Then Achaia thought back to the demons who attacked her in the woods, the horrible things they had whispered into her heart. If Hell was being constantly surrounded by them, then people weren’t even close when they imagined Hell’s darkness.
Her mind turned to Lussa, the demon who had taunted her with her mother’s death. He had killed her mother, but he hadn’t done it alone. Had her father really signed up to spend eternity with the demons who had taken her mother from them?
Achaia shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. They got stuck in the damp knots tied by the wind. She twisted it all into a messy side braid, to get it out of her face.
As she sat, waiting for it to be time for lunch, she thought in circles about the demon’s offer, and if there was any other way to find her father, because it didn’t look like the Nephilim were going to help at all.
Achaia opened her door when she started to smell something delicious wafting down the hallway. As she did, she saw she wasn’t the only one; Emile was walking past her door as she entered the hall. “Smells good, doesn’t it?” he said pausing for her to close her door and join him.
Noland was leaving his room as well, and walked with them toward the source of the smell. They followed their noses to a long narrow room lined on one side with windows. The room was lit by candles, but was still a little dark for it being the middle of the day. Achaia glanced outside to see the sky thick with snow clouds. She wondered absently if there would ever be an end to the cold.
Yellaina, Olivier, and Amelia were already sitting at the table as Achaia, Emile and Noland took their seats. They left the seats at either end of the table empty for Bale, as a sign of respect. Achaia was seated in the middle, between Emile and Noland. She felt a little more comfortable, flanked by the two of them, in an uncertain situation like this.
Bale entered the room and took the end chair at the far side of the room. He took his seat silently, and the rest of them spared glances at each other around the table. They followed Noland’s lead, and remained silent. A servant entered, Achaia noticed she was a very thin girl, with fair skin, and plain features. She reached around them, expertly avoiding any physical contact as she removed the covers off the platters on the table.
Achaia couldn’t help but salivate. Never before had she seen a feast like this. There was stroganoff, solyanka, pirozhki and borscht. There was also a dark looking drink in front of her plate, which was steaming. “Is that coffee?” she whispered, leaning closer to Noland.
“Sbiten,” he whispered back. “It’s spicy and sweet, you’ll like it.”
“You must be hungry after your journey. You may begin,” Bale said not looking at them, as he began to ladle food into his own bowl, and onto his plate.
Achaia fearlessly sampled some of everything in front of her. Her eyes were bigger than her stomach though, and she was soon full, and sipping her sbiten.
“Logistics, then,” Bale began, taking his napkin from his lap, and tossing it over his finished plate. “While you are here, please keep to your chamber save for your lessons, which will commence immediately following lunch,” Bale said looking at Achaia for the first time since he had deposited her to her room. “Assignments for the rest of you are as follows. You are to continue the training regimen assigned each of you by Jocob. In addition to such, you will each take on the responsibility of educating Achaia bat Shael on the culture and customs of the Nephilim.” Bale pushed his chair back away from the table, but stayed seated. “Yellaina, you will obviously take charge of teaching Achaia the different angelic languages. She will also need a working knowledge of Koine, Hebrew, and Latin.”
Yellaina nodded, looking serious.
“Emile,” Bale began, looking over at him in turn.
Emile perked up in his chair as if he were at attention. Achaia looked at him, then back to Bale.
“You are to educate Achaia on the history of the Nephilim, beginning pre-creation. She needs a perspective shift.” Bale frowned, but did not look at Achaia. “There is much more at work here than she understands.”
Achaia swallowed hard and tried to understand that he was right, without taking it personally. However, she wasn’t really sure she could wrap her mind around a timeline that began with forever, and ended with never. Her human brain just couldn’t comprehend that much.
“Olivier,” Bale turned again, “You have the burden of teaching Achaia something of our duty as Nephilim, and our place in this world. Teach her the rol
e and responsibility of what it is to be a Guardian, and how orders are given and received.” There was a bitterness to his voice as he spoke of orders. Achaia wasn’t sure if it was directed toward her, or the orders themselves. “Explain to her the Penance of Nephilim.”
Olivier nodded then looked at Achaia with a small but encouraging smile.
“Amelia,” a small smile played at the corner of Bale’s lips. It left so quickly, Achaia questioned whether she had actually seen it at all. “You have the task of teaching Achaia our political structure and protocols. Especially when and where, and to whom she should speak.”
Achaia got the strange feeling he had heard about what had happened in the council meeting. She swallowed again, but not with shame. She glanced sideways to see that Noland was looking at her. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. The corner of Noland’s mouth twitched upward in a smirk and she heard the tiniest little huff of a secret laugh catch on his breath.
“Brother Amsel,” Bale called Noland’s attention to himself. “You are assigned to Achaia’s training.”
Achaia noticed that Noland was completely still and reserved except for his hands under the table. Noland’s fingers were fidgeting with the edges of the tablecloth, just ever so slightly, Achaia was sure she was the only one to notice.
“Teach her about Nephilim warfare. But she may only learn defensive tactics. To be clear,” Bale leveled his gaze on Noland. Achaia noticed Noland’s fingers go still. “You are strictly forbidden to train her. She is half human, we do not know entirely what this means, there is a chance that makes her too inferior to wield angelic blades.”
“Inferior?” Yellaina said at the same time as Olivier spoke.
“How are we going to know unless she tries?” Olivier asked.
Bale glared at them for speaking, apparently out-of-turn. “You would risk her life to see?” Bale asked, not without an air of sarcasm, looking specifically at Olivier. “Be my guest.” He waved his hand flippantly toward Achaia.
Transgression Page 28
