“But I wouldn’t—”
“I know that,” Emile assured her. “But the council has seen many wars, and a lot of people choose deliberately to do terrible things. They may sometimes grow to care about their Charges on an individual basis, but humanity as a whole is not to be trusted.”
“Emile,” Achaia started, thinking of something.
“Yeah?”
“Are the Charges ever— well, are they ever bad?”
Emile frowned. “Olivier will get to that part eventually, but yes. Those who do great evil are sometimes necessary to shape history and change the hearts of men. We don’t know what it is our Charges are bound for, only that they need to stay alive to do them.”
Achaia shook her head, trying to process this. Could she protect the next Hitler? Achaia wasn’t sure she wanted to be a Guardian if she was going to be assigned to protect a murderer to make sure he could murder. “That just doesn’t seem right!”
“People are seldom, if ever, good or evil. They are all a civil war of both. Some days the light wins, and some days it’s the darkness. But they all deserve the chance to fight.”
Achaia tried to swallow this. Her brain, yet again, felt like it was going to explode.
“Maybe we should call that quits for today.” Emile put a comforting hand on Achaia’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s worth fighting.”
“What is?” Achaia asked.
“That civil war.”
16
The Truth about Terror
“We cannot learn without pain”
-Aristotle
“Okay. Now, everyone has their favorite weapon that they are the most proficient with. But you need to be extremely comfortable with at least two, and capable of utilizing them all.” Noland said, picking up the dagger and handing it back to Achaia, after disarming her.
Achaia nodded. She had learned a lot over the last few weeks, including which weapons she liked, and which ones she definitely needed to work on. “And if I am going to be the best, then I need to be proficient to the point that you can’t tell which one is my favorite.” She added, looking down at a diemerillium whip. It was covered in watery scales, and shaped like a snake with emerald eyes that glimmered up at her.
Noland cocked an eyebrow and looked impressed. “That’ll do,” he smirked. “Now, let’s move on to something a little more long range.” Noland eyed the table full of weaponry.
Achaia ran a finger along the whip’s body, and it slithered toward her, affectionately nudging her back with its head. Noland looked down and smiled. “The weapon chooses the warrior Achaia, it is not always clear why.”
Achaia looked up stunned. “Did you just make a Harry Potter reference?”
“I live in a church Achaia, not under a rock,” Noland smiled, “but I’ll deny any such geekery if you make mention of it to Olivier.”
Achaia shook her head and laughed. She was taking her training very seriously. She had made it a ritual each night to sneak back to the training room once everyone else had gone to bed, and run the drills Noland had taught her each day, over again. Her arms were getting stronger, and her endurance longer. She could see a difference, and feel it with every training session.
“Now, when you’re shooting a bow,” Noland handed her a recurve bow that was surprisingly long, nearly the same height as her, “you don’t want to hold it just straight up and down. Hold it at a forty-five or so degree angle, wherever you feel the most comfortable…”
“Gangster style?” Achaia asked turning the bow parallel to the ground.
“Achaia—” Noland shook his head.
Achaia released the arrow. It struck near the center of the target.
“Okay, not bad. But we want perfect. So, be serious.” Noland came up behind her and adjusted the bow back to a forty-five degree angle and put his hand over hers on the string. “Use these fingers, and let the arrow just rest there.” He reached around with his other hand to grab the bow over her hand. “Then draw it back—” Noland’s thumb rested against her jaw as she leaned in to look down the sight. “Take a second to just focus.” He took a breath, and let it out. “Forget about your dad. Forget about the council. Forget about Bale, training, all of us. Forget that I am here.”
Achaia, feeling the heat of him surround her, thought that was a bit much to ask, but nodded that she understood what he meant.
“Just breathe,” he sucked in a slow breath in her ear, and she followed, “and be.” He let the breath out slowly and released the arrow. Bullseye.
Achaia jogged over to release the arrow and found it stuck through the target up to the cresting. She grabbed hold of the fletching and pulled. The shaft squeaked as it slid back through the target, she cringed at the sound. Everything had been so quiet, it felt like a violation to her ears.
“Again.” Noland said as she came back to the line.
Lunch was served, and eaten, quickly. Achaia was always ravenous after her training sessions with Noland; and the cook, Dahlia, was a little too good at her job. The sky outside had brightened in the past weeks with the arrival of March, but the air outside was still frigid cold, and snow still covered the city.
Achaia sat at the table, sipping her tea (which she had been training just as hard to learn to like), looking out the windows.
“Have you heard anything back from Naphtali?” Yellaina asked, looking to both Achaia and Noland for response.
“Not a whisper,” Noland said. Achaia nodded that her response was the same.
“What about any word from the council?” Olivier asked. “I mean, how long do they expect us to stay here?”
“Not a peep from them either,” Noland said, and stopped short as Bale entered the room.
“And you’re not likely to,” Bale mumbled, walking across the room without looking at any of them to stand at the window.
Achaia looked around the table at each of her friend’s faces. The mood always dimmed and became tense when Bale entered the room. If Bale had distrusted Achaia when she had first arrived, he flat-out couldn’t stand the sight of her now. For the last few weeks, Bale had hardly spoken a word to her, and when he did, she’d wished that he hadn’t. She had grown to appreciate being ignored.
“What do you mean?” Emile asked.
“You think they mean for us to stay here indefinitely?” Amelia added.
“You say that like Russia is terrible.” Yellaina looked at Amelia sharply. Everyone else at the table turned to stare at Yellaina with cocked eyebrows. Yellaina looked at each of them, then shrugged and turned her attention back to her plate as Bale answered.
“This is where the Nephilim send their undesirables.”
“Undesirables?” Olivier asked, sounding affronted.
“Not you,” Achaia said reassuringly. “Me.”
Olivier gave her a sad sort of smile to reassure her that it wasn’t true to him at least.
“And me.” Bale said curtly.
“You?” Emile asked. “But—”
“The Nephilim don’t like being reminded of their transgressions. They don’t appreciate instruction or correction. They are prideful. Which is why they are fallen.”
“But you’re—”
“Holy?” Bale turned around. “They don’t like the constant reminder of what they forfeited.” Bale said shortly. “I can go to Him, see Him whenever I please. They are forever separated.” He shrugged, as if this were all obvious. “I am an inconvenient reminder they hide away, and try to forget.”
“And what am I?” Achaia asked boldly. Noland shot her a look, which she ignored, keeping her eyes on Bale.
Bale turned to look at her, his expression full of sympathy merged with disgust. “You’re something I can’t blame them for hiding away.”
Achaia recoiled as if she’d been hit. “Why?” she asked, fighting the urge to cower. She forced herself to retain eye-contact, but her voice came out weak and stunned.
“Because you’re nothing good. I could feel it on you the second y
ou walked through that door, shrouded in death. Nothing good will come from you. They hid you away, I would have you in a cage.” He spat out the last part, as Noland stood to his feet, knocking his chair back in the process.
“That decision does not lie with you alone. The council has declared her safe.” Noland’s voice was like ice.
“The council has declared her inconsequential. They’re wrong!” Bale looked at Noland as if he were rebuking a child who was having a temper tantrum. “Her blood runs with destruction—”
“She is Nephilim!” Noland rounded the table, approaching Bale, nearly yelling.
“She is an abomination! If I must keep her in a cell, I will!” Bale had lost all of his composure. The blood had rushed to his face, and his body pulsed with rage. Achaia couldn’t wrap her mind around why it was such a big deal that she was half-human. She wished she could be absorbed into the chair in which she sat, or disappear altogether. “You think I don’t know what she does at night?” Achaia snapped to, in surprise.
“You would keep us apart?” Noland asked, lowering his voice, seeming to read something in Bale’s eyes the rest of them could not see. He managed to sound deadlier than ever with incredulity.
Olivier and Yellaina were staring at Achaia with wide, shocked eyes. Achaia, realizing what the conversation must have sounded like to them, shook her head violently, before staring back and forth between the Bale and Noland; who seemed to carry on their argument silently. Their eyes were locked onto one another, but their expressions shifted in response to what the other seemed to be relaying by thought alone. Finally Noland’s stare narrowed, and when he spoke, he did so with finality. “You will not keep us apart. Not by any country, city, building, door, or cell. She is mine.”
Emile who was sitting diagonally across from Achaia gasped. She looked over at him, as he stared away from her toward Bale and Noland. His face was drained of blood and ghostly white. Achaia feeling that something wasn’t right, stood and rounded the table toward him. She saw his eyes were locked, not on Noland and Bale, but on the window.
“Emile?”
“No,” he uttered in a breathy whisper, his eyes full of terror. Achaia was not the only one to turn her attention to Emile. Everyone in the room followed his gaze and looked to the window.
Not a second later, an explosion shook the city. Everyone was grabbing whoever, or whatever was nearest to them as the cathedral shook.
Bale flew to the window, staring out at the city beyond, Noland at his side. Achaia could just see smoke billowing up from the streets, past their silhouettes.
Emile gasped again, a more choked and guttural sound than before. He grasped his chest as he collapsed to the floor. He lay on his side, gasping for air.
Achaia dropped to her knees next to him, as Noland rushed over, and everyone else clamored around them. “Emile!” Noland said, grabbing hold of Emile’s shoulder. “Emile?”
“Is he having a heart attack?” Achaia asked, looking up to Bale, who still stood at the window, but had turned to face them.
“No.” Bale said flatly. His voice, losing all emotion, sounded unnatural. He approached them slowly, staring at Emile on the floor, through the crowd around him. “He has the shock and grief of thousands, their utter despair, falling on him.” He met her eye with a look that turned her blood cold. “Look!” He yelled, closing the space between them and dragging her by the arm over to the window. “Look!”
Below, car alarms were sounding, debris was scattered all over. Glass, and bits of walls, littered the street. Cries were welling up like waves, and the smoke and ashes like recalled rain.
Achaia’s arm throbbed where Bale squeezed his hand around it. “You brought this down on us, death angel,” he spat venomously, yanking her closer to the window.
Achaia flinched back from the inflection in his voice, shocked. What was a death angel? She thought she was Nephilim… she had thought he had hated her for being human, but this confused her even more. How could she have caused any of this destruction? She blamed herself for many things, but how had she caused this?
“Remove your hand, before I detach it from your body.” Bale let go with a shove, and Achaia turned to see Noland standing with his sword drawn, pointing it at Bale’s neck.
The cries of the people down below flooded Achaia’s ears; cries of grief, but also cries for help. She turned again and looked out of the window. “They need help,” Achaia said, looking over at Emile, who was curled, shaking and whimpering on the floor. No one was paying attention to her. All eyes were locked on Noland and his sword.
The window next to them exploded inward, glass flying like bullets through the air. Achaia, Noland and Bale, were thrust back from the window as it shattered. Chunks of the ceiling crumbled down into the room. Achaia covered her head on the floor. As the shaking stopped, she stood back to her feet. She glanced around the room to see that everyone was alright, then took off at a sprint toward the now-open window.
“Achaia NO!” She heard Noland’s voice yell, as she dove through. Releasing her wings, she plummeted downward, and was bathed in ashes. She soared down in the thick of the smoke, following the screams, and landed on the street. It appeared as if a car had been blown through the front windows of a shop front. Achaia stepped over the blown in wall, cutting her leg on the shards of glass, still held in the frame.
The sight that met her eyes, was worse than any action or horror film she’d ever seen. The walls that remained were splattered with dust, and ash, and blood. She could hardly see through the billowing ash and smoke. A small fire was burning in the engine of the car. Achaia hoped the car didn’t explode.
“Pomogi mne!” A small voice was crying in Russian. Achaia ran toward the sound, tripped over something, and fell hard, hitting her chin on the floor. She tasted blood as she turned and looked behind her to see what she had tripped over. It was an arm. Just an arm. She felt bile rising in her throat, and threw up on the floor in front of her. She took a few ragged breaths, and pushed forward to where the voice had come. “Pomogi mne!” It cried.
Beneath the wheel well of the car, was pinned a girl who looked like she couldn’t be any older than twelve. “I’m here!” Achaia said, kneeling next to the girl.
“Achaia!” A voice called on the street outside. “Achaia where are you?”
“Olly!” Achaia called back. “In here! Quick I need your help!”
Olivier appeared through the ashes, his hair white with them. He saw the car, and the girl and his face blanched. “I’ll try to lift it, you pull her.” He said squatting down and getting a grip on the edge of the car. “Agh!” He yelled, letting go of it. “It’s hot!” He said, gulping back his dread, and taking hold of it again. “One, two—” Olivier struggled, and tried to lift the car, yelling with the effort.
Achaia grabbed the girl from beneath the shoulders, and pulled her as quickly as she could. Her legs were very obviously broken, bone peeking through the skin.
More people were yelling, Achaia fought against an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She knew she couldn’t get to all of them. “We have to split up.” Achaia said.
Olivier looked at her and nodded. The ground shook again and the already broken building around them crumbled more. Another bomb had detonated.
“How many?” Achaia breathed. Olivier looked to be thinking the same. “Where are the others?” Achaia asked.
“Noland is looking for you, I was just faster. Yellaina and Amelia stayed back with Emile.”
“Come on,” Achaia said, “get her out of here.” Olivier picked up the little girl and began carrying her out toward the street.
Achaia followed them out, and took off at a run, listening for survivors. There was devastation everywhere she looked. She couldn’t tell what was a pile of bricks, or a body adorned in dust. There were alarms, sirens in the distance, wails and screams, and parts of buildings still raining down onto the streets.
She heard loud weeping coming from across the street. A woman sa
t hunched over a man, who was obviously dead. The woman was scratched up and bruised, but otherwise unharmed. “You should leave, there may be more explosions.” Achaia said. The woman looked up at her with bloodshot, tear drenched, eyes. It was apparent she didn’t speak much English. Achaia bitterly thought of her language lessons with Yellaina, where she’d been studying Latin and angelic tongues, which were all useless in Russia, where they spoke Russian… She gestured with her hands for her to get out of there. The woman, sobbing, got to her feet, and limped away as fast as she could, holding her chest in anguish.
Everywhere in the streets there were people laying wounded. Some were struggling to get up. Others were missing limbs. Achaia saw a light to her left and turned to see what it was. Her heart sank as she saw the clock counting down. Ten seconds.
“Everyone get out!” She yelled as she ran into the building. Those who could, ran out passed her.
“Achaia!” She heard her name but didn’t have time to turn to see who it belonged to. She did the only thing she could think of and threw herself onto the bomb, trying to cover it as much as possible with her body. “NO!”
Then she was being pushed off of it, hard, and another body took her place. Achaia rolled across the floor and looked up just in time to see the bomb detonate.
It all seemed to happen in a time of its own. She watched as the body on top of the bomb was thrust up into the air. She saw the fire beneath it begin to spread out. And then the body came back down, and the fire vanished.
Achaia felt the burn on her skin. The fire had been so hot, and then it was just gone. She sat up on the ground, struggling to raise herself into a sitting position. She slid across the floor, trying to see who had pushed her out of the way. The body on the bomb was Noland’s.
Shael was sitting alone in his room when he heard the commotion out in the passageways. It was either a fight or a celebration. With demons it was hard to tell. Like German, everything just sounded angry in the demonic languages.
Shael opened his door and stepped out looking left, then right. Clusters of demons were gathered around two or three who seemed to have just come back from assignment. “What is going on?” Shael asked grabbing the nearest demon’s shoulder.
Transgression Page 31
