“There are worse fates than death,” Luc spat.
“I can’t imagine anything worse than being stuck in this conversation,” Achaia said sarcastically.
Luc laughed without mirth. “If you’re trying to bait me Cohen, you’ll have to avoid my favorite languages. Hate, sarcasm, bitterness… I eat it up. I like this side of you.”
“Then shall I discuss love?” Achaia asked, lowering her voice. “And how you’ll never know it?”
Luc’s face, if possible, carved itself into sharper features. His jaw protruding in a scowl, his eyes sharp and menacing. “I’ll make this very clear.” His voice hardly sounded human. There was an animalistic growl to his tone that rose from the depths of his loathing. “Pledge allegiance to me, or you will never see your father again.” His voice grew even lower. “The last glimpse you get of him, I will be torturing him. You will have that image forever fixed in your mind. You can live with the knowledge that his eternal torment was not due to his decision to join me, but yours to leave me.”
Achaia stood frozen. She felt a huge weight drop in the pit of her stomach that made her nauseous. She couldn’t pledge. But she couldn’t leave her father under those conditions. She stood in a staring contest, locked eye to eye with Luc, and her brain turned over endless scenarios, none of them working in her favor. She needed to be in danger. She needed Noland to find her. She needed back up. If it could even make it to her.
Luc stepped closer to her. His face inches from hers. “Choose. Or be chosen. I will not hesitate to kill you and let fate decide.”
Noland, Olivier and Emile were holed up in the study with Bale and Naphtali. All of them armed to the teeth, and pacing.
“The eve of battle is scarcely less dreadful than the battle itself,” Bale said, clasping Noland on the shoulder.
Noland nodded, but said nothing.
He had just passed by the fireplace when he felt a tugging in his chest. He stopped in his tracks.
“What was that?” Emile asked. “It was—”
“Fear?” Noland asked, looking at Emile. “But it wasn’t…”
Noland looked into the fire focusing all of his attention on that spot in his chest. “Could the distance affect the connection?” Noland asked turning to Bale.
“Well, it would be stronger if you were united,” Bale said, “but I don’t know. Perhaps it is the separation of Hell itself.”
“We need to start moving. Maybe if we got closer?” Noland suggested.
“We will go,” Naphtali said. “Bale will remain. When we are gone,” Naphtali turned to Bale, “contact the council, they won’t refuse aid to the underage Nephilim. They will send reinforcements.”
Bale nodded, then turned to face Noland. “We follow you, Amsel,” Bale said, his eyes steady on Noland’s. “Wherever this leads. God go before you.”
Shael stood, studying Luc’s face. He could see that twitch at the left of his mouth. His temper wouldn’t hold for long. He was scared for Achaia. What was she doing? What did she mean by following him here? “Achaia,” he said in warning.
“I’m not going to pledge allegiance to you,” Achaia said firmly, not taking her eyes off Luc’s.
“Achaia,” Shael said stepping forward.
“No,” Achaia said putting out her arm, stopping her father. “If he wants to take his chances, and test the odds, let him.” She kept her eyes fixed on Luc’s.
Shael heard the daring tone in her voice, but her eyes were trying to tell him something else. She wasn’t just trying to goad Luc for no reason. But what was she doing? Shael stepped back, dumbfounded. Her look was telling him to let this happen, but why?
“So, are you all talk or what?” Achaia asked stepping even closer to Luc. Shael was fighting every impulse in his body. Everything in him was screaming to protect her. To stand between them, to attack Luc; to do anything but stand and watch her die like her mother.
Something in Luc snapped, his eyes flashed as he reached forward grabbing Achaia by the neck. “I will not be manipulated. I am the father of lies. You cannot fool me, Achaia Connolly Cohen. Who sent you?”
Achaia didn’t answer.
“WHO?” Luc yelled, throwing her backwards against a pillar of ice. “The council?”
Shael, unable to stand still any longer leapt over the sofa and landed in front of where Achaia lay on the ground. She was smiling, drawing her hand away from her head, where it had hit the ice. It was covered in blood.
“Touch her again, and I will magnify your suffering in this place for eternity,” Shael said rounding on Luc.
“What is all this?” Luc asked, staring at Achaia with all the disdain in the world in his glare.
“I’ve heard you have no virtue. But have you heard of patience?” Achaia said, wavering dizzily on her arm. Small white lights were bursting before her eyes, but she refused to admit weakness. Shael knelt next to her. “Wait and see, Love.” She spat mockingly.
Bale slammed the phone down. He had explained as much of what had happened to Joash, leaving out the part that it had all been planned and intentional. However, the council had “regrettably had to decline” any aid or assistance. What were a few children in the scheme of the greater good?
Bale was shaking with rage at the council’s cold indifference to the lives of their own offspring. Their legalism was a mask for blind ignorance. Bale pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed Naphtali. “The council has denied the request for aid. Where are you? Wait for me.”
“We seem to be heading to the Ukraine.” Naphtali said, Bale could hear wind in the phone, and knew they were still flying.
“Stay on the line, I’m right behind you,” Bale said, running from his office and taking the stairs to the roof three at a time.
Noland had felt the shock in his chest, like paddles of a defibrillator reviving him. He had flown and led the others to the mouth of the cavern, where they now stood.
“Forsaken are the souls who enter here,” Naphtali said, looking at the rock face as if reading a sign.
“Whatever happens,” Noland said looking over at Emile.
“I’m with you brother,” Emile said, drawing his bow, and readying an arrow.
Bale landed behind them, reading the sign overhead as well. He nodded at Noland, as he finished it.
Noland drew his long sword, and Naphtali and Bale drew their weapons as well.
“Shall I scout it out?” Olivier asked.
Noland nodded, and Olivier disappeared in a blur into the cave. A minute later he returned. His face was white, and his breath was like smoke. But the color had not drained from him from the cold, alone. “I’ve never seen so many demons,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’d have better luck counting the sand on the beach.”
“We are not our own,” Noland said, resolutely. “His will be done.”
“Shall we wage war on Hell then?” Emile asked.
Noland smiled, nodded, and stepped forward. They hadn’t made it five yards before the demons fell upon them. Emile stayed back, and shot those that advanced from behind Noland, Bale, and Naphtali, as they plunged forward into the horde. Olivier ran through the masses, slicing the throats of demons who never saw him coming, clearing a path. Noland slashed and spun, hitting everything in reach as he spread out from the others to divide and conquer. He glanced up and saw a humanoid demon with long, skeletally thin arms and legs, making him almost spider-like, grab Emile from behind, lowering its needle-like teeth toward his neck.
“Emile!” Noland said, slinging a throwing knife from his belt, he hit the demon just between its glassy black eyes, as Emile stabbed it in the neck with the arrow in his hand. As it fell, Emile pulled either end of his bow, unsheathing two feathered daggers.
The tunnel seemed to catch fire, and Noland turned to see Naphtali in all of his angelic glory, a walking torch of a being, his sword moving more like a flaming wind tunnel.
Bale seemed to move on the air, without wings. Noland had never seen anyone so light on thei
r feet. He seemed to not be affected at all by gravity or mass. His technique was perfect, and his fighting looked more like a dance of death, than actual effort. Noland turned his attention back to the advancing demons. He surged forward, summoning all the strength he could to produce his own fire in this warmth forsaken place.
Emile couldn’t feel anything over how cold he was. There were demons as far as he could see, and no sign of a reprieve. He wasn’t sure how far they would make it, or how far they needed to. Demons had closed in behind them, so there was no turning back, either.
Emile was fighting with everything he had in him, and from the glimpses he caught of the others through the horde, they were doing the same. He wasn’t entirely convinced they were gaining ground or moving forward at all, but all they could do now was keep fighting, and not give in to death.
There was no telling how long they had been fighting, there was an infinity to the scene. Emile had lost count of how many demons he had killed, how many blows he had taken, or cuts he had received. Both of his forearms were sliced and bleeding, and there was blood dripping into his left eye from a wound somewhere on his head that he didn’t remember getting.
Emile spun with his daggers outstretched, slicing the throats of three demons that had tried to surround him; he was kicked back in the chest, hard, by a fourth demon. He staggered back, slamming against the icy wall of the catacomb. Over his shoulder he saw a face, and turned to stab at it, but it was frozen into the icy wall, the mouth and eyes contorted into an endless scream.
“Emile!” Noland’s voice called out from somewhere ahead.
Emile was falling behind. The demon that had kicked him was before him now, reaching for his throat, with his mouth open in a roar. Emile threw up his hands, one holding a dagger to the front of the demon’s throat, and the other to the back of his neck; as the demon leaned in to tear Emile apart with his teeth. Emile pushed out with one, and pulled in with the other, beheading the demon, and cutting his roar off with a sickening gurgle. Its head fell onto Emile’s shoulder before falling with a thick thud to the ground.
“Okay, stop focusing on killing demons, and just fight like hell to get around them.” Emile said to himself. He took a deep breath and plunged forward into the crowd before him with renewed speed and agility. He kicked up from the lunging leg of one demon, and stepped off the shoulder of another, leaping over the heads, stepping on any demon that came at him. He landed in a clearing next to Noland.
“I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up!” He yelled over the growls of their opponents, backing up to Noland. They turned back to back, taking a count of the demons surrounding them. “Where are the others?”
“Bale and Naphtali are ahead of us, and Olivier is scouting out if there is an end to this multitude.”
At that moment there was a blindingly bright light that reflected off the ice, catching them all off guard. The demons flinched back covering their eyes and squinting around to see where the light was coming from. Down the tunnel from where they had entered, an angel dressed in all white robes was striding toward them.
At the sight of Him, the demons crouched or fled. He walked forward, the crowd of demons, parting before Him. He passed by them without speaking, but the demons clung to the wall as He did. Emile hit Noland’s arm to see if he was thinking the same thing Emile was.
Noland didn’t turn to look at him, but followed the angel. They caught up to Bale and Naphtali, who looked shocked and relieved, and fell into step next to the cloaked figure.
“Is this…”
“I think it must be, don’t you.” Emile answered before Noland could even finish his question.
Some demons came from behind, as if trying to claw and scratch at them without being noticed by their leader, but Emile and Noland slashed out, and the demons were either dispatched, or cringed away into the shadows once more away from them.
“We have to be at about, what? The third circle?” Emile asked.
Noland nodded. “How far down do you think she is? She feels close.”
“The fourth circle is just ahead,” Olivier said appearing beside them in a blur. He was out of breath and covered in sweat and blood, he looked as exhausted as Emile felt. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping them on their feet. “I saw the light, and fell back,” Olivier said looking awe struck. “He came.”
“I’m not going to kill you Achaia,” Luc said, lounging on the couch across from her.
Her father was sitting over her, he had moved the fur from over the arm of the couch and had rested her bleeding head against it.
“What are you doing?” Shael whispered.
“I’m saving you,” she whispered back.
Luc was going on a self-important tangent, laying with his eyes closed. Shael and Achaia were using this as an opportunity to talk.
“How exactly is nearly getting yourself knocked out, saving me?” Shael asked, in a firm fatherly whisper.
Achaia smiled. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, but you shouldn’t be here,” Shael said shaking his head.
“I’m not ready to say goodbye,” Achaia said, her head aching, as her blood froze to the ice as it ran down the arm of the sofa.
“I know,” Shael said sadly.
“Lucifer.” A new voice spoke from outside of Achaia’s line of vision.
She looked over as Luc stopped talking and slowly opened his eyes. His body stiffened, and his face had an expression of disbelief. Luc raised himself up into a sitting position, then to a stand almost robotically. “You? What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding less formidable.
“I have conquered this place. I can come and go as I please. Today, I felt like coming.” The man walked into view. He was a dark skinned man of average height, and looks. He had long dark curling hair, with dark eyes, either brown or hazel, Achaia couldn’t tell. His smile was warm. She could feel its warmth. He was such a contrast to his surroundings, that he seemed cut out of them, and entirely separate. As if someone had done a terrible photoshop job of adding him into their presence.
“Brother!” Shael stood, Achaia had never seen his face so lit with pure joy.
“Dad?” Achaia asked sitting up. “Who is that?”
“Achaia,” The man clasped her father in a firm embrace, and spoke over his shoulder to her. “I’ve been watching you.”
“Because, that’s not creepy,” Achaia said, before she could stop herself.
Shael turned to look at her, and seemed incapable of containing his enthusiasm. “Is he my uncle?” Achaia asked her father.
“In a manner of speaking. Perhaps that is the easiest way for you to think of me in human terms. Brother also works.” The man walked over, and sat on the sofa at her feet.
“We never lived in West Virginia.” Achaia said looking up at her father, clearly confused.
The man put his hand on one of her feet, and immediately all the pain left her body. Her head was clear, her headache, gone.
“Are you a healer?” She asked.
“He is The Healer, Achaia,” her father said, coming to sit behind her.
Achaia sat up looking back and forth from her father on her right, to this new stranger on her left. “You look familiar,” Achaia said staring at the man.
“Never have I left you,” He said smiling.
“Again, not creepy at all…Mr. Brother-Uncle,” she said cocking an eyebrow, though there was nothing about the man that made her feel uncomfortable. In fact, everything about him gave her a feeling of reassurance.
“Achaia this is I Am.” Her father said in way of introduction, though it made no sense to her.
“His name is you are?”
“I am.”
“That’s what I said…”
Shael laughed. “No.”
“You can call me Iesou.”
“Like, Jesus? Jesus?” Achaia asked.
“The very same.” The man smiled kindly.
“Holy crap! You’re real?” Achaia a
sked.
“You’re surprised? After all you’ve encountered and survived?” The man laughed. “You are all so slow to understand.” He added, not without affection. “As are you,” Iesou said looking to Luc. “Even after all this time. Did you really not realize that I would come? You know the things that are yet to come. You know how it will occur.”
“What is he talking about?” Achaia asked leaning over to her father.
Her dad hushed her. His focus absorbed in watching the conversation between Iesou and Luc.
“You are a manipulator of truth. You really didn’t expect me to not-come and set paths straight?” Iesou went on. Achaia tried to follow as best she could, along with her father. “I am not ignorant of the bargain you struck with Shael. However, I believe you may need a reminder of the terms.”
“I created the terms, I am well aware of their implications.” Luc’s anger flared again.
“Are you? What of their context?” Iesou’s voice was calm, but it wasn’t without impact.
“What are you getting at?” Luc spat.
“You agreed that once Achaia was a woman, once she had come of age Shael would fulfill the rest of his commitment.” Iesou explained. “You are no stranger to shifting culture Lucifer, you’ve played a part in its development.”
Achaia was staring at Iesou. Was there a loophole in her father’s agreement?
“In this day’s culture a girl is not necessarily considered a woman at puberty, nor is she of age. This bargain was made under the terms of the modern cultural context. As such, she is still in need of a father for several more years. When she is no longer a daughter in need of her father, you may collect Shael. I can do nothing to prevent that, it was his choice.” Iesou looked at her father sadly. “However, I will not permit you to collect early on a deal that was made with the intent to deceive.”
Achaia felt like a balloon had lifted her from her chest.
“You’re saying he can just leave?” Achaia asked?
Transgression Page 35
