by James Somers
ALLIANCE
Descendants Saga
Books 6/7
Part I: ALLIANCE
Part II: VENDETTA
By
James Somers
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2013© James Somers
www.jamessomers.blogspot.com
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PART I
ALLIANCE
Servitude
Pervasive darkness held Black in its unbreakable grasp. Bound to a mortal body, he could not escape. He was aware of the catastrophic damage done to Ishbe’s body when Southresh fired his assassin’s bullet from the high caliber rifle atop the Blood Tower in London. However, he could do nothing for it. The last vestiges of his strength were spent now in his attempt to repair the heart and maintain a very faint pulse. He was only barely alive.
The cherubim had all but abandoned him at the Tower of London. Their final proclamation had been to inform him that they would serve him no longer. Undoubtedly, Lucifer had been involved in the cherubim coming to this decision. He could still feel their presence, like a bird hovering over its chick, allowing it to struggle for flight, yet unwilling to let it fall and be dashed against the stony ground.
They were there beyond the darkness, somewhere, watching. Why they had not allowed his spirit to rebound into the angelic prison of Tartarus, he had no idea. Evidently, they must feel that he still had some purpose to serve. However, as yet, they had not made that purpose known to him.
Still, he struggled. Just keeping this body alive in his efforts to remain free was not the existence he wanted. If he could do nothing more than this with what time remained for him then better to let Ishbe’s body die and have Tartarus drag him back to oblivion. Surely, the cherubim did not mean to leave him like this.
He called to them, pleading for an answer. It was not his way to beg, but Black felt that he had little choice. And, after all, he was not above whatever means might be necessary to achieve his ends.
Strangely, it was when he broke down in spirit and admitted defeat that the cherubim finally responded to him. It was not an audible reply to his groaning. Rather, he felt their influence again, particularly as they worked upon the human body he inhabited.
The heart, imperfectly repaired—due not to a lack of knowledge but overwhelming damage and his lack of sufficient power—was healed and made to beat strong and true again. The barely sustained blood circulation escalated to nominal levels. The breathing that had been barely passable, became an influx of fresh oxygen, gases exchanging in the lungs to empower every cell.
Black was finally able to regain voluntary motor movement again. His eyelids fluttered and then opened. The crimson glow that had been in existence upon the spiritual plane surrounding the cherubim was now light blue like the sky. A vortex of a sort remained in flux, but it did not revolve with the violence it had before.
With all of the spiritual plane thus illuminated, Black was able to look in every direction and see its terrible state of ruin. Nothing was hidden. What had once been very beautiful was now shattered and ugly to behold.
Black was presently hovering, though not of his own power, before the cherubim. He could feel the healing of this mortal form continuing toward a state of near perfection just as had happened before when he was assassinated in London. The cherubim had returned to him. At least, he hoped it was the case. Certainly it was not as it had been: a mutual understanding. Something else was happening.
The world around him came into more clarity. Waves of energy radiated away from the cherubim, that steady thrum having a more tangible effect upon the realms of the spiritual plane. From the land to those things either built or growing upon it, all had taken on a featureless nature like sandcastles washed over by a wave.
Everything was in the process of being dissolved. “What are you doing?” Black cried over the din.
The cherubim did not immediately answer him. However, after several minutes, they finally spoke. “Dissolution is progressing according to our design. This dimension will soon be ready for its new matrix.”
“Meaning what?”
“We will remake the spiritual plane, dissolving the old and creating new. You will serve us in this process. We will be master now.”
Black’s anger began to boil. However, he was wise enough not to allow his fury to show. After all, the cherubim were holding his freedom in their hands. If they decided not to continue anchoring him in the mortal world, he would be hanging in the wind and open to attack. Not to mention the cherubim had the power to kill his human form themselves, if they desired. Even with all of his power, Black knew he could not stop them.
“Serve you in what way?” he asked.
“When our work is complete upon this dimensional plane, we will send you forth to invite worshippers to come and inhabit this world again. They will swear their allegiance to us and do obeisance. In exchange for their faithfulness, we will allow them to remain and enjoy what we will make. In addition, they will serve our purposes, and we will add our power to them as their desires please us.”
“You intend to set yourselves up as gods here on the spiritual plane?” Black asked.
“You will serve us,” they said in unison again.
Black almost laughed at the prospect. Surely they couldn’t be serious. Such a brazen move was sure to bring down heavenly wrath. Yet, these fools seemed not to understand what the consequences of their actions would be. He considered informing them, but that information might become useful to him later, so he wouldn’t forfeit the truth just yet.
“And what will be my reward for this proposed servitude?” Black asked.
“You will be allowed to live in your mortal form. You will be our chief servant, our spokesmen and one to lead others in worship before us.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Your spirit will be released to the drawing of Tartarus when we destroy the mortal body we have now healed,” they replied.
Black considered for a moment. “Sounds like an offer that I can’t very well refuse.”
“Resistance to our will would be futile.”
The entire landscape, as far as could be seen, had become indistinct. All was being shifted, like grains of sugar in a cup, shaken back and forth until the whole is level and smooth. Black assumed that the process was not far from completion, as they had said.
“How long has this been going on?” Black asked, indicating the world around them.
“Dissolution has been in progress for approximately one year.”
“Is that how long I’ve dwelt in darkness? Has it been a year since the battle in London?”
“Yes,” was the reply.
“And how long before you mean to send me back to the human world?
“When the work of creation here is finished, we will send you as our emissary to those Descendants who will respond to our call.”
Black began to lose control of his temper. “And how long will that take?”
“Approximations have been calculated for completing our vision for this realm,” they said. “Eight years will be required to fulfill our desires here.”
“Eight years?” Black bellowed. “This is outrageous! I have matters to deal with that cannot wait.”
“You serve us now. Else you may return immediately to Tartarus.”
To emphasize their point, Black’s human host became wr
acked with pain. Every nerve was on fire in a moment’s time. He folded instantly, writhing in the air before them. “I will comply!” Black managed to cry through gritted teeth.
His pain subsided. Tartarus was not an option. Black had no choice, at this time, but to serve the cherubim as they wished. However, he would bide his time. And, if the opportunity presented itself, he would free himself from this servitude and rid himself of his new masters.
Vampires
Black stood in the city of Saint Petersburg, the capital of the Russian Empire. The air held a distinct chill that you could only find in this part of the world—as though the sun never quite found its way here. In the square before the Winter Palace, the angel watched as passersby went on their way, mingled with carriages and not a few palace soldiers. The Alexander Column towered above all like a finger pointing the way to God.
Despite the grand architecture and beauty of the palace, Black looked away from it all, feeling entirely disinterested. After all, this was an errand in his service to the cherubim. A full seven years had passed in this forced servitude to the three united angelic creatures, a total of eight years since the battle at the Tower of London where his mortal host had been shot by Southresh.
The sniveling coward. Black had already vowed his revenge upon his brothers a thousand times over by now. He had now been reduced to a lackey, a slave, an errand boy. He would exact his vengeance some day, somehow. If only he could escape the cherubim.
A man had approached from behind, his footsteps the merest whisper against the flagstones. As he began to speak, Black interrupted him. “You’re late, Yusupov,” he said. He turned. “Or should I address you as Prince Felix?”
The younger man appeared slightly taken aback. He stopped himself from replying in order to bow at the waist slightly first in deference. Evidently, Black thought, he understands something of my reputation.
Felix Yusupov was a young man and handsome. He was fashionably dressed without seeming garish in his attire. Black noted that he appeared very much like his own human host, Ishbe, had nearly twenty years ago when he had taken residence in this body.
“My lord Black,” the prince began, “We received your communiqué that you would arrive today. To what do we owe this honor after so long a time?”
Black was loathe to deliver the message. After all, that would only punctuate the fact that he was truly the servant that the cherubim now claimed. It was one thing to act the part in their presence and another to actually be here doing as he was bidden.
However, Black had no choice at the moment. Should they choose, he would be released to his fate in Tartarus. No sooner would the cherubim relinquish his spirit than it would rebound to his unbarred prison in the midst of oblivion itself.
“As you are the current leader to the Breed in this part of the world, I am come with an offer,” Black said. “The spiritual plane has been reborn through the efforts of the cherubim.”
“The same beings who destroyed it nearly a decade ago?” Felix asked, seeming skeptical.
“The very same,” Black confirmed. “The realms have been purged and remade into one continual kingdom that awaits those who are willing to do obeisance. As a reward for such devotion, the Descendants who take advantage of this offer will be protected and empowered to become the greatest of all Descendant races.”
Felix did not immediately reply. However, after a moment’s consideration, perhaps even wondering if this offer was genuine, he asked, “Why the Breed?”
Black smiled magnanimously. “Who better than the Breed? You are a strong race and as many in number among the clans as any other. Besides, the Breed also sided with me in the takeover of London under Tiberius as well as his own campaign against the Lycans. You understand your inherent right to a kingdom and have the power to seize it with the right help.”
“All we must do is submit ourselves to the authority of the cherubim?” Felix asked.
“Already, a magnificent city awaits those who will be faithful,” Black said. “With war inevitable among the humans, and also coming soon among Descendants, whose side would you rather be on? Wouldn’t you hope to have the cherubim to fight those battles you are unable to win? Or will you delay and see this sort of power in the hands of your enemies, the Lycans?”
“What do you mean? You’ve made this offer to them also?” Felix asked.
“Power often comes to those who act first,” Black said. “I am making the offer to you now because of the loyalty your people once showed toward me. Delay your response, and I will make the gesture to others.”
Yusupov considered the matter for a moment. “How do I know? Do you have proof?”
Black leveled his stern gaze upon the man. “If you require more proof than my word then, obviously, I’ve come to the wrong Descendant race.”
That statement appeared to be all the convincing that was necessary. “We will accept your gracious offer, lord Black. How and when may we take possession of this city upon the spiritual plane?”
Black smiled. “I will show you the way by which you and your people may come into the city.”
“And the name of this city?” Yusupov asked.
“Trinity.”
Riders
Nine years had passed since our battle at the Tower of London. I had seen peace come to our people as we integrated with the Leprechauns in Rockunder. A project meant to annex our town at Highmore into Rockunder had proven too difficult. But, still, there was a general feeling of oneness.
As for me, I felt very good about the whole situation. Despite missing my parents, I began to believe that living in Ireland among our new friends was even better than living in Greystone on the spiritual plane. I was happy—which is a strange thing to say because I was presently in terrible danger.
I was plummeting through the air, dazed and confused, having been thrashed by a dragon’s wing as I made an attempt to bridle him. The world was spinning. I was out of control, having no idea which way was up and honestly lacking the sense at the moment to care.
When I hit the ground, I would either be in terrible pain, or dead and in no pain at all. I thought that I should do something about this, but warm blood was running down the side of my face from the torn knot on my head and I couldn’t think straight. My arms and legs flailed wildly with the wind. Couldn’t I fly? Oh, yes, I could transform into something to do it. But what could I become?
A strong hand seized me from the iron grip of gravity, hauling me back away from the rapidly approaching outcropping of rock below in the valley. I wondered at the reversing perspective as the ground pulled away in my vision. Then it began to occur to me in my stupor that someone had a hold on my left leg.
I looked toward my foot and found my friend Adolf there holding me tightly, pulling me up away from danger back to the safety of a massive baobab tree that towered over us. Being descended from sprites, on his mother’s side, he had the ability to fly in human form. This was a rarity among Descendants of the Fallen. It was so rare, in fact, that only sprites could do it.
We ascended until Adolf found a wide branch to land upon. Here he deposited me gently. I pawed the wide limb of the baobab, pulling myself down. When he let go of my leg, I didn’t bother to stand but remained on my back, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
Adolf dropped down above my head, examining my wound. “Boy, he walloped you good, didn’t he?” He held up his outspread fingers before my eyes. “How many fingers do you see?”
It was four at first, but these fuzzy digits quickly merged. “Two,” I said finally, sitting up.
The baobab branch we were perched upon was wide enough at this point to march three abreast and even broader near the trunk. “I’ve lost the bridle,” I observed.
“No, you didn’t,” Adolf said. “It fell and got caught among the higher branches in this tree. I’ll fetch it for you.”
Adolf shot upward away from our perch, disappearing among the green foliage and orange flowers. I took the opportunity of
our current vantage point to look around at our surroundings. We had only visited the Valley of Dragons three times now. It was quite a vast mixture of jungle and rock.
Great granite walls rose up on either side, many miles apart. It was here that the dragons of this valley made their dens among the many natural caves in the rock. Looking out now, I could see the emerald colored serpent I had been attempting to harness as he landed upon an outcropping outside of his den.
The dragons were wild here, the only place left in all the world where they could be found. Apparently only the Leprechauns knew how to find them, for it was in Rockunder where we learned. And, of the Leprechauns, only a select few had the way into this magnificent lost jungle valley. It had been sealed by a powerful spell long ago. I could only imagine how many spell casters it had taken to perform the deed.
However, Adolf and I had been offered a rare opportunity. Because we were both now well known as war heroes from the action in London and because we trained many of the soldiers and civilians in Kalandra, we had been approached by the Dragon Riders.
The Dragon Riders were an elite group of Leprechauns who had set themselves to protecting this endangered species. Even in Rockunder, there were those who still hunted these majestic beasts for food and profit. The Dragon Riders fought to keep poachers away.
An eagle shot down from high above, its wings unfurling to brake its dive. The eagle landed upon the baobab branch and took Sadie’s form. “Cole, are you all right?” she asked with genuine concern.
I grunted and sat up, not wanting her to see me lying flat on my back. Adolf appeared back on the branch, laughing at me, tossing the harness onto my lap. “Oh, now you’ve got your strength when your girlfriend arrives.”
I sighed. A quick flourish returned the harness to my dimensional pocket.
