by Kristie Cook
Jordan clasped her wrist, breaking her off. He felt her eyes on him, questioning, but he couldn’t stop his own stare to look at her. Father lay sprawled on the dirt floor, nowhere near his bedding, his hair—blond and shoulder-length, just like Jordan’s—curtaining his face. Cassandra lunged to his side, falling to her knees, but Jordan remained frozen with shock, fearing the worst. He can’t die. It’s … impossible.
“Father?” his sister said, shaking him. “Father, what happened?”
Father blinked several times and then his eyes finally focused on her. Jordan blew out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and finally found the ability to move. He knelt beside them.
“I don’t know,” Father whispered. “I believe I am not well.”
Jordan’s brow furrowed as Father struggled to stand on shaky legs. None of them had ever been sick, not even Father. They hardly even aged. But now that Jordan looked at him more closely, he noticed lines around Father’s eyes that hadn’t been there the last time he’d been home, only weeks ago. Even the color of his eyes—they once shared the same deep blue—seemed lighter and distant, as if he already gazed into another place. As if he’d already left them.
How could this be! A hot seed planted itself in Jordan’s stomach—a seed of anger.
“You should stay in bed today,” Cassandra said to Father, her voice muffled by the blood whirring in Jordan’s ears. “You just need some rest.”
Lost in his own angry thoughts, Jordan watched as Cassandra slid her arm around Father’s waist and helped him make the few steps to his bedding. As he collapsed into a heap and Cassandra tended to him, a memory of Mother flashed before Jordan’s eyes—she’d looked just the same right before she died decades ago.
He needed air.
Despite his sister’s protests, he fled outside with the excuse of retrieving the goods he’d brought home. He took his time crossing the clearing and distracted himself by thinking of the men and the wolf. If they had returned, they hadn’t discovered his haul. He cocked his head to listen for them, but only heard birds chirping from the treetops and the sounds of small rodents rustling in the leaves of the forest floor. He considered how all three of them had stopped when the sun hit them and then retreated. His eyes narrowed with a thought … .
But he didn’t have time to think now. If he delayed too long, Cassandra would come looking for him and the ingredients she needed for Father’s soup.
While she cooked, she told them the whole story.
“Dead bodies stood up and walked?” Father asked, his voice sounding stronger but bewildered. “Cassandra, what kind of berries have you been eating?”
Jordan snorted. Cassandra put one hand on her hip and waved her spoon at Father, her chin jutting out as it always did when they teased her.
“I know my edibles. You know that. I saw what I saw and it was terrifying.”
Yes, Cassandra knew her edibles and Jordan knew she’d been truly frightened. But dead men walking? Absurd.
“It was very strange,” he conceded. “They didn’t appear to be normal men, I can agree with that.”
“That wolf wasn’t normal either,” Cassandra said.
Jordan didn’t respond, but stroked his chin as he gazed into the fire. She was right. The wolf wasn’t normal. The way it had looked at him—as if some human awareness existed behind the yellow eyes. Jordan shook himself. It was just an animal. But his curiosity was piqued. He wished he had chased after them.
“Did they follow you home?” Father asked and the alarm in his voice caught Jordan’s attention.
Cassandra shook her head. “I don’t believe so. They disappeared into the woods and I don’t think anyone has ever run as fast as we did.”
“Well, you do get your speed from me,” Father said with a chuckle that broke down into a fit of coughing.
Cassandra threw Jordan a worried look. The hot seed within him sprouted and his anger grew again. Father was truly ill, possibly even dying. This can’t happen! It went against everything Jordan believed in. And if Father died … all of Jordan’s plans would die along with him. The anger sparked hotter.
“Why were you out before the sun rose?” he demanded of Cassandra, trying to distract himself from this sudden anger. She glanced over at Father, who appeared to have fallen back to sleep, and then she turned away, as if to hide her pink face. She began putting away the goods he’d brought home.
“I helped a soldier after a battle last night. I was worried about him so I went back to where I—” She cut herself off with a gasp and turned to Jordan with wide brown eyes. “What if those … those things got to him? Maybe that’s why I couldn’t find him.”
Jordan narrowed his eyes. Cassandra had always been the compassionate one. She’d inherited their mother’s healing skills and couldn’t stay off a battlefield, even when she should be home where she belonged. So her concern didn’t surprise him. But he heard something else in her voice that he didn’t like, fueling his anger. He drew in a deep breath.
“How badly was he injured?” he finally asked, trying to sound sincere with his concern.
“Just some cuts and a lump on the head. I thought his comrades had come back for him, but … Jordan, what if … ?”
She swallowed hard and fear filled her eyes. She seemed to care more for this soldier than any others. That’s what he’d sensed from her just a moment ago. Why did it irritate him so much? He didn’t know. But he did know this gave him an excuse to get out of that hut. Away from their dying father. Away from his annoying sister. And a chance to hunt down those strange creatures. He started gathering his weapons.
“I’ll go search for him and see.”
“You can’t go out there. It’s too dangerous!”
One side of his mouth pulled into a lop-sided grin. At least she still cared about him.
“Don’t worry about me, little sister,” he said. “This will be fun!”
He was through the door before she could stop him—or throw anything at him. She hated it when he called her “little sister,” because she was, in fact, a few minutes older than him. He liked to tease her, though, because he towered over her tiny body with his tall, muscular build.
He felt free as soon as he left the confines of the tiny hut. He sucked in a deep draw of air and blew it out, then sprinted for the woods.
Cassandra’s pursuers had left clear enough paths of their retreats. The men’s footprints led in the same direction as Cassandra had said the battlefield was, but the wolf had gone a separate way. More interested in the wolf, Jordan followed the large paw prints.
He couldn’t shake the feeling he had made some kind of connection with the animal. Why had it looked at him so … intelligently? Why had it backed off when it saw him? Did the wolf feel the darkness in Jordan, the darkness that had been deepening and growing for years, making him feel isolated from the rest of his family? But it hadn’t feared his darkness as many animals—and humans—did when they sensed it. The wolf had almost seemed to protect him, changing its target from his sister and him to those two strange men.
Jordan growled at himself. It’s just a wolf. An animal. And I’ll slay it for making my thoughts sound like a madman’s. He quickened his pace.
The wolf prints eventually circled back toward the battlefield, but just as the trees began thinning at the woods’ edge, all evidence of the animal disappeared. No more paw prints. No fur caught on tree bark or low branches.
Jordan searched in a widening circle but all he eventually found, near a boulder only a few paces inside the woods, were human footprints. From Cassandra’s soldier? He peered out at the battlefield, where a dozen men carried their fallen comrades to a pile on the far side. Her soldier must be with them. Well, he’s safe now. As if he really cared.
He returned to where the wolf’s prints had left off but still found no trace. Frustrated, Jordan headed home and the closer he came, the more his anger at Father grew. The old man owed them answers. If Father was truly dying, h
e needed to explain himself—and everything about them—something he had refused to do all these years.
Jordan had developed countless theories, but the one that made the most sense—they were descendants of the gods everyone else believed in—conflicted with their own beliefs in one God. Cassandra rarely played his game of hypothesizing, telling him they should simply be grateful for the blessings God had given them. Of course, unlike him, she’d been kept from associating with other people—women didn’t belong in public places—so she didn’t fully understand just how different they were. How much better they were than all others.
“How is he?” Jordan demanded as soon as he burst into the hut.
Cassandra sat on the floor, next to Father’s sleeping form, her eyes wide and her body tense with the sudden intrusion. She blinked, then her eyes narrowed.
“You’re back already? What did you find?”
“Nothing,” he growled. “How is he?”
“Did you even look?”
“There were soldiers in the field, gathering their dead. I didn’t find anyone in the woods, so I’m sure he’s with them.” Jordan nodded at the sleeping form next to her. “What about our father? Shouldn’t he be your concern?”
Her shoulders sagged, as did the corners of her mouth.
“Nothing I do is working. He’s been sleeping, but fitfully, crying out every now and then. Mostly Mother’s name, but sometimes other things. But it’s all nonsense.”
Jordan removed his weapons and tossed them onto his bedding. He knelt on Father’s far side, across from his sister. “He must come around. He needs to explain—”
Cassandra was already shaking her head and Father, as if anticipating Jordan’s demand, silenced him.
“I … must … tell them,” Father croaked. “It is time.”
He fell silent again. Jordan exchanged looks with his sister, but she just shook her head. She brushed Father’s hair from his forehead, away from his closed eyes.
“Hush, Father. Do not—”
The old man’s eyelids sprang open and he glared at her with full alertness. “Yes. I must tell you. You need to know.”
He tried to rise, struggling to sit up. Jordan gathered more blankets and pelts and propped him up as much as possible. Father’s face looked haggard and his eyes pale and red-rimmed as they rested first on Jordan and then on Cassandra. He licked his cracked lips and closed his eyes. When he began, his voice suddenly came as clear and as strong as it always had.
“Your mother and I have told you the story of how we met,” he said. “How I remembered nothing of my life before. I’ve always said it was as though I’d never lived in this world until the moment I met her.” He opened his eyes and pierced them with his blue gaze. “Which, my dear children, is actually quite true.”
Jordan sat back on his heels as he listened to his father’s story, which felt so real and true the way he told it, but could not be possible. When Father was done, he closed his eyes again and sagged against the mound of blankets.
“I have told them. They know now,” he murmured, obviously no longer talking to them.
Cassandra looked at Jordan and he looked back at her with lifted brows.
“That’s it?” Jordan asked with incredulity. “All this time we’ve wanted to know what made us different from everyone else, and that’s his explanation?”
Jordan teetered on the edge of exploding. Cassandra shook her head violently. “Jordan, he’s very ill. He’s just delirious.”
“I would say so! What does he think we are? Children? Infants who believe in such nonsense?”
“Please, Jordan—”
Her plea for him to calm down was cut off by a gasp from Father’s lips. He gripped their hands with unexpected strength.
“You … must … believe,” he said, desperation filling his voice.
“How are we supposed to believe such a story?” Jordan demanded. His own theories had never been this outlandish. He’d always believed both Father and Mother were human—perhaps descendants of something greater, but still human. But what Father just said …
Suddenly Jordan could see nothing around him. Cassandra, Father and the entire hut disappeared, his vision taken over by strange images that were not his own. He saw a white-winged Angel who looked just like his father battling a demon with thin, black membranes for wings and horns protruding from its head. He also saw their mother lying unconscious on the bank of a stream. Then Father defeated the demon and fell to their mother’s side. He watched it all play out, the same story Father had just told them. Then just as abruptly as it had disappeared, the hut returned.
“What was that?” Jordan demanded. “Cass, did you see that, too?”
She blinked at him, her face twisted in a mix of emotions—the same wonder, disbelief and confusion he felt. She nodded. They both looked at Father. The corners of his lips lifted in the slightest of smiles.
“Just one of my abilities. I had to share.” He rose from his bed then, too strong for even Jordan to restrain. He rose above them both, until his head touched the ceiling. Jordan’s jaw fell as he watched thin, black wings spread from Father’s back, reaching the walls on both sides yet still not fully extended while his body seemed to fade into a dark shadow. “It is time for me to go.”
Chapter 3
Cassandra stared at Father, her mouth hanging open while bittersweet tears scalded her cheeks. She never thought she would lose him, convinced he would live forever after so many years as a strong and youthful man, but she knew he was about to leave her now. What would she do without him? Jordan liked his adventures too much to stay with her and she could never go with him—not that he’d even take her. She would be on her own now. How she would miss Father’s heavenly voice when he sang while they gathered fruits and olives, and their fireside conversations that could last for several nights. Her heart ached as sharp blades of grief and loneliness already stabbed it.
But at the same time, she could feel Father’s joy. He emanated a happiness she hadn’t felt in him since Mother died.
And he was so beautiful and glorious! Great white, feathered wings spread from his back, touching the walls, and his skin shone, bathed in a warm light. This is his true self. He’s going where he belongs. As much as Cassandra wanted to keep him for herself, she had to let him go.
“I love you, Father,” she whispered.
“I love you, too, my daughter,” he said and he looked at Jordan. “And I love you, my son. You have dark days ahead of you, but please remember that I always loved you and I always will.” Father fell silent and cocked his head. “It is time. Time for me to be with your mother.”
He reached out for their hands and Jordan recoiled but Cassandra grasped Father’s hand, feeling warmth and love travel through her arm. Father gave her a squeeze, closed his eyes and, as if murmuring to himself, said, “I am coming, Zoe.”
His wings beat the air twice and then he disappeared. Another vision filled Cassandra’s mind: Father and Mother walking along the seashore hand-in-hand, one of Father’s wings stretched protectively around Mother.
While Cassandra’s heart broke into pieces, her lips pulled into a smile. They’re together again.
A loud crash yanked her back to full awareness.
Her head jerked to the right. The water skin Jordan had been holding sat in the middle of the remains of a pottery bowl. She turned back to him, her mouth opening to question him but she snapped it shut. Her brother’s eyes flared and his mouth twisted with anger.
“He tells us that,” he spewed, “shows us … that … and then leaves?”
Cassandra stood and stepped closer to him. She reached for his hands, but he jerked them away. Her hands fell to her side. “He’s happy now, Jordan. He’s with Mother again. They’re in a better place.”
“A better place? Where do you think they are? Demons do not go to Heaven, little sister.”
Cassandra flinched as if he’d just slapped her. “Demons? What are you talking about?”
>
“A fallen Angel is a demon. Father himself taught us that and he was a fallen Angel.”
“No—”
“You saw him just now. Black wings and horns on his head!”
Cassandra shook her head. “He fought the demon, Jordan. Father was the Angel.”
“And then he fell. You saw that, too, right? He fell from the Heavens. They cast him out.” Jordan clenched his teeth so hard, his jaw twitched. “And just now—as he rose like a demon in front of our eyes, with those thin, black wings and talons and horns … ”
Cassandra gasped. “No! Beautiful, white, feathered wings. He’s an Angel. He’s gone back!”
Jordan glared at her as if she were a fool who didn’t understand what was so obvious to him, which she really didn’t. Black wings? Talons and horns? What had Jordan seen?
He turned his back on her and crouched beside the fire. He stared at the low flames licking at the cypress wood, and his shoulders rose as he inhaled slowly, as if trying to calm a different fire—one she could feel burning inside him, just below the surface. She didn’t like him when he was like this. He’d always had a dark side the rest of her family did not and it scared her when it surfaced. When he spoke, however, he didn’t yell or curse at her. Rather, his voice came low and deliberate, which she found even more disturbing.
“He’s gone to Hell, Cassandra. Accept it. He was an Angel. He’s now a demon.” He stood again and turned toward her, darkness filling his face and fire in his eyes. “And so are we.”
Her hand flew to her throat. Her own voice came out in a rough whisper. “Jordan … how can you—”
“We are of his blood. His demon blood runs through our veins. That’s why we age so slowly, why we run so fast and can lift fallen trees three times our body weight. We are demons, too.”
She shook her head. She fell to her knees and whispered, “Angel. He’s an Angel. Angel blood is in us.”
Jordan growled. He grabbed his dagger and stomped to the door.
“Where are you going?”
He stopped, but kept his back to her, his shoulders tense and square.
