The horde army was stunned. They stared at the Sword like children, and a new feeling washed over them: deep and abiding fear.
All was deathly quiet and still for an instant. The battlefield stood frozen. The angels on the high ground, about twenty in number, and the horde masses on the plain and in the forest, were all still. The Seer regained his feet, limping, trying to heal, seeking the power of the Bloodstone. The Sword was raised in Kreios’ hand, and he spoke simply, quietly, eyes blazing. “Trumpeter, sound the charge.”
The Trumpet sounded forth with a mighty blast, shaking the hill. At its sounding, the angelic remnant took to the air in an instant, hovering at the ready, motionless again in brief pause, bristling with weapons. The horde army stood in shock, for all their numbers, and defeat called soothingly to them, begged them bow down with her and die.
The angels blasted out into the horde with the force of a powder keg, wilting the enemy infantry, breaking through their lines, decisively smashing and crushing them into oblivion as they went.
Kreios noticed Yamanu; his weapon shone like the Sword of Light—in fact, as he looked around him, he saw that all the angelic weapons had the same halo around them. Angels were arcing on shallow trajectories into the air in short bursts, careening back to earth, and enemy body parts and blood flew outward from their impacts. They would loop up into the air again, readying to deliver their next blow. The angels were killing over a hundred of the Brotherhood at a stroke, and soon, inevitably, the will of the evil army was broken. The Seer’s command and control hung by a thread.
Atop a heap of the bodies of his own men, the Seer stood with black robes billowing in the light of a supernatural midday. For the first time that many of the angels had seen, he had a weapon in his hand: a staff of obsidian that emanated darkness.
Kreios said to the remnant in a small but commanding voice, “Go and find any who have escaped. Kill them; there shall be no mercy for these.” Yamanu took the remnant and flew to clean up the scraps.
Kreios removed his blood-soaked and stinking cloak, letting it fall to the ground at his feet, revealing his gleaming, burnished breastplate. He pointed the tip of his Blade directly at the Seer, and from the distance between them, called him by name. “Tengu. You shall bend the knee.” A howling screech of agony greeted him in response. Kreios’ body rippled with white light, making his birthmarks gleam in silver and gold. The Sword was perfection, glowing as if it had just been drawn from the forge.
“No, Kreios.” He spoke in spitting disgust, firing out barbs of speech like wet wood set upon on hot coals. “I shall not bend the knee.”
“You are wrong; you have been marked, and you have been overmatched. Bend the knee you shall; if I must kill you to bring it about more quickly, I am ready.” Kreios took to the air very slowly, sizing up his prey, waiting for him to show a chink in his armor.
The Seer laughed raucously. “You cannot kill me, Kreios.” There was a long pause as they sized one another up, the Seer on his mound of flesh, Kreios riding the air. “You would not kill your own brother… would you?” He held his staff aloft, brushing his dripping hood back, letting it fall around his shoulders. He moved the head of the staff in a hypnotic series of circular motions, bathing himself in the light that now streamed down on them from heaven above, raising his face to it, feeling the unfamiliar warmth. The act was sacrilegious. It was clear in that light that he bore a likeness to the angel Kreios.
The Seer called his name, singing it like a child’s lullaby. “Krei-os.” He laughed hideously, his face marred by beauty, its features uncomfortably hung and draped over emptiness. He was a picture of what once might have been lovely, but the thought of such things was fleeting and repulsive, out of place.
Then the Seer’s host changed in appearance, becoming a withered old man, crying out in agony. Kreios lunged forward. The Seer was manifesting into two forms, and he needed to kill the host before the demon Brother could emerge. If he successfully split, the kill would be much more complicated.
A black bat-like wing protruded. Kreios was closing fast; he raised the Sword and hacked it off as he landed on the heap of bodies, the end of the wing skittering off, curling inward upon itself, rolling into a ball and finally exploding in a pungent whiff of sulfur and ash. The Seer’s scream was surreal, being a mix of host and demonic parasite.
He wheeled around to face the angel, furious. As Kreios recovered into his ready position, bringing the Sword up to guard, the demoniac completed its manifestation. Kreios’ heart fell in that moment, knowing that he might have missed his opportunity to put an end to all this madness, and only by a hair’s breadth.
The old man, a shell, screamed wildly at Kreios, wielding a short black dagger. He lunged quickly, driving it into the angel’s side. Kreios smacked him, sending him flying into the forest of corpses that lay scattered round about them. He bounced up, a good distance away, and started rushing back to the fight. Kreios turned back to the demon, moving quickly.
The Seer was now holding the long obsidian staff in his hands, and he made it weave a pattern in the air. Kreios guessed that he was conjuring some hellish shield and decided to put a stop to it. “Where are your masses of troops, boy? They no longer stand between us; you cannot hide behind them now. You should surrender, be sensible.”
The old man behind Kreios was still tripping over bodies, but approaching quickly.
The demon hissed defensively at Kreios. The angel closed his eyes and concentrated on his target, focused on the Sword, light in his hand. Without drawing it back before the strike, he lunged, eyes closed, willing the tip of the blade through the belly of the beast and out his back.
The demon groaned loudly but shoved him away, and the Sword pulled free. “I told you, big brother, you cannot kill me—certainly not with my own Sword.”
Kreios heard the old man, the host, coming for him from behind, panting sub-humanly. He did not turn to face him; he merely backhanded him, sending him flying again. Kreios knew if he killed the host, the demon would shelter in the Bloodstone, beyond his reach.
He turned back to the demon, his nemesis—and spoke. “Engage me. Show me what I taught you when we were young together—before the precipitation. Bring to me the hollows of your putrid and spurious heart, so that I may fill them up with the dregs of the cup that has been prepared for the traitorous.”
The demon simply laughed. “Talk of traitors. Hail, the king of fools: Kreios. How dare you speak to me of traitorousness, you adulterous Cain. At least a third of us had enough honor to declare war outright. You shall not speak at me of betrayal—ΥΠΟΚΡΙΤΉΣ.” He swung the black staff maniacally.
Kreios dodged the blow, reaching in with the Sword and slicing at the neck of the beast, but not deep enough. He spun and parried a second, a third, then took to the air again. He looped around quickly, Sword overhead, and barreled into the demon headlong. As he did, he brought the edge of the Sword down upon the staff with a thunderous crack, shattering it powerfully and knocking the demon, senseless, onto its back.
Kreios again took to the air, this time with a vengeance. Like a comet blazing with speed, he shot up in an arc, peaking high up, directly above the immobilized body of the demon, the Seer, his brother Tengu.
Sword drawn and at the ready, hands grasping the grips like a dagger, the point of its blade aimed squarely ahead, Kreios saw the target blur as he broke the sound barrier with a mighty boom—yet his aim was true, and the target was not moving. He would bury the blade of the Sword into mountains of rock if it meant that, in doing so, he would sever the head from the body of his nemesis. He was seeking the end relentlessly; he could taste it.
The Seer, recovering, bared jagged and rotten teeth at him from below, and opened his arms, issuing the invitation to Kreios to give him the worst he could imagine.
Kreios suffered himself to smile. This was, in fact, the end of the Seer, an end to the dogged pursuit of his people by the horde army, a chance for peace at last.
The Seer below was visibly delighted as Kreios streaked toward him, lifting his chin slightly as if begging for the inevitable, daring to lift his horns and bare his neck to the Sword.
The moment stretched out.
Kreios was within striking distance; the collision stood on the cusp of itself, and he moved closer still. The tip of the Sword touched the folds of skin on the Seer’s foul throat. Then he vanished. Smoke exploded in great billows, and in the same instant, Kreios smashed into the earth, scattering dead bodies, limbs, congealed blood, earth, rock and smoke everywhere.
Scrambling to his feet, Kreios searched for his enemy, glancing everywhere, finally seeing the old man, the host of the Seer. He thrust the dagger that he held at his own neck deeper. He gurgled and fell to his knees.
Red with rage, Kreios bellowed, “No.”
Blood ran down the old man’s hand and dripped to the earth, mocking Kreios as the last few bits of smoke that once were the embodiment of the Seer disappeared. Kreios screamed and charged the old man, Sword drawn. He hacked off his head, arched his back, and screamed into the sky. The Seer had escaped into the Bloodstone.
Kreios searched the body of the old host for it; it was not to be found. Gone.
The angels returned to Kreios; Yamanu reported: victory. Though with heavy cost.
They set fire to the fields and watched as the flames crept in upon the dead, consuming them. The smoke of it would rise and darken the sun for some distance around for many days.
There were thousands upon thousands, and the bodies of his comrades were hopelessly entangled with them. It was a shame to burn all of it together. But these would return to peace, even if they must sleep until the end before they arose.
Kreios lamented his failure. And though the small company of angels regarded the battle as a victory, he could not abandon the memory of so many brave angel warriors. They had stood by him to the death, and had tasted consequence … in a great many ways. He stiffened his resolve, that by refusing to dwell upon himself too heavily, he would honor the memory of those now lost.
He knew that this was not an end, but a beginning. They flew to Ke’elei. To home. To the beloved who remained. To bittersweet days.
CHAPTER IV
Eagle, Idaho—Present Day
WHEN STAN HEARD THE name of Kreios uttered, it shook him to the core. Kreios? Here? The memories of Kreios were part of his inheritance as host of the Seer. He cursed and gritted his teeth. He was both angered insensibly and pierced with fear. Kreios was supposed to have been killed millennia ago—or slinking in the shadows, hiding. Stan had assumed, as had the Seer, that he had succumbed to death somehow.
He growled in pain. His shoulder sagged and his collarbone stuck out, making a little tent under his shirt.
Airel was gone. No matter what he thought or how strong he believed he was, she was faster and much more powerful than he had ever imagined. She didn’t look strong or fast.
He could hear the Seer cursing. Stan forgot about his broken collarbone and ran toward the house—he had no choice but to obey—for now.
The front door hung open and he caught a glimpse of his winged-beast master flashing across the living room in a tangle of light and smoke. Gripping his dark dagger, he peered around the corner and beheld the angel Kreios. His body was glowing with a brilliant white light, and Stan had to cover his eyes to keep from being blinded.
The angel was armed with a long, hooked dagger, and as he stabbed it into the demon’s gut, Stan felt the pain rip through his own midsection. He looked down to see that his shirt was soaked in blood. Could he die if the demon died? He didn’t think so, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He leaped into the fray and slashed with his dagger downward across the angel’s back.
Kreios turned, almost casually. The look of calm on his face stopped Stan in his tracks. He beheld the brightest eyes he had ever seen; they were steeped in more history and wisdom than he could possibly imagine.
The moment Kreios turned his back to the Seer, it seized its opportunity and lunged. Long, rotten teeth sank deeply into his neck. The angel closed his eyes and bent at the knees, and for a second, Stan thought he was going down.
Kill him, you blubbering pig.
The voice stung his mind, sending needles into his skin. In the time it took Stan to grip and draw the dagger back to put some force behind the final blow, Kreios launched.
The angel shot straight up through the second story and out the roof like a ballistic missile. Plaster, wood, fiberglass insulation, and dust ejected out and rained down through the gaping hole, and the whole house skewed off center.
Stan was left earthbound, peering up at them as they twisted left, then right, trailing black smoke. He could not make out much detail, but he sensed through the demon the panic that flooded over its mind.
In the launch, the demon’s jaws loosened their grip, and Kreios used inertia and the resistance of the wind to keep the beast at bay. He tore loose from the demon’s arms, spinning him around so that he could grasp him from behind. “I’ve been waiting a very long time to clip your other wing, brother,” he said as they flew higher.
Kreios grasped the Seer’s lone intact wing and wrenched it out entirely by the root. Stan fell to the floor, arching his back in unbearable pain, howling madly. The Seer was wild with unspeakable rage, spitting and howling furiously.
Kreios punched the top of his head, released him from his grip, and let the struggling demon fall, flapping impotently.
Stan could hear the wind rushing by, the flapping. As the body of the Seer impacted the earth, Stanley Alexander passed out, his body convulsing, then rigid. He could feel his mind straining to make sense of it all, but came up empty.
Is this the end? There was no answer.
CHAPTER V
Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho—Present Day
KIM HAD FOLLOWED ME through the dark tunnel in silence. We were both a little off; she was speechless, for once. As for me, I had just fought a man who was not quite human and held my own.
The huge house that Kreios had built was empty; no one was there. Kim gasped in surprise and wonder as I gave her the tour: the great ballroom, the awesome library, and my room. We didn’t even consider entering Michael’s room. It was too close to the wound, the pain still fresh.
Kim spent some time in my bathroom so that she could at least clean up and feel human again. It was good that we were, along with all the other things we shared, really close to the same size. She looked much better in one of my favorite outfits, and aside from the bruises and her stiffness, she was herself again. Nothing a little Advil and enough time couldn’t cure.
One of the first things we discussed, once we had caught up, was when she could go home.
“Same as me,” I said, “whenever it’s safe.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I was amazed at how much like Kreios I now sounded, and how much like me—the old me—she sounded. Things were starting to make sense now that I understood some of the reasons why. But for her, not so much. “We’ll talk with my… with Kreios, when he gets… home.” Old words were hard to fit into new definitions. I was trying to roll with it, Kim-style.
She changed the subject rather effortlessly. That was one of the reasons she was my best friend. “You know, since you and Michael went missing, I’ve been looking for you like a mad woman. Your parents called the police, but that seemed to make things worse—the detective who was in charge of your case was murdered. Everything changed after that. They’ve got everyone looking for you now. I was expecting to see your face on the milk carton soon.” We didn’t laugh very hard at the joke; it only made me think of how we would probably have to launch a massive cover-up if we were to survive for long.
Since Kreios wasn’t back yet and we were getting pretty hungry, I put together some dinner out of whatever was around. If there was ever a time when I wished for the modern conveniences (such as frozen pizza), it was then.
The sun was sli
ding behind the mountains when I heard something far off. Kim obviously didn’t hear it, and I wondered if I should be alarmed or get ready to defend the castle or something. I wished Kreios had shown me more. I wished we’d had more time together. I had so many questions about what to do with my newly activated self. The sound I heard was like rushing wind, but faster, quieter, more distinct. Kreios appeared seconds later, landing on the back porch, graceful and feather soft. Kim and I stared through the big windows, awestruck.
We were in the company of an angel.
“Whoa,” Kim muttered.
“I know—too bad I can’t do that.”
Kim looked at me, her face scrunched.
Kreios opened the glass door and walked into the room. I ran to him, barely aware of what I was doing, and threw myself into his arms, asking if he was okay, if everything was all right. It sure seemed like there was nothing to worry about, the way he shone—but I couldn’t help being concerned. This angel in the room was my grandfather.
As I drew away and looked at him, I could hear his voice in my mind. Airel. Do you understand now?
I nodded slightly, not wanting Kim to feel like a third wheel attached to a private conversation. For the first time, I saw my grandfather—Kreios—and I heard him in my mind once more. This is just the beginning.
CHAPTER VI
THE NEXT MORNING, WE were up early, except for Kim, who was sleeping off the bruises and soreness. I sat with Kreios before sunrise in the library by the fireplace.
He wasn’t one for small talk, and that seemed especially appropriate now, given that we were up against so many negative possibilities, including the Brotherhood.
“I want to make sure you’re okay. I know all of this is a lot to take in.” Kreios looked over at me, and I felt for the first time that he was a real advocate. But not only that—everything he did was for me, to help me. Knowing that he was also my grandfather made it that much more real and special.
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