The man and the Brother cowered powerless before his approach. In his wake was woe, the screams of the damned, the dust of the earth. As he passed by, it overtook the two, and they were no more.
Kreios moved into the heart of the building. Up. There were no barriers.
***
THE BATTLE BELONGED TO El, and it was magnificent. Now on every side of us, there were hundreds of sharks breaching, pulling demons out of the sky, dragging them into the sea and then fighting over their remains. Black demon blood roiled in the salt water, producing a horrible stench that could not be described.
***
THE REMAINING DEMONS RETREATED with screeches of rage. They would not return to their master—to fail was to die. This night was death; a sound defeat. Something had changed. The few that remained turned to the west, disappearing over the wide expanse of sea, abandoning both their post and their master.
***
KREIOS MOVED THROUGH THE corridors of the skyscraper, working his way up from ground level. There weren’t many here tonight, but those who were wished they were not. He would oblige them, then. They would be no more.
A man in a corridor staggered away from him, blood soaking into his clothes from underneath. Kreios passed him by; he was gone. Another man in an office met his eyes and then fell to his knees, begging for mercy. A semicircle of blood soaked through his shirt. It was the size of his entire abdomen. For a moment it appeared that a shark had made a single bite out of the man’s torso. He collapsed and died before Kreios got to him, but in the wake of the angel, he became mere dust.
More. Upward. To the top.
***
NWABA LANDED BY THE enormous elm tree in the rooftop garden of his skyscraper citadel. He opened his jaws and spoke to Mr. Emmanuel, who had been waiting with salve for his wound. “We have had a change to endure.” He dropped Kim’s comatose body on the floor. “This one cannot yet be discarded. The Bloodstone is … temporarily lost.”
Mr. Emmanuel said nothing, merely stepping forward and spraying the salve on his master’s wound. It stung Nwaba like mad, but it repaired him.
Nwaba the chameleon then selected a smaller form; his favorite. The massive wings retracted and diminished, the color of his skin changed to pure white, and he became more like a lizard with the face of a man. The massive talons on his feet became mere claws, the claws on his hands became grippy pads, the wings became more like a cloak, shrouding his newly spare and diminished seven- foot-tall frame. His tail reduced its thickness to a mere wire, long and thin.
“The Daughter of El somehow knew,” Nwaba said to his slave. “She cut the cocoon; we nearly lost everything.”
Mr. Emmanuel shrugged. “I can wait.” He placed the can of salve on a stone seating area. They stood atop the roof of his building, his skyscraper, in the garden. It was anchored visually by a large elm, rising easily one hundred feet above the top floor, that had been transplanted via helicopter. Roundabout this were geometrically arranged rock beds, grasses, and thorny plants. He continued, “Is it not worth the wait?”
Nwaba grunted sweetly. He made no other comment.
“Still …” Mr. Emmanuel said, “I must do something with this.” He kicked Kim’s inanimate body.
Nwaba grunted his affirmation and turned away in disgust.
“Just so you know,” Mr. Emmanuel said, which gave Nwaba a moment’s pause, “I’m actively working the other angle.”
Nwaba responded with a bestial voice, “Let me know if you need me,” which was probably the most frightening thing a creature like him could have said in that moment.
But not for Mr. Emmanuel. He responded with a simple, “We’ll see.”
***
MR. EMMANUEL HIKED THE prodigiously stinky body over one shoulder and walked into the house. Through the living room, with its twenty-foot-tall windows looking toward Table Mountain, and into the kitchen, with its walk-in freezer. Unfortunately for his diet, this was the best way to preserve the body of the transition host—wedging it in here among his foodstuffs.
Even at the top, there were time concessions—compromises—had to be made.
Besides, as he had said to the master, would it not be worth it?
Their plan had been to procure the Bloodstone with its current, or transition host; the one who had inherited its authority by chance from the elder Alexander. Then when all was in hand, ownership could be transferred by blood sacrifice. The body of the one named Kim would be bled and burned with fire, Mr. Emmanuel would perform the rite, and then he and Nwaba would be conjoined to the Bloodstone. Simplicity was beauty.
But unfortunately, the rite required the Bloodstone to be present.
So they would have to wait.
Mr. Emmanuel closed the freezer and locked the door, thinking clandestinely of a way around the problem of power, and more of it. Perhaps the man John could provide something to him. To him alone.
CHAPTER III
NWABA RETIRED TO RECOVER his strength, calling in one of his subordinates for the issuing of supplemental orders.
Losing the Bloodstone was intolerable. Worse, he had no one to blame. No one, that is, but the Daughter of El who had instigated the deed. He was inwardly furious, but he held himself in check for now.
The lieutenant reported, something like respect and fear in his eyes. Mostly it was fear. Nwaba did not look at him as he issued the orders.
“One hundred more. Search the waters. Find them quickly and bring them here. Do not neglect the island; in fact, start there. Dismissed.”
Wordlessly, the lieutenant acknowledged the orders and left.
Nwaba could now soak in his regrets for a moment, awaiting the arrival of the Sword. Then things could change for the better.
***
False Bay, South Africa—Present Day
IT WAS UNBELIEVABLE THAT we had survived a plane crash. Crazy that sharks had killed all those demons. But it was absolutely insane to find land in the middle of the ocean. Ellie, since she was familiar with her home, led us onward.
“We’re just gonna take it nice and easy,” she said. “Sidestroke.”
“Where are we going? Aren’t we miles from shore?” I asked. I could see the lights of the city lining the edge of the bay all around us, but they were very distant. I guessed it would take days to swim the distance.
“No, we’re not far,” she said. “There’s a little rock up here called Seal Island. We can regroup there.”
We swam on through the darkness for a while.
“I’m assuming,” I said in between breaths, “they call it Seal Island because there are seals there?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Cape fur seals. They like to hang out there. And that’s why there are so many sharks.”
Flabbergasted, I said, “Stupid seals. Why don’t they move on?”
Ellie was silent for a moment. “Well, I guess they really like it. Either that or they believe it belongs to them. That it’s rightfully theirs. And there’s lots of yummy fish here for them, too. So they endure the sharks.”
Got it. “Sometimes you need something bad enough that you gladly suffer the consequences, huh?”
“Sho,” she said. I guessed it was sort of slang for “totes,” or something, which made me miss my Kim. Poor Kim. Would I ever see her again? But I couldn’t allow myself to think too much; I had to be disciplined and concentrate on one thing at a time. That was really hard for me.
We swam on. The waves tossed us every which way, and prevailing currents did their worst as well, but we finally made landfall on the “rock.” I estimated it was about an hour after sunset.
Ellie hadn’t been kidding about the island being a “rock.” It wasn’t much more than that, about a city block in size. We had to fight the crashing waves, the slippery surface, the darkness, and the idiot seals as we clambered up. But we staked out a territory nevertheless, and eventually sat down. The ocean was inches away from us; Seal Island didn’t poke up out of the water by very much at all. But it wa
s a resting place, for which I was very grateful.
Michael, thank God, was still alive. He was breathing, at least. We three had to huddle together for warmth, soaked on the cold rock.
“So what do we do now?” I asked Ellie.
“Wait,” she said.
***
I CHECKED ON MICHAEL’S condition about every fifteen minutes. Meanwhile, Ellie looked at the seals like she was hungry. So it seemed, in a way, that we had gone from bad to worse. Are we now prisoners on this little island?
Still no rescue boat, though in truth it probably hadn’t been that long. Plus, it was the middle of the night.
I was getting antsy for results. Michael’s condition wasn’t improving. I was glad he hadn’t gone hypothermic on me in the water, but it wasn’t like he was some kind of superhero—he needed professional medical help and I wasn’t that. I could barely keep him warm enough. And even if I could get him to a hospital, would they be able to save him? Did modern medicine have a cure for something that the Bloodstone had originally produced?
Most likely the answer was “no”—I had to admit it. A strong “no,” because stuff that happened to Michael and me was pretty much impossible, and that made it impossible to explain. But there might be a slim chance the doctors could at least treat the physiological parts of what ailed him. That meant, however, that they could only treat his body for symptoms, which wouldn’t be enough.
“Ellie,” I said, jittery with anticipation, “I need to do something.”
“Fine; get out that fancy Sword of yours and kill us a seal so we can cook it and eat already.”
“No, not that. I can’t just sit and wait for something to happen.” I pulled back the fabric of his shirt and looked at his wound. It was like some horrible shield, taking up his entire chest. It was beginning to harden, developing cracks. It looked like hard earth. I whimpered in despair for him; I didn’t know what to do.
“If I don’t do something about this, I’ll feel horrible forever.” That was the gist of it. I sounded like I was only really concerned about myself, and that just wasn’t true. “Els, I’ve gotta do something to help him.”
She looked up at me from her zoned-out stare for the first time. “I know what you’re thinking. But if Michael was still in any way connected with the Bloodstone, his wound would be healed. He is rejecting the healing. His mind and body are fighting the call, but it wants him and it will do whatever it takes to close the sale, so to speak. He has to give in to it if he wants to be healed.”
“What if he doesn’t … doesn’t give in?” I knew the answer, but I needed to hear it from her.
“He will die, girlie. The infection will keep spreading until he’s dead. I’m sorry.”
“But he’s alive right now. Michael is alive. I can help him—well—not me, but … but Kreios can. I need to find him. I’ve got to find him and bring him to Michael. He will know what to do.”
We had a moment then. She looked like she was thinking something over, something important. After a long awkward silence, she finally said, “Can you swim?”
“What, you’re asking me if I’m a good swimmer?”
“Yeah, girlie.”
“Well, if you don’t count that one time I almost drowned as a kid, and that other time I almost drowned because I died, then, yes, I’m a great swimmer.”
“Champion. Get cracking then.” She pointed toward the lights on the horizon. “Right away.”
I jerked backward, momentarily shocked. “Dude. Who peed in your corn flakes?”
“Nobody. That’s the problem. When I don’t get enough to eat, I get grouchy. If there were any corn flakes at all, soiled or not, I would’ve scarfed ‘em for sure.”
“Ew.”
She smirked, but didn’t laugh. “Really, Airel. Sounds like you’ve made up your mind already anyway. It’s the only option you’ve got left here, and there’s no time to argue. So you’d better get cracking, as I said.” She pointed again.
I took a deep breath and then let it out heavily, looking out into the dark waves. “Great. Just great.” Ellie looked fearful. What, is she scared of the water or something?
“You’re gonna wanna go starkers, trust me.”
“Starkers?”
“Nude,” she said.
“What?”
“On a swim like that, clothes will needlessly tire you.”
“Huh, no way,” I said. “Not a chance.”
“Then at least you’d better get a running start, girlie. Otherwise the waves will smash you to bits against the rocks and it’ll hurt.”
“Gee, thanks, Els.” I paused. “Hey. Look at me.”
“Yeah?”
“Will you please do all you can to help Michael?”
“I will. All I can.”
“Promise?”
She grasped my hand. “I promise, girlie. Now. Get the heck outta here.”
I shook my head. I looked at Michael. I knelt to his side and kissed his lips, struck by how weird it was to kiss someone when they didn’t reciprocate. This was nothing like I had imagined our lives would be; someone had thrown us a major curveball. It hurt more than I could bear—the idea of what might happen—but I couldn’t think of that right now.
As I knelt at his side, I prayed desperately that I would see him again soon, alive and well, that this was not our final moment together. My eyes welled up with tears and I shook my head in disagreement. This is not the end.
I stood and said, “Good-bye,” and then took a running jump into the darkness.
CHAPTER IV
THE PLUNGE INTO THE ocean again was rude, shocking, dispiriting. Almost depressing. Why? Because now I was alone again. That meant I couldn’t fool myself into taking less responsibility for what happened by blaming other people’s actions for the bad stuff. It was all on me.
Plus, I was cast out into the unknown, into the dark ocean where unseen. sinister things glided along within its blackness, ready to attack me. I didn’t feel like a superhero, a half-breed, an Immortal. I felt like fish food.
I hadn’t really thought about the distance between the island and the mainland before I jumped. It was one thing to swim laps in a pool. That body of water was, though liquid, still static in a way. In the ocean, there were huge waves that swept over the top of me, there were currents that took me where they wanted to go, and that was not where I was trying to get. Whenever I looked up to figure out where I was, it looked like I was headed in the wrong direction.
And there were the seals, whose territory I had invaded both on land and now at sea, not to mention the sharks that patrolled here. And the darkness. Since I couldn’t see anything, I didn’t know where any potential threats might be. That, I knew—if I allowed myself to think about it—would kill me for sure.
But there was another thing: my clothes. They were holding me back, pulling me down. Ellie had been right. I needed every advantage I could get. I needed to take on the slippery shape of the fish, at least as much as possible, if I was going to survive this. I wasn’t just sidestroking with a life ring anymore. I wasn’t in survival mode. I was swimming for as much speed and distance as I could muster. The longer I swam with my heavy, restrictive jeans on, the more it became clear to me that it was either going to be me or them. So I ditched them.
That seemed to improve things, but then it became obvious that my shirt was dragging me down. Ellie had been right. You have got to be kidding me. I am not going to be seen in public in my underwear. I could just see the news broadcast featuring me scrambling awkwardly out of the water into a boat, or being hoisted up to a helicopter in my skivvies. Or my “knickers,” as Ellie would have said. But it was clear—the shirt had to go.
As I ditched that too, I made a mental note to draw the line there. I wasn’t going to be swimming in the buff, no way. If I died, I would die at least partially clothed. A girl had her dignity, however much of it. And as I swam on, I was glad that, if I was going to be parading around in my underwear, at least I wasn’t
wearing granny panties.
***
I HAD TO REST occasionally and just let the sea take me, trying hard not to think about sea monsters coming to get me.
I slipped onto my back and stretched out as much as possible, allowing the ocean to carry me along. One thing’s for sure—I am not a fish. I looked up at the dark sky and tried to think positively. I tried to think of how Michael would be better, how Ellie and he and I would all be reunited in happy embrace, how I would somehow find the mainland and a towel or a blanket and get help for us.
But it had all gone horribly wrong. At every step of the way, we had been met with unreal opposition. Whatever could go wrong, did. We barely had time to breathe before the bottom fell out again and we sank.
I had to get ahold of myself. I was so hungry and thirsty. It felt weird to be surrounded by water and not be able to drink. By now my body was beginning to consume itself, and that wasn’t good because there wasn’t much there to begin with. And this was a mission I had undertaken with no option for failure or incompleteness. Both of those would be permanent if they occurred. So I kept on swimming and floating, floating and swimming, trying to make some kind of progress.
By degrees, I would occasionally look up and see that I had moved across the bay and had indeed made progress. The mountains that ringed me in were growing larger on one side. Unfortunately, due to currents and waves and wind, it looked like I was taking the long way. The shore that had looked so tantalizingly close at times was sliding by alongside me. I wasn’t going to get to land that way. But it did appear I would do so eventually, given my path up to now. The only problem was, if I gauged the distance right, I was only halfway there.
Oh, this is so much fun. I should write home and tell them all about—I couldn’t go there. No way. I could not allow myself to think about home. But it all came crashing down on me anyway yet again. I missed my parents incredibly—especially my dad, for some reason. I missed Kreios. I wished all the crap that had happened to us would just go away forever and leave us in peace. It rained down on me, isolated and alone and drifting in the void.
The Airel Saga Box Set: Young Adult Paranormal Romance Page 61
