Star Angel: Rising (Star Angel Book 4)

by David G. McDaniel

  Only to discover him gone.

  No!

  Blackness. She was still standing in the rain.

  Wake up!

  Panic hit. The man was gone, the dream was gone yet …

  The rain continued to pelt her face, freezing in the pitch black.

  NO!

  She gasped in the icy torrent. She was awake—I’m awake!—eyes open—wide open and she strained them further against the heavy drops—my eyes are open!—but the dream had her. Erect, there was no doubt of it—her assaulted senses told her that much—standing in a rainstorm in the dark. Her eyes had been closed, now they were straining wide and she could see nothing. Frantically she lurched to the side, tried desperately to find any frame of reference, even as a piercing scream built toward her lips.

  She was about to go mad.

  All at once she was in the pitch-black woods of Anitra, she was under Erius on the trail, she was in the dream, she was on another world—she was anywhere but safe. Lost utterly in time and space.

  And she was about to snap.

  Each desperate attempt to inhale caught in her throat, staggering, unable to get a full breath in the wet, cold air. Then she hit something. A railing. She flailed for it with both hands and held fast. Then:

  I’m on the balcony!

  For a long moment she simply clung to it, pulling herself tight and holding on. Steadying herself, desperately piecing together what was happening. As she stood there hanging on a strike of lightning split the pitch in a jagged arc, lighting the dark shapes of mountains in the distance. It was gone as fast as it came and the impenetrable night returned but it was enough. She now knew exactly where she was. Somehow she’d sleep-walked out onto the balcony, into a rainstorm. It was another heavy one, almost as heavy as the one from the night before, and it hammered her with its force. Thunder from the lightning strike clapped the air and rumbled. Oriented, she groped her way toward the doorway and moved as quickly as she could to it. Heavy drapes blocked the entrance, soaked and leaden. She pushed them aside and went in.

  Out of the fury of the storm her senses shifted to the calm interior and began to stabilize. Slowly she steadied her breathing. The fire in the hearth was no more than glowing embers, but as her eyes adjusted she began to make out shapes in the room. Galfar was rising from his cot. He became alarmed when he saw her. With some effort he got out of bed and hurried to her without grabbing his staff.

  he called, internal voice filled with concern.

  “I’m okay,” she said aloud, voice quivering, taking stock of her faculties. She was still in the oversized blue dress and it was soaked. She remembered talking with Galfar that night and laying down. She must’ve fallen straight asleep with it on. In spite of the emotions gripping her in that moment she had the fleeting and very practical concern the dress would be needed for tomorrow and that it would never dry in time.

  “What happened?” Galfar came close and stood unsteadily, full attention on her.

  “It was a dream,” she went to a divan against the near wall and sat. Outside the curtained doorway the rain fell, hard and loud, puddling at the sloped threshold.

  Galfar sat beside her.

  “You should get dry,” he said.

  She wanted only to chase away the intensity of the nightmare. It’s a memory, she made herself believe it, trembling in the heavy, clinging fabric.

  Zac!

  For a long time Galfar sat beside her in the dim, orange light, listening to the storm, waiting patiently, Jess shivering uncontrollably until her teeth began to chatter.

  “Come,” he said at last and rose. She didn’t follow. He went to the bed and began gathering some of the blankets. She watched all this in the shadows, hugging her arms tighter across her shuddering chest. When he returned he made her stand and strip off the dress, handed her a blanket to dry then took that and gave her a fresh one to wrap herself in. This she did, pulling it tightly about her and holding it beneath her chin. She returned to the divan and sat and Galfar tossed the wet blanket to the side near the dress and joined her.

  She squeezed the blanket tighter. Galfar shifted until he got comfortable. “Was there anything significant?” he wanted to know. “To the dream?”

  Jess shook her head imperceptibly. Mind a million miles away.

  Then, quietly: “It was more like a memory than a dream.”

  Out on the balcony the rain fell. Tiny embers popped in the hearth.

  “Memories are part of all dreams,” said Galfar. “Dreams are an attempt to make sense of things we’ve known. Or things we may soon know.” Jess kept her attention on the softly glowing gloom of the room. On the tattered edges of her world, which kept fraying and ripping away, bit by frightening bit.

  “What did you see?” Galfar prodded gently. Another round of thunder rumbled, powerful yet distant.

  Jess bunched the blanket higher, pushing her wet hair up around her ears. Her eyes were wide, unfocused. Her voice a whisper.

  “I don't want to talk about it.”

  **

  The picture of Jessica was so lifelike, so filled with life it made Zac hurt. He should stop looking at it, he knew, but couldn’t, and so sat holding it in his lap, wearing a pair of her headphones, lost in her music as he gazed at the photo, letting the powerful emotions race through him.

  Allowing himself the ache of her loss was therapeutic, he told himself, and nowhere had he been able to do it like here, in her room, surrounded by her things. It shook him, this emotion, held him so deeply, so firmly … it was as no physical force could possibly have done. There was no solution, no way to fight through it. No way to stand against it, his great Kazerai strength utterly useless against its terrible embrace.

  He welcomed it.

  Soon enough there would be time for real force, to make use of that Kazerai strength, but not now. Soon he would exhaust every possibility, turn every stone, break every neck, assault every rampart, flatten every fortress and invade every hidden corner of secrecy known to man or Kel until he found the clue to where his love had gone but, until then, he gave himself over to the sadness.

  Perhaps the music helped. He sat in her room, on her bed, headphones snug against his head, cupping his ears as he imagined they once cupped hers, their colored plastic cocooning him in rich, deep sound. He had them plugged into one of her little music devices, having found a particularly longing, beat-infused song that so struck him he’d been repeating it, over and over, staring at the photo. The music, the picture … Outside the sun was setting, shades of dusk darkening the windows, he was alone in his soul-mate’s room, surrounded by her things, she was gone, far, far away and the bitterness was complete.

  The ache could not have run deeper.

  Earlier Willet left, with her family, after their slow preparations, an effort to relocate so he and Zac could use the house to lay their plans. For now the house was quiet. Willet intended to do some additional recon in the city at large and thereby, he expected, learn more about the state of the world itself. With the Internet and TV he and Zac had access to just about anything they cared to look for, but there was no substitute for a little on-the-ground observation. Willet checked in once already, using the family cell phones—Zac had Amy’s, Willet had her Mom’s—but they determined not to use those any more than needed. The Kel decision to leave civilian channels open was suspect. As yet there were far too many unknowns and so he and Willet proceeded with what they believed to be the utmost caution.

  So far everything was going as planned.

  Zac gazed longingly at the framed picture in his lap. It was black and white. All the other photos in the house—and Zac had looked at them all—were in color, this one the single exception. It was his favorite. It must’ve been Jessica’s too as it was the only one in her room. There were trophies and medals and posters and models and other things filling her shelves and walls, but only the one picture of herself. That fit her personality, he thought; Jess would not be one for putting out a bunch o
f self-portraits. Amy, on the other hand, had lots of pictures of herself, and of Jessica as well. In fact there were more photos of Jess in Amy’s room than of Amy. Many more throughout the house.

  Zac held it closer. In the gathering gloom he could almost imagine it being alive, such was the dynamic moment of the shot. The photo had been snapped in action, while Jess was laughing, and Zac could hear her now. Face filling the frame. Only her head and a little of her shoulders, hair flying in her eyes. She’d been moving at the instant the picture was taken, in the middle of throwing back her head, trying to catch her breath as she laughed, so hard, smiling that wonderful smile ...

  The photographer caught her in that precise moment, a moment of happiness so pure, so crisp, her joy absolutely filling the shot, leaping from it. And that laugh. Teeth white and shining, eyes squinting in pure happiness.

  Probably why she’d chosen to frame it.

  For it captured forever an instant of bliss. Such bliss, so complete, so intense … In that instant all was right in the world. In that instant, in the moment that picture was taken all was perfect, life was amazing and there was no bad thing, no hurt, no fear. Not there; not anywhere. Not in that instant, not in that world. None even to be imagined.

  An instant to be cherished forever.

  In the headphones the music crescendoed; the umpteenth repeat, hitting that sad, mournful part that so tugged at him, the singer holding a longing note, the music epic, the tale of a love forever lost and, at last, the tears Zac had been working for came. His eyes began to blur.

  Yes.

  This was sadness.

  This was emotion.

  He embraced it.

  CHAPTER 40: THE TEST

  The dress hadn’t been needed. The sun was high in the sky when Jess stretched herself awake, no one to prod her, and there at the foot of the bed she found a fresh tunic. She got up, put it on, and the knock came. Perfectly timed, and she wondered if they’d been out there listening for her to stir. If so she was glad for it. Sleeping in was exactly what she needed. She felt refreshed and the sleep was evidently something her body had been missing—more even than she imagined.

  Without much conversation two girl attendants entered at her summons and took her down the hall to a bathing room, a large brass tub in the center freshly filled with steaming water, large kettles heating over fires at the edges. The girls used the hotter water to warm what was already in the tub, had her check it until she approved, then took her tunic and she stepped in.

  It was pure rapture. She sank into it, relaxing like melting wax into its heat. The girls added scented oils and their aroma soon filled her senses and it was wonderful. For a long time she simply sat there, head back against the edge of the metal tub, eyes closed, breathing in the fragrant steam, asking the girls to add more as it cooled, keeping it perfectly hot. She let her hair get wet then submerged her whole head, running her hands over her face in the cleansing bath.

  The girls didn’t prod nor indicate where she had to be, though in her mind she knew Cheops and his band of merry men must surely be waiting. Absently she wondered where Galfar was.

  After a long while she decided she was done. One of the girls produced a new dress, different than the other though made of the same blue fabric, same gold trim. This one seemed as if it had been picked to better fit, had long sleeves and hung to about her knees. The collar was normal, not high like the other, and overall it felt lighter and more comfortable. This time she got a pair of soft blue slippers of her own, and when she was dressed the girls took her to a polished mirror and did her hair, braiding it in loose loops and a kind of a bun, some of the loops hanging down and some pulled high. It was a curious arrangement but when they were finished it looked attractive. As they touched her up and put away their brushes she found herself softly mesmerized by their actions, staring into the mirror and into her yellow eyes. The dream nagged.

  Who am I?

  She might never have a good answer. With a sigh she rose and smoothed the dress. The girls were a little larger than her though younger. Everyone she’d seen in the castle was of hearty stock, probably breeding within their small group, warriors all.

  They led her down winding stairs back to the main hall below, where music and revelry rose to greet them. These people, she observed, did a lot of eating and drinking. Looking the group over as she entered, more of the warriors, massive muscles, hearty laughter and back slapping, she wondered if they did anything but lift weights, practice fighting and throw boisterous feasts.

  From the sun streaming through the tall windows the afternoon was probably half over, but the few hundred warriors massed in the great hall had been going long and hard already. No waiting for sundown for this celebration to begin, she thought, and no waiting for her, either, evidently. No one made any special notice nor mention as she took her first few steps into the room. She considered this. Maybe there wasn’t to be a big ceremony after all?

  She certainly wouldn’t mind that.

  Haz saw her first, then Galfar from across the room. Haz was playing his guitar, hardly standing out among the laughter and voices and other sounds. He had himself a small audience—girls, of course—who sat on the floor at his feet as he leaned forward in a chair strumming, soaking up their attention. Jess noted that by now he’d recovered fully from the drama and the trauma on the trail, where she’d unleashed right before his eyes in a display of power far beyond anything anyone was expecting, her included. Haz had very neatly put that aside and was back to his old self, back to looking for ways to make her jealous. When he saw her across the room she could tell he got an extra charge of self-importance. Look at me! he seemed to shout, I’m with a bunch of girls! —barely catching the smile that shot to his own lips. He straightened it at once and looked back to his audience. God knew he had to be cool. Couldn’t make it look like this wasn’t all in a day’s work for the ever-smooth, ever-desirable Haz.

  Galfar had started toward her. Again he was without his stick, trying to be strong in front of their hosts. As he got close Jess thought to scold him and go get it but he spoke first.

  “Come,” he reached a hand for her and nodded her two attendant girls away. They took their leave and went off to join the party. People of all stations were there and it looked more and more as if the caste system in that little microcosm of humanity was not exactly a feudal one. Everyone got to partake of the celebration, servants, warriors and all else.

  She took Galfar’s hand.

  As they walked he gripped her tight and she became his walking stick, feeling just how much effort he’d likely been putting into standing without it. She reached her other hand across and held his with both, giving him strength.

  She looked around to make sure no one was within earshot.

  “When’s the test?”

  “There is no test,” Galfar stunned her. “There was never a test. This is all Cheopses’ fabrication. He’s buying time to sort you out.”

  She stared at Galfar as he continued leading her. The old man kept his attention elsewhere.

  “What’s going on?” she was nervous all over again.

  “I’ve confirmed what I needed to,” Galfar said cryptically.

  Before she could demand an explanation he pointed to the partiers all around.

  “Stay sharp,” he said. “Go easy on the wine and spirits. Be the gracious guest, answer their questions, regale them with tales as needed and look to Cheops to run this party late and to the bitter end, accomplishing nothing.” Galfar was up to something, and she could see already it would run directly contrary to whatever Cheops had in mind. “There will be boasting, and dancing, and music, but no test. We will end today with no further confirmation than when we began.”

  Now she was just plain scared. What was Galfar planning? What could an old man, a teen boy and her do against a castle filled with beefy video-game warriors. Anxiously she looked across the laughing faces, the booming voices, the tall, broad bodies, bulging muscles, frightening
beards and mohawks …

  “Cheops will announce that you will find the way to lead them to freedom,” Galfar said. “He will make all sorts of claims and proclamations, all the while steering their attention from any other discussions.”

  This was really making her worry.

  Then he looked at her pointedly.

  “And please,” he implored, “no more speeches.”

  She swallowed, a little embarrassed. She’d already been trying to forget the banquet.

  “Don’t worry,” she assured him. Then: “But what about tomorrow? Sooner or later they’re going to have to decide what to do with me.”

  “It won’t matter.”

  “It won’t matter?” Her heart just kept beating faster. Anger, fear—she couldn’t decide which it was. “Why won’t it matter?”

  Galfar, as usual, didn’t answer.

  “Are you rested?” he asked instead. “I made sure you were undisturbed.”

  “I’m fine,” she said tersely, wanting to smack him. Wanting to smack everyone, wanting to just scream and punch everybody until they grew up and stopped playing games and somebody told her just what the hell was going on.

  “Good,” was Galfar’s only response.

  **

  After it was all over, after the celebration, after the revelry, after the last partier dragged himself out of the great hall or collapsed on the floor, Jess found her way back to the room. She stood now on the balcony, waiting, thinking it was a good thing the party started so early. Otherwise it might’ve gone all night. Sunrise couldn’t be far away.

  At Galfar’s request she’d put back on the traveling clothes she was wearing when they arrived. They’d been cleaned and were fresh. He and Haz put on theirs and rushed off immediately on a mysterious errand, telling her to stay until they returned. Haz didn’t seem to know what was going on any more than she did. To be hurried so urgently this late at night by his ordinarily slow and methodical father no doubt had him concerned. Jess could see it in his face as they left.