*
Asher snaked around the z-shaped hallway, his legs unsteady. Both his throat and the area below his shoulder were bruised and bleeding from Jeremy’s hold on him, parts of his head and back were marked by their collisions with the walls upstairs, but it wasn’t these injuries that left his limbs loose and shaking. How did that boy reach into him? It was a violation on the deepest level. He knew that Saros didn’t intend to rip away his armor just to see his soul, but it was exactly the accidental nature of his insight that was terrifying.
He fought to control his breathing as he pressed cautiously through a final set of double doors, arriving in the open area that was once the lobby. It should have been obvious to him that Tregenne would be here, amongst his treasures in the Gallery. As Asher entered this last room, there was no need to consider courage or danger or caution. It was too late for any of that now.
Immediately, that softly impatient voice struck him. “Why, of course it’s Asher, come to see me. Who else would have taken the most roundabout path to…this? This. I won’t put it into words. You’d rather I didn’t.” Gabriel looked up from his desk, slowly removing his glasses and leaning back in his chair. He had changed since Asher had seen him last, but nothing was surprising after the dramatic transformations he witnessed in Tregenne during the years following the Eclipse.
“I don’t care what words you use. Your words mean nothing.” Asher watched him raise an eyebrow, but further evidence of his expression was lost in the darkness and beneath his long, graying hair and beard, both unruly and carefully braided. The only thing that ever stayed the same was his stare – forever penetrating and fierce, led sometimes to mild amusement, but always unmoved.
“I’ve heard stories, Asher. You’ve lost it.” He shook his head, cleaning his glasses as he continued, his once-pleasant voice coarser than Asher remembered. “I recognize the allure of leading a revolution, I really do. Michael understood what that meant. But what have you been doing instead? Wandering? Because of what happened here a decade ago? You’re a man now. I was sure that as you matured, you’d see that evolution is not only natural, but necessary. But now you’re back for something as disappointing as revenge.”
Asher was still. “You know why I’m here.”
Gabriel’s smile was like an animal bearing its teeth. “Then why don’t you ask me nicely?”
“How are we going to do this, Tregenne?” Asher’s eyes quickly moved over the interior of the Gallery to gain a more complete view of his situation. Only the emergency lights were on, with the exception of the small lantern illuminating Gabriel’s desk. It was another reminder that the Arch’s love for technology was only matched by his almost superstitious affection for the romance of the past, no matter how clinically he explained history. The walls were adorned with his trophies: various curiosities from the era immediately before the Eclipse, and other remains from a time even farther removed, back when the past really felt like something safely distant and primitive. Tregenne’s desk was almost in the center of the room, in front of a projecting wall that caused the space to wrap around itself. Gabriel watched Asher with bored fascination, leaning back lazily, his muscles coiled.
“There are a few ways this could end. You have to decide which one you can live with…if that is still important to you. ‘How do we do this?’ ” Gabriel purred, stroking his braids. He was clearly enjoying their exchange. “How did we ever do this, Asher? We fight, or we make a deal. I won’t shrink from either, but although our first option favors me, a bargain would benefit us both.”
Asher’s voice was too even. “A covenant with you means death.”
“Most likely. So is that your preference?”
Their weapons clashed somewhere near his desk, as the lantern shattered on the ground. Gabriel’s cheerless grin was suddenly close to Asher’s face, glinting in the last flare of the extinguished fire as he leaned heavily forward, kicking his chair out behind him. Their bodies collided, skidding along the worn floor and crashing into the wall. Asher felt his kukri catch Gabriel’s flesh, but the sensation only left him with a feeling of dread as the short sound Tregenne expelled was more like a suppressed chuckle than a cry of pain. They struggled in the dark, the Arch slipping through Asher’s holds with supple movements, eluding Serafin’s attacks as if they were shadows of the actual strike. There were times Asher could feel his knives penetrate flesh, but more often they raked against hard, rough surfaces, or were compelled to change direction by stronger forces. Even when a strike met its mark, Asher experienced a sudden return blow. He felt Gabriel scramble for something that had fallen from the wall when they had made contact with it, and understanding the extreme danger in such a hurried movement from this enemy, he hastily slammed Tregenne’s head against the painted, concrete floor.
Gabriel grunted, wrenching his body at an odd angle to weaken Asher’s grip. Immediately, the Arch fell upon him and the next impact left him dazed, the pain that enveloped him radiating out from his right hand. Through blurred vision in the dim, red-tinged light, he could see Gabriel rise and stumble to a nearby switch plate. A few florescent bulbs flickered, and Asher struggled to keep his awareness from slipping away. He was pinned to the wall by a spike piercing his palm. He painfully raised his head, squinting in the light to see Gabriel motioning to the sliced fabric around his shoulder. The Arch’s skin was smooth, but Asher could feel a sickening, soggy warmth spreading down his own torso before he mercifully fell out of consciousness.
33
Jeremy breathed in the cool air and tried to become a part of the blackness that enveloped him. He was closed up in a small room where no red lights would infiltrate his attempt at oblivion, and there was the added benefit of hiding in one of the few sectors of the building where Tregenne kept the air conditioning running. After Asher ran off, he continued to lay there, face down, for a long time. Eventually, he rolled over, splayed out on the floor, sullenly hoping that Za’in would rouse him or that another Arch would jar him out of this pained stillness. None of those prospects were pleasant, but they were better alternatives to staring at the ceiling, listening for the sound of Asher climbing the steps, returning. When it struck Jeremy that he wasn’t waiting for him to come back so that they could continue their fight, he crawled away, hurrying towards the nearest place that might help him forget what had happened between them.
He couldn’t shake off those emotions. They weren’t his, but he experienced them just as closely as the feelings that had always blindly driven his actions. Those vague thoughts that Jeremy avoided confronting or even naming were now laid bare, through his rival. Serafin took her away and left him with nothing but a reflection of his own desperation. The final insult was the realization that, although they both existed in the same Hell, Serafin kept his Abyss locked away from Kayla, while Jeremy knew he had taken a sickening comfort in bathing her in his own suffering and rage. But she was safe from him now. He clenched up against the tremors that crawled up his throat. He didn’t care anymore about being an Arch or pursuing some idea of victory. From now on, he’d leave her out of it.
Jeremy’s heavy sigh stirred the air. There was almost peace in his decision, and he felt like he might be able to sleep here in the darkness. It had been so long since he could fall into blissful unconsciousness. He only had to let himself drift. He could do it, now. Now that he settled on letting her go, he could surrender. His body slumped painfully against the tiny closet’s walls, but it didn’t matter. He would stay here, as long as it meant she’d be safe. From him.
His eyes opened suddenly. A realization blacker than his surroundings left him grasping for a hold on reality, but his bulging stare swallowed only nothingness. Kayla was adrift in that same void, exposed, vulnerable to more dangerous forces than his depraved heart. Jeremy tried to cease breathing, to cease thinking. Any small truth that he finally understood would be easily detected by Za’in. Fine. He had acted without thoughts or plans before. Jeremy kicked the door out and ran disjointedly int
o the halls, his boots noisily sliding over the tiles. As he stumbled forward, his hands helped him keep balance, sometimes slamming against the walls for support, leaving concrete and drywall dust in his wake. He let the angry, hollow sound of his steps echoing down the stairwell drown out any attempt to consider his next move.
The basement smelled like corrosion and ruin. It flickered briefly through his mind that those two words were a strange description for an odor, so he kept repeating them silently to prevent any other thought from entering. Corrosion and ruin. He could keep this up for a while. There was nothing else in the whole world but corrosion and…
Jeremy’s mantra was shattered by an image that held his aching legs still. That drooping, bloodied form that was tied to the wooden cross, it couldn’t be… “Serafin?”
“I thought I’d give our martyr what he really wanted. He truly looks the part, doesn’t he, Saros?” Tregenne was sitting on the ground, leaning comfortably on one locked arm, with his opposite elbow resting on his knee, pulled close to his chest. He didn’t turn to see Jeremy, but kept his gaze on Asher, his eyes moving almost lovingly over the intersecting lines of his handiwork. A hammer rested next to his supporting hand, while the other toyed with an iron spike.
Jeremy fought to keep his body from swaying. “You have orders to kill him? Serafin is mine—”
“Za’in has stopped counting on you, Saros. You’ve become too unstable,” he barked. Tregenne’s voice echoed sharply here underground, and the sudden, booming resonance stung Jeremy’s ears. He was still shaking the pain from his head when Gabriel began again, softly. “Like a true Arch, I don’t take orders, but gladly follow the law of the Universe. This is not just Za’in’s purpose, ultimately, but a logical progression. We’re messengers of a supreme design. Or at least, that’s the idea.” He finally turned to stare at the fallen soldier, his green eyes steadily aflame. Tregenne regarded his fetters and the tattoo across his chest. “You wear all of that like an affliction.”
Corrosion and ruin and ruin and ruin… Jeremy missed much of what Gabriel had said, but he caught the last bit. “That’s why I’m here,” he said suddenly. “These things are a fucking curse. So you know how to use them right, Professor? Let’s have it then.”
Tregenne’s expression lost its intensity before he turned back to the cross. “Later.”
“There is no ‘later.’ Steelryn is here in Azevin, and Za’in sent me with orders—”
“God damn it, Saros!” Gabriel was on his feet. “Dog fuck your orders. I don’t want to hear about it. Azevin is my city; I know what’s going on here. Steelryn is taken care of. There are less than three weeks left before the Eclipse, and I’m not going to spend it being your schoolteacher.” Tregenne took a deep breath, and then bent to pick up his hammer. When he spoke again, his scathing tone was smoothed over. “I’ve earned a bit of time to spend with an old friend, together solving the puzzle of a much-debated curiosity.”
Ruin, ruin, ruin and… ‘Steelryn is taken care of…’ Jeremy’s mouth was dry. “What’s that?”
“What was the real cause of death for the crucified Jesus of Nazareth? I’ve often pondered this question myself. The scholars have been unable to come to a conclusion. Partly, this is due to the fact that there were various methods of crucifixion, all of which have different effects on the body, but mostly my former colleagues have failed because they were always too squeamish to do what is necessary. But now, this is too tempting an opportunity. I have Asher here, who has wandered in the desert and, as intent as he was to ensure the world’s redemption, has offered himself to me as a sacrificial lamb…”
Corrosion, ruinruinruin and corrosion… Jeremy’s mind was reeling. He had to keep up this internal chant and he was having trouble following Tregenne’s tirades. The only thing that was certain was that Asher was going to die and Kayla’s fate was even more precarious. Why did Serafin feel the need to come here? For what — some relics of the past? They would be as useless as any other charm against Za’in. Corrosion! Stay focused. Jeremy let his feet lead him before he could let another thought escape. “You’re a sick fuck, Tregenne. Enjoy the scourging or whatever.”
No amount of silent chanting could drown out the sound of Asher’s scream as he was awakened from unconsciousness by a spike through his palm. Jeremy kept moving, and this time he traded his repeated words for a blurred focus on Kayla. She would be his shield only now, in this desperate moment. Just her name, her eyes, her voice…no other judgments or desires or plans. Without that, he couldn’t continue, not through the corrosion and ruin that ruled this place completely, to find his way to this particular gate. Each fenced-in hollow that lined the walls was strewn with papers and objects that spilled out of cabinets and boxes. There was a strange sense of organization here. It was hard to follow, but it existed. He found the Steelryn files earlier that night, searching for…what? He didn’t know. Something that was hers, maybe. Now wasn’t the time to examine the impulse. He let that momentum drive him thoughtlessly now, filling the large pockets near the sides of his knees with whatever he found in this compartment.
Jeremy’s legs felt numb as he dazedly shuffled back to the cross, guided towards it by another agonized cry. In the dim light, he could see Tregenne standing on the small ladder beside the cross, his face hidden by his heavy locks. Only his sharp grin could been seen as he whispered viciously to Serafin. Asher’s eyes were open, but his head was slightly bowed as he gazed down, his drawn face impassive. Jeremy had never seen Serafin this way. His hair, always pulled back neatly, now hung down over his shoulders in moist, tangled strands, and his body, usually concealed by the dense folds of his poncho, was exposed. The ravages of time were clearly etched over Asher’s form — each ghost image of an old injury a visual reminder of everything that assaulted Jeremy’s spirit during their exchange upstairs.
His eyes blurred. Jeremy tried to dull his thoughts by recalling the delicate gesture Kayla often repeated to tuck her hair behind her ear. When his mind settled again, Tregenne had moved off the ladder and was calmly studying a book, running his blood-spattered fingers over another spike. The Arch’s bare chest and back were marked with unusual formations of Angelic script, loose spirals that began on the inside of his forearms and traced his hardened torso with barbed contours.
Gabriel’s unintelligible mutterings dissolved into a short lecture, his voice smoothed over by unctuous layers of flourish, no doubt a vestige of his past profession. “Now you’ll see that I installed a suppedaneum on your cross — that’s the foot rest — and I really do think we should use it. At least for the aesthetic merit. The last I read, it’s possible that Yeshua wasn’t nailed up in that manner, but with his feet straddling the post, or perhaps even in a fetal position. But since most artistic depictions agree on this particular posture, I find no reason to argue with Donatello or Rubens.” He gently laid down his book and reached for the hammer.
Jeremy stared at the scene unfolding before him. He thought of Kayla’s squared fingertips. Serafin didn’t struggle as Tregenne approached. He thought of Kayla’s mouth, small with consideration or tight with uncertainty, or trembling, close to his… The nail was in place, the hammer was raised. Jeremy closed his eyes.
He tried not to think about his hand closing around Tregenne’s wrist and squeezing, causing the Arch to drop his mallet. Gabriel’s brow furrowed while a slow smile spread apart the lines in his face. “I can only think of two reasons why you’d do this,” Tregenne murmured before he staked Asher’s crossed feet with his free hand, without the force of the hammer.
“I can’t think of even one,” Jeremy growled, pulling out the shallowly imbedded nail and hurling it across the room.
“You’ll never leave my city alive.” Gabriel’s jaw tensed as Jeremy’s crushing grip tightened around his wrist.
“Could that be my motivation then, you think?” The lids above his cold, pale eyes fluttered with concentration.
Tregenne’s head dropped, his mouth close to
Jeremy’s ear. “It’s useless. Your motivations were determined before you even sensed them. You’re caught in a cycle you can’t even begin to understand, let alone escape.”
The fallen Arch grabbed Gabriel’s throat and flung him against the opposite wall. “You think I don’t know that?” He coughed, instantly regretting losing concentration. His neck stung and it was difficult to breathe. Za’in must have finally read his thoughts, so he needed to work quickly. Jeremy kicked out the bottom of the cross, breaking it at its base, and swiftly moved to catch it near Asher’s shoulders. Easing the cross to the ground, he yanked the spikes from Serafin’s palms, careful not to look into his eyes. Some unknown danger at the edge of Jeremy’s awareness triggered him to fling his body back around, arms first, causing Tregenne to crash again into his treasures. He couldn’t help but notice that his enemy’s neck was unmarred by the jagged pressure of his fettered grip. Jeremy touched his own bloodied throat. “This wasn’t Za’in…”
Of course not. But just because I encourage you to make wise decisions of your own free will doesn’t mean that I would hesitate to reclaim my own creation.
Jeremy was immediately summoned to the floor. The blinding pain that coursed through his body held him still, cringing. His muscles tightened as he was denied the usual comfort of knowing that the agony would eventually subside, and he slowly turned his head, only to be faced with the raw, bloody void in Asher’s palm. His gaze continued to travel up the gore-streaked arm to meet Serafin’s red-rimmed stare. Jeremy choked down the humiliation that spread though him — the source, his rival’s empathic eyes. “I know,” Jeremy groaned. “One of us has to. If we don’t, it won’t matter if we survive this.”
Asher’s nod was a shuddering exhalation. Her name was heaviest now, when it could only be expressed in slight movements, constrained by their injuries.
Dominion of the Star (Descendants of the Fallen Book 1) Page 24
