Wake up, wakeup — God, you stupid fucking girl — beautiful — just, alive, be alive… I don’t believe you’re okay — prove it — I’ll kill them, you’ve got to, I can’t stand it…what I want, without your eyes…it can’t be stopped, just stop it, silencesilencesilence… Just wake up, God damn it! I hate…you don’t know I’m here…I hate this, this…just stare back — like a star/the sun/ your eyes — condemn me…every star, stare back judgment… It doesn’t matter — I don’t know if the world exists if you don’t see it, just wake up…and see me, damn me, burn out the stars, awake…
Kayla could feel the painful, sparking current pass over her closed eyes again. This was the third night of this treatment, and she couldn’t bear it any longer. She reached forward, angrily seeking to snuff out the bright, searing explosions that danced before her sight, her eyes fluttering open as her grip tightened around flesh, and she saw his face, choked with surprise. Any words of pain or rage that she had prepared dissolved in that moment, while neither one of them breathed.
His body quietly shuddered, caught in some halted movement. His brows gathered together in resolve before he barked, “Serafin! She’s awake.” He yanked his fingers from her grip as Asher staggered to her side, and she lost sight of Jeremy’s retreat as the pirates crushed in, their declarations of relief and tribute cascading through the jammed doorway.
After that, Kayla was unable to drift with any measure of peace, and she was painfully aware of her surroundings. At first, she feigned a return to the state Jeremy interrupted. It was easier than answering Asher’s questions or judging the distance between her and their new driver. She busied her mind with an internal inventory, as her eyes remained closed and her limbs drooped. Kayla’s hands still hurt. The bruises that traveled from her palms to her chest were still present from her internal battle with Jeremy en route to Azevin, but beneath the scattered bandages that followed the same path, she could feel thin, burned flesh. Somehow, the joint effort to heal Asher’s punctured hand caused these injuries. Kayla swallowed down the guilty shiver of pleasure that came from the memory of that foreign jolt of power bubbling through her arms. Forget that. Both times they joined together this way, whether their wills were clashing or in agreement, it caused her harm. She focused on a more innocent satisfaction that proved the worth of these wounds: Asher’s left hand was whole again. In those moments when she first woke, her eyes frantically searching for the white shapes that formed Jeremy’s back as the fetters merged with the surrounding darkness, it was Asher’s callused palm that was cupped to her forehead, the smooth, new skin in the center providing the gentle force that pressed her to his shoulder. She could feel his lips against her hair, his murmurs quelling the cracking lightening that still drummed faintly through her veins.
That memory allowed Kayla to relax again now. She couldn’t remember his words, and she doubted she even understood them at the time, but that didn’t matter. She continued to let her awareness wander over her body. Her legs were sliced by Bruno’s weapon, and she was spattered with various superficial injuries from her fight with Evangeline. But her attention kept returning to her back. Those weren’t wounds beneath the bandages…but scars. It had only been a few days since she felt the symbols form and ignite, and although she didn’t think they could harm her then, these burns should still be raw. Instead, she felt smooth, raised lines forming sigils, some of which were marred by jagged, slashing marks. She could see in her mind the design of their formation, identical to the fetters that crawled over Jeremy’s skin. She thought the last of his fire went into the joint effort to heal Asher, but now she understood that some of his ability was reserved to soothe her blisters. Tiny streams of water filled the space between her closed lashes. Did he know what he’d done?
Kayla couldn’t guess what the others expected or what they planned, but to her surprise, no one troubled her for the next week. Asher was slowly healing, laid out on the back seat by day and hovering outside the camp at night. She often felt his eyes on her, but he rarely spoke with anyone but Kittie. The pirates were terrified of the man who steered the vehicle, and they kept sullenly to themselves. They watched over Asher nervously, and although they seemed to have forgiven her for her otherworldliness in Azevin, there was a new sense of caution that subdued their usual warmth.
From what she could see, Kittie was in top form. She tended to Asher, quieted the pirates’ agitation, and kept Jeremy on course through questionable territory. She often rested silently against Kayla’s side, and she even got Jeremy to smile a few times, although he was also yelling threats in her direction as he grinned. If Kittie ever felt awkward about the similar roles she played for the two rivals who now shared this confined space, she never displayed evidence of it. Jeremy, however, looked perpetually irritated. He drove silently for hours, his gaze trained on the horizon, and at night, she sensed his presence in dreams. She only further exhausted herself when she tried to understand his motivations or attempted to untangle Asher’s reasons for keeping him around.
So when her dreams began to invade her waking hours, she thought perhaps it was a result of her evasion and self-imposed loneliness. It wasn’t the first time she had vivid visions of her parents, and she couldn’t deny that voices had crept into her brain before. She confirmed that she traded thoughts with Jeremy, even over far distances, and there were times that she couldn’t tell if that reality was less terrifying than the possibility of insanity. Back in the potter’s village, there was a range of normalcy that no longer applied. That was when Asher was just a boy in a picture, and everything else was safely vague and gray. Kayla reached for her heavy locket, buried below her neckline, and held it up tightly beneath her chin. Her desires were simple and that focus dissolved the contradictions floating about her head. She wanted to know. Maybe she hadn’t changed as much as she thought.
It wasn’t easy to witness, but she couldn’t reject the vision of her mother’s tears as Kiera held her wrist up to her wet face. Kiera’s arm ached; she lost her Intercessor to Sebastian and it left her feeling restless and empty. Kayla began to wonder if this new, reoccurring nightmare was the reason they came to Azevin. Was this emotional image what she required to have certainty, to bring forth whatever it was within her that could stop Sebastian from hurting more people? Was this image of her mother, broken by Sebastian’s hubris, her spiritual armor?
Not everything that was revealed was so simple. It wasn’t always easy to discern what she should make of her visions, and not everything turned out to be a banner of truth she could wave into battle. Not everything was a dream. Her mother’s voice called out to her, shrouded in the wind that shrieked through the spaces around the windows, as the car bore her closer to another Eclipse. ‘See, the former things have taken place, and new things I declare; before they spring into being I announce them to you…’
In this new vision, she saw Kiera sitting on the ground with her back to Michael’s chest, her toes wiggling as the grass tickled her feet. Kayla recognized the young couple was in a Pre-Eclipsian world. Kiera was reading from a little book while her left hand twirled his necklace around her finger. She was earnestly making some point, her face blissful and her words matter-of-fact, but Michael’s expression was distant and troubled. ‘I have put my Spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations…’
Her vision shifted again, and Kayla could see her young father, training at Sebastian’s side, as she had. She watched his Intercessor clash against his teacher’s, sparking curled tongues of flame and smoke. His weapon cut the air in undulating arcs, cracking like a whip, and firing off fragments at will. With a loud snap he could lengthen the shining white mass of bone and strike from afar with twirling sweeps of his staff. Kayla held her breath in wonder at his graceful movements — even the beads of his sweat projected into the air as if they were missiles launched with precision. But she was even more amazed by the many incarnations of his Intercessor. The few times her weapon took unusual forms were accidental, and
the memory was easily buried beneath the pride she took in the limited mastery of her blade. Michael’s easy transformations proved she was mistaken in holding on to the concept that their Angelic gift was primarily a sword, no matter how precious. Her fingers twitched as she pressed against the invisible barrier that kept this vision at arm’s length. She longed to experience again the familiar freedom she recognized in Michael as he mirrored his master’s movements: the clean, empty rush of energy through the limbs, the warmth radiating from the belly, and the weightless power that bore the body forward and lifted the crushing weight of concern from the mind. The tension she almost always glimpsed gripping his features was now softened by some joyful satisfaction that brought fluid tranquility to his critical eyes.
“Of course it’s you.” She heard Kiera’s voice again before the image of her father dissolved. “For one thing, you’re born on the twenty-fifth day of the month. Two and five make seven. The seventh card in the Major Arcana is The Chariot. But you chose it anyways, so stop arguing!”
The hint of rapture that relaxed the severity of Michael’s eyes was still present now as he lay on his stomach, his head resting along his outstretched arm. He was holding a card limply between his fingers, but his gaze was actively traveling over Kiera’s hands, hair, and mouth as she knelt at the side of the bed. It must have been his room they were occupying: a bare space used only for sleeping, study, and training. Kiera stood out as an unlikely inhabitant of this austere world, but her striking presence was subdued by the faded t-shirt that cloaked her form, the sleeves ending around her elbows as it slid off her shoulder, the hem reaching to her knees.
“No, I picked it randomly,” he said softly, only half paying attention to the meaning of her words. Michael’s bare torso had already acquired some markings. She could see dark symbols scrawled across his upper back, over his shoulders and halfway down the sides of his arms.
“Nothing is without design, and you know that. When you shuffle the cards, you’re putting them in the right order for you. Your soul knows everything already…like how to use your Intercessor, or how to breathe in your belly and stand with your skeleton aligned, or how to solve your problems. Our analytical mind and our fears get in the way, but when you relax… See, The Chariot.” Kiera plucked the card from his lazy grasp, her fingers moving lovingly over its surface as if it was an extension of Michael.
He wanted to laugh derisively, but he liked her answer. It was more interesting now that it wasn’t about fortune-telling. “Okay, so what does it mean?”
“It’s a card about struggle. A warring or union of opposites. Under a strong will, steered by the certainty of righteousness, these opposing forces can be reined in and compelled to follow your direction. It’s a card of victory, but it’s hard-won. Travel, motivation, inspiration…”
“Don’t start adding the nice stuff at the end,” he groaned. “So it’s saying I’m a conflicted mess?”
“Nope, we’re just Nephilim in the end times,” she sang happily. “This isn’t unusual at all.”
Michael’s green eyes darkened, the lines around his brow returning. He grabbed her pale wrist and pulled her up onto the bed with him, his arms encircling her protectively while the cards fell to the floor. “I wish Sebastian wouldn’t frame it that way to you.”
“It’ll be fine, Michael. ‘Behold my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul delights…he will faithfully bring forth justice. He will not grow faint or be discouraged till he has established justice in the earth…’ We all want the same thing — Heaven on Earth. It doesn’t matter if there’s no God or if it’s all just useless legend. Sebastian is our chosen. He saved us both from our own horrors.”
“He’s not a god.” Michael’s voice was hushed, toneless like a repeated chant.
“He’s something better — he’s one of us! You don’t have to feel guilty about needing him. We all need each other. It’s okay to admire someone, to admit that they’ve saved you. It’s not a weakness. Aren’t we stronger and healthier than we’ve ever been? That’s the proof…” Kiera nestled into his arms, her words dispersing into his chest in muffled vibrations. Her fingers were pressed to the mark of the long-armed black cross.
Kayla struggled to close her eyes, gripped with the inexplicable fear that her mother’s hand would disappear into that dark void. She blinked hard, and when her vision cleared, she had taken Kiera’s place and was faced with that dreaded mark. Her hands slipped against his flesh as she fought to be released from his tight embrace, seeking refuge from that gaping nothingness. Kayla raised her gaze, a cry rising to her throat, but when her eyes fixed unexpectedly on Jeremy’s face her scream fell back into her bowels.
She was pulled from her tormented reverie by Asher’s steady hand. The heel of his palm was held tight to the side of her jaw, his fingers crooked behind her neck. Her hands closed around his forearm, and though her body twisted in an attempt to sit up, she refused to let go of her anchor to this reality. Asher supported her back as she rose, and then he slid onto the seat beside her. Kayla’s chin craned towards the moonlight streaming through the open doorway; she didn’t remember night falling. As the haze that filled her insides began to clear, she noticed that Asher’s eyes were red-rimmed and his features were askew with a fragile stranglehold on his emotions. She stared down at her hands, afraid to ask what happened.
“Kayla, we never talked about Azevin,” he whispered.
Her muscles tensed. “I’m not going to apologize for disobeying you this time. You don’t understand — I knew you were hurt. I could see you…both of you! And when that fire started, I felt like I could have leveled the whole city. That woman Evangeline tried to stop me, but this time I was different! I couldn’t allow myself to lose. Asher, if you died there, I would never have left either—”
“Kayla, stop!” he barked, turning his head and squeezing her hand down against the cushion. There was silence while he took a few shuddering breaths, fighting for control. “You did nothing wrong. Just…don’t talk like that. We all left that place changed, but I can see that you are still transforming. I won’t ask you now; I trust that you will share your burden with me when you can put it into words. Until then, this is all I…” His voice broke as he let go of her clenched fist and, swallowing hard, he placed three gifts in her lap with an almost unwavering hand.
Bewildered, she dropped her gaze to consider the worn book, string of beads, and silk-bound bundle that rested on her thighs. She slowly looped her father’s necklace around her wrist three times, the cross pendant swinging somberly as she pulled the cloth away from the rectangular object. Kayla wasn’t surprised by what was beneath the veil, but she marveled at her efficient movements as she deftly shuffled the cards and cut the pack into three decks before searching each pile for a tingling heat to lick her palm. She snatched up the stack that radiated the most energy and laid those cards out in a crossed formation.
Kayla held up the first and last of the ten cards she organized, shaking her head, the sureness of her hands dissolving into trembling uncertainty. “I don’t know what this means.”
Asher’s unyielding eyes seemed to diffuse, as if they barely could contain their form. “Self…and destiny.”
Kayla considered the vastly disparate imagery that adorned the two cards. She didn’t understand how the tranquil, jewel-like pools of The Star could ever transform into the two blazing, intersecting spears of Dominion.
38
A little shudder moved through the truck as it came to a halt, and Kayla was jolted awake. Her cards were spilled over the front seat and onto the floor, but her mother’s Bible was still clenched tightly in her fingers as the two cards that were the most puzzling protruded from the densely packed pages. She had spent the night poring over the book, trying to find a connection between the lofty words printed on the thin sheets and the surreal pictures painted on the cards. Kayla easily found the instances where “star” was highlighted, just as Asher had mentioned before they even
arrived in Azevin, and although that word often seemed to apply to Angels, she noticed no other concrete links between the book and the cards. Frustrated with that pursuit, she searched for the words she heard recited in her previous dream, and received some amount of peace in the discovery of Isaiah 42. She read over the sections that Kiera repeated, but found hope in some of the chapter’s later verses: I have called you in righteousness; I will take you by the hand and keep you; I will give you as a covenant for the people, a light for the nations, to open the eyes that are blind, to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness. It didn’t matter if there was no Lord to carry it out.
Kayla’s eyes burned from her repeated readings of Isaiah. Was there ever a world where anyone could hear God’s voice? Or was it the same when He was in existence? Unable to truly hear and see, were mortals destined to be forever lost on this Earth, unaware of their origins and potential?
She looked up, blinking into the sunlight that streamed in from the other side of the windshield, her eyes quickly focusing on the dark form that stood out against the gleaming rays. Jeremy’s face was too twisted into a scowl to be speaking as quietly as he was, and she strained to hear his words or read his lips. He didn’t look at her, but it was as if he sensed her scrutiny before he turned his back, the bristling posture of his shoulders and arms still expressing his agitation. Kittie emerged from somewhere below the truck, dark smears running upward from her fingers. Some of the markings were transferred to her brow and cheeks by the clumsy, childlike gestures that accented the usually dexterous motions of her fingers. The little girl frowned, looking hopefully up at Asher who lifted the hood of the truck, and Kayla lost sight of them as Kittie’s voice was muffled by the metal barrier.
Kayla stretched her stiff legs onto the seat beside her and slowly bent to collect the spilled deck. She was easily able to place the ten cards she drew last night into their proper order and she slid the little stack between the pages of the book. The rest of the cards she gathered back into the silk fabric, as she silently prepared for her journey to continue in less comfort. The road before her seemed like the line formed by those three cards in her reading’s formation: the Suit of Swords that crossed an ominous streak through the image of The Star.
Dominion of the Star (Descendants of the Fallen Book 1) Page 28
