Armageddon (Angelbound)

by Christina Bauer

  “I don’t want to call you General Awesome. You’re already the High Prince. It isn’t fair.”

  Uther’s a classic example of the new House of Acca. Nice kid. Decent fighter. A little off socially. Decades of living with psychopaths made the good members of Acca a little wacky.

  “What do you want to call me?” asks Maxon.

  Uther runs his right hand through his short, white-blonde hair. “Anything but General Awesome.”

  “Fine, I’m General Awesomer. Now, fall in, soldier.”

  I smile. My kid got a double dose of bossy in his DNA, alright.

  Uther slogs to his place in line, grumbling loudly with every step. With Uther settled in, Maxon walks up and down the row of princes. Dad follows a step behind, whispering what to look out for in an inspection. Weapons, physical readiness, and mental acumen. After a few minutes, Dad stops his lecture to ruffle Maxon’s black hair.

  “Good job on the inspection, little man.”

  “Thanks, Pop-Pops.”

  “Time to start the exercise proper, don’t you think?”

  “Yup.” Maxon sets his little fists on his hips. “Okay, guys.” He points to a stuffed mannequin at the far wall of the gym next to Hildy. It’s a tall lumpy thing with a silver helmet perched atop its head. “That’s the King of Hell,” declares Maxon. “I’m going to kill him. You’re all demons in my way.”

  “Yes, Sir,” say the boys in unison.

  Maxon sneaks a shy look at Dad. “Now, what do I do?”

  “Tell them to fall out.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s right. Fall out, everybody!”

  Maxon and Dad move to the gym’s entrance, right beside Lincoln and me. The boys stand in a make-shift line between Maxon and the dummy Armageddon. I think of the real King of Hell and shudder. Armageddon is seven feet tall and gangly with black skin that’s shiny and smooth, like polished stone. He has a long face, blade-like nose and wide mouth filled with pointed teeth. I’m glad Dad’s not using one of our more life-like mannequins; the kids would have nightmares for weeks.

  Maxon launches into combat, his little wooden sword clutched tightly in his fist. His first battle is with Uther, who should be practicing his swordplay but keeps throwing imaginary grenades instead. Dad watches their fight and coaches, giving out pointers. Maxon bests Uther with ease. Within seconds, the boy cries ‘I submit’ and Maxon moves on.

  Next in line is Ty, who casts a few minor fireball spells. Dad coaches Ty on how to attack and Maxon on how to defend. Raj and Nizam both use traditional wooden swords, and Maxon legitimately bests them all with little advice or coaching. I’m so proud.

  His pretend demons downed, Maxon now races to the far wall. With a flourish, he knocks the helmet off the dummy’s head. “I got the helm, yay!” He turns to Dad. “Look Pop-Pops, I killed Armageddon for you!”

  My father’s angel-blue eyes flare bright as he swipes the helm from Maxon’s hands. “He’s mine to kill,” Dad snarls. Almost as quickly as the words leave my father’s mouth, he realizes his mistake.

  Maxon pulls on his ear, his classic move when he’s confused. “What did you say, Pop-Pops?”

  “I said, that’s a fine kill, Maxon.”

  Lincoln and I exchange a quick glance that’s the equivalent of a long conversation. The more time Dad spends away from his imprisonment, the harder his time there seems to wear on him. At least, Maxon didn’t notice anything wrong.

  “Thanks, Pop-Pops.”

  Dad returns the helm to Maxon. “Now, you must pick someone else to be King of Hell.”

  Maxon tosses the helmet into a nearby bin. “Nah, I don’t want a new King of Hell.”

  Dad raises his arm, signifying this is a learning moment. All the kids turn to watch. “Remember, children. Ruling Hell is a noble job, if done nobly. Hell is the cleansing ground for evil souls.” He turns to Maxon. “You need to pick a new King or Queen, my grandson.”

  “Okay, Uther can be King of Hell.”

  Uther grabs the huge helmet out of the bin and pulls it over his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” He stumbles toward Dad. “I want to hold the archangel baculum, too!”

  My father pulls two simple silver rods from his waistband. “I only have these, I’m afraid.”

  Uther stares at them, his face scrunching up with disappointment. “I thought all archangels had special baculum.” He lunges with an imaginary sword. “Can cut through anything.”

  “Mine are still in Hell. Armageddon has them.” A pained look crosses Dad’s eyes. “He kept them close to me, but always out of reach.”

  Uther sets his fists on his hips. “Well, I’m the King of Hell now, so shouldn’t I have them?”

  Dad’s voice comes out low and menacing. “No one should have them but me. One day, I’ll get them back, mark my words.”

  A charged silence fills the room as everyone stares wide-eyed at Dad. Uther drops his helmet to the ground with a loud clunk. “Uh, okay. I don’t need them.” His bottom lip quivers.

  Lincoln steps forward to deftly break up the awkwardness. “Nice work, son.” He winks at Uther, who smiles from ear to ear. “You too, Uther.”

  Maxon beams with pride. “Thanks, Father.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Dad snaps out of his angry funk. “All of you did a superlative job.”

  There’s a lot of high-fives and jumping around, but now that the distraction of the game is over, I can’t share in the celebration. Armageddon wants to abduct Maxon to Hell. My shoulders tighten with worry. Dad smiles in my direction. I try to reciprocate and fail.

  My father’s grin fades into a frown. “Let’s take a break, kids.”

  Hildy steps away from the far wall. “How about we get a snack?”

  A general chorus of happy cries echo through the room. “Yay!”

  Maxon runs up to Hildy, grabs her hand, and drags her toward Lincoln and me. “Mom! Dad! This is who I was telling you about! She’s Hildy and she’s going to be my all-the-time nanny! Grandmother said so.”

  “Actually, Mom and Dad said so,” I point out. I’m still too angry with Octavia to let the distinction slide. “But we’re all very excited to have her. Seems like you are, too.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hildy’s a mono-syke. She can talk to me in her mind. Nizam says that’s really cool.”

  Nizam folds his stocky arms over his full chest. “That’s right. Very cool.” He seems so grown-up for five years old. Then again, I forget that the other boys really are all around five or six, while Maxon only looks that way. Being the Mom of a supernatural can be tricky like that.

  Uther rolls his eyes. “Why do you need a bodyguard? You’re a kid.”

  “All the really important people have a monopsyche to guard them,” says Nizam. “It’s tradition.”

  “Well, I don’t have one,” moans Uther.

  Ty twists the beads on his braid with his right hand. “You’re not even a prince, Uther, let alone a high prince. You don’t need a bodyguard.”

  An angry flush crawls up Uther’s neck. “I’m fifth in line to be Prince of Acca, I’ll have you know.” He raises his fists high. “Put ‘em up.”

  Hildy presses the door open with her left hand. “Anyone who’s fighting isn’t getting a snack.”

  At these words, all thoughts of animosity disappear. The boys charge out the door with Hildy close behind.

  Once they’re well and gone, my father’s the first to speak. “Hildy’s good.”

  “Father sought her out,” explains Lincoln.

  Dad exhales a long sigh. “I suppose you’re here to discuss why Connor hired a monopsyche for my grandson?”

  “Yup,” I reply. “We need some advice.”

  “Connor hiring bodyguard babysitters,” repeats Dad in a low voice. “I don’t like it.” He leans against the wall, kicking his right ankle over his left. “Not one bit.”

  A long pause follows as my father’s eyes glow blue with angel fire. “Now, tell me everything.”

  Chapter Eight

 
; I stand beside Lincoln and Dad, tossing wooden practice swords into equipment bins. With each new item I find on the floor, my head shakes in amazement. Hard to believe how much mess five little boys can make in one afternoon.

  For some time now, the three of us have been cleaning up while discussing the latest news about Maxon and Armageddon. As we turn over each bit of information, an electric sense of alarm charges higher up my spine.

  Keep it together, Myla. Panicking won’t help.

  Dad hauls the fighting dummy back into a closet. “So, we’ve got Armageddon, Aldred, Connor, and Hildy. What do you think’s happening, Myla?”

  I lean against a nearby wall. Man, do I ever need some extra support to admit this out loud. “Armageddon wants to abduct Maxon.”

  Dad’s face becomes a mask of calm. I know that look. It’s his ‘thinking things over’ face.

  It feels like a hundred years eke by as my father considers everything we’ve told him. Hope sparks in my heart. Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps there’s another explanation for all that’s happened, other than Maxon being at risk. Dad always comes up with a new way of seeing things.

  Finally, my father speaks. “Yes, that’s the most likely scenario, I’m afraid.”

  My skin tingles with shock. Somehow, Dad confirming the scheme to abduct Maxon makes everything too real. Part of me was hoping he’d say there was nothing to worry about.

  Not this time.

  “What about Connor?” asks Dad. “Do you think he’s in league with Armageddon?”

  “Not in a direct sense,” replies Lincoln. His voice drips with contempt as he adds: “That would require taking a stand. Choosing a side. It’s not his thing.”

  Dad nods, his eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. “Are you taking him to see the Striga Elders?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “We’re going right after tonight’s Anointing.”

  “And Connor joins you willingly?” The way Dad asks the question, he already suspects the answer.

  Lincoln’s face is still as stone. “No.”

  “I can accompany you, if you like.”

  “No, Myla and I will handle it.” Lincoln meets my father’s gaze, and all the resolution in the world is there. “This is our rule and our responsibility. We’ll get the truth out of him, you can count on it.”

  “It’s your choice,” says Dad. “However, a bigger question remains. When do we start preparing for war?”

  My mouth falls open with surprise. The moment I heard the words ‘Helen of Troy,’ I knew Armageddon wanted to lure armies onto his doorstep. However, I didn’t think we had to play along. “Come on, Dad. No need to worry about that yet, right?”

  My father stalks the floor like a caged animal. “Armageddon’s the most power-hungry ruler in a thousand years. He won’t stop until all the after-realms are under his thumb, and everyone knows it. Heaven, Purgatory, Antrum, the Dark Lands…they’re all looking for an excuse to wipe out the King of Hell. And now he threatens my grandson? If Armageddon wants a war, he’ll get one.”

  “Fighting Armageddon on his turf?” Lincoln tosses his wooden sword across the floor; it lands in one of the bins with a loud thwack. “The young Lords would love it, but the older Earls and Duchesses? They won’t support a pre-emptive invasion. Not a chance.”

  “Don’t be so certain,” says Dad. “Aethelwulf’s war on Hell was five hundred years ago. Surely, they’ve forgotten.”

  Lincoln laughs, but there’s no humor in his tone. “Five hundred years is nothing to a thrax, you know that. Besides, Antrum was almost destroyed in that war.”

  I step to Lincoln’s side in a show of support. “If Aquila hadn’t fallen in love with Ryder and started the House of Rixa, the thrax might not even exist.” My tail swipes behind me in an angry rhythm. “These says, it’s as if all you can think about is—” I stop myself before saying ‘war with Armageddon.’

  “Is what, Myla?” Dad asks evenly.

  “Is pointing out the war-like point of view.”

  “Is that a crime? I am a general, after all.”

  “And I’m a King,” says Lincoln. “In Antrum, war pales alongside trade routes and oxygen supply. We exist in a delicate ecosystem that’s miles underground. A magma river connects our network of houses, and each one supplies a critical piece in the puzzle of survival. Kill the wrong person in battle, and entire regions will fall.”

  Dad sets his fists on his hips. “So, you’re afraid of war?”

  “Thrax love fighting and you know it,” I retort. “All we’re saying is that we’ve seen what can happen when the balance down here is upset. Just today we learned about this horrible school in the Wastelands where they do terrible things to orphans—and it all started with Aethelwulf and his damned war. We can’t enter into a new one easily.”

  “Of course, I agree whole-heartedly.” Dad slaps on his best white-toothed grin. “All I want is for you to know the facts.” He counts them off on his fingertips. “I’ve invaded Hell before. I led the archangels into the throne room to extract Lucifer. Anubis and I are friends. He let me walk through Hell’s Gates unmolested. In a war, I’d only fight Armageddon and his demons. That’s the truth.”

  I rub my temples with my fingertips. “You’re not making it easy to think about other approaches, you know.”

  Dad’s face turns gentle. “You wish to consider futures that don’t include battle, fine. But consider war, as well. Your people deserve that.” He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. He didn’t need to say the words. His next thought hangs in the air, unsaid but true.

  Maxon deserves that, too.

  I straighten my shoulders. “Okay, suppose you invaded Hell again. Would the battle plan stay the same?”

  Within my thoughts, the room takes on a dream-like haze. This is really happening. We’re talking about a war with Hell.

  “Nothing’s changed, other than Armageddon,” says Dad. “If anything, his sorry leadership skills will make everything easier. Plus, Anubis hates the old bastard so much, he’ll grant us passage through the gates once more.” My father’s gaze meets mine, and his irises flare bright blue with angel fire. “Yes, I could take Hell again.”

  My heart kicks harder in my chest. My son is in danger. Invading Hell could stop the problem before it starts. I pace the floor, nervous energy careening through my limbs. “We must protect Maxon.”

  “I’ll contact my old angelic commanders right away,” says Dad. “In the meantime, Maxon’s in Antrum with a monopsyche. Hildy’s the best I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot. Still, you should double the guard around him.”

  “Agreed,” says Lincoln.

  “We’ll ship in extra guards from Striga, too.” My words sound hollow and strange to me, like someone else is speaking them. I never thought we’d need additional protection in Antrum; the place is locked down tighter than a drum. Another realization seeps into my overwhelmed thoughts. “We can’t leave Antrum, can we?”

  “Not until the threat is neutralized,” replies Dad. “And until we get more answers, I’ll remain here as well.”

  My heart lightens. “You’re staying?”

  “Looks like you’re both stuck with me.”

  “Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” I wrap him in a deep hug. Maybe with my father’s help, we can stop Armageddon before he causes any serious trouble.

  If only that stupid nagging feeling would go away. It’s the one that keeps saying, think you can thwart Armageddon? Think again.

  Chapter Nine

  Lincoln, Maxon and I stand inside the reception chamber of the Amber Cathedral, which is arguably the nicest building in Acca. Before us stands a pair of tall yellow doors carved entirely of amber, the same material that makes up the rest of the cathedral.

  The reception chamber itself is a large boxy room whose walls are lined with dozens of Rixa and Striga guards, all standing at attention like so many paper dolls in a row. Hildy’s here too, looking downright elf-like in her black body armor. She scans the e
xits for trouble while her lips silently cast more spells. Another twenty-four hours and her connection to Maxon will be complete.

  My insides churn with worry. Everything is happening so fast, I have no idea if we’re making the right choices. A few hours ago, I was certain that Hildy should be connected to my son. But now? Having my baby telepathically linked to a stranger seems like a dangerous idea.

  Maxon pulls on the skirts of my white Scala robes. “Mom, can Hildy walk with us down the aisle?”

  “She will, baby.”

  Maxon looks over his shoulder at Hildy, who stands against the farthest wall. He squeezes his eyes shut, scrunching up his little face in the process.

  Across the room, Hildy’s eyes turn all white, the sign that she and Maxon are having one of their telepathic chats. Another flicker of anxiety tightens my chest. I don’t like the idea of Maxon having conversations that I can’t hear.

  Lincoln gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve been thinking the same thing, too, you know.”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “To me, you are.”

  “Are we doing the right thing?”

  “At this point, we only have bad choices in front of us. Our only hope is to pick the prettiest pig.”

  My mouth quirks up into a smile. “Well, once you bring farm animals into the analogy, it all makes sense.”

  “Thought so.”

  Maxon pulls on my skirt again. “Mommy, I want Hildy to walk with us-with us. She keeps saying she has to be last.”

  I kneel down to look at Maxon at eye level. In the process, I can’t help but straighten his little tunic, chain mail and crown. He looks so freaking adorable in his high prince get-up. “How about if she walks right behind us, the first guard in line?”

  “Yeah.” Maxon closes his eyes and then opens them again. “Hildy says that’s okay.”

  I ruffle his hair with my tail. “Glad to hear it.”

  Processional music swells from inside the main cathedral. That’s our cue. Pushing through the tall doors, we step into a long arched space that leads up to the altar. Above us, the ceiling is carved with scenes of war; frescoes of famous Acca leaders decorate the walls. Long benches line either side of the processional aisle, all of them filled with witnesses for today’s Anointing. There must be two thousand attendees here, including my parents, Connor, Octavia, Walker, and Cissy.