by Alex Lux
There were no chairs in the room, and so we stood, waiting for whatever was to happen next. Bishop Alaric walked to an empty podium that faced the men standing in judgment and introduced us. "These two bore witness to Ryder's attack on the Nephilim, Drake Davis, and are here to testify against him."
Derek was called up first, and I shifted from foot to foot for two hours as my husband told them everything that had happened. He glossed over my shift into a bear, just saying that I 'shifted' and stopped the attack. I wondered if I should also avoid mentioning the animal I shifted into. Could I get into trouble for being able to do that when no one else could?
When it was my turn to approach the podium, my hands shook with nerves and my tongue felt dry and swollen. Derek had been so passionate, so sure of his position in all of this. He spoke confidently that Ryder had killed those other kids and should be punished for his crimes. He said I was witness to Ryder attacking Curtis. I would have believed him, had I been one of those thirteen standing judgment, but I couldn't see their faces, couldn't gauge how they were responding to his words.
And there I stood, underdressed (or overdressed, depending on who you were looking at), nervous and completely out of place in this horror movie-like setting. I'd been to demon dimensions and fought a demon dragon. I'd fought my own mother to save the lives of my friends and family. I could handle this, I kept telling myself, hoping I'd believe it.
I stood at the podium, which wasn't as directly facing the judges as I'd thought. From this angle I could see all thirteen judges, Bishop Alaric and Derek, who both stood to the side, and Ryder, who stared into the infinite ceiling, not moving or making a sound as we decided his fate. What was his story? What were his motives? Could I really convict someone without knowing, after what I'd done to Dean?
My voice shook as I took them through my story.
"Did you see Ryder attack Mr. Davis?" a male voice asked.
"I saw him in wolf form attack Drake, yes. And then I saw him shift from wolf back to human."
"You saw him shift, or you saw him after his shift?" another voice, also male, asked.
I thought back to that night. "Well, I had shifted to stop him from attacking Drake, and we'd both gotten knocked down. When I shifted back to human form, I looked around and saw Ryder lying naked where the wolf had been. No one else was out there, and I didn't lose consciousness, so while I didn't see him actually shift, all evidence would suggest it was he who shifted. He also confessed and admitted to attacking Drake."
"And did you see Ryder attack this other boy as well? Curtis?"
I knew how Derek would want me to answer. He'd want me to be definitive, to leave no room for doubt, but I couldn't. "I saw a wolf who looked similar to Ryder's wolf attack Curtis."
"But you are not sure if it was actually Ryder?"
A trickle of sweat tickled my cheek as it ran down my face. My palms left sweaty prints on the light wood of the podium as I gripped it tighter. "I… I think it was him. I'm pretty sure. It looked like him."
"But you're not positive? You did not see him shift, or see him there in human form after shifting?"
My head fell forward. "No."
"And he did not confess to those attacks?"
"No, he did not."
"Thank you, Mrs. O'Conner. You may step down."
With hidden faces and macabre voices, these men made the whole proceeding feel ominous. I stepped over to Derek, who held my hand.
One of the judges raised an arm, and a guard dressed in black stepped out of the shadows from somewhere unseen and unlocked Ryder, then gave him a red cloak and ushered him to the podium after binding his hands in chains again.
I looked around, sniffed, and met Derek's eyes. "Did you know he was there?"
Derek shook his head, and I knew why I couldn't smell the man. Another werewolf. This whole room was filled with werewolves, their scents lost to us like magic. I shivered, thinking about what they could do to us if they wanted to.
"Ryder, you've heard the allegations against you. How plead you?"
Ryder looked at each of them as if he could see into their eyes, into their souls. "I do not deny attacking the Nephilim."
"Did you have permission from this council?"
"No." His answers came short and with no remorse.
"Then how could you do this?"
"Drake has a child… one with his Nephilim blood."
For the first time that day I saw a reaction in the council. Though I could still not see their faces, their bodies stiffened, shock in their stances, murmurs between them. What could possibly be so alarming about Ana?
The one in center spoke. "We understand your choices, Son, but that does not excuse the way you went about them. Why did you not seek permission through the proper channels? Why—"
"Drake and his child are unknown to the Great Families," he said, interrupting the council. "Killing them would not have resulted in any retaliation from them."
My mind tucked 'Great Families' away for later study and locked on to one word. 'Them.' He'd planned on killing Ana too? She was just a baby. How could he? Regret gnawed at me. Did his story matter now? Would there be any justification for planning to take the life of an innocent child? Should I have lied, been more confident to assure his conviction?
"You were knocked out and chained," the middle council member reminded him.
He shrugged. "I had an opportunity I couldn't pass by. With a Beast killing paranormals, I could have avoided any blame, if I acted quickly."
"Yet you failed."
"To escape," said Ryder. "The Nephilim still may die."
They each nodded at his words and filed out through a hidden door buried in shadows on the far slope of the wall.
I guess that meant break time.
Ryder was once again chained to the ground, something I didn't feel so badly for now that I knew his true intentions.
Bishop Alaric lead us out of the room, down a hall to a bathroom to relieve ourselves while we waited. When we met back in the hall, I turned to Alaric. "Why did the council seem so shocked that Drake has a baby? And what was that about us not being known by the Great Families?"
My legs ached from standing so long, so it was with great relief that Alaric walked us to a room with chairs. Grand, uncomfortable high back chairs that were designed to torture people into proper posture, but better than standing. I cursed Ocean for making me bring these heels and cursed myself for not sticking to my guns and wearing sneakers.
Once we sat, Alaric handed us glasses of water and settled in himself. "Nephilim are, generally, composed of Great Families that have managed to keep their bloodlines going. In many ways, these families are independent factions. However, they all bow to the Twilight Queen who is deemed the strongest of them. We hunt Nephilim, but a long time ago we learned to avoid the Great Families. Provoking their wrath started a war that the Church could not handle. Now, we hunt the Nephilim that are outcasts or alone."
I shifted in my seat, stretching my back. "And the Nephilim don't stop you?"
"They encourage it," said Alaric. "The Great Families appreciate when we eliminate their enemies, or those who have broken their rules."
"So you work together?" How could the Nephilim work with people who hunted their kind?
The bishop crossed his legs, his long black cloak draping to the side. "Pretend we are gardeners, charged with tending the land. We cut out the weeds, trim the edges. We do this for years, for our garden is vast. Eventually, we find that some of the weeds escaped our sight. And by the time we have returned to them, they have grown. They are no longer weeds, but trees, great oaks that make homes for birds and squirrels and insects. To cut one down is to change the very nature of the garden, to disturb the balance that life has created. The consequences will be great and hard to predict. Perhaps all the animals will die. Perhaps another plant will take over."
He paused.
"So you see, killing a Great Family would be far too significant a shift, the con
sequences too drastic. There may come a time when the Church is ready to make that shift, but it is not yet."
"But Drake isn't part of a Great Family," I said.
"No, not of the Nephilim. Yet, if they knew he could have children, they would seek him out, they would use him. Whichever family gained Drake's gifts would rise in power. That too could make a great shift, and one that we could easily avoid if we simply…"
"Kill Drake," I finished.
"Before the Great Families discover him," Alaric said. "However, Ryder should have thought longer on his actions, for he has upset a great family."
"Which one?" Derek asked, speaking for the first time.
"Yours," the bishop said. "The family that lives in Elysium."
So, in the Church's mind, we had become a Great Family. That kind of made sense. After all, weren't witches and paranormals related to Nephilim?
"Now," the bishop said, standing, "the council must decide, should they kill Ryder for his deed, or free him and risk your wrath?"
My feet hurt so bad I wanted to jab Ocean with the heel end of my pretty shoes, but I stood still and waited for the council to give their decree.
Ryder had been brought back to the podium, clothed in the blood red robe.
"We have considered this case carefully. Ryder, while you acted in good conscious, on behalf of the Church, you did so without permission from this council, thereby undermining other plans we are undertaking at this time. In light of this, you are declared guilty and shall be punished for your crimes. You sentence is thus. You shall be chained in a black room with no light and minimal food for one hundred years."
I didn't want to think about what one hundred years living like that would do to a man. I had no idea how long Lycans even lived, but I was sure he'd go mad in that time. My heart broke a little at that, but then I thought of Ana's face and steeled myself against mercy.
Bishop Alaric stiffened next to us and walked toward Ryder. "I call for a Trial of Strength."
"Judgment has already been decided," said the center council member, who seemed to be the leader.
"You may not deny a Trial of Strength, not if it's brought forth by a third party."
"I deny it," one of the side council members said.
The bishop turned on him. "Then face Ryder in combat. Prove your strength."
The man backed up and turned his head toward the man in the center.
"Who shall test him?" asked the leader.
The room fell silent. I had no idea what they were talking about. It seemed Alaric was trying to save Ryder. He'd always been trying to save Ryder.
"I will," said Alaric.
A few of the council members gasped at that.
I leaned into Derek. "What are they doing?"
"Power," said Derek, echoing our conversation from the plane. "They're letting power decide."
"So be it," said the councilor. "You will head north to the Frozen Mountain, and there Ryder shall fight for his life."
TWENTY FIVE
Make Mad The Guilty
ROSE
Make mad the guilty, and appall the free,
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears.
— William Shakespeare, Hamlet
WE DROVE AS far as we could, through the Italian countryside to the northern mountains where the weather turned from a balmy warm to cool. Where the peaks of the mountain had been dipped in snow and looked like ice cream sundaes. I didn't have to look at Ryder during the drive. Didn't have to think of him in shackles, muzzled like an animal.
Not until we came to a stop and had to hike the rest of the way.
The bishop clearly cared about Ryder, and though I didn't know their backstory I could see the real affection between them, could feel it with my new powers. Still, Alaric tugged at Ryder as we hiked up the steep mountains. The hike burned my lungs and legs, the air thinner and more difficult to breathe. I couldn't imagine making the climb with my hands and legs shackled and my mouth muzzled. Once again I had to keep Ana's face in the forefront of my mind before basic human compassion broke me.
It became harder because I had doubts. What if he hadn't killed the other kids? Yes, he'd definitely attacked Drake, and he had to be held accountable for that, but Drake was still alive and he hadn't actually done anything to hurt Ana. It might have been easy for him to say he planned on killing the little girl, but could he have really done it? We'd never know now. Could we convict someone based on an intention that might not have played out in real life? Or on something we think he did but have no evidence of?
Nature attacked me with vigor as my mind played through all the scenarios. Mosquito bites, bugs, the heat building under my coat as my face froze in the icy wind. I only noticed any of it peripherally. Derek and I didn't speak, both too lost in our own thoughts and neither of us wanting to share those thoughts with Ryder and Alaric listening to every breath we took.
The complete immersion into nature, the kind of nature that can kill you as easily as it can inspire you, does something to a person that nothing else can. It remakes you into something new, something changed. I felt that change happening as we hiked, the power of the place pulsing through me, the sharp edges of each experience shaving off any dull perceptions the ordinary world had left in me.
My wolf wanted out, wanted to run and hunt in this untouched land. With eyes glowing in wolf form, I could see each detail of the mountain we climbed, as if looking more closely at a lover. From a distance and in photographs, nature is beautiful, sweeping in its epic grandeur. From this close, in the thick of it, the world shows its warts: the bulges of rotting foliage, the fetid remains of a squirrel carcass, the insects swarming beneath the surface. But if you hold those images longer, if you look past them, the beauty returns more brilliantly than before. The bruises and ugliness transform into a complex tapestry that holds a powerful grandeur.
I'd taken all this in by the time we reached the grey stone fortress on the peak of the mountain. I felt transported back in time as I faced the old medieval castle, snow covering it like a blanket as the moon's reflected light shimmered over it. We made little noise as our feet sunk into soft snow. Still, it felt too loud.
The hairs on my neck prickled as if being watched as we walked the winding trail to the castle. I pulled my coat tighter around me, the temperature dropping as the sun sunk into the horizon for the night.
Giant stone doors greeted us when we reached the last step, the center of it engraved with a wolf claw that looked distorted, not the right shape or size. My breath came in white clouds as I exhaled, waiting for whatever was to happen next.
Bishop Alaric put his hand on the engraving, then shifted it into Lycan where it filled the space exactly. He pushed, then turned and something clicked within the door.
Stone ground against itself and with a loud thud, the doors began to open.
No one stood at the door to greet us. We followed Alaric, who still pulled Ryder along. At first, the giant hall seemed empty, but a shadow moved and I squinted, pulling on my wolf senses to see the bent forms praying. They were men, monks, by the look of them, wearing dark cloaks of brown and black. As we got closer, their faces seemed… off somehow. Their eyes. They had no eyes, just black pits where their eyes had once been.
I froze, stepping back a fraction. Derek caught my hand and Alaric looked back at me. "They are the Eyes of the Moon. They give up their sight in order to enhance their other senses—their ability to see the future. In their pursuit, some of the monks choose to become deaf as well. The less distraction from the world, the clearer their vision of the future."
One monk rose and hobbled to us with a cane. His aura shone bright, and for a flash of a moment I felt the pain he'd endured when he gave up his eyes. "Welcome, weary travelers. I am Marcus. You are here for a Trial of Strength, I see. May I offer you a place to rest and some refreshments before your ordeal?"
My stomach grumbled on cue and I blushed, embar
rassed by my body's betrayal. Marcus just smiled, his eyes disconcerting but his face kind. "Follow me."
He led us to another large hall with a massive oak table filling the center and dozens of chairs of the same wood placed around it. We all sat at one end as Marcus brought out platters of meats, fresh and dried fruit, warm bread and what looked like hand churned butter. He filled goblets—actual goblets—with apple cider.
Everything tasted like outside, like it had just been plucked from the earth and plopped onto our plate. Perhaps it was the hunger after climbing for so many hours, or perhaps it really was that fresh.
At the end of our quiet meal, during which time Alaric released the muzzle from Ryder so he could eat, I dared ask the question that had been on my mind since we arrived: "Was it worth it? Giving up your sight to see the future?"
Marcus wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin, his face from this close holding the map of his life—every pain, every joy, every laugh and tear, all etched deeply into his skin. "Many say so. Most of mankind knows the present. Few know the future."
"Yet all of mankind makes mistakes," I said.
"Some of the best things in life come from mistakes," the old man said. "We study the future, not to be perfect, but to understand how imperfect we truly are."
"Like historians study the past." I sipped at the cider. "They see mankind make the same mistakes over and over again."
"So do I," he said. "I see a hundred mistakes to come and a hundred more that may. I see how futile perfection is."
"If we don't strive to better ourselves, to perfect ourselves, then how will we move forward?" Derek asked.
"Focus on the joys you have. Focus on the sight that steals your breath, the sound that stops your heart, and the smell that makes you feel. The rest will take care of itself."
"So, we should focus on the present?" I asked. It seemed odd advice coming from a man who had given up the ability to see the present in order to see the future.
