Angel Realms

by Malynn, Vivienne

  He twists the sword making it glint in the candle light. He seems to be contemplating something. “You see, I am an opportunist,” he says. “I see an opportunity and I grab it. This is no exception. What I do to help you, I do to help myself.” Taking the sword by the top of the hilt, he lets the bladed end fall to the floor in one elegant motion, and then rests on it as if it were a cane. “Sorath and I aren’t on the best of terms. We had a falling out when I betrayed him. Has it in for me he does.”

  I say nothing, still confused.

  “Sorath is a true believer. He believes he can make a better world. It is what gives him purpose. I, on the other hand, believe only in what will get me ahead.” He leans forward on the sword and looks at me intently. “How do you think I ascended so far? Oh, the angelic council was more than happy to promote me. Glad to be rid of the beast, Sorath. After all, a vacancy opened up after he was….well, demoted.”

  “So you want to use me to kill Sorath?”

  “I want more than that,” he says. “But the rest will have to wait. The end of the world is a more pressing matter at the moment.” Pulling the sword up, it seemingly springs into his hand. Tucking it under his arm, he shows me to the door. The dogs are waiting at the step.

  He hands the sword to me. “Take it. But remember only one angel can wield that sword, Abbadon, the destroyer.”

  Clasping the sword, I notice that despite its size, it is relatively light. The angelic letters shimmer, exposing their guarded secret. Taking a deep breath, I glance nervously at the circling hounds. “What about the dogs,” I ask.

  “With the sword in your hand, they won’t bother you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “They know whose sword it is.” He gives me a slight push forward. I stumble my way down the stairs toward the dogs. Ben is right; they back away submissively as if by command.

  From behind me, I hear his voice. “Good luck,” he says. “Don’t bother stopping by again. I won’t be here. I’ve grown tired of this musty flesh. It spoils my taste in finer things.” The door slams and I am left alone with the dogs. Down the street I can hear a commotion and see an arching flame that looks curiously like the large donut sign from the town bakery. It spins through the air with one edge ablaze and into the street ahead of me, bouncing several times and rolling past me. The now skittish dogs flee before it. From the direction of its source I see the hulking frame of Sorath. There is no sign of Ashur.

  I swallow my fears and begin the long walk to what will ultimately be my death. In my heart, I keep a hope that Ashur is still alive and I will not have to do this alone. As I approach Sorath, I remain unnoticed. He is preoccupied with something in the rubble. Reaching down, Sorath pulls out the struggling frame of an angel. Ashur struggles against him, but Sorath has him in his fiery grip.

  The sight deadens me to all fear, leaving me with only one motivation—to save him. Without hesitation, I run at the beast with the sword over my head. Though I have never wielded a sword before, the movement seems natural. In one swooping motion, I plunge it into the thigh of Sorath. The creature screams with agony, dropping Ashur. Angry, he swings his arm back, hitting me square in the chest. I am knocked back. The blow is so severe that I let go of the sword. I hit the ground hard, throwing my head back into the asphalt.

  Ashur rips the sword from Sorath’s wounded thigh. Immediately, it comes to life, glowing as if ignited with a spark. It burns furiously, with a brightness that nearly blinds me. As the flames twist down the hilt and along his arm, Ashur too looks as if he is burning, his eyes dark red embers in a sea of hot lapping fire. Sorath charges at him, taking swipes with his right and then with his left, but Ashur dodges and darts into the air.

  Sorath thrusts his arm into the ground as if it were liquid to him. Pulling his hand out, he reveals a sword. Hot molten earth boils up around the blade, burning red like a metal that has just been forged. As he swings it, the last drips of magma are flung in the direction of Ashur, temporarily blinding him. Taking advantage of the situation, Sorath launches toward the angel. Soon they are both in an aerial battle above the town. Each clang of the swords rains sparks down upon the blackened street below.

  Sweeping back away, leaving a distance between them, they float for a moment. Then with a flicker of their wings, they charge straight on toward each other. The collision creates a shockwave that rumbles throughout town, shattering windows and setting off car alarms. Trying to keep my eyes fixed on Ashur, I see a small figure falling like a fiery comet toward the earth which lands with a boom a few yards away from me. The impact knocks me from my feet.

  I struggle to stand and race over to the crater. Looking over the edge, I see Ashur. He isn’t moving, but from the heaving of his chest I can tell he is still alive. I see his sword lying nearby and try to approach it to pick it up, but the intensity of the heat is too much. Stepping back, I hear the crunching of asphalt and turn to see Sorath looming above me. He would probably have taken no notice of me had I not been standing between him and his prey, the angel. Before I can move, he raises his sword and brings it across, knocking me squarely in the chest and throwing me back toward the ground. The flame from his sword burns all around me, but does not scorch me.

  Dazed and incoherent, I see Ashur’s face torn in anguish, his eyes burning with a darkness that I had not seen before. It is similar to that of Sorath’s, like a black sun. He takes up the angelic sword and throws himself toward the beast. Sorath raises his blade to block Ashur’s strike, but still stumbles backward. Seeing an opening, Ashur slices down through Sorath’s shoulder and back up through the torso. Sorath rolls forward to the ground, gripping the wounded limb. Ashur hovers above him, ready to strike the fatal blow.

  At this point, the pounding in my head grows, and my vision darkens. Still, I see the look in Ashur’s face in that final moment. It is not anger or furry like it had been before. It is absent of all emotion, as if he is not there at all. The Ashur I know is gone and something else has taken his place. He raises the blazing sword overhead, his intentions clear. There will be no mercy for Sorath. As the sword falls, all fades to black.

  Chapter 20

  It is strange to be so certain of death and yet to charge headlong into it without restraint. That is what love does to us. Whether it is the love of a cause or the love of another, our hearts drive us beyond what our courage is able, to the very brink of annihilation where all is black and nothing exists. And yet, the story never ends there.

  I feel my body ascending as it is lifted from the ground. A ringing in my ears subsides into a muffled cry. “Kyra.” I open my eyes gingerly as the first rays of a new dawn greet them. The blur of colors that surround me take form in the face of Ethan. He is cradling me in his arms.

  “I thought you were dead,” he says.

  “Funny, I remember thinking the same thing about you,” I murmur. My chest is aching and the pain from the broken ribs is digging in where he is holding me. I cringe. Seeing my pain, he releases.

  I look at my chest, expecting to see a gaping hole where Sorath had struck me, but I see only my mother’s locket, broken open with the lock of hair exposed. The strands of hair catch in the early morning breeze, floating softly into the distance, and then burst forth fire until the last of them are devoured in the flames, leaving no trace. Just ahead of it, I see Ashur standing over the body of Sorath, the sword ablaze in his hand. Sorath takes one last shallow breath before expiring. With his last exhalation, the body explodes into a fiery furnace that consumes it, just as the lock of hair was consumed.

  Slowly I stand, my body protesting through convulsions of pain. Ashur is intently watching the last ember of what is left of Sorath burn out. I stagger to him and put my hand on one of his wings. The touch alerts him, and he turns abruptly. He glares at me with red eyes like hot coals. His whole complexion is a dark fire erupting. The look is fiercer than even Sorath’s. I stumble back, afraid. Then I notice his face soften and the darkness fade, revealing the Ashur I know.
/>
  His wings slip from his shoulders onto the ground like liquid silk. He looks down at the sword, which is still ignited with a heavenly fire, the slender flames lapping upward. As if exhausted by it, he releases the sword, allowing it to fall to the earth. It lands with a metallic clang. The flames disperse, leaving only the writing glowing a soft amber. As I watch the etching cool and fade, I am reminded of what was said to me in the shop. Only one can wield the sword. I dare not think of what this means.

  “I thought I lost you,” Ashur says, his voice marred by grief. “How?”

  I lift the broken locket from my neck and give it to Ashur. “I guess this charm wasn’t useless after all.”

  He examines it. “There is a legend that the clay man Adam had such a charm when he faced Sorath in the last battle. It contained a stolen lock of Sorath’s hair, and was given him by one who loved him dearly to protect him. Someone must have truly loved you to give you such a powerful protection.”

  “It was my mother,” I say. “I guess she’s still looking after me.” I take the locket back from him and place it in my pocket. In my heart I thank her for saving me.

  Ashur takes me under his arm and helps me to the steps of the church. The entrance opens and the townspeople start pouring out into the street. One of them points to the sky. “Look,” they exclaim.

  We watch as fiery beings descend from the sky and stand before the church. They are all dressed in battle array and wielding sabers emanating light. One of them sheaths his weapon and walks forward. He looks young like Ashur, but then again, they all look that way. Ashur seems to know him and warmly greets him with arms embraced. The angel looks over the carnage left behind from Sorath and the clay men. “Looks like you’ve been busy,” he says.

  “This is Mallek,” Ashur says, introducing us. “He is Lord Commander of the Flies, the flying legions of angels that protect the outer reaches of the heavenly realm.”

  He offers his hand. “I’m Kyra,” I say as I take it to shake, but he scoops my hand and kisses it instead, and then kneels before me. “I know exactly who you are. We all do.” He sweeps his hand in a motion panning across the legions of angels. They all bow in turn. “Thou art Eve’s daughter.”

  I blush, though I try not to. Regaining my composure, I say, “Do they introduce themselves to all women this way.”

  “Just the special ones,” says Ashur.

  Mallek stands. “Not to part you from your guardian,” he says, “but we must discuss the situation of the town.”

  Ashur looks at me with concern. “I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll look after her,” Ethan interjects.

  This doesn’t sit well with Ashur, but he concedes. “Don’t let anything happen to her,” he says.

  Mallek and Ashur leave to talk out of ear shot. The townspeople walk past gawking at the spectacle of the angels. “Liv would have loved seeing this. I hope she is alright.”

  “I’m sure she is fine,” Ethan says.

  I smile in agreement. “You said you were going to explain this whole you being alive thing.”

  “It is difficult to explain.”

  “I know about the Anathema—about what people say they are. And I know you are not evil.”

  “Who told you about the Anathema?”

  I realize what it would mean to admit who aided me, so I say nothing. “It is difficult to explain,” I say, hoping this will defer his questions. “So the whole thing about your family dying, was that true?”

  “Yes,” Ethan replies. “My family was killed some 600 hundred years ago. I was a farmer in a small village, married to a young maiden. I even had a child—a daughter.”

  The thought of Ethan having a wife and child is strange to me. “What happened?”

  “I returned one evening from hunting in the woods and they were dead. They had been killed by a beast.” His face betrays his bitterness toward the memory.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I vowed to find the beast and kill it. It’s all I ever…” The edge of his mouth curls in disgust. “It’s all I ever thought about. Despite the objection of the villagers, I went after the beast.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you killed it?”

  “No,” he says. There is shame in his voice. “I was only able to wound it. But that was enough. The beast was cursed with a curse that whoever harmed it would also share in the curse. So I became Anathema. And I’ve been wandering the Earth ever since.”

  “Is there any way to end the curse?”

  “No one seems to know. At least no one I have found.”

  “Maybe Ashur can help,” I exclaim. If anyone knew of a cure surely the angels would. I stand, ready to tell Ashur, but Ethan pulls me back.

  “No,” he says, sternly. “Ashur must never know that I am Anathema.”

  “Why? He can help.”

  “He is an angel. They do not trust the Anathema. To them, we are the enemy.”

  “But Ashur is different,” I say.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  I say nothing, but only look on at Ashur speaking with Mallek. They seem to be arguing about something. Mallek glances over at me, almost as if I am the subject of their conversation. In my heart, I believe Ashur is different. That he would not condemn Ethan so easily. But I can’t be sure. Another thought comes even more biting. Ashur can’t stay with me.

  Seeing my distress, Ethan says, “I don’t mean to make you doubt him. It’s not his fault. He is an angel. He only knows what he has been told by the council.”

  Ashur finishes his conversation with Mallek. The two part. Mallek returns with his legions and together they ascend, each lifting off the ground in a wave. They rise only a few feet before vanishing in a brilliance of light. Ashur returns to my side. “The clay men have agreed to return to the temple,” he says. “They won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”

  “And what about you?” I ask in eager anticipation.

  “For now…” There is a slight pause. “For now I will stay here with you, as your guardian, until we know you are safe.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know,” he replies. Though I fear him leaving, I decide not to allow this to get in the way of following my heart. After everything that has happened, my heart is the truest guide. Despite the uncertainty, I can trust what I feel.

  “Well, you can’t stay with me,” I say, smiling. “I guess you’ll have to continue to stay with Ethan.” They glare at each other, considering the arrangement, which seems disagreeable to both of them.

  In the distance, a Cadillac pulls up, followed by a police car. A woman steps out of the Cadillac and makes her way across the rubble that was a street, a treacherous feat in high heels. The woman is my social worker, Ms. Garza. A police officer who has just exited his vehicle assists her across. Two more people step out of the back of the Cadillac, Justine and Liv.

  Ms. Garza finds her way to us, ranting and cursing as she goes. “Earth quakes, fires and comet strike,” she mutters. “The insurance companies are going to have a hay day with this.” She presses out her silk shirt and adjusts her skirt before continuing. “So, I came here to see if you have decided to commit any more acts of vandalism, and I see all this.” She gestures to the devastation surrounding us. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you had something to do with this.”

  I open my mouth to object, but realize she is right. “However, Justine has informed me that you are innocent. I don’t believe her. But she has asked to go forward with adoption.”