My sight flashed crimson, and there were starbursts behind my eyes. Samnaea witnessed that effect, as she gasped and reached for the door. Before she could escape, the walls erupted in a bed of flames, fire licking every inch of my home. The smell of burning upholstery mingled with searing flesh, and I watched delightedly as she dived through a window, screaming into the night.
Bitch.
But now I was a fugitive, and there was only one type of punishment dealt for violence against a Court superior.
As my life burned away, I stalked toward my study. The flames bent around me, my lungs immune to the searing, oxygen-deprived air. A steel-plated chest lay in the corner, shrouded in smoke, sealed by an electronic lock. I knelt, punching in the code with a squint.
I grabbed as much of its contents as my pockets could carry, tucking my most prized piece, a gold revolver, into my belt. Getting back on my feet was painful without my cane, and once there I paused, paying Persephone a final thought.
I’d loved her. Pity.
And then I headed for the back entrance port, destination cephalon. Purgatory was my only chance, and hopefully the Jury could wipe the penalty of execution off the slate.
The world would never see The Maiden and the Bear.
All for the better, probably.
V
EXHILED; QUEEN OF NOTHING
Leid Koseling—;
LOCHAI’S PRISON WAS DANK WITH ROT, PLAGUED by the scent of mildew and musk, the air like icy nails across my skin.
I’d made my way here straight from Caia, my clothes still damp with rain and blood. A guard led me to Namah Ipsin’s quarters, the last cell amid a hall of many. Most of them were empty.
The guard opened the door and left, assured that I could fend for myself if Namah tried to flee. But I knew he wouldn’t. He was here because he wanted to be here, and I intended to find out why.
Namah lay huddled on the bench, adorned in chains. A meal tray sat beside him, untouched. Shadows kept most of him concealed, but the yellow glow of his eyes burned on me the moment I entered. I could still remember him before the Ring War; before the Fall. The nihilistic angel doctor who was much kinder than he’d ever let on. Remembering those times always left me heartsick.
“I was expecting you sooner,” he said, and despite the rest of him, his voice hadn’t changed a bit.
I took a seat, silent.
“Did you find him?”
“How did you know?” I asked.
Namah leaned forward, emerging from the shadows. Greasy brown hair clung to his forehead, and his once handsome face was now withered by fatigue and years of stress. It pained me to see him so. Up until a week ago he had been the Archdemon of Lochai, but the code violation of Jerusalem, Earth had fated his execution. Namah would hang tomorrow.
“I’ve known for quite some time,” he confessed, smiling weakly. “Spent years debating what to do.”
“How?”
“Ixiah.”
I recoiled. “He knew.”
Namah nodded. “His noble lied to you. Qaira didn’t die.”
I looked away, wincing at the thought of all this time—so many years—Qaira had been locked up in that galactic prison, mind raped and made subservient to the Anakaari. It was a fate almost worse than death.
Damn you, Calenus.
“Is he here?” asked Namah.
“You sound hopeful.”
“Is he?”
I thought of Alezair, lying unconscious in Cerasaraelia. Soon he would wake up to a new life. An old life, really, but that was something he could never know. And even though Qaira was here with me again, it still felt like he was dead. Because he was dead, and Alezair wore his corpse. It was both painful and beautiful to look at him, and whenever I did I was torn between laughter and sobs. Likewise, I hated and loved Namah for reuniting us.
Life was fickle.
“Why did you do it?” I asked, shelving his question.
“Something has to change,” he murmured, looking to the barred window above us. “Everything is collapsing, layer by layer, and I believe that this is the first step…”
“The first step to what?”
He smiled. “I don’t know; just a feeling. Don’t you feel it?”
I did. Ever since I’d brought Alezair here, the air felt lighter. Heady. The feeling was ironic, given who he really was. “Namah,” I sighed, “are you sure you want to go through with this? I can motion for a pardon—”
“No, I’m done,” he snapped. “I’ve seen all I want to of this world. I don’t belong here anymore. No one does, but they won’t admit it.”
He had never recovered from the Fall. The subsequent years of war and death were too much for him. I’d caught it from hearsay, but never understood the full extent of his burden until now. I wanted to beg him to reconsider, but knew that I had no right to impede on his decision. I had no right to force him to live. Instead I nodded, getting to my feet. Namah had given me all the answers I’d sought.
“Thank you,” I said, fighting tears.
“My pleasure, Justice Commander,” he replied, near whisper. “I only hope I’ve done the right thing.”
***
The foul air turned sweet, and my eyes fluttered open.
Blood tears trickled down my face, their presence warm and thick. I wiped them away and stared at my bedroom ceiling, the darkness of Lochai’s prison fading from view.
History was like tiny metal shards, piling atop one another, elongating, forming a sturdy blade. Time and tragedy had worn it dull, coated it in rust, yet that blade still managed to cut me every time.
And its cuts were always deep—straight to the heart. From it poured memories of what had been, even more painful were the hopeless reveries of what could have been. Should have been.
The heartache diminished as confusion settled in. I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten here. And then I realized that my bedroom door was gone.
No, not gone; in pieces, scattered across the floor.
I shot up, and the sudden action left me lightheaded. I collapsed against the pillow, holding my head, fighting vertigo. Every little movement caused tremors in my muscles. The ache was frightening.
I crawled from bed, slowly this time, my hands raking over splinters of wood as I made my way to the hall. Paintings and lamps were strewn everywhere, and the staircase railing was annihilated. I grabbed what was left and pulled myself to a stand, wincing as the ache intensified. My head pounded and my feet tingled, making it difficult to walk. I waited for the fatigue to pass, and it was then when I remembered the meeting with Yahweh and his generals, the sudden nosebleed and the darkness. I’d collapsed.
That meant they knew.
Oh god, they knew.
I slid down the stairs legs first, knowing if I tried it the normal way I’d break my neck. It wouldn’t kill me, but a broken neck felt extremely unpleasant, Vel’Haru or not.
Our front door was broken, too. Blood was smeared across the frame, and I sank into a large depression in the wall. It was the shape of someone’s body. What the hell had happened?
My ears caught sound of whispers from the kitchen. Frightened, panicked whispers. Amid their conversation, one word was repeated over and over again:
Alezair.
I scaled the dining room until I was leant against the kitchen doorframe. Adrial and Zhevraine were arguing. Neither of them saw me yet.
I listened, trying to get an idea of what had happened before they spotted me and spun the truth. Alezair wasn’t here. He wasn’t in Cerasaraelia at all; I couldn’t feel him.
Before anything more was said, Zhevraine caught sight of me. Her mouth froze, eyes widened, and her expression cued Adrial to turn. He didn’t seem as surprised.
“Welcome back,” he said.
I pointed at the door with a trembling hand. “What happened to our house?”
The look my guardians shared was as if they were saying, ‘You tell her. No, you.’
“Where’s Alezair?�
� I continued, not giving either of them a chance to explain.
Adrial sighed, nodding at the dining table. He plucked a bottle of wine from the liquor cabinet and Zhevraine brought three glasses. “Take a seat. We’ve got some things to discuss.”
***
The rest of the afternoon was a haze. I spent most of it on my bedroom couch, staring at Qaira’s violin case. For centuries, that violin had been my only keepsake, aside from the marriage vows that I continued to ink on my arms.
After all that had happened, and even in death, I’d never loved another man so much. And when Alezair appeared in Jerusalem, stalking me thereafter, I couldn’t just discard him. I couldn’t kill him like our code had ordered. Not him, that poor shell of a man, with no memories of the life he’d lost. I’d already done him in enough.
So I kept him, a small part of me always hoping that one day he’d remember. But he never did. He couldn’t. The Nexus had scraped out his mind and programmed him human, and soon the mere sight of him hurt worse than anything.
God, my heart.
Tears brimmed my eyes and I winced, reaching for the pipe on the couch arm. But nothing numbed the ache. Soon Qaira would know himself, if not already, and then what? What would he do? Would he come back?
I hoped not. Just the thought of facing him was unbearable.
And in the midst of it all, my time was running out. Any day now I’d fall permanently unconscious, and my guardians would carry me back to Exo’daius for execution. Euthanasia. There were worse kinds of death, but I wasn’t ready.
The Aeon chimed somewhere downstairs. I didn’t move.
A moment later, Zhevraine appeared. “Yahweh Telei is on hold,” she announced. When I didn’t respond, she said, “It’s urgent.”
I forced myself off the couch and headed to the library, all the while debating to tell Yahweh the news. He deserved a warning.
After all I’d given a vengeful man the powers of near-invincibility. Should Qaira come looking for blood, Yahweh was defenseless. He and Lucifer both.
Neither of them had said a thing. I wasn’t sure if they even knew what to say. Their level of silence was shocking, as I’d anticipated uproar at the sight of Alezair sitting behind that podium. I’d tried to hide him by prolonging his training, but I couldn’t keep him caged in Purgatory forever. And the more I thought about it, the more I knew how inevitable this all had been.
I touched the rune on the Aeon, exhaling slowly.
Hello, Yahweh.
I’m sorry to call your home, outside business hours no less. I tried the Celestial Court first.
Don’t apologize. What’s the matter?
We need to meet. Tonight. Something’s happened and I can’t really talk right now. The Argent Court is up in arms and I’m expected at the Grand Hall for a statement in ten minutes.
A statement for what?
… The Contest is over, Leid. Lucifer withdrew Hell’s participation this afternoon. He’s declared war on Heaven.
I said nothing, staring at the wall. Seams were unraveling all at once.
Can we meet? he pressed.
Yes, um, why don’t you and your generals have dinner with us? We sit down in two hours, or is that too soon?
Two hours is manageable. I’ll see you then.
As I removed my finger from Crylle’s rune, Adrial burst into the library. He looked distraught. “Commander Raith is making a speech over Hell’s airwaves. He’s declaring war on Heaven. It’s on every channel.”
I hung my head, closed my eyes. “Yes, I know. Yahweh just informed me.”
When I said nothing else, he held out his hands. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. Yahweh and his generals will be here in a couple of hours and we can get the full story then.”
But that wasn’t what Adrial meant. Our contract ended with the Contest. If Lucifer repealed the Contest, then our asylum here was null. Our options were to scour the Multiverse in search of a new home—a new life—or return to Exo’daius, tails tucked between our legs.
No.
I couldn’t think about this now. Too many other things were happening.
Adrial continued to speak, but I didn’t hear him. His words were nothing but white noise amid a tangle of barely-coherent thoughts.
I pushed by him with a raised hand, a gesture for silence. I needed quiet, solitude.
The garden.
***
Moritoria had changed over the years; the temples and Acolytes of Maghir lost to time and irreverence, buried with Sanctum and its people.
Left behind was the city of Adure, isolated yet intact, the garden offering a clear view of the ornate pillars and domiciles from Cerasaraelia’s escarpment. Alezair had worn a look when I toured him through there. He’d seen it many times before; we were married only half a mile away.
But what hadn’t changed was the gray sky and ever-present blanket of fog. Although such monotony was usually maddening, today I found the scenery ataractic. It offered a glimmer of hope, on some level.
Seated on a marble bench with a cigarette smoking between my fingers, I thought of how to mend Heaven and Hell’s alliance.
Lucifer had already made a statement, and he was a rational man—much more so than his peers. That meant he’d given war a lot of thought, and the chances of convincing him to renege were slim to none. I could get Telei and Raith to sit down, negotiate, but the fact that they were unable to do that of their own accord was…strange. Troubling.
I winced as the cigarette singed my fingers. It had burned all the way to the filter, and I released it. It fell to the cement with a tiny bounce, extinguishing soon after.
I was so tired; all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed and pretend that none of this ever happened. My lids felt heavy and I appeased them, closing my eyes for only a minute. My body hummed with exhaustion as the world fell away, and I floated in between consciousness, like a lucid dream.
When I opened my eyes, someone was standing in front of me.
Belial Vakkar, covered in blood and soot. At my confusion, he swallowed hard and removed his top hat, wiping away the black smudges on his face. His usual, vainglorious air was gone. Now he was gloomy, subdued.
“We have a problem, Justice,” he said. “A big problem.”
~*~
Malkhet, the fourth of ten
Sons of Terehet, was stricken when
There among the fields of Moritoria
His beloved;
Bloodied, ravaged, without life
Untimely death, an unfair fight.
Forsaken, lost
Against the night she died and burned
A gift for strife
Hand against her cold, pale face
He made an oath to save his race;
Avenge the fallen
Take their lives
Stake their heads for sacrifice.
- Kelkrah; Di Abanyeri Veroma (For the Sordid Heart, Verse I)
I
VISITOR
Calenus Karim—;
CANDLELIGHT WICKED ACROSS BARE STONE WALLS. My shadow stood sentry, flickering in orange haze.
Kyothera rested open between my hands, but I hadn’t written anything yet. My mind was elsewhere. It was elsewhere often.
I abandoned the podium and ascended the stairs, moving through the mezzanine. The candlelight did not bleed here, but the sky cast the hall in crimson iridescence from ceiling panels, and tiny particles of dust floated absently, sparkling in rays.
Our Sanctuary—a place where past was never past but an eerie snapshot of our future. While the dead returned to the universe elsewhere, nature had forgotten us. Our dead turned to stone, obsidian, but unlike true obsidian we never decayed—non-erodible. In many ways we defied universal laws, this being one of them. Staring at the statues here always reminded me that one day I, too, would be placed on eternal display.
Arranged in varying positions, pantomiming their final moments, these scholars had once stood exactl
y where I was, staring at the Lost, apprehended by the thought of joining them. Each of their faces was blurred because I dared not focus on any. Too many memories—most of them fresh, others stale and needed forgotten. Some yet were sharp and keen, cutting through my apathetic design with such precision that it still managed to sting a bit.
Aipocinus.
I bid the dead a silent farewell, exiting the gallery. Through the mezzanine, down the stairs, I passed the podium on my way to the entrance, leaving Kyothera open, empty. Muse had forsaken me tonight. Maybe tomorrow.
***
Ixiah and Zira played toh in the courtyard, near Enigmus’ gate.
I lingered, watching.
Ixiah’s glass ball rolled too far down the path, passing the ring that Zira had set for him. By the look on his face, they’d betted more than just a friendly match. Forty years since they had been home at the same time, and they spent this rare occasion in ceaseless competition. Puzzling.
“You’re back early,” Zira said, tossing his ball in the air. “Did you not write?”
“No,” I said.
“Two days in a row,” Ixiah said. “Maybe let someone else try.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I muttered, heading to the gate. “The dead can’t read.” Some customs were confusing but we were bound to follow them, as were our predecessors, and theirs, and so on. I could not force myself to write uninspired. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
“Saphi and Talen are making evening meal,” said Ixiah, more an inquiry than statement.
“They are.”
“Do you know what?”
“No.”
“Tell them to salt the food,” Zira said as I climbed the steps. “Their meals taste like wet paper.”
“If you have a problem with the way they cook, you should volunteer to make evening meal.”
Zira frowned and rolled his ball down the courtyard path. “I already make all the drinks.”
The Antithesis- The Complete Pentalogy Page 64
