“Connecting to my energy through physical contact will help shift you onto the astral plane and keep you there more easily the first time. I am arguably the best mentor for this, seeing as I spent so much time there.”
Imorean tried to nod, Michael’s hands restricting his movement. “Okay. Next?”
“Close your eyes and imagine yourself outside your body. Push your body away.”
With a skeptical huff, Imorean did as Michael asked. He was tired and the temptation rose in him to go back to sleep, but he pushed it away. This was part of uncovering his own skill as an Archangel. It was something he needed to do. He sat in darkness, eyes closed, simply breathing. One of Michael’s hands twitched on his face. Through that hand, Imorean felt a strange surge of power and energy. There was something electric in it. He pushed his mind and imagined. Through closed eyes, he thought of himself standing on his feet just next to the table. Everything felt real. Looked real. He looked back at himself. He was still sitting at the table, wings folded comfortably, Michael’s hands on his face. Imorean paused. He could no longer feel the chair beneath his rear, yet he could see himself clearly, sitting in the seat. He turned and watched Michael. There was a shudder of movement. A ghostly glow filled the air around his body. His eyes opened, blazing bright, fiery green. Michael’s whole body shivered as a pale image of him slipped out of his skin.
“Can you see me?” asked the ghostly version of Michael.
“Yeah,” replied Imorean. “Can you see me?”
“Yes, I can. Look at yourself.”
Confused, Imorean turned back. Astral Michael crossed the living room and stood beside him.
“Make yourself open your eyes.”
“My eyes are open,” said Imorean.
“Not this version of you. Make the physical version of you open your eyes. I want to see something.” Michael folded his arms. “Focus on the feeling. On the sensation of opening your eyes. Feelings and our perceptions of reality guide us here.”
Imorean took a deep breath and focused hard. There was not much to focus on. The act of opening an eye was natural, habitual and removed from conscious sensory perception. Imorean changed his tack, thinking about how the first rays of light hit his eyes when he woke up that morning. Gathering himself and trying to ignore the weird sensation of being himself and seeing himself at the same time, he pushed that feeling toward his physical body. There was a pause, then Imorean’s jaw dropped as he watched his own eyes open wide. The pupils and irises were invisible, flooded out by white. A few flickers of the whiteness spilled out of his eyes, curving and waving like heatless fire.
“How interesting,” mused Michael.
Imorean tore his gaze away from himself. “How do you mean?”
“That was Inmerael’s color, too. His eyes turned white when he entered the astral plane as well. You will get used to it. I promise. What differences do you notice here?”
Imorean furrowed his brow. Differences? What did Michael mean? “Erm … I don’t know.”
“Look again. Closer.”
“Are we … are we invisible?”
“Indeed. Our bodies remain in that place, but we, you and I in this state, are indeed invisible. Look again. Deeper.”
Annoyed this time, Imorean looked around. Nothing. No difference. What was he supposed to be looking for? Then he saw it, a fraction of movement. “What was that?”
“A spirit,” replied Michael.
“You mean like a ghost?”
“Yes. Sometimes spirits get lost between here and the beyond.”
Imorean looked at where the movement had been. There was something terribly sad left in its wake. “Can’t you help it?”
“There are angels assigned to sweep the astral plane to try to help them find their way to the beyond. I am one of them, but for now, I will leave that spirit. Staying here for a time will do it no harm. Some even opt to stay on the astral plane for eternity. It is their choice. Come on. The spirit is not of our concern. I believe we may have frightened it.”
With that, Michael turned and walked toward the bedroom door. Imorean stayed where he was. He didn’t know how he felt about leaving his … body sitting at the table like a shell. As though reading his mind, which Imorean reminded himself was very possible, Michael spoke.
“Your body will be fine. The only thing that may happen to it is that Gabriel might push you out of your chair for fun.”
Imorean swallowed and stepped out. For a moment, he was worried that his foot would simply pass through the floor. It landed. Solid.
“So, this is the astral plane. Are ghosts the only things that hang out here?”
“No. This is not the entire astral plane. The astral plane consists of multiple levels. Angels and demons have access to all levels, but there are areas that none of us ever go. We dare not.” Michael pushed open the bedroom door. “The plane is huge. It has multiple sections, each containing different creatures, energies, states and beings. Not all of them are friendly.”
Imorean stopped next to Michael in the bedroom. “So where did you go on the astral plane when you were in your coma? If any angel can slip into it as easily as we did here, why couldn’t they find you?”
“Do you remember me saying that there are levels of the astral plane where angels never dare to go?”
“Yeah?”
“They are deep on the plane. Far beyond where I had ever gone. Beyond where any of us ever wanted to acknowledge existed. Almost a different reality. That is where I was thrown to.”
“How did you get back to your rift?”
“You, Imorean. I waited by the volcano and fought to get back to a reachable part of the plane. Every second that passed, I knew you were getting into deeper and deeper trouble. I felt your distress when you confronted Vortigern on the mountaintop. The power of your grief there was so strong I was able to latch onto it and find my way back. Had you not felt as you did, I would probably still be lost. I wanted to go to you, but I knew by then what I had to do to get myself back to the physical plane. So, I continued toward the stone circle. From there, I called to you. The rest you know.”
Imorean fell silent, transfixed by Michael. A soft expression lingered in his green eyes and the tiniest of smiles crept onto his face. Imorean looked away, turning to Raphael instead. There was a thin, blue line reaching out from Raphael’s chest. His eyes were open, blazing blue, his chest still rose and fell, but Raphael was quite obviously not home.
“What’s going on here?” asked Imorean, looking at the tiny line of blue light.
“That is his connection to life, to his body.”
Imorean looked over his own shoulder and saw a similar string of white light trailing behind him, disappearing into the kitchen. A green one was tied to Michael.
“I did not have one of these when I was ... vacant,” said Michael. Imorean frowned. Once again, an answer to his unasked question.
“Do we follow it?” asked Imorean, nodding at Raphael’s trail of blue.
“Yes. Please, lead on.”
Imorean followed the trail with his eyes, watching as the string of light vanished through the window and into the forest beyond. Without really thinking, he crossed the room and hopped up onto the windowsill. After shuffling his wings through the window frame, he spread them and took to the air. The small line of light led up into the sky, nearly lost in the morning color. Grinning, Imorean gave chase, the line of blue flickering in and out of view. It took a sharp downward turn and Imorean snapped his wings shut into a dive. He could hear the wind rushing under Michael’s wings, too.
“Pull up, Imorean,” said Michael, taking the lead.
Imorean flared his wings and fell into Michael’s slipstream as they forged downward more slowly and entered the forest. The line of blue grew brighter and stronger. Imorean thought hard, latching onto a sentence and focusing on Michael.
“Are we close?”
Michael’s answer came back almost immediately, as clear and audible as though he had actually spoken
it. “Very. The brighter the light gets, the closer we are.”
Even as Michael spoke, Imorean saw Raphael, sitting on the forest floor, speaking. Imorean stopped as Michael put a hand on his shoulder.
“What’s he doing?” asked Imorean, sending the thought to Michael. Communicating mentally seemed much easier on the astral plane.
“Giving directions,” replied Michael.
Imorean looked closer. Sitting opposite Raphael was the outline of a spirit. Raphael smiled encouragingly, while the spirit’s translucent face looked confused.
“He is trying to convince him to leave the astral plane.”
Raphael stood and pointed onward through the forest. The spirit followed his and flickered. Imorean inclined his head. Was that it? Was passing on out of existence really so simple? Was this … was this how his family had vanished from life? Had his squad had such a gentle way of going out?
“Come on,” said Michael.
Imorean jumped as he felt fingers tighten on his cheeks. He shook himself and opened his eyes. Everything was white. There was no world. Only white. Imorean blinked. Color returned. The world returned. He was still at the table, his face cupped in Michael’s hands. He raised his eyes to meet Michael’s, who blinked. Slow. Deliberate. The neon green in his eyes shrunk, condensing back to his iris and darkening to a more natural level.
“What did you think?” asked Michael.
Imorean shook his head, pulling free from Michael’s grasp. “We were here the whole time?”
“In a way,” shrugged Michael.
Imorean jumped as Gabriel spoke from across the lounge. “First trip to the plane?”
“Yeah. When did you get here?” asked Imorean.
“Oh, just after Michael gripped onto your face like a sticky octopus. It was funny. I should have taken a picture. Raphael’s just returned from the astral plane as well.”
Michael stood. “Good. Has he been escorting spirits all night?”
“Yeah. Figured he would do some good while he could. He’s like you. He doesn’t do much sleeping.”
“And you do too much of it, Gabriel. Where is Raphael?”
There was a creak. “I’m here.”
Imorean felt a sudden rush of excitement. They were all assembled. Was it time to leave? He darted a glance at Michael, who gave him a small smile.
“Get everything together. We have Odin’s approval. We leave as soon as possible.”
Chapter 13
A strange sense of sadness curved through Imorean’s chest as they left Valhalla behind. There was a sense of freedom in the place. He would have liked to spend more time there. He reset the angle of his wings and closed the gap between himself and the rest of the Archangels. Ahead of them lay mountains capped with snowy peaks. Imorean drew back into his position behind Michael.
“We will be near Fenrir by midday, so use this time to mentally prepare to face him. Imorean, I hope you have cleared your fear of Hellhounds!” called Michael.
White wings tucked up a little tighter as Imorean pushed himself forward, level with Michael. “Why?”
“Fenrir is a giant wolf. Father of all Vortigern’s Hellhounds.”
Imorean gaped soundlessly at Michael. Those simple words had turned his blood cold. One of Vortigern’s Hellhounds, alone, he could handle, but the father of them all? And a giant father at that? Not for the first time, he felt as though he could have strangled Michael.
“You didn’t think to tell me this earlier?”
“I did not think it would bother you.”
Imorean pulled up and hovered to look ahead at the mountains. Clouds settled around their peaks. Fenrir could kill them all. Imorean jumped as a dreadful howl filled the cold air, louder and more powerful than any he had ever heard before. With that sound, their quest seemed impossible, hopeless.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A cold mist had closed in. The skies had turned gray. Imorean shivered. The mist making his clothes damp, chilling him to the core. Mountain snow crunched underfoot as they landed. Imorean saw his breath fog in the air ahead of him.
Michael spoke, his voice hardly above a whisper. “If anyone has any questions, ask them now. From here on, we keep quiet. Communicate only through mental connections. We do not want to warn him that we are coming.”
Gabriel spoke up. “Just a moment. What’s our strategy, Michael?”
“You and I will keep Fenrir distracted with a frontal attack. Imorean and Raphael will work on Gleipnir. We do not leave here without a piece of it. Be aware, we may neither kill Fenrir, nor may we set him free. This mission is to be handled with utmost finesse.”
“So, you’re giving us the dangerous job?” Imorean folded his arms. “Thanks.”
“Actually, Gabriel and I are taking the end with teeth,” replied Michael. “You and Raphael will be approaching from the rear. Your job is essential. The two of you are responsible for getting that piece of Gleipnir.”
Imorean stumbled, feeling oddly unsteady on his feet. Michael frowned at him, and he shrugged. A rush of wind. He glanced at Raphael and Gabriel. Both seemed on edge. There was a nearby thud. Imorean was thrown off balance again. Then, through the fog, he saw it. Four long stripes of black. He narrowed his eyes. What on Earth …?
A shockwave tore through Imorean’s bones, hurling him to the ground. He raised his head. Raphael and Gabriel had been thrown down as well. Only Michael stood his ground, four wings flared. Imorean looked up. A paw the size of a pickup truck had crashed into the ground. Black claws as tall as grown men dug into the snow. Brown eyes followed the paw upward. A leg thick as a tree trunk soared up into the fog and out of sight. Another rush of air cleared the mist. Imorean gaped, scrambling to his feet. From the sky itself, a great head peered down at them. Two eyes glimmered with a gray light all their own. A light Imorean recognized.
“What was that you were saying about the element of surprise, Michael?” whispered Gabriel.
The head swung down, gray eyes shining. Mouth wide open, red tongue curled up, massive teeth bared. Imorean had expected Fenrir to be big, but not this big. He could see the wolf’s snout shining now. Those teeth were as long as he was tall, maybe even bigger. He couldn’t move. The mouth was coming. It was going to bite him in half. Or swallow him whole. In a haze of acceptance and fear, Imorean drew his sword.
“Imorean!” shouted Michael.
Imorean barely heard him. He squeezed his eyes shut, sword held in front of him. Fenrir’s snout smashed into his midriff. The great wolf howled in agony and threw its head back, high into the air. Imorean’s feet left the ground. He opened his eyes. He wasn’t dead. He had to be close to one hundred feet in the air, but he wasn’t dead. His sword had stabbed deep into the tip of Fenrir’s nose, saving him from a toothy death. Fenrir stilled and snarled. Imorean locked eyes with the huge wolf. Fenrir chucked his head back, nose to the sky. Imorean’s hands slipped. He lost his grip on his sword. He slid down Fenrir’s nose, skidding to a halt between the wolf’s eyes. Fenrir tossed his head. A cry left Imorean’s throat. Sheer terror. He was hurtling through the air. His wings wouldn’t open. Something crashed into him from below. Blue. This time, Imorean’s wings opened on reflex, jarred back to reality. With a beat, he flew up into the sky.
Raphael. “You all right?”
Imorean panted hard, trying to catch his breath. “I think so.”
“Let’s go! Michael and Gabriel won’t be able to hold him long!”
Adrenaline overriding his terror, Imorean spun in the air, following Raphael down through the clouds to the ground. The earth quaked as Fenrir stamped. Furious. The ground was torn by his paws. Then Imorean saw it. Something silver glinting against the wolf’s black fur. He couldn’t focus on it for long. He rolled, dodging a swipe from Fenrir’s tail. He righted himself, still heading for the ground. He landed hard. Too hard. His legs went out from under him and he rolled along the snow.
“Keep an eye on him!” shouted Raphael, down at Fenrir’s paw, sword out. Imorean
spun, feeling very vulnerable. His sword was not in his hand. He had no defense. Fenrir swung his head, eyes meeting Imorean’s again.
“Draw for Father’s sake!” screamed Raphael, crouching by Fenrir’s back paw, following the thin line of silver wire through the snow.
Imorean spun. “No sword!”
Wings flared as Imorean turned. Fenrir’s mouth was open again. His head moving toward his back paws. Brown eyes spotted blood on Fenrir’s teeth. Raphael swore. Hands landed on Imorean’s side, shoving him down to the snow. Raphael was in his place. Fenrir’s jaws snapped shut. Imorean screamed. Surely Raphael had just been swallowed! Fenrir shrieked. Hot blood spattered the snow red. Imorean’s jaw dropped in silent horror. Raphael balanced on the bridge of Fenrir’s nose. A terrible snarl had both of them baring their teeth. Raphael’s sword buried to the hilt in one of Fenrir’s gray eyes. The wolf roared and reared back. Both front feet left the snow. But Raphael had already leaped to the ground, rolling a few feet. Imorean spotted two flashes of light, one green, the other purple, tearing up toward Fenrir’s raised head. Imorean jumped back as Raphael grabbed him by the jacket and shook him.
“Your sword is in your scabbard!” shouted Raphael. “An angel’s sword will always return to their hand or their scabbard! Now help me with that chain!”
Imorean heaved a breath. He needed to focus. He had to. Raphael led the way back to Fenrir’s hind paw and pulled the chain taut.
“Use your sword and cut me a seven-foot length.”
“Won’t it set him free?” asked Imorean, reaching back and feeling surprise as his hand landed on the hilt of his sword.
“He has chains on all four feet,” said Raphael. The softness was back in his voice. “One length away from this foot will not hurt. We need two cuts from your sword. One to sever it from his foot and the other from its anchor. Now do it!”
Imorean pulled his sword free and swung. It collided with the chain, slicing through it with ease. Rush. Air pulsed. Imorean stumbled forward. Silence. Absolute silence. The world shifted. Raphael looked up and staggered to his feet, one arm outstretched. Imorean narrowed his eyes. Raphael seemed to be moving in slow motion. But why? This was a time to move fast. Raphael opened his mouth as though in a yawn. Imorean inclined his head and blinked. Did Raphael want a handshake? Then the blast hit him. Imorean hurtled backward. His vision spun blue, white, blue, white, gray, blue, white, blue, white. Gray. With a crash that rocked his bones, Imorean smashed to a halt. Sight failed him. Everything folded black. His ears, though, had begun to work once more. With a whine that felt as though it ruptured his eardrums, noise returned. Howling. Cursing. Screaming. Screaming, as Imorean had never heard screaming before, was Raphael. Dizzy and disoriented, he fought to sit up. Blurring and writhing, his vision came back. The snow felt blinding. One of his eyes was stuck shut. Through his remaining eye, Imorean looked around, ignoring the searing pain in his head and the blinding whiteness of the snow. He had landed some distance away from the others. Gabriel and Michael barred Fenrir’s muzzle, one taking either side of the monster. Raphael lay stuck where Imorean had last seen him. Still screaming, his right wing trapped under Fenrir’s paw. Imorean blinked hard. Every time Michael or Gabriel left Fenrir to get to Raphael, the wolf cut them off. All three of them were, in their own way, trapped. Unsteady, Imorean staggered to his feet. His knees were weak. In fact, only one of his knees was weak. He couldn’t feel the other one. Vision bleary, he checked his wings. They were intact. Through one eye, he glared at Fenrir. He, too, would have to pass the wolf to get to Raphael. He could do it. He had to. Pain racking him, Imorean took to the air, flying low and fast toward Fenrir. His wings tucked up high. Speed was of the essence. Fenrir’s gray eyes flicked.
Angels Falling Page 8
