My mind flashed back to Marlow’s safe that Oona and I had uncovered. All the Valkyrie swords that made no sense, that Samael didn’t know what they could be used for. But Marlow had known.
She’d been preparing for the prophecy, for the Drawing of the Nine.
SEVENTY-TWO
Oona sat on the couch with her legs folded underneath her, staring down at my phone and the picture I had taken of the books. Ash sat beside her, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees as he repeated the lines from “Friggadraumr” about the drawing of the nine.
“They mean the swords, right?” I asked as I paced the living room, with Bowie hopping behind me in hopes of getting treats or petting. “That has to be why Marlow had all those swords in her safe.”
“Maybe.” Oona ran her hand through her short hair, but she sounded too shocked for me to be able to tell whether or not she was convinced. “But I still don’t understand what we’re supposed to do with the nine swords. We’re just supposed to get them and the sun will shine?”
Asher glanced out the window at the dark clouds hanging low around the towers. “It doesn’t look like the sun is going to be shining anytime soon.”
“Me and Sloane talked about it, and we think that ‘drawing’ might be a mediocre translation from the Olde Language, and it could really mean more like ‘gathering’ or even possibly ‘wielding,’” I clarified.
“Where is Sloane?” Oona asked, now realizing that I had returned from Ravenswood Academy alone.
“She’s still at the library, seeing if she can find anything else,” I said. “I wanted to hurry back here and talk to you guys, and get this info to Samael as soon as possible.”
I’d rushed back home to talk over my findings with Oona and Asher. He’d been doing research on my laptop, searching online for anything that referenced the Drawing of the Nine, while Oona had been going through her own books. So I had returned to many books spread out throughout the room, all piled up in between empty take-out containers.
Bowie had been nibbling at the corner of one of the boxes, until I stopped him and tossed him a chew stick to keep him occupied.
“How many swords do we have?” Asher asked. “Out of the nine?”
“Mine is Sigrún, and Quinn has Eir, plus the four in Marlow’s safe, so that’s six,” I said, listing them on my fingers. “We’re missing three.”
“What about Marlow’s personal sword, like the one she used working as a Valkyrie? Was that in the safe?” Oona asked.
“No, it wasn’t, but Mördare wasn’t one of the original nine Valkyries,” I said. “There are currently a lot more than nine Valkyries on earth, so there have to be lots of swords beyond the originals.”
“Who were the original nine?” Asher asked.
“Eir, Göndul, Hildr, Mist, Ölrún, Róta, Skögul, Thrúd, and Sigrún,” Oona said, reciting the Valkyries’ names, her words lilting slightly to the tune we’d been taught to sing it to back in school.
“Hildr?” Asher sat up straighter. “That was the name of my mom’s sword.”
“Excellent!” I shouted in excitement and snapped my fingers together. “Now we have seven!”
“Not to rain on your parade, but how do you know that any of these are the right swords?” Oona asked carefully. “And I don’t even mean the ones that Marlow had hidden—which we honestly have no idea about—but even yours. What if somebody thought it would be funny to call your sword Sigrún, but it’s really a random sword?”
“That’s not how it works,” I insisted, but my opinions were based more on hope than actual knowledge. “We don’t name the blades. The Eralim name them. But you’re right. I don’t know how to tell them apart. But Samael should be able to. We have to gather the swords, take them to him, and he should help fill in the blanks for us.”
“That all sounds good,” Oona said, sounding reluctant. She chewed her lip, making her silver studs twist this way and that.
“But?” I asked, addressing her hesitation.
“I’m being cautious, Mal,” she said with a sigh. “The wording is very vague, and we have a lot riding on this.”
“I get that, but … we’re close. I can feel it,” I said, and I wasn’t exaggerating.
There was something in the air. Like an electricity, and I know I wasn’t the only one. On the way back from Ravenswood, everybody seemed to be giving each other an extra-wide berth and walking faster than normal.
“I know,” Oona agreed. “Something is definitely happening soon.”
Asher stood, rubbing the back of his neck as he did. “I should…”
“You should what?” I stopped pacing to look at him more directly.
“I should…” he repeated. He stared at the floor with his eyebrows bunched together, and his faced looked flushed.
“Ash?” Oona asked. “Is everything okay?”
He looked up at me finally, and his stormy blue eyes were completely panicked. His mouth hung open slightly, and his hands fell to his sides as he stared ahead in horror.
“Asher?” I asked as the room began to shake.
It was a slow rumble as the walls and floors began to tremble. Bowie fled into the kitchen to hide, while I braced myself against the doorframe to keep from falling over. A few glasses and knickknacks clattered to the floor, and panicked yelling from other apartments echoed through the walls.
The lights flickered on and off during a brief power surge, and I realized how dark it had gotten. It was early afternoon, and the sky outside was black with storm clouds swirling around and glowing red.
Finally the earthquake stopped, and Asher was still standing in front of the couch, the way he had been the entire time—unmoving, despite all the shaking.
“Asher, what’s going on?” I demanded.
“Remember that we all must die.” Those words came out of Asher’s mouth, but it wasn’t his voice. It was twisted and inhuman.
And the second the words stopped, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he started falling to the floor. Oona dove forward, barely managing to get a throw pillow under his head just as he collapsed onto the concrete and began convulsing.
SEVENTY-THREE
“Asher!” I screamed as I ran to his side. He lay on his back, thrashing and shaking, and I tried to hold his hand.
Oona knelt beside him, watching him with the same intense expression she had when she was studying for a final.
“Why is this happening?” I asked her plaintively.
“I don’t know,” she replied without taking her eyes off him.
Finally he stopped convulsing, though his arms and legs still twitched. His eyes were closed, but the lids kept fluttering.
Suddenly his eyes opened, but they weren’t his eyes anymore. They were pure black from the pupil through the iris through the whites.
In the same inhuman baritone he’d spoken in before, he said, “Ol zir de teloah od oresa.” And then he said it again, and again, like a chant.
“What is he saying?” I asked Oona.
“I know it. I know I should know it,” Oona said softly, more to herself than to me.
Then, as abruptly as it had all started, it stopped. The chanting ended, his body relaxed, and his eyes closed.
“Asher?” I said gently. “Ash?”
Oona sat back, muttering the phrase to herself. “Ol zir de teloah od oresa. I know I just saw it. It’s not…” She trailed off as she crawled over to the coffee table and frantically began flipping through one of the books left open on it.
I stayed with Asher, holding his hand and obsessively watching his chest rise and fall. If he was still breathing, he was still alive. There was still hope.
Right above his heart, a dark spot started to form on his gray T-shirt. Small at first, but it rapidly grew into a big wet splotch.
“Oona!” I shouted. “He’s bleeding!”
“Let me see,” she commanded. “Take off his shirt.”
Asher didn’t wake as I lifted up his shirt, pu
lling it over his head. He still wore a bandage over the marks that had been carved in his chest, but it was soaked red with blood. Carefully, I peeled it off, revealing the throbbing wounds underneath.
The rest of the marks on Asher’s body had already almost completely healed, thanks to the treatment he’d received in Zianna and Oona’s expertise in aftercare. They were little more than raised red scars down his arms and sides. But the ones above his heart were still jagged and raw. The skin was inflamed and puffy, turning dark black right at the edges where the wound gaped open around the symbols that were carved into his flesh.
“They’re not healing,” I realized in horror.
“It’s because they’re not cuts, like the others. This is something deeper.” Oona bent over, staring at them for a moment, before dashing back to her books. “But I think I recognize them. Hold on!”
With Oona otherwise disposed, I balled up Asher’s shirt and pressed against his wounds, stopping the bleeding as best I could.
“Ash?” I whispered, with my lips right up to his ear. “Are you in there? Can you hear me? Come back to me, Asher. Please.”
“I got it!” Oona announced. “It’s Enochian!”
“Enochian? Isn’t that a dead language?” I asked.
“Mostly. It’s the original language of the angels, but it’s not dead to an orginal angel or demon.” Oona scooted back over, so she was sitting closer to Asher with her book splayed open. “The marks on his chest, that first one means darkness and the second one means … possession.”
“Are you saying that Asher is possessed?” I asked.
“Not exactly. I don’t think. Gimme a minute.” She flipped through the pages, frantically reading. “So … if I understand it right, he was saying, Ol zir de teloah od oresa, which means … ‘I am of death and destruction.’”
“Why would he say that?” I asked.
Oona looked at me somberly. “Abaddon is the angel of destruction.”
“Abaddon marked him,” I said with tears in my eyes.
“I think Abaddon marked Asher to be a vessel for him,” Oona explained slowly.
“Asher is his way out of Kurnugia,” I realized. “That’s why they didn’t kill him, and that’s why they let them take him to Zianna. Abaddon wanted him to escape.”
“He didn’t want to miss the end of the world,” she agreed.
“What do we do?” I asked, overriding the shock that my boyfriend had been marked by the angel of destruction. “Can we perform an exorcism?”
“Maybe?” Oona didn’t look very confident. “Abaddon is very powerful.”
Outside, there was a loud bang—a metallic crunching mixed with a rushing sound. Like the time I had heard a car crash into a fire hydrant, except multiplied by a thousand. The apartment building trembled again, and it seemed to sway, though it was hard to say because everything felt off-kilter.
Oona set aside her book and went to the window, presumably to investigate whatever had made that loud noise, but my attention was focused on Asher.
“He’s still alive, so there has to be something we can do,” I persisted.
“Mal, you gotta come here,” Oona said.
“You have all these books. There has to be an answer in one of them!”
“Malin! Come here!” Oona demanded. She stood at the window, with her hands on the glass, staring down at the canal.
I let go of Asher’s hand and stood up, just as the emergency alert sirens began to wail throughout the city. I’d only ever heard them go off for tornado watches or as a test, and when I looked out the window, I saw exactly what the problem was.
The Maneto Canal that ran past our building had been parted, so tidal waves of the putrid water splashed up onto the sidewalks and buildings. On the canal floor, marching in a perfect formation, were rows and rows of skeletons, looking exactly like the ones we had fought at the Gates of Kurnugia.
Leading the way was the massive bull centaur Gugalanna, and on his back rode his queen, Ereshkigal, wearing her crown of bones.
They had broken free from the underworld.
SEVENTY-FOUR
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I asked, hovering over Oona and Asher.
He lay unconscious on the floor, the same way he had been for the past ten minutes, while Oona whipped up a potent tonic. It was a smoky blue that seemed to be continuously shifting between a liquid and a gas.
I hadn’t understood much of how she made it, since I hadn’t been able to watch her. I’d tried waking Asher at first, while she gathered ingredients, and when that didn’t work, I left her to the mixing and muttering in a guttural whisper while I loaded up everything important that I could think of—weapons, bottled water, Oona’s spell book, a first-aid kit.
“No, I’m not sure.” She bit her lip as she carefully drew two milliliters up into a syringe, and then she eyed me over the sharp point of the needle. “I’m not sure of anything right now, but I don’t think we should stay here for any longer than we need to, and you’ve tried everything else to wake him up.”
I went back to the window, watching as the skeletons climbed up the canal support beams to the sidewalk and up the buildings, while still more marched out from the earth in a constant stream of death.
They were climbing up the sides of the Tannhauser Towers, their bony fingers digging into the concrete and metal. While many of the skeletons seemed intent on their mission to get to the top of the buildings, others were breaking in the windows either to crawl inside or pull victims out and throw them to the ground far below.
I didn’t know how we were going to get out, but we couldn’t stay here.
I looked back over my shoulder, watching apprehensively as Oona injected the potion into Asher’s arm. I waited, straining to hear any sound from him over the wailing of the emergency alert sirens.
Finally, after several excruciating seconds, he gasped loudly and sat bolt upright.
“Asher!” I ran over to him and crouched beside him. “Are you okay? Are you still you?”
He blinked at me, his dark eyes stormy and confused. “Who else would I be?”
“Can you stand?” Oona asked. “How are you feeling?”
“Everything hurts, and my heart is racing a mile a minute.” He rubbed his temple. “Why is that siren going off? What’s happening?”
“Ereshkigal escaped with her army of the dead,” I told him as quickly as I could. “We have to go, so you have to get up and walk if you can.”
“Let me get my stuff,” Oona said, and she was already rushing around to gather all the thaumaturgy gear.
Asher was moving slowly, but he got to his feet. When he took a step, he stumbled a little but caught himself.
“Do you think you can handle carrying this?” I asked Asher as I held out my messenger bag filled with weapons. “If you can’t, don’t force it.”
“No, I got it,” he insisted as he took the bag from me and dropped the strap over his shoulder. “What happened to me?”
“I’ll explain later. I have to get Bowie.”
When this was over—assuming we all lived—I would have to send Jude a big thank-you for getting the carrying pack for Bowie. Once I got him hooked in and on my back, I had my hands free, so I grabbed Sigrún, and left the rest of my weapons with Asher.
Oona was ready a moment later, and Asher was pacing, trying to get his bearings back. We were as ready as we were ever going to be to face an army of skeletons, so we headed out into the hall.
With Bowie chittering on my back, I pushed the elevator call button over and over again as the red lights flashed in the hallway. Asher leaned against Oona, still getting his strength back, and once again it wasn’t clear that we were doing the right thing.
But I couldn’t see another choice. We couldn’t sit here and wait to die, which meant that we had to get out and fight.
Finally the elevator doors opened, and I was surprised to find it empty. The lights were out, but the number pad was still lit up, so that was e
nough for me. I hit the button for the basement, and Oona and Asher leaned back against the wall as the elevator started its rapid descent.
The speakers in the elevator’s ceiling let out a long, painfully loud bleat before a robotic automated voice began reading off a warning:
“A civil authority has issued an alert. The following transmission is being broadcast by the Evig Riksdag in conjunction with the United States government. An immortal attack has been released on the city. Due to the uncertain nature of these attacks, all residents should seek out and take shelter. Stay calm and stay in your own homes. Remember there is nothing to be gained by trying to get away. By leaving your homes you could be exposing yourself to greater danger.”
SEVENTY-FIVE
The basement was nearly as dark as the elevator, with only the flashing red light. Oona pulled out her phone to use its flashlight so we could make our way through the maze of storage containers, HVAC tubing and machinery, and various broken equipment and garbage.
Finally we found the concrete stairwell hidden in the side corner, and we raced up. As soon as I pushed open the heavy doors, water came rushing in and poured down the steps around us. The alleyway outside was flooded with a foot or two of the water displaced from Ereshkigal’s parting of the canal.
A few skeletons were above us, climbing the building and breaking through windows, and one was a few feet away standing on an overflowing dumpster. It looked down at me—its eyes mere glowing red pinpoints in the center of its dark sockets—and then it opened its mouth and let out a most inhuman scream.
All of the commotion and the chaos of sounds—the blaring, the demonic scream of the skeletons, the rushing water, people crying and screaming—was too much for Bowie. I felt him wriggling on my back as he tried to hide deeper in the carrier.
My sword was already drawn, so I rushed the skeleton, and it dove at me. I swung my blade, and it slid easily through the bones, like a scythe through grass. As the bones fell to the ground, they turned to ash and quickly dissolved in the murky water.
It was killed so fast, and the others were so preoccupied with their mission, that this should’ve been a relief. But it wasn’t. As the skeleton fell, I could only feel a strange panic. It was like a black void had opened inside me, sucking up everything around that made sense, so only I would be left, alone, confused, and terrified.
From the Earth to the Shadows Page 30
