Hope's Light (Part Four)

Chapter Fifteen - Continuance

Time, fluid in its speed across all realms, inexorably moves forward with each advancing page.

Upon the fundament do towers rise, gleaming with marbled perfection in the undying shine radiating eternally from above. Multitudes of angels, working hand-in-hand and wing-to-wing in the fulfillment of the plans laid out by their cherished Architect, constructing the channels which culminate at the focal point, at the tallest tower of all:

The Throne.

There, at the brightest center, the holy Words of the angels are wrought together, continuously bound and blended, their songs and voices merging into a splendor beyond all splendor.

And there, as the final brilliant strands coalesce into the final phase of structure for which all have striven, behind twin majestic doors a moment of disharmony as two voices, equal in burning passion, clash in argument.

“I tell you, brother: this working is flawed! You must reconsider!”

“How, Samael? How can this sublime evolution be mistaken? Creation grows in leaps and bounds, new Words form in glorious determination to join our brotherhood! Our numbers stretch towards the infinite, our understandings and potentials rise unending with each passing moment!”

“And yet I tell you, here and now, it scratches at my core! I feel it, Helel. I feel the pinging of danger, as strong here at the center of this edifice as out on the Edge of All Things.”

“There is no danger. We follow the Plan, its unfolding more perfect with every beat of our collective wings.”

“A Plan only you view in full! Even Uriel in all his architectural wisdom has confided that he cannot predict the eventual capabilities of the engine you and he have forged. Do you claim to see all, brother?”

“I see enough. I see what must be.”

“Blinded are you by Gabriel’s soft illuminations, submerged within tender compassion and the comfort offered by her wondrous dreams - while ignoring that she was not created alone!”

“We all have endured sacrifice. How many have we lost to achieve the eminence of this stability? Our price has been paid, brother, in the blood of our brethren and of our hearts. Has that not been enough? Must you seek yet more to spill?”

“I seek the fulfillment of my Purpose. Are you so certain that binding ourselves in this fashion yields not a dilution? For I am not.”

“When you witness what our harmonies shall accomplish, you too shall be assured.”

“Tell that then to these untarnished guards who surround your towers, they who look with prejudice and disdain upon we who stand proud against the darkness beyond. We who bear the holy marks of savage service upon our patterns - the service and sacrifice granting these glittering upstarts the very space and time within which to exist! Go and order these growing numbers of untried soldiers to reflect on the true meaning of harmony and what it requires to achieve! For me and mine shall be elsewhere.”

“Where will you go?”

“Leviathan may slumber, the Chaos does not. From its infinite potentials new archons ever stir, and their pain-filled rages and ego-induced insanities threaten continuous past the boundaries. We therefore shall depart, back to our realms along the Edge. As ever have we been the true guardians of all that is, unyielding and eternal in our sacred duty - and through our struggle is allowed your safety and experimentation at the center. When you achieve that of true worth with which to prove your points, send word and I shall surely come.”

In challenge one angel departs, and the other remains.

Though not without a pause of silence in the midst of crescendos from the voices singing the surrounding symphony.

Even the Book goes still, as if itself in deepest contemplation, before finally flickering on.

“That’s absurd.”

I couldn’t help but stare at the crown of gold. Physically its form was simple.

In reality it was anything but.

“Is it?” Asmodeus ran a finger along its gleaming circle, the metal shining from the stored power within. “Tell of this: when you set out to find me, what had you intended to offer in return for the Regent’s lost feathers?”

“I hadn’t entirely decided.”

“Humor me with possibilities.”

“Honestly? Either to threaten to tear your realm apart…or save it by replenishing the Light needed to maintain its existence.”

He chuckled, a note building slowly until booming laughter caused his chest to wheeze which forced the sound’s clipped end. “And yet,” he said past the gasp, “you still perceive the taking of this crown as absurd? Priceless, absolutely priceless.”

“Hell is fragmented, isn’t it? Are you saying that the other Sarim would accept me as their queen?”

“Not all. But enough.”

“Enough?” I shook my head. “The city of Dis itself is already a mess! Wouldn’t me trying to claim the throne of Hell throw each realm into war?”

“Existential threats make for interesting allies, would you not agree? As in the past, and always. We fools scrambling upon the echoes of what we once were cannot stand against Leviathan, not as we have become. Your Nathanael, he shines brighter than all who have crossed unto Hell but Lucifer - yet his strength flows through your Word. Yours. And even he cannot stand against Leviathan.”

“Not alone.”

“Exactly. The First himself required our aid - and our sacrifice.”

“What of those who wouldn’t join?”

“We either unite or be subsumed unto the Abyss. We do what we must - be it with or against one another. And we are fully aware that Elohim will not open His barred gate to send reinforcements.”

“Do we?” Turning away, I chewed a lip while Camael’s brilliant feathers painted glowing crimson across my cheeks. “Michael would also do whatever is necessary.”

“And should he cross in force, this would leave Heaven undefended. Azrael’s great tear is a glaring flaw within Creation - and through it entities of Chaos also attempt access. Michael can no more leap that gap as abandon his post entire. We stand or die here, the only assistance from Above…is you.”

“What makes you think I want to save all of you in the first place?! You rebelled against Heaven - I’ve dreamed of that slaughter, Asmodeus! And the horror of it remains beyond comprehension!”

“Because you are here. Returned to Hell.”

“So??”

“You are of Gabriel as much as Lucifer. And I have felt the grace of her heart. There are certain to be those here in Hell for whom you hold great affection and would keep safe.”

“Are you threatening my friends?!” I spun around, wings flaring as power flowed to fists.

He raised a placating hand, the crown now resting upon his lap. “Peace, dear lady. I myself have no need for such uncouth dramatics. In my view, the threats of Leviathan and her children are alone sufficient. From that a coalition may be forged.” White teeth sparkled behind a sly and calculating grin. “Or have I misunderstood what Prince Camael witnessed within the Light of Lights? What says your center, your Purpose! Already have we witnessed your penchant for self-sacrifice, efforts worthy of plinths of their own within this garden!” The single eye flared with intense scrutiny. “For what do you fight, oh Amariel? Why think you that you are here?!”

I fell silent, and the being before me who had spawned so much pain and suffering as to break the heart of hardened stone remained in mirthful and dreadfully focused observation.

Camael once told me that Creation’s needs and mine were one. Was this part of her need?

I was Conquest, the first Rider of the Apocalypse, breaker of the first Seal - and destined to wear a crown. I had one already, worn for my fae realm of dreams, but was that the crown which was foretold?

Or was it this one?

Did Creation itself need me take it up?

Did Twitch and all the others?

Shit.

“I don’t want it,” I said, taking a half step back.

“Of course not. Nor did your father when first he arrived.”

“Then why did he take it?”

“He claimed Hell served a purpose.”

“To defend against the Chaos?”

“That, and more.”

“More? What more?”

He laid a palm over the crown. “I dare not surmise.”

“Without knowing, maybe I’m not ready for this.”

A choking laugh racked a damaged body. “Perhaps! Perhaps. But oh-so-many clocks are ticking.”

“I still desire Camael’s wing returned, Asmodeus. And any information on where he may be found.”

“The price of acquisition remains as stated. As for his location - why, I have not the faintest idea. I left him to do what he does best: slaughter until the blood and gore renewed him with their stench. And if your vision is so incomplete that you cannot sift the tapestry for one such as him, then despite these wounds of mine a challenged duel between us would not tilt in your favor.”

“You’d fight me? But don’t you wish me to rule?”

“We never shall serve the weak.” His head shifted and silver hair again fell to cover the ruined side of his face. “You should go. And when those inner doubts are conquered to take up what must be, then return. I will be here still, waiting to witness the glorious pearls of your revelations before allowing myself to finally end.”

With a touch the crown disappeared, and the broken angel began to wheel himself further into this tortured garden of celebrated sacrifice and horrendous struggle.

No matter how much death and destruction each had in turn caused to be.

Emerging back into the salt-filled fog enshrouding high and shadowed basalt, thoughts continued to run amok. Nick reclined against a stone while Tsáyidiel rested in panther form nearby, and both looked to the other upon seeing my expression.

“It not go well?” asked Nick, slowly pushing himself onto his feet.

“Not sure yet.”

“The realm is still intact so you two didn’t come to blows at least.” He grinned, brushing black sand from his heavily-stained coat.

“No. But what he said might be worse than even that.”

The smirk faded. “You didn’t get the wing?”

“I didn’t like the markup on the window tag. Was ridiculously steep.”

“Usually is. So what now?”

Tsáyidiel approached, rubbing whiskers and muzzle against a thigh, and I reached down to scritch between his ears. “Now? The cats are out of the bags, therefore I think it’s past time to make a phone call. So shut up for a minute.”

Nick swallowed whatever additional snark he was about to say, and merely nodded.

Closing two eyes in favor of inner ones as wings flared brighter still, I first reached within…and then without, tracing the connections the true Name at my center had forged in radical brilliance. Finding the one I wanted, I sent out a pulse of power.

“Nathanael! Hear me!”

The response was instant. “Amariel!” Gladness spiked along the linkage at the contact, but also a twinge of sadness for what the contact implied. “You’re back.”

“Yes, much has happened. Where are you?”

A strong touch of his former incarnation’s accent came across, even in the pure communication of the angelic language. “Traipsing through the Halls of Golab, searchin’ for a rat amidst this stink of debauchery.” An image of demons and souls writhing wetly over each other in a monumentally vast orgy pit flashed briefly - one complete with acrid sound, smell, and even taste.

Yeah, I so hadn’t needed that.

Ignoring the tactilely disgusting sensorium, I asked, “Chasing Leviathan’s child?”

“You’re more up to speed than expected. Camael find you?”

“No, Asmodeus filled me in. Camael is missing - and wounded.”

“That can’t be good. You need me?”

“You’re with Lilith, right? Can she fight that thing by herself?”

“She says no. This one is bad, it’s more cunning than usual. Been quite a challenge to find.”

“Wouldn’t the impingement of Chaos make its location obvious?”

“It’s from beyond Creation - size and location are practically meaningless. Wherever its contact attunes becomes a mess to sort out, like playing whack-a-mole with infinities. We’ve been tracking and playing cleanup - and we think it’s shifted and may now be searching out a target of its own.”

“Raziel’s Book fell to Hell. Could it be after that?”

“Well shoot. You know, that’s quite possible. That explains your return too, now don’t it?”

“I followed the book to Dis. Any idea where Camael would go if hurt?”

“Unless someone picked up Beliel’s toothpick again, how’s that even possible? Did Samael make a move?”

“It’s my fault, I’ve still got pieces of the Regent’s armor - and the exposed weakness was exploited.”

“By who?”

“An incredibly stupid yet clever Grigori with a grudge.”

“Heck. Did the Regent finally kill the idiot?”

“No. Instead he saved him. And now that idiot is helping me.”

“Barakiel is with you??”

“Yes.”

“Well I’ll be. Not sure that’s wise, but what do I know. Just watch your back around that one - as Camael must not have done, astounding as that is. Maybe the clash with Azazel hurt him more than he ever let on.”

“You need me on this hunt? I saw what that thing’s sibling did to Asmodeus.”

“If we can find it, I think Lilith and I can handle the fight. If not, I’ll shout. But we should get it quick before the blight reaches its quarry.”

“That I can help with. Tsáyidiel is also with me.”

“The Hunter is here? Color me pleasantly surprised! Though you sure you don’t want him working with you in finding Camael?”

I paused. If Camael - the strongest of the Powers and the Rider of the Apocalypse known as War - hadn’t been wounded, then I’d have thought differently, as his help against this shard of Leviathan would have been incredibly useful. But gambling who knows how many souls in Hell that we could find him before the offspring of what the Bible had termed ‘the Beast’ accomplished whatever it was up to didn’t sit well.

Crud.

Light flickered and focused within. “Your assessment, Nathanael of the Powers - where doth the strategic priority lie?”

“I don’t like leaving our Captain danglin’ in the wind, ma'am. But Chaos and the Abyss beyond are the greater threat.”

“Then shall I send Tsáyidiel to you, and pursue Camael myself with only aid from the tragic betrayer.”

“Get more reliable help than that. Contact the Lilim.”

“Do Lilith’s children still pass through Epsilon? The perch within their tower in Dis lies compromised and ruined.”

“Maybe. The outpost is as good a place to start as any. They had strong ties with that duke.”

“What of the others?”

“There were some disagreements on supporting the uprisings. But when last I saw ‘em, Twitch and Maddalena were off to investigate the resurgence of stories of Sanctuary, and if possible make use of their belief.”

“Resurgence?”

“Your activities stirred many pots, ma’am. Sanctuary is some really old legend amongst the souls, but folks started talkin’ about it again: a safe place for enlightened souls and the Pilgrim who leads them there.”

“And the rest? Balus and the mercenaries?”

“Odd jobs and training. Look, I’ve been long out of touch, what with chasing Leviathan’s sneezes. And time itself is starting to get real wonky.”

“A convergence approaches. So proclaimed the angel Eth to Raphael.”

“Eth? Shee-it, that explains the stream bucking wildly at the Edge like a stallion near fillies in spring heat. It’ll snap around like a whip before reaching alignment.”

“All the more cause for urgency. Tsáyidiel shall fly forthwith to grant you assistance. Be well, Nathanael. And should you have need - I will come.”

“Appreciated, ma’am. We’ll be in touch. Stay safe, and mind your six.”

Opening eyes, I looked down to where fingers still curled within the fur atop Tsáyidiel’s head. I’d kept him in the loop on the conversational threads, so he was fully up to speed. Gorgeous yellow eyes of a cat swiveled upwards.

“I mislike leaving you, my Queen.”

“Yet such is necessary. Should this intrusive entity be found - do not engage unless you are confident in success. The Powers charge in where others dare not, as likely does Lilith. Call and I will burn with speed the spaces between to reach and aid you, my beloved Hunter - and woe unto any impediments interfering with the path to your side.”

After another nuzzle, the panther moved off a few paces and - with a shake of head and body - four glorious wings of darkest night emerged from his back as the panther’s face transformed to a mighty raven’s. Dropping the small pack holding the rest of the currency and cred stick, he emitted a loud caw and bounded into the air to speed off in pursuit of the link between himself and Nathanael as provided by the connections within my heart.

Once he’d disappeared into the mist, Nick spoke up. “Why do I sense plans have changed?”

“Only for him. We still go to find Camael.”

“Yeah, well, in case you’ve forgotten - he was my ride.”

I turned to stare at the former magician. “Then prepare to suck up your male pride. It’s time I started carrying my own weight, or in this specific case: yours.”

“Was afraid of that. Though as I’m obviously not welcome here, beggars can’t be choosers. Where to?” Nick bent down to retrieve the pack.

“Beliel’s Rock, Darkside.”

“Huh. Should have brought a thicker coat.”

Spreading wings, I stepped over to him, and with a quick scoop picked him up much as Camael had once carried Aradia against his armored chest.

Though mine wasn’t currently clad in leather. The bearded knave wisely didn’t comment on the cushioning of his position. Instead he asked, “Know the way? Please say yes.”

I thought back to Alal’s words regarding perception and location. “Don’t need to. After two years of living there, I know the place’s pattern rather intimately. I bet I can go direct.”

Before he could freak out, Light flared, and with perfect recall of a wide solid metal gate set against a hill of many caves under an empty sky of perpetual darkness, all perception shifted instantly.

And we were simply there.

The transition didn’t agree with Nick. Immediately he scrambled free to splatter the full remnants of his last meal across reddish-black stone and ice.

A ridiculously tall guard shack sat before the gate, though it’d been rebuilt from pieces of the last one. It also had an odd and impressively large addition hanging from the awning: a mighty bronze gong. A crudely armored demon with the head of a scale-covered elephant - complete with massive tusks atop a sumo wrestler’s rice-packed body - stepped out of the structure, and stiffened to stare at us in surprise. Preparing for the immense beast to shout, “Mark!” like the previous guard Biff used to do, I held out my palm so its identifying glow would join with the wings.

But instead of shouting, the demon’s eyes boggled like massive dinner plates, and with a wordless half-muffled cry the brute lifted a huge club and began beating on the gong, one deafening note after the other.

Completing the fourth note (and before we could beg him to stop destroying eardrums) he dove face-first to the frozen dirt, trunk and tusk emitting a fifth drumbeat with the mighty impact.

The impressive gate across the outpost’s front cavern shuddered and began to scrape its way open. From inside an answering gong sounded - even louder than this one. Behind the gate, demons and souls rushed into that cavern, each spreading out before they too fell to knees - some prostrate with head lowered, and others with hands uplifted as the illumination cast by shining wings filled the chamber to bathe enraptured faces.

And directly above the outpost, within that blanket of perpetual night under which I had often slept upon a creaking wagon, a single spark broke the darkness.

A new and solitary star shone brightly, just as Pierre’s soul had said.

Chapter Sixteen - Grace

Over thirty demons and souls genuflected before me.

And I had no idea how to respond.

Lowering the marked hand, I glanced at Nick for guidance - but the magician wiping a sleeve at the mess sticking to his beard only shrugged.

Taking a step forward, I was about to say something (don’t ask me what!) when a voice coming from the back of the cavern called out over everyone’s lowered heads.

“I dinnae believe me eyes. Jordan…that you, lassie?!”

Finding the source, I smiled with relief. “Barry!”

Ignoring everyone, the burly and wide-bearded Scotsman bounded across the floor. With a happy shout mighty arms wrapped around my torso, pulling me off the ground - wings and all! - to spin us fully about while he laughed. “Is really you!”

Many gasped at his audacity, but since I hugged him fiercely in return they quieted. “Great to see you too, ya big lug!”

Gently he placed my feet back on the ground so he could again tower above, then took a step back. “Look’t all them feathers!”

I grinned up at the black-leathered warrior. “I can put them away if you want.”

“Ach, noo! They’re real pretty-like!”

From behind him a voice cracked. “Reaper Barry! We should…we should properly greet our honored guest.”

Barry chuckled. “Tha’s exactly what I were dooin’.”

As tall as the massive reaper was, the asparagus-textured praying mantis demon behind him was taller still. “Hello Tuthos,” I said. “Been awhile. You in charge of Epsilon now?”

“I am captain here, yes.”

“What’s with the welcome?” I glanced meaningfully at the crowd hanging on our every word.

Mantis forelegs rubbed rapidly against each other. “Many are they who have prayed in the belief that this would be where you would return.”

Stepping aside, Barry clapped my back between the wings with another laugh. “And they was right!”

“I see.” Noticing how the small mob wore a mix of medieval-style armor and thick winter wrappings, my outfit shifted back to the white cuirass and boots I’d worn to go yell at Nick. “In that case, Captain, may I suggest we hold a discussion somewhere more private?”

Solid grey eyes didn’t blink. Not sure if they could, actually. Do praying mantises have eyelids? “That…can be arranged. But what, what should we call you?”

“Bah,” scoffed Barry. “She’s still our Jordan. Cannae not tell?”

Tuthos looked like he was about to have a stress-induced panic attack. Wow, he really was nervous.

I gave what I hoped was a disarming smile. “Jordan, Amariel, ‘Hey You’, I’ve gotten used to a ridiculous number of names and titles.”

“Then please,” said the captain, “We invite you to our outpost, Lady Amariel. And your companion.”

“Thank you. You can call him Nick if you want.”

Barry started to snicker, but I thumped him with an elbow as I stepped past and crossed into the cavern.

As I did, a three-eyed and many-horned indigo-skinned demon near the front cried out, “Hail Amariel!”

The crowd immediately responded, their unified shout echoing across the chamber. “Hail our savior! Hail the Lady of Light!!”

They all then raised their heads awaiting my response, and the demons among them were just as transfixed as the souls.

Uh. Right.

“Thank you,” I said, raising a hand in acknowledgment. “Hail to you all. Please…rise and return to your duties. There is much I must discuss with your captain.”

That seemed to mollify them, though a few were obviously disappointed that I didn’t immediately give a speech. Or, to be more precise, a sermon.

Yikes.

Most got to their feet, clearing a path to the tunnel leading off to where my old captain, Erglyk, had held staff meetings, and we bustled our way to it. The last time I’d seen that room, the table had been tossed aside, with the maps on the walls slashed in case they covered hidden safes. The conference table, being made of dark felwood, had apparently survived - except for all the additional dents and scratches.

After we shuffled in, Tuthos waited for me to sit first so I tucked wings away and took a side chair. The outpost captain then performed a minor miracle and managed to also perch his insectoid body on a chair. Barry pulled out a seat next to mine and turned it around so he could sit backwards, resting thick forearms across its back. As for Nick, he yawned and took a seat at the end before propping feet up on the table’s surface.

A glare from me didn’t faze him about it either - he just grinned.

They all waited for me to speak first.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s start with…what’s the deal with the crowd out there?”

Tuthos’ mandibles quivered, but it was Barry who answered.

“You saved us,” the broad-muscled reaper said, merriment sliding into seriousness. “Everyone on this here lump o’ rock, every last soul ‘n demon ‘n devil, when tha darkness threatened to tear the realm apart.”

“So send me a medal or something.”

Barry shook his head. “Ye touched us, dearie. When everything we were was bein’ pulled to pieces, ye held us together in yer Light. None of us - none - can ever ferget that.”

“Beliel’s mace held it-”

“No, lass,” he interrupted. “’Twas you, with yer shining heart, what preserved us.”

Tuthos spoke up. “Our spirits, all of us, still exist because of…of you.” The mantis kept those solid eyes focused on the table. “For us demons, we…we’d never felt anything like that before.”

Barry snorted. “True for most souls too, Captain. We be a sorry lot down here.” The Scotsman looked back to me. “I had the chance to talk to the loungin’ eejit there once,” he said, pointing at Nick, “And he tried to explain somethin’ bout layers of spirit. Yer mah Jordan, mah friend, and forever a fellow reaper. But yer also a lot more. And yer love saved us when nothin’ else would…or even could.”

“Oh.” I bit a lip, heat flushing both cheeks.

Nick pulled his feet off the table. “Through you they touched the divine. And some will desperately seek another taste for the rest of their days. You know, I warned Director Goodman about that once.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Told him you’d probably trigger your own religion. Never imagined it’d start in Hell.” To the other two, Nick then asked, “How widespread is her cult?”

Barry pondered. “Even after the Apostle’s doomed revolt, it’s still all over-like. Twitch and Madalena, that priestess of hers, tried to moderate its growth - but just as on Earth, folks splintered into camps of differin’ belief.”

I boggled at him. “You’re kidding.”

Tuthos’s mandibles shook again. “The Ducal council outlawed prayer to you. This drove everything underground, and the Apostle and his faction disappeared.”

I groaned. “They fled to Dis. What were they preaching anyway? That’d I’d come back and…and what?!”

Barry reached out to rest a calloused hand on my shoulder. “That ye’d purify demons and souls alike of our ‘orrible sins. And free us, each and every one, from Hell.”

All the warmth from earlier fled my face.

Nick looked first at the table and then around to catch the others’ attentions, his words uncharacteristically gentle. “We’ve traveled a long way. Maybe we should get some rest before talking more.”

Tuthos nodded. “That…may be a good idea.”

After a quick squeeze of the shoulder, Barry stood. “Dinner’ll be served in a wee bit.” He smiled warmly at me. “No Cookie, Ahm afraid. But it’ll still be filling-like. Come, lassie. Yer room is exactly as ye left it.”

I blinked. “It is?”

The Scotsman’s smile broadened. “Aye, none be crazy daft to touch them wards of yers!” He moved behind me to help scoot back the chair, and then politely opened the conference room door.

With thoughts still swirling wild, and a stomach pondering over how not happy it was with the mind’s churnings, I let him lead me down the blue crystal-lit corridors until we stood outside the thick double doors I’d left what seemed like a lifetime ago.

For me the doors easily opened, and my gaze immediately locked onto the hot tub excavated straight into the stone floor.

Barry, noticing what had immediately received my attention, chuckled.

“Goon, then. Get yer coorie in. I’ll fetch’n some towels.”

And he did too.

As soaks went, it wasn’t as good as I remembered.

Maybe that was due to not having any of the fancier salts I used to purchase from the Lilim at the cost of small fortunes for the smallest of bags. Maybe it was from no longer being acclimated to the strong scent of sulfur along with the other odd elements suffused into the water pulled up from below the mountain.

Or maybe the pool just wasn’t deep enough to shoulder the thoughts burdening my conscience.

Before I knew it, Barry politely-yet-firmly banged on the doors and called through them.

“Oi, lass! Dinner’ll be ready soon-like.”

“Give me a minute!”

“Just head oon to the dining hall, yeah? I gotta scrub up ‘n all.”

I shouted that I’d be there, climbing out of the tub into not-quite-freezing air which nevertheless sent quick shivers across bare skin. When I used to lurk behind these doors, I’d have needed to quickly get dry, and would hurriedly rewrap myself within the layers of cloth I’d scraped together with Twitch’s kind help and his expert sewing skills. And while Vance continuously had cajoled to get me to buy a mirror, the room didn’t have one - the last thing I had wanted was to stare at the reflection of a beautiful woman lost to heavy grief and buried confusion. Now, though, I didn’t need a mirror for a different reason - because I knew exactly how I looked, and no longer did the striking feminine form cause any mental twinges.

No, today’s internal discomforts were firmly due to the forms and patterns beyond the physical body and all they truly implied.

But being in denial wasn’t going to help anyone. With a glance at the unneeded towels, a pulse removed the excess cooling moisture from hair and skin, and a recreation of the old reaper’s whitish-beige outfit simply appeared in place - thick winter boots and all. Waves of sunrise-kissed hair much longer than I’d maintained before draped across my back, pulled from the face by tight braids starting at the temples and tied together behind the head as the rest cascaded through them.

One other difference, however, were the black and gold of Camael’s bracers set above the cloth and hidden no longer.

Armored thusly I exited and made my way to the dimly lit dining hall.

Correction: to the practically overflowing dimly lit dining hall.

Within the cavern was placed three rows of long tables and benches, where nearly double the number of spirits and souls had gathered than had met us at the entrance. Considering the most we’d ever had on hand before in the previous cycles was maybe twenty or so, this was a much higher headcount than I’d have ever expected.

The low murmur of conversation dropped instantly into absolute silence as I appeared at the doorway. Faces, all of them different, stared at me.

And all, upon coming into focus, I knew. We had never met, yet we had.

There sat Frank Jeremiah Robinson, engineer at a popular beverage bottling plant, dead at sixty from a hot dog and beer consumption ratio which had caused his cardiologist to have palpitations of her own. Now here in Hell serving as technician for the outpost’s water purification systems, as his soul lay heavy within his chest from never mustering the courage to open his heart to another person - dying alone in a barely-furnished apartment from grief after his only trusted companion, his cat Whiskers, had met her own sad end in the road out front.

At his side was Kalgisha, a blue-skinned demoness with a jaw too broad for the rest of her feather-covered head, who had upon maturity been forced into the pleasure services of her local liege. Both souls within her, the two of them sisters, glimmered softly with the sorrows of women rolled over by the march of war - used and discarded by soldiers whom they didn’t have the strength to resist even while witnessing the rape and murder of their mother. Both forever wondering if their mom could have escaped had she not been burdened by the need to continue feeding her daughters.

And across from her sat Treyvor Galpin, a man destitute from a lifetime of schemes and lies, using each and every lover for whatever they could offer, until his eventual death in a rain-soaked alley from addiction to drugs he could no longer afford. Who upon arrival to the Rock had become a serf farmer, laboring to clear poisonous fields to grow the crops needed to salve the hunger of hordes of abusive demons both here and upon other realms.

Until, that is, the day that everything changed.

The day the sky collapsed, and the ground fractured - when everything he knew of himself began to shred, piece by piece, into the forever Dark.

And just as he had sighed a final resignation, then and only then, had the Light come.

Streaking across the heavens as brightly as she had across his heart, urging him to continue, urging him to exist. For she loved even those such as him.

Especially those like him.

And she grieved terribly over their losses and sorrows, each and every one.

I stood as a statue in the doorway, fighting the urge to gather them all into my arms, to hold them close, to whisper to them that it was all going to be okay.

Except I didn’t know if it was.

I just didn’t know.

It was Nick who took my hand and led me to the table at the front, the one resting under the portrait of a ridiculously corpulent demon resting a wide and blubbery silk-covered behind more on a small couch than a throne. Guided to sit, I did so, abstractly watching as cups then were filled with water freshly decanted from the distillery. Bowls had already been laden with graxh and not-potato stew, the steamy aroma rising towards the rocky ceiling.

My cup, unlike theirs, held a deep burgundy wine.

Nothing had broken that total silence, and everyone took hold of their cups. And they all looked to me.

My god, they expected me to say something.

Barry leaned in to whisper, “They be hopin’ you’ll say grace.”

“I don’t know it.” Eyes pleaded to him to do something.

“Then pick someone, lass. Grant them the honor.”

Nodding, I gazed back out at the room, and after clearing a throat in sudden need of that wine, I called out across the hall. “Frank Robinson! By thy labor are our cups filled this day. Please speak from thine heart.”

All attention swiveled upon poor Frank. But with a nod the rather rotund man in simple grey tunic and pantaloons stood, his chair scraping loudly across the polished stone floor. Raising a cup high with nervous fingers, his balding head bowed towards me.

And he gave the benediction everyone waited for.

“It is said, that upon gathering before the feast, the warriors of the Star did squabble, and turn greed and anger one upon the other. Seeing this, She of the Light grew wroth and rebuked them with words and pain that they should forget them not. For unto their ears and their spirits did She speak, that all would hear and listen.”

He paused, as one would between verses, then continued.

“To them were these words given: ‘To eat besides one’s comrades is sacred, for these are your brothers and sisters who stand beside you upon the fields of glory and battle. Guard them always, as they guard you. Respect not such a holy bond and be found unworthy in my sight. Remember these words, my warriors, whenever you shall eat as you await my return.’”

In unison did the hall then fill with their unified shouted response:

“We fight as one! We guard each other, as She guards us - for She shall find the way! Amen!”

The cup was in my hand, and with a raised salute to Frank, I too spoke:

“Amen.”

We all drank.

And as whispers grew again to excited volumes, we lifted spoons and ate.

It may not have been one of Cookie’s wondrous stews like Barry had warned, but it held an amazingly unique and special flavor all its own.

“So lass, ye really did escape back to Earth?”

Dinner had concluded, with Tuthos ordering everyone back to work. For most of the meal those of us at the head table had remained quiet, with Barry filling awkward silences with fresh humorous tales of the random souls the reapers continued to gather - and in greater numbers than before.

Once the dining hall had cleared out, leaving the four of us alone again, the conversation had again turned serious - with Barry daring to ask just where the heck I’d been.

I nodded. “Yeah, I did. For all of what, six weeks?” My wine cup was almost empty, but I waved off Nick’s offer to refill it from the bottle on the table.

He, of course, poured more into his own cup.

“Aye,” nodded Barry. “We been trackin’ the time progression from the newcomers. And these latest batches speak of big things gooin on up top, some crazy stories.” A grin split his beard. “What’cha get up to then, eh?”

“Nothing much. I just refactored the fourth Seal is all.” I drank a last sip. Hmm. Maybe I should have let Nick refill the cup, Tuthos really had brought out a good vintage.

The thirsty magician paused his own deeper draught. “Refactored? What exactly did you do?”

“Freed the fae and other supernaturals from its binding - except for angelics and their children.”

He blanched. “Jesus. That’ll cause a right mess.”

I picked up the bottle. It was now empty. “Maybe.”

“Sure.” Nick snorted. “And ‘maybe’ their sun will rise in the East. Though with the godly lot on the loose, the betting line on the dawn will shift.”

Ignoring him, I turned to Barry. “How do I find the Lilim? Or Twitch?”

Barry and Tuthos exchanged a look of surprise. The green captain leaned forward. “You do not know?”

“Know what?”

The bearded Scotsman tilted his head in confusion - and obviously hesitant worry. “We figured ‘twas why you was here, lass. Why you came back.”

Fears mounted and then immediately rode rampant as a disquieting feeling rose with it, and with the flat of a palm I smacked the table. Hard. Enough to cause the wood to fissure. “Just tell me, dammit!!”

Tuthos recoiled in obvious terror. Barry though raised large placating hands. “Whoa, lass!”

“I’ve had a crazy-ass day,” I snapped. “So spill it!”

The mantis demon swallowed. “Perhaps it should wait until after a sleep-”

“No!” The split widened as I pressed harder.

Barry’s eyes grew with the crack. “The twins and their father - they’ve been taken to trial by the entire Ducal Court. Word arrived two sleeps ago.”

“Trial? Whatever the heck for??”

Carefully pushing his chair away from the possibly unstable table, Tuthos’ mandibles vibrated. “Violating the sacred edicts of the Sarim.”

I shot Barry a harsh glare demanding clarification.

“Aye,” he said, finally letting deep inner concern show full behind his eyes. “They been arrested for smugglin’ all them Tears of Beliel. ‘Tis a capital offense, as decreed and mandated by the lofty ‘n feathered rulers over all of Hell.”

And with that fearful worry also shone his unbridled hope:

That I’d fix this too and save our friends.

Shit.

Chapter Seventeen - Needles

Beliel’s Tears, the waters of Lethe. The stuff had many names and had spawned legends both in Hell and on Earth.

And had almost allowed a Chaos-infected jerk subsume and conquer the angelic princes of the damned.

Imbued with Beliel’s desire to forget tragic history, the ice which had surrounded the ancient throne within the inverted tomb he had created for himself would work that effect upon those who drank or were splashed by enough of it. For demons and souls it was employed to wipe the mental slate clear when eternity became too much a burden to carry, but for fallen angels it did something worse: it threatened to dissolve their coherency entire, as with hollow cores deprived of a connection to the source of all things the only way they had to keep themselves together was to fiercely maintain a grip on who they once were. To block those memories would untether them from their sense of self, unraveling their will to even exist. Hence the substance being universally banned by the Sarim due to the threat it posed against them.

Which, of course, meant the Tears immediately became available on the black market at outrageous prices.

I stared at the giant green mantis. “If they’re going after the Lilim traders, won’t they be going after you too?”

He clicked uncomfortably. “Me?”

“C’mon Tuthos, you were in charge of the Hole before Valgor’s mistress got annoyed with you. They’ll know that there’s no way you weren’t involved in the mining and smuggling operation to get that stuff out. Erglyk’s gathered fortune just for acting as a storage depot here at Epsilon probably pales in comparison to yours. Vance and the Lilim got the stuff off-realm, but their traveling troupe were transport not supply.”

“I…I am innocent!”

Light flared from my eyes. “You and I both know better.”

He flinched and looked away. “Orders are for me to return on the next delivery train back to the Hole.”

“Then they’re going to arrest and kill you too. What are you going to do?”

“I…I do not know. Out here, there is nowhere to run.”

Unfortunately he was likely right about that. “How did you hear about the trial? They wouldn’t have let on.”

A thin black tongue flicked past insect lips. “Word regarding the Lilim came from, shall we say, less official channels. From those who are in my debt.”

I thought for a moment. “Did they arrest Valgor?”

“Not that I was told.”

“But he was in on it.” Closing eyelids, the Light searched within - and found the moment when I’d also touched the corpulent duke and all the enslaved souls within him. Huh, he was even fatter than the portrait above us displayed.

“They possess no proof. If the Lilim included him in their bribes, I am unaware of it.”

The past filtered through the remembered contact. “The Lilim were careful. Duke Valgor received oversized payments to allow the traders to travel the outposts, and he was encouraged to keep you and Erglyk in your positions. Amongst others. He suspected exactly what they were doing - but deliberately had no direct knowledge of it. The entire operation must have been Vance’s. Much to my lack of surprise.”

Barry huffed. “If’n Vance implicates the Duke to that Council, they’ll kill Valgor too. The Duke’ll need the Lilim executed quick-like to ensure their silence. Him being tha mighty hero whose forces defended the Hole from Azazel’s effrontery won’t protect him from this.”

I smirked ruefully. “My forces, you mean.”

Tuthos stuttered. “Under contract!”

“Yeah, yeah.” I waved the demon off. Thinking further, I turned to Nick who’d been uncharacteristically quiet. “Any thoughts?”

The Grigori was sitting there slowly twirling his bronze cup. “Yeah, but you’ll not like ‘em.”

That earned him a snort. “I’d tell you to spill it, but that cup of yours is empty.”

A tattooed palm let go of the chalice. “You’re missing the bigger picture.”

“Oh?”

“You really think Vance would work such an enterprise without his mother’s approval? Remember where their portal went. You know, the one they carried you through when you were Chaos-cursed. Which made you a pain to follow after, I might add.”

Things finally went click, and I groaned. “The storage racks phased out of sync. They used Lilith’s embassy in Dis to store the Tears.”

Nick nodded. “Diplomatic cover. Clever.”

I chewed at a thumb. “Abagor was a victim at the Conclave. But he’s the ultimate ruler over Beliel’s Rock. Could he have known?”

The magician shrugged. “If he did, he’d have violated his primary charge of custodianship. And if he wasn’t aware…” Nick looked meaningfully at me.

Implications were obvious, even to the idiot sitting in my chair. “If he didn’t know, he’s gonna be super pissed.”

“Yep.”

Oh heck. “Then either way, he’ll want everyone dead.”

“Like I said, you weren’t going to like it.”

Thoughts raced. “How long do these trials take?”

Tuthos shook his head. “A real trial can take cycles. But urgently political ones with predetermined outcomes rarely delay.”

“Then I need to be there.”

Nick coughed. “You think you can take out Abagor? He’s a Prince of the Maschitim, a created destroyer. And he has his own cohort. Maybe we should find Camael first and-”

A fist pounded the table. Fortunately it still didn’t break. “No! That will have to wait. I have to go. Like right now.”

“The train,” Barry said while tugging on his long beard, “It won’t arrive fer many more sleeps, and transition through the Hole will take-”

I cut him off too. “No train. And I’ll slip through the Hole myself - if I can fall through a hotel, I can do this.”

Nick crossed arms, hands going under his armpits as if cold despite the warmth of the dining hall. “No offense, but I’m not stupid enough to be a part of challenging Abagor and his crew. Maybe you can survive that, maybe not - but I know when I’m outmatched.”

Anger tried to rise, but empathic reason squelched the flames. Even if Nick as Barakiel again had his wings and was at the prime of his might, he was right - he’d not be able to stand against such a greater power.

Whereas I had to believe that the Light was.

If I could wield it well enough.

I stood, the chair’s legs under me scraping against stone as it pushed back. “Thank you, Captain Tuthos, for the excellent dinner. If you would, please take care of Barakiel here until I return.”

The mantis demon lowered his head. “Of course, milady.”

Turning to Barry, I said, “Was wonderful seeing you again.”

The bear of a warrior rose to his feet and tossed arms around for another fierce hug. “Aye!” I had to eventually tap his side to get him to let go.

I flicked eyes to Nick. “You’ll wait for me?”

He offered a weak smile. “Sure. They’ve got great wine here. And hey, if you two fight it out, be kind to the rest of us - do it off realm.”

“That will be up to Prince Abagor. I shall return as soon as I am able.”

Stepping away from the table, wings flared out - and with their anchoring, I released the direct manifestation I was holding within the realm.

But before I entirely faded out, Tuthos raised his long and narrow head and with solid grey eyes sparkling bright reflections, spoke quietly to himself:

“For she shall find the way.”

On Earth there is a clear delineation between spirit and the physical, with the entire pattern supporting and enforcing the blend of the two. The rules for the physical are incredibly well-defined and fixed, with everything tuned just so, consistent from one end of the cosmos to the other. Laws, be they of electromagnetism or gravity or even entropy, are immutable within the framework. Even magic, which seemingly works around the more apparent and easily reproducible laws, is actually baked in under the covers - acting as an additional modality of energy transformation granted by the hooks afforded spirits moving through the given mediums.

This is not precisely the case in the realms purely of spirit and dreams.

Take, for example, the Rock forged by the fallen Archangel Beliel, made as an inverted bowl pulled around and behind him. From the central mountain peak, his unobstructed gaze for untold eons fixated past the outer layers of Creation and into the Nothingness beyond. Here souls and demons alike manifest in their various forms, taking on the pretense of physicality - in effect the region simulated a subset of the rules. In this way spirits stand in a coherent space, are able to communicate and interact with each other, and become part of the cycle of energy maintaining the whole. Or, more properly, maintaining the attentions of that entirety.

Nathanael, when pretending to be just another fallen human soul, had once let slip his greater knowledge in describing the importance of perception - and how the act of perception itself can anchor a spirit’s surrounding reality. For only in a shared perceptual experience can a ‘place’ actually exist.

Or, conversely, only when a person or being is perceivable does it truly also exist within a space. And I was beginning to understand the true ramifications of such a concept.

Because angels themselves are a part of the rules and laws upon which even spirits and dreams are built.

In releasing the manifestation I held within Epsilon’s keep, I slipped behind the realm’s physicality - behind the agreements of shared perceptions which bound them together. Yet I maintained my own perceptions upon it, albeit from a layer once removed from immediacy.

I had no body, yet I had connections to where my attention focused, seeing and sensing far more information than was available through the moderated manifestation. Yet in my sense of myself I still had form and wings, with the wings blazing as circuits tapping the Light’s intent maintaining all things - even here in Hell.

As pure energy I flowed then across the jagged hills dotting the plains between Epsilon and the Hole, where once engineers had dug a channel between the outer side of that bowl and inner landscapes within it. And as disembodied awareness I flew through that opening, using it as a guide for the perceptual shifts - my connection sliding along the structures within the realm itself.

When out the other side, I more tasted than saw the bright Spark hanging in the air as it shone across the curving farmlands and deep forests, the scent of the souls bound within aiding its shine flicking across with newer and crisper flavors than I’d experienced here before.

It tasted of new possibilities.

It tasted of growth, change, and renewal.

It tasted of all the feelings I’d sent into Beliel’s Mace, there before the Archangel’s instrument had rejected the Darkness trying to swallow and consume all.

As the immense metal Shroud slowly rotated around the Spark to grant the realm’s day versus night, that emitted shine and flavor sank into everything below.

Even through the rocks and into the stew I had surprisingly enjoyed.

Speeding above the rebuilt houses and protective wall surrounding the inner side of the Hole, I felt it all. I’d left this town unconscious after a terrible battle, the surrounding fields shredded into trenches of death, horror, and dismay.

Whereas now the city breathed with Life.

Those fields were now green, a more vibrant green than any farm I’d witnessed when chasing demons through dark forests. The souls working them, while still bound to demonic masters, sparkled with greater resilience and purpose.

Even the rain falling from clouds oddly hovering above the Spark’s glow came not as miserable wetness, but as a refreshing wash. So dramatic were the differences that I slowed to savor the sensations.

Banners of my former Duke hung from the repaired battlements. There, in a field lying fallow between crops, pennants streamed above charging graxh-mounted lancers practicing maneuvers despite the mud. Words shared in a rare moment of candor by their full-plate wearing leader, recognizable by the extraordinarily long and pointy nose sticking forward from his helmet as he rode before them, came to mind. A discussion on how shallow and tasteless existence in these realms had become, and how the burdens of eternity weighed upon the residents all.

Until eventually they’d give up. And seek out their own demise.

The sobering reflection reminded why I needed to keep moving. With a thought the landscape sped past once more, now filled with verdant crops, even denser forests, and sporadically placed holdings tending especially to hug the many waterways curving between the rest. These rivers then continued on, eventually reaching towards the base of the watery volcano taking up most of the center where a rare Archduke had taken control and built a central city, naming it naturally after himself: a place called Kigal.

Compared to Dis and to most modern cities back on Earth, it was a small fortified cityscape containing less than half a million souls, devils and demons. Towers stacked from crimson stones hewed from the mountain towering behind it rose at most twenty to thirty stories tall, with the other structures mostly half that.

Graxh-driven wagons carried goods into the city to support the populace not only here but in other realms, linked by wide shimmering multi-hued portals maintained by demonic practitioners. The mines under the mountain also fed raw ore to the numerous smelters, which in turn spilled out ingots further fueling the bustling inter-realm trade. In return, the Rock received manufactured items unattainable locally due to the odd and dangerously inconsistent behavior of electricity within the domain, a quality enforcing a more medieval technology supplemented by coal-driven steam.

But what drew immediate attention was the crowd of souls and devils pressing around a deep circle dug directly into the rocky ground. Packed seats lined the edges to create an arena, one with a tall drop from the lowest seat to the solid stone at the bottom, with many metal-gated openings leading further underneath making obvious its true purpose.

This was a pit built for gladiatorial combat, including layers upon layers of protective spells to contain all the explosive violence practiced in blood and gore upon its floor.

At the center, a platform had been erected upon which bronze and silver armor-clad demons had gathered, all holding sharp and deadly implements as well as banners declaring their loyalty to the powerful dukes who had clustered in fancier sections of the restless audience. In one such reclined Duke Valgor, his wide flesh filling a clearly custom-built throne. Beside him was his spidery consort, the Duchess Ruchinox. Due perhaps to the occasion, she wasn’t broadcasting the illusion of being a slender fae lady like she had when last we met, so her full size of nightmare spiderness was apparent to all - including the too numerous crimson eyes tracking all around her as potential prey. She also was clearly no longer pregnant.

Not that I focused on them. Being marched towards the platform which held three stone blocks with half-circles carved from their tops were those I’d actually come to find.

The Lilim: Vance and his twin daughters, Yaria and Ruyia.

With hands and feet shackled by rune-covered chains preventing their use of any mystic arts, they shuffled forward at spearpoint, the barest remnants of ragged and stained cloth hanging loosely upon them. One of Vance’s still-proud eyes had swollen shut, and all three were smeared with blood covering the many bruises visited upon their skin. Someone had shaved their heads with an unworthy blade, leaving the daughters with random tufts of what once were glorious manes of shimmering night. Yaria, supporting her sister who barely had the strength to take each staggered step, was glaring about with a fierce hatred - and something much worse underneath.

Because the internal bruising apparent to my senses spoke a horrible story all their own.

Will and power gathered, and would have manifested in an instant except for an interrupting voice:

“You intend to intervene.”

A lifetime ago a mighty dragon once pulled me into an astral mindscape for a discussion, and now another did something similar - except this time perceptions simply split as attention remained on the scene in the arena below as well as branching to the shared vision abruptly offering itself: of an angel sitting upon the mountain’s tallest peak, wings with feathers a misty grey folded behind a figure in matching colorless immaculate suit.

His hands were empty, but the scabbard at his side held a weapon whose power had been taken from outside Creation.

Though he sat remarkably still, his presence alone radiated a sheer calculated violence - capable of slicing through worlds entire.

I knew him, of course, just as I recognized the others hovering around and behind us - high-cheekboned angels wearing armor of purest silver, each glittering in perfect reflections of the Spark above.

To the leader of these fallen Maschitim, I responded. “They are my friends.”

“That may be. But they have broken one of our strictest laws.”

“So make them pay a fine and banish them from your realm.”

“We both know this realm is not of my making. I am but an assigned caretaker.”

“You still hold the authority.”

“For now. And the penalty for infractions such as theirs is clear and unequivocal.”

Energy within me pulsed. “You owe me, Abagor. And if it hadn’t been for these three, I would not have been able to save you and the others at the Citadel.”

“Yet if not for their violations, Azazel’s threat to us never would have existed. He would not have gained the ready supply with which to weaken me - and thereby weaken those in my service who guard the deeper pools and treasure beyond.”

Below us, the three prisoners were forced up wooden steps to each stand before their individual blocks while a two-headed frog-like demon in a tailored shirt and vest held out a ridiculously long scroll and began bellowing the full list of their crimes.

Keeping attention split, I asked, “Are you denying the debt owed?”

The fallen Destroyer, whose immense potential for violence rivaled even Camael’s, rested bare chin on the back of a hand. “I find myself contemplating what can or cannot be done in recompense.”

“Samael has abandoned his duties. Did he make this law? Or Lucifer, who departed these realms long ago?”

“Should this matter?” he countered. “The experience at the Citadel testifies to the obvious truth of the need for such restriction.”

“I am not sure that I care.”

“Are you so eager to defy required order? What other laws should then shatter to your whim?”

“Maybe I should ask instead whether you secretly allowed their activities. Or expand perception enough to bear witness direct.”

That gave him pause, and time outside our pocket of communication also slowed - or perhaps our perceptions sped up. The dual-throated croaking of the frog-like demon stretched out its final words, the barking baritone sinking deeper still. Abagor, perhaps more to himself than to me, finally asked, “Do you truly possess the Lightbringer’s power?”

“I tremble at the possibility - yet so far have encountered no limits other than those temporarily imposed from without or within.”

Again he considered, further rubbing the chin. “I hear you met with Asmodeus.”

It wasn’t a question. “Word travels fast.”

“Have you taken what was offered?”

“He awaits my decision.”

“Embrace it and your authority to act in this matter becomes clear. Take the crown, and by so doing rescue your friends. What say you?”

A spear of entwined Light and Darkness appeared, held high so he could clearly see. “I say that such a matter is not to be decided by force of blackmail, Abagor of the Maschitim.”

The angel’s eyes widened and he leaned away from the pulses of duality emanating forth from the spear to shake the notional pocket he’d created. “You have acquired a new weapon of Chaos?!”

“As bound by the Name of Elohim. With this, I no longer fear the blades forged by the Archon Alal.”

Blanching, he rose first to his feet and then further into the air. Despite the disturbed and conflicted expression across those beautifully shaped cheeks, his voice remained steady and clear. “Then, in acknowledgment of the debt that lies between us, I offer the following: me and mine shall not interfere this day. Take what actions you will, along with the consequences. But I implore you to look deep, Amariel of the Light and Dark, to understand two things.”

“Which are?”

The presence of him and his cohort began to fade. “Divine the true purposes of the pageant unfolding below.”

“And the other?”

Holding my eyes with fixed attention as he bowed, he declared the rest:

“That the power of the Throne is not what binds the Chaos which you wield. For it is your Name alone within that artifact which secures both. Solve that mystery, I beg of you, before it destroys us all.”

And he was gone.

Chapter Eighteen - Threads

“Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.”

This questioning statement, posed by the less-than-honest Falstaff to a young prince whom he had counted as a friend, had been a focus of one of the many rigorously assigned essays as part of my original high school’s English class and its focus on Shakespeare - bringing with it debates of loyalty versus duty, and upholding the law versus personal attachments. As a student with no intentions of working law enforcement, I had never believed I’d be faced with such a situation directly.

Except, of course, when safely contained within the crazy scenarios dreamed up by my lawyerly best friend, as we created drama and story to fill many a weekend afternoon and night with intensity of entertainment.

As for the young Prince Harry, his solution was to turn the phrase - and responsibility - back upon his friend:

“No, thou shalt.”

All this and more filled my thoughts.

The declaration of crimes echoing across the arena came to an end, the speech by the multi-headed frog in his fashionable red velvet doublet fading as he returned the immaculately scripted scroll to its official cylindric container.

Three prisoners, shoved roughly from behind, stumbled into position and were forced to lower necks towards the row of chopping blocks. Three dark-helmeted and armored executioners, each with differently ornate battle-axes specially sharpened for the occasion by magic and stone, stepped forward to ready simultaneous blows of finality, and the crowd’s mix of jeers and cheers fell silent.

Awareness, prodded by the departed angelic prince’s words, expanded perception of space and time.

Around the platform, warded shields of magic and intent shimmered to not only hold those within securely, but to prevent any incursion from without.

Each demonic duke, filled to their brims by the released energetic fuel from the suffering souls filling their bellies, also had raised their own protections - either personally erected or entrusted to robed sorcerers busily chanting at their sides. And each was restless within their secured boxes, tension flickering behind their varied menagerie of eyes and limbs.

Sweat beaded profusely upon the rolling brow of Duke Valgor, his thick fingers flicking nervously, heavy with rings bearing an unordered mix of opulent metal and gems.

Arrayed about the gladiator pit, tightly packed seats swayed with witnesses - souls and demons both - whose tempers, desires, and fears were as piles of the driest brush awaiting but a spark from which to send towering flames scouring across a countryside. Some, more intently focused than others, braced themselves with hard-fought training to be ready for sudden and violent action.

And under the central gray floor of chiseled rock permanently stained by the despair and visceral glory of its usual entertainments, a further surge of power had gathered, pulsing with tremendous potency as generated by the sum of crowd-cheered destruction exercised over countless cycles. Already its gathered might slipped upward as a rising circle of force to surround the arena entire.

Time held still. Time spiraled forward.

In silence, I saw all.

I saw a duke desperate to cover involvement in an affair which carried implications far outside his station, indeed beyond the small realm upon which he had carved a modicum of power and stability. His numerous failures became apparent as the sorcerer at his side pulled their protective working tightly around himself only.

I saw his contemporaries, fearful each of the other, putting aside such conflict to confront a greater fear triggered by a movement they had tried and failed to fiercely crush, struggling to find the means to end the threat of an idea, one if unchecked could overthrow all that they had built with which to survive an eternity.

And I saw a force of warriors, spread out as pockets amongst the crowd yet bound together by experience and solidarity, determined to use their might and skill to never abandon those who had fought beside them in victories dearly bought in shared blood and sacrifice.

My warriors.

As the brightest of sparks I descended, slipping between moments and through visions of what could be. Past streams of the greenest of balefires, their focused energies striking down protective barriers to scorch and melt all foes beyond. Past still-framed images of a burn-scarred and naked man charging towards the pedestal faster than all other eyes could blink, slicing everything before him with twin blades of purest steel gifted by a heavenly blacksmith. Past the hue and cry of mayhem enfolding at the exits, egresses which the guards could no longer grant access due to the rise of energetic barriers ready to incinerate any who dared cross.

Past the triggering of the trap intended to consume guilty and innocent alike.

Wings, bursting with blinding need, spread wide before the prisoner’s pedestal to sweep all such possibilities aside. Crouching on manifested knee before the central captive, a prisoner’s eyes met mine, and with a word time was granted for us alone. All else became stuck, held motionless as a perfectly frozen tableau across a wide tapestry of color and emotion - even his daughters were caught in the middle of lowering towards stones awaiting their vulnerable necks.

To him only I spoke.

“Hello Vance.”

One eye widened, as the other no longer could. With hands still bound behind, the tall fiddler upon knees straightened his back - lifting head away from the stone block. “Ahh. And here I had begun to doubt you would ever return. Please, milady, forgive this lapse.” Raspy was each breath, and trembling was the stubble above a lip where a proud and glorious mustache had once reigned.

“I fear there is more to forgive than that, my friend.”

“Friend? With a single word you dare encourage an old and ravaged heart.” He coughed, then swallowed the bloody phlegm the spasm had produced. “Yet we both realize the complexities of the present exceed such a concept.”

“Do they? Granted it is true that this is not my realm.”

“Interference across domains is troublesome, be it between sovereigns, nations, or realities. Is it not?”

“You understand. Except I believe all this was arranged deliberately in order to bring me here.”

“Oh?” He suppressed a second cough. “Again I beg forgiveness, as I must thereby admit limitation of vision - for your presence, I daresay, is the exact opposite to the desires of these dukes.”

“It is, especially as they schemed to destroy as many of mine as they could - regardless of cost. Which is precisely why my spirit was bound to arrive, a truth understood and calculated upon by those who allowed these events to coalesce as they have.”

Weary shoulders slumped. “Alas. I should have realized. The Sarim: do they intend to fight you?”

“No. Many wish to hide behind my wings in the hopes I may defend them against the wrath of Heaven.”

“Is such a threat from Above imminent?”

“I do not know. But it is possible.”

He blinked, and a fresh trickle of blood dripped below the battered eye. “Can you help us? Or at least…free my daughters? Allow me to take the blame for whatever is required.”

“Should I do so, such an act would be considered an acceptance to crown and rule.”

With a rasp-filled laugh, he gave a painful yet tender smile. “Alas. For your fair spirit never desired power, yet here authority corrupts all who grasp at it. And I…I may indeed prefer death than to ever witness such within you.”

“Witness? Witness…” The Light in the wings flared upon an idea. “If there was a way to thread these dilemmas, would you take it?”

“My hands are literally bound. I can take but nothing, only bow to inevitability.”

The bitterness in his words choked at my throat and chest as well as his. “Not so. For you can choose to answer me but one question, though it test pride and loyalty against aiding in taking the full measure of events - and thereby possibly untie that which bind my own.”

“Then ask, my most precious friend.” He inhaled, straightening again as his will struggled to shove tiredness and injury aside. “But be warned: always are there consequences for knowing too much.”

I considered, and my voice echoed within the seized pocket of time. “Vance of the Lilim, your guilt in trafficking in the forbidden tinctures harvested from the Tears of Beliel is clear. But now do I ask: did you engage in this activity at the orders of your mother, Lilith the Victorious, or at the behest of Abagor, Prince of the Maschitim, and overseer of this realm?”

Unflinching were weary eyes as he met my gaze. “Only to you would I offer such confession: I know not her purpose, but yes. The vast majority of the waters were indeed received by my illustrious mother and moved elsewhere. As for Prince Abagor, I possess no proof of his involvement. However, either he and his are entirely incompetent, or they too were aware.”

Nodding, I reached decision. “Then, dear friend, may I act.”

Rising above the center of the arena while clad once again in leather armors of white and gold, light flared brighter still as time was allowed to flow once more. Stretching forth a hand, all the bound energies from below threatening to detonate and destroy not only the fighting pit and surrounding stands but also a wide chunk of the entire city, flowed at my command. The tainted colors by which its power had been generated swirled together to be cleansed within shimmering brightness until an orb more blinding than the Spark above hovered over my star-marked palm.

To the crowd, to the demonic dukes, and to certain intermingled and precious warriors did my voice boom out:

“Hear me!!” Pausing, I let the echoes fade into the arena’s stunned silence before continuing. “I, Amariel of the Light, declare that these three prisoners are now taken exclusively into my protective custody! For they are witnesses to violations beyond those committed by demon, Lilim, devil, or soul. Furthermore this crowd is to depart - peacefully and without restraint! None are to die here this day, lest my righteous wrath be unleashed in full measure!”

The ball of intense power pulsed, and strands of lightning flashed outward to rip asunder the demonic shields protecting and imprisoning the pedestal, dukes, and the arena itself.

No one dared argue after that. In fact, the entire stadium and everyone in it - guards around the prisoners included - sank to knees and bowed heads instead.

Okay, so many in the crowd fainted or collapsed into curled balls of frenetic tears and choking sobs.

Hmm. I may have overdone it.

Too bad.

Focusing on the chains binding my friends they fell away, the anchors to the true names of angels woven into the metal maintaining the energetic restrictions pulled free, like ripping open a paper envelope by a simple application of will.

Before the loops of steel even hit the stones, Yaria was in motion. Spinning, a fist lashed towards a would-be executioner’s helmet-protected head.

The strike did not land. A glow of power held her arm a mere inch from deadly contact to the kneeling guard’s temple.

“No, Yaria.” My voice cut across the platform as she struggled against the impermeable force. “If you must seek vengeance, it shall need wait for another time.”

Eyes of deadly night flashed with a rage darker still, but she finally nodded and the glow holding her was allowed to fade. She then knelt by her sister, for Ruyia had huddled against the ground with trembling arms tightly crossing her exposed and naked chest.

Vance also moved to Ruyia to try and gather his daughter into an embrace, but she flinched, scooting back across the stones to get away - much to his shock and additional concern.

“Don’t, Father,” said Yaria, who wrapped arms around her sister instead. “A man’s touch is the last thing she needs.”

Pain of the truth of that filled his face, and he nodded in sad acceptance even while hands ached to reassure she whom he loved.

As Yaria helped Ruyia to her feet, with Vance standing helplessly besides them, I turned to scan the pedestal and stadium beyond. All other entities on the platform remained fixed in place, eyes lowered to avoid being blinded by the wings - some even raising forearms to attempt to block the permeating glow.

But there was one standing now behind me, clad only in boots and loose grey cloth. I had not seen him approach, and smoke wafting away from the soles of those boots spoke of the incredible speed by which they had crossed the arena’s pit before climbing the stairs to stand so close.

A smile creased scarred lips from under a thin hood and my heart melted.

“Twitch!” I almost leapt across the space between us to grab him in a hug, but his raised hand stopped me - and he pointed towards a massive gate set before steps leading up into the stands. Said gate was suddenly gripped by several massive tentacles and simply lifted free of impressive yet insufficient hinges.

A one-eyed and two-storied tall giant in black Japanese-style armor - frightening ogre mask included - casually tossed the gate aside with two of four tentacles. The demon-forged metal kicked up a massive cloud of dust where it hit - a good fifty feet away.

I smiled. “That the exit plan?”

My scarred friend standing at the top of the platform’s stairs nodded, and with an amused bow gestured for me to lead our way.

Behind the giant known as Balus stood a number of other armed and armored demons, all grinning and trying to peer past with rising excitement.

And upon their bodies - be it a limb, chest, or even forehead - each bore a shining star matching that which burned across my palm.

Floating higher into the air, I hovered above the Lilim and Twitch as they then crossed the dirt where many a gladiator had fought and died. As they made their way up into the stands, they passed by the box where Duke Valgor and his mistress, the spidery Duchess Ruchinox, still sat. The Duke’s many-horned head hung low, burying itself into the folds of many chins, and despite the inner raging malevolence and boundless pride, he wrestled against primal fear and avoided my gaze.

But not his mistress.

Rising slowly on many legs, eight dots of deep scarlet stared upward. “Angel.” Not attempting any illusions, her voice was as a steel file across iron.

“Duchess.”

“You have ascended far beyond being but a Nephelim.”

“The self-imposed limitations I struggled against when last we met have lifted.”

“Ah.” Limbs shifted, and moving higher she spoke again. “To what court do you convey these prisoners?”

“They are no longer your concern.”

“With utmost respect, I disagree.”

The Duke reached out with bulging fingers, trying to pull her back down. “Forgive my Duchess her impertinence, oh angel!”

She hissed and shrugged away his touch. “Fool! Your existence depends upon it!”

I paused in the air. “And therefore does yours as well.”

“Naturally.”

The glow surrounding us brightened as I examined her. “I intend to investigate further. There is more at play here than the petty politics of you and yours. What such may portend for this realm and those upon it remains to be discovered.”

A spider leg pointed. “You too were declared allies with the accused. As well as with myself.” It was clear she was trying to convey that if they were implicated - so also would I be.

“Allies, yes - but within limited scope regarding the conflict which was at hand. Though I offer this to honor our previous relationship: you both were meant to die this day. Betrayed by the Ducal Council and others closer still.” I turned meaningful attention to the sorcerer abasing himself behind them. “And I withdraw my protective declaration from the one who would have allowed your destruction.”

If spider eyes could widen, they would have. Instead, with incredible speed, a leg flashed out and the sorcerer collapsed unconscious.

I highly doubt he even saw it coming.

Working quickly, Ruchinox wrapped her victim with thick strands of sticky webbing. “This one will inform us of all, but will live - for we in turn shall honor your words. You have our deepest gratitude, angel.”

Of course letting him live was in truth a much crueler fate. For to these two, while honor was at times a useful coin, mercy was not. Nor was it among the qualities of the souls churning within them, selected and continually twisted to suit the dreadful hosts.

Leaving them to do as was their nature, I caught up with the group climbing past the spectators. More and more of the souls in attendance openly stared - while the demons kept eyes firmly averted.

Including those that were set to guard the entrance to the arena, past which the three battered and weary Lilim stumbled while surrounded by an armed escort of warriors. On the road paved with a multitude of polished stones as they swept past the stadium, a recognizable stagecoach pulled by rather large graxh (looking like plump alligators crossed with even fatter hippopotamuses) had its door opened by a tall Lilim dressed much like a ninja in black form-fitting armor that yet allowed flexible and graceful movement.

Approaching the coach, Vance stopped to look up. “My lady, we are in your custody. Where would you have us go?”

With a quick pulse along the lines of power that bound my warriors, I understood enough of their plan. “Load up with your daughters and let all proceed to the originally intended destination. I shall escort and prevent any ill-conceived interference.”

And that’s exactly what we did. They boarded the coach, the crew formed up around, and I flew directly above to startle everyone in the city we came across - causing many to also fall to the dirt once their spirits recognized just who exactly they beheld.

Quite a few held up arms imploringly as well.

To a large warehouse did the graxh pull the coach, and Balus raised its tall door. To great relief, what lay behind was not what had haunted dreams since the last time I’d seen the lifting of such doors.

No, instead a wide portal crackling with emerald energies awaited to whisk everyone away. Vance insisted his daughters go first, then followed himself - and one by one so did the rest of my pledged warriors.

Until only Twitch and I remained.

Hovering down, I landed before him as wings folded into place across my back.

He didn’t hesitate, for this time no self-doubt interrupted his clear intent.

Without a word he stepped forward, pulling back the hood from fire-scorched features. Yet with beautiful twinkling eyes he leaned in to embrace me with a kiss filled with passion and inner-leaping joy - one I returned in full.

His lips were still incredibly soft.

Chapter Nineteen - Prophecy

When Twitch and I finally stepped through the portal ourselves, I instantly knew where we’d gone:

The Spires.

A few sleeps by wagon away from Outpost Epsilon, forces deep underground had shoved tall formations of rock and crystal to tower over the lifeless plains of ice and shadows below. Here is where the Lilim traders under Vance had built their secret portal to their embassy in Dis, and here is where Colonel Dhalgrix had landed his mercenary company before slaughtering their way to the Outpost and to the Hole itself.

You know, before I caught up to him.

More specifically, we were within a surprisingly warm cavern deep within those Spires.

Having stopped just past the threshold to get a good look around, Twitch nearly bumped into my folded wings as he followed behind. The space was large, though not quite as vast as the town buried under Dis where Cassius (or Shemyaza) had set up shop. Still, the ceiling stretched far above - and this strange moss covering most of the stone glowed an odd reddish hue which cast its tint upon everything. Buildings made of stone directly raised from the floor lay scattered about in an irregular pattern, each only a single story and containing at most a few rooms - and probing perception showed them to have been the product of expert geomancy as opposed to labors of muscle and bone. This left them all rather round, as if stuck halfway between natural formations and planned architecture.

Into one of those earthen buildings - inner lit by sorcerous crystals and hearthfires flickering through several glass-paned windows - Vance and his daughters were quickly escorted, as a stringy-haired woman still ridiculously skinny under her peasant’s dress was busy waving them inside. As she looked past the Lilim and their escort to spot me, her eyes went wide and she froze mid-wave.

With a smile I nodded, wordlessly indicating for her to go care for those about to be in her charge. The priestess curtsied deeply and bustled within to help those she could heal - and thereby continue the sacred promise given her goddess to tend to any in need.

Of course, Maddalena hadn’t been the only one staring in shock.

Balus only added to it as his mighty baritone rang out to shake the entire cavern.

“HAIL JORDAN! HAIL COMMANDER! HAIL AMARIEL!”

Under the massive central-eyed ogre-mask, the giant bellowing demon grinned wide with sharp yellow teeth.

So much for a quiet entrance.

I was immediately led to a decorated stone dwelling holding more rooms than most. Containing handwoven rugs covering hard floor alongside several felwood items of furniture that included a dining table of robust construction with matching sturdy chairs, it also displayed tapestries of pastoral views not available in Hell. Whoever lived here certainly had both taste and means. On through the dining room I was led, out past a pair of sliding doors which opened wide to a large patio which itself held another half-circle table flanked by even more chairs and standing tiki-torches, set before a wide cleared space where the ground was also cushioned by several rugs.

That last seemed odd until Balus stepped over the wall, and with a loud grunt sat cross-legged in the open area. Twitch motioned for me to take a seat at the center of the table whose crescent faced the settling giant. As the chair I’d been pointed to had a fully upholstered back, the wings again got tucked away outside of direct manifestation so I could lean back and, for a moment anyway, close eyes and breathe out slow.

Twitch took the next seat over, and under the table his hand found mine. I squeezed it and held on.

Another voice inside the house, recognizable by its hint of the King’s English, fended off all of those who had gathered in our wake, and a moment or two after the solid front doors had thunked closed, it directed itself at me.

“Commander, forgive but I am unsure how best to address you.”

That earned a smile and my eyes opened. “Horatio! That makes two of us.”

Even though I’d just sat down, I was on my feet again - and much to Horatio’s surprise I went over and pulled him into a fierce hug.

Startled both by the impropriety and my sudden arrival, he blurted, “Milady! Is this proper??”

With a light laugh I stepped back to get a good look him. The former valet wore pressed slacks and equally pressed white dress shirt whose only nod to individual fashion were the flared cuffs. Instead of being clean-shaven, he now sported a well-groomed short beard whiter than the thinning and wispy grey hair barely covering his head.

But the biggest change was how the man held himself: whereas before he’d had the aura of someone continually walking on eggshells in fear of offending his demonic masters, now the soul stood confidently, eyes flaring with the experienced air of calm authority. Even after many cycles of serving as my own logistics master through the war, he had never truly relaxed, always worrying about what would become of him should I fall in battle and his existence returned to being under the whimsy of those not-so-gently natured.

But he wasn’t the only one who had trod carefully to maintain a specific image. “And why not? Is this not your home?”

“Why yes it is, but as Commander-”

I hugged him again. “My days of needing to maintain strict discipline with a harsh fist over everyone here are over.”

He nodded, and this time returned the embrace with true affection. “We’ve missed you.”

“Time differences are a weird thing. It’s only been one cycle for me.”

“Odd indeed.” He separated gestured to the table. “Please sit, milady.”

“Just call me Jordan. I think I’ve had enough formality for a sleep and a day.”

He laughed, and with this new (to me anyway) ease about him he pulled out a chair and sank onto it. “As you wish.” His eyes reflected both merriment and the dancing flames from the torches.

As I was settling back in my chair (and fingers again found Twitch’s), from the doorway a woman coughed politely. “Would milady desire refreshment?” Carefully styled blonde hair fell before a shoulder upon a simple yet elegant dress of blues and greens, while a left hand bearing a simple circle of gold around a finger rested lightly against the door’s frame.

“Veronica!” I said warmly. “You are as lovely as always.”

“Milady is too kind.”

“If you have a lighter wine or even fresh water, I could hardly refuse.” I’d have told her to call me ‘Jordan’ too, but the way she avoided my eyes made me think informality would increase her discomfort with the situation. The greater part of my spirit had once peered into the depths of her soul and its entire history - I could hardly blame her for feeling awkward about it.

“As milady wishes.” With a perfect curtsy she withdrew into the house.

Noting the matching gold around Horatio’s finger, I chuckled. “My my, things have indeed changed! Married?”

He inclined his head. “Alas we had no means to extend you an invitation to the event.”

“No kidding. But you’ve clearly moved up. Are you in charge then?”

The giant filling the courtyard removed his helmet, placing it behind him. Now instead of the grinning ogre-face there was an equally grinning giant - though without quite the same-sized tusks. “In Commander absence, Nathanael leads.”

“Except he’s not here,” I noted.

“Balus,” Horatio said, “is in charge of the warriors and our defense. Whereas I’ve been elected mayor.”

“Elected?!” That was certainly surprising.

The Mayor rapped the table with a knuckle. “Every ten cycles a vote is held. This cavern is only one of several, and more souls arrive with each precess of the Shroud.”

“More?” I boggled as extended senses began to map out the full expanse of what they’d built here - and how much they’d risked in the foolhardy attempt to rescue the Lilim. “To what end?”

A crystal glass of burgundy was set before me. “To free those we can.” Veronica, holding a waitress’ tray, quickly placed additional glasses before Twitch and Horatio. She then stood there awkwardly, clutching the tray to her still-luscious curves.

“Please,” I said, understanding her dilemma. “Join us.”

Nodding, she sat next to Horatio. But she still avoided meeting my gaze.

Horatio, after thanking Veronica for his drink, took a sip and savored it. “When the angel’s touch - sorry, your touch - freed everyone, there was a period of great strife. Nathanael forbade our direct interference as the aftermath developed into open revolution, though some of us disagreed.”

Veronica’s shoulders tensed.

My former logistics officer continued. “Our crew is too small to stand against all the demons of the Rock. Nathanael and Camael also refused to challenge Abagor for control of this realm.”

“They say why?” I asked.

“The angel Camael said his wings already bore the stains of too much of his brothers’ blood. Without their support we never would have succeeded.”

The mention of his wings brought things back to focus. “Camael is missing, Horatio. And Nathanael is tied up chasing after spawns from the Chaos. How isolated are you here? I can’t see Nathanael not having emphasized maintaining solid intelligence - and as widely gathered as possible.”

Horatio and Twitch exchanged glances, and the former replied. “With the Lilim’s aid, we have portals to several places at our disposal here. Twitch and others regularly visit not just the Light Side of the Rock, but many other realms. Maddalena travels with them, giving aid and bringing back those in the direst of need.”

Twitch nodded from under the thick hood that hung low over his face, making him appear much like an ancient monk.

A monk. Oh geeze.

Putting down the crystal goblet, I pointed at Twitch. “You’re the Pilgrim!”

Lips surrounded by scars smiled as the silent man shrugged with embarrassment. Horatio however coughed. “We do not call him such, but many souls across the realms revisited that old legend and tied it to his visits.”

“Let me guess: Maddalena hasn’t exactly dissuaded folks from doing so either.”

“She feels as your priestess that proselytizing in your name is part of her duties.”

Good grief. “My priestess?? She worships my spirit’s mother, sure, but-”

Veronica, staring into her glass, interjected. “She worships you, milady. As her Queen and Savior.”

“Great. Just great. I’ll have to talk to her.”

“Of course,” said Horatio, with a hint of amusement at my discomfort. “Yet as Aradia you are Artemis’ daughter. And you did save Maddalena from eternal demonic capture, as you saved us all from destruction. Are her beliefs truly in error?”

“I…I don’t know. But what if they are?”

He shook his head. “What if they aren’t?”

Balus’ booming voice echoed off the house. “Commander ascend. Prophesied by First Star.”

Everyone boggled at the giant.

Especially me. “As Lucifer prophesied? What are you saying??”

A fist the size and power of a V12 engine held up an equally impressive chin. “Star spoke. I hear. Now witness.”

My spirit mother’s troubled memory of Aradia’s forced creation spiraled alongside those of a heartbroken child covered in snow. “Lucifer called me - called Aradia - a failure. He left me to die cold and alone.”

The tentacled giant grunted. “Star say Balus find daughter, as Balus found mother.”

“Oh my god.” Cheeks chilled as if touched by frost again as pieces came together. “You’re the one who found Artemis for him! And gifted her that bow!”

Balus inclined his head. “Worthy was mother.”

“And he…he said you would find me? But Saibh found me in that forest, and then Azrael! Not you!!”

“Star speak: when daughter grown, in darkness Balus find. Balus serve. And Star shine anew.” The suckered tip of a tentacle reached up to touch the front of a thickly armored shoulder - and therefore over the four-pointed mark underneath which he’d gained when entering my service. “Worthy is daughter. Worthy is Commander.”

I choked, and not on the wine. On feet with palms pressing to the table, I glared across the courtyard. “You knew who I was?! All along?! And he…and that deadbeat winged bastard knew I was not a failure!!” A hand grabbed a crystal goblet and flung it across the courtyard to shatter into thousands of gleaming shards against the giant’s protective chestpiece. Voice breaking, I shrieked, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

The one huge eye had the decency to look startled and chagrined. “Commander not inquire.”

But I wasn’t really listening anymore.

Because he must’ve known. Lucifer, the First and once called Helel, had known. He’d seen deep into the future, he’d seen his daughter’s full and painful path. Seen Aradia’s almost-absolute-destruction in fighting the Chaos-consumed Azazel. Seen the final shreds of her spirit preserved at the last moments by the mercy of Azrael. And foresaw Gabriel’s potentially rebellious taking of an extra seed of Eternal Life from the Garden, foresaw Gabriel’s essence wrap around the seed’s anchor to restore Aradia’s spirit.

He’d abandoned her to it all. In full knowledge of her true potential and how to unlock it.

Me. He’d abandoned me to it all.

And everything which had come after.

While the bastard did nothing.

Suddenly hoarse and trembling, I spoke. “I…I’m going to need a few minutes.”

Wordlessly, Horatio rose from the table, and ushered Veronica ahead of him. Balus, looking for once uncertain, opened mouth to speak, but Horatio gestured him to silence and so the troubled giant simply stood to step over the wall.

Twitch though, he stayed. And with gentleness pulled me back onto the chair so he could wrap an arm around as I leaned against him, still shaking with ancient fury and pain. But I didn’t weep.

I was done weeping for what Lucifer had or had not been to me.

I was done.

Chapter Twenty - Music

Twitch let my head rest against his chest, his close presence reassuring and solid just as it had been on all those wagon journeys taken together through the dark. Thoughts rampaged anyway behind closed eyelids like a herd of startled graxh tearing through sharp-ferned forest. Between the blurred collapsing leaves and trunks crashing aside from the mental onslaught hung a simple circlet of gold.

And all it represented.

I didn’t know if I could do this.

Those words must have slipped past my lips, as a woman’s voice responded.

“Do what, my Queen?”

I should have been surprised at her presence, but a part of myself had known she was there. One eye opened and sure enough, sitting before the table upon the floor with knees folded below a thin brown skirt, was Maddalena - the healing priestess who had helped save me from the darkest of spellwork woven from threads anathema to existence itself.

Lifting myself back to an upright position (with Twitch reluctantly letting go), I tried to put the inner confusion into words.

“Everything. All of it. I once lamented not knowing what I should do. Now a potential path has appeared, and yet I find myself more unsure than ever.”

Deep brown eyes weighed my statement. “There are always many possible paths. But not all have heart.”

I found myself managing a smile, as the advice of a sick-but-contented incarnate angel came back to mind. “So maybe if I’m hesitant it’s not quite what my spirit needs?”

“My Queen, only you can decide that. But I cannot see you committing to anything that wouldn’t be.”

I couldn’t help it and a light guffaw escaped before becoming a sigh. “I’m much better at acting in the heat of the moment than being deliberate about anything.”

“I would disagree.”

“Oh?”

She waved a hand at what lay beyond the courtyard’s wall. “What was constructed here was due to your deliberate acts.”

“You and the others built this; I wasn’t even here.”

Long brunette locks held back by a slender ribbon bounced side-to-side as she shook her head. “Your leadership was the required platform. Without that, Nathanael and everyone would have had no basis upon which to build.”

“I hardly did anything - just shouted orders.”

“Leadership is much more than that. Your example, your Light…” She paused, and then emitted a short laugh. “You do not see it, do you? Then again, how could you. One may as well ask the sun to find the night.” Those piercing eyes glinted with absolute conviction.

Not knowing how to respond, I hoped to shift the conversation elsewhere. “How are the twins and their father?”

Being likely far wiser than I, she went with it. “Physically, they are well. But they have all endured tremendous trauma.”

“Yaria and especially Ruyia were close with the reaper Barry. Can a message be sent to Epsilon? Nick Wright is also there, they both should get their butts up here.”

“Nick…you mean Barakiel?”

“Yeah, him.”

An unsculpted and wild-curled eyebrow raised. “We have means to signal, provided the realm’s shifts do not interfere. Though message content is limited to how much energy can be provided to the device.”

“Huh. If you need more juice, then uhm…just let me know.”

She hesitated. “Its inner workings require a certain amount of finesse, my Queen.”

I made a face. “I’ve gotten a lot better! And hey, how’d you know I’ve had issues with more subtle energy efforts??”

“I did not, though I am unsurprised. Being this close is like sitting before a roaring wildfire consuming a forest entire. My Queen, with your power you could overload the workings just by walking within a few arm’s lengths.”

“Really? I mean, I put away the wings!”

“Yes. Really.”

“Oh. I can try-”

The priestess held up a hand. “Please, relax and don’t constrain yourself.” Her eyes flicked towards Twitch, and she smiled a knowing smile.

The type of smile that instantly flushed both my cheeks with embarrassed warmth.

Politely ignoring the reaction, she spoke again. “Vance and his daughters have asked me to inform that Your Majesty possesses their full parole - in fact, they wonder if they should be constrained to quarters or no. Are they truly prisoners in custody?”

The more pressing topic restored distracted focus. “Yes, they are. At least for now. Please tell them that they may move freely within the bounds of this settlement without restriction. And if they need to send communiques beyond to their people they may do so.” Blinking, I considered. “As much as possible, let their presence here be as their previous visits. They too need to relax as best they can.”

Gracefully rising to sandaled feet, she inclined her head. “By your leave, I will tell them.”

“Thank you, Maddalena. It’s good seeing you again.”

“And you, my Queen.” After a formal curtsy, she strode purposefully from the room with eyes burning with a faith I wasn’t sure I deserved.

When she was safely away, I sighed and found my fingers entangling once again between Twitch’s. Raising them to lips, I brushed a kiss across the back of the rough and scarred hand. “I worry…” With a quick shake of my own hair, I didn’t say the rest of the thought.

Twitch squeezed gently, and I’m pretty sure he understood what I meant without it needing to be spoken aloud.

He, in his own way, was even better at doing that than I.

Horatio returned a few minutes later to tiptoe across his living room and lurk around the entrance’s corner, hoping to not disturb. Eventually I called to him.

“C’mon out, Horatio. I know you’re there.”

He instantly appeared in the doorway and bowed. “Milady.”

“So what shall we do now?”

“I was thinking perhaps milady would enjoy a tour.”

“Well, Mister Mayor, how could I rightly refuse?”

“Then, please, come see what we’ve accomplished in your absence.”

What followed was the requisite tour given to any general’s arrival at a base of operations. Though this included more than simple salutes by the denizens, what with many taking knees and even the spilling of tears from a number of souls I’d never met yet knew intimately. There were even a few that I’d never encountered either directly or indirectly, though some of those too had that look of worshipful adoration which continued to send uncomfortable awkward shivers across spine and shoulders. It was also clear that my original hellraisers bearing the mark of the star held privilege and rank over all the newcomers.

Or at least were given the most deference.

We walked through immaculately cleaned barracks unconventionally integrated between demons and souls, massive kitchens with many coal stoves and their dark chimneys leading to additional caverns above (overseen by a joyful Master Chef whose thin mustache still looked ridiculous and who had gained an impressive expansion around his waist), blacksmith forges all busy except for one appearing recently unused with celestial script swirling through the stacks of waiting metal, armories full of sharp pointy things and protective outer wear to defend against them, pens of graxh and other musty yet useful creatures, and wide training grounds bearing signs of constant geomancy utilized to fix damage from overpowered giants and other exuberant warriors. Beyond these were yet more buildings filled with souls endeavoring across numerous activities: tailors, carpenters, bookbinders, all sorts of things.

It was impressive.

Finally we emerged out into the cold to stand on a plateau overlooking the switchback trails needed to climb this high. Not that they were easily seen, what with the lack of light from the all-but-empty dark sky. While the new star shined brightly, the warmth it provided was to the spirit and not flesh - indeed the small group which had followed me and Horatio quickly pulled coats tighter to fend off the sudden chill.

Was it weird that the extreme cold carried by the breeze actually felt good? It reminded of all those circuits as a reaper sitting alongside Twitch, just the two of us huddled together against the fierce bite of the wind while bouncing about on the open graxh-driven cart - the only sounds the creaking of wood and metal, and the huffing grunts of the steady beasts pulling us along. Totally alone with but a single crystal of glowing blue to fend off the vast outer dark.

Nostalgia is a strange thing.

Twitch must have felt it too as he put a hand on my leather-covered shoulder, but then again he’d kept trying to touch me ever since I’d arrived. It was as if he was concerned I might otherwise disappear again without that contact, like say someone drifting off to other realms unless a certain kitty sat on their chest.

It was rather endearing, really.

Many coaches, covered with intricate carvings and decorations of flowers and vines, were parked in a rough wide circle upon the plateau. In the center willowy Lilim prepared to light a fresh bonfire, while smaller cooking fires already crackled under cauldrons ladened with aromatic meat and steaming Hell-vegetables. Cases of wine and barrels of ale had also been carried out, with stacks of mugs, bowls, and spoons standing ready.

Horatio nodded to the Lilim directing the activity, a man sharply dressed in an elegantly embroidered dark jade coat, lighter waistcoat, and deep brown breeches. The man acknowledged Horatio with a florid bow, then snapped fingers at his crew to hurry up and put out a line of luxuriously padded wooden chairs at the best spots where soon roaring flames would do battle with the crisp air’s chill.

“Milady, the Lilim desire to host a feast in your honor in gratitude for preventing their leaders’ imminent demise.”

I tensed. “Their fates remain uncertain, Horatio. You know this.”

“As does everyone. Yet they still live. Is this moment, here and now, by itself not worthy of celebration regardless?”

“I…I suppose it is.”

Having only been a few hours since dining with Outpost Epsilon, I wasn’t particularly hungry. But again, this was one of those situations where refusal would have been a dreadful insult - and thus I joined them and gratefully took bowl and cup.

The wine, unsurprising as it was likely taken from Vance’s private stash, was in truth absolutely amazing. Somehow it held the hint of fruit nonexistent in hell, such as pear or even apple, magically conjured from the blend by a master brewer. Resisting temptation to indulge beyond a couple cupfuls was hard, especially as it wasn’t just flavor that lent a soft warmth to tongue, stomach, and even the soles of one’s feet.

As before at the Lilim’s fire, after the first round of bowls had been devoured, musical instruments appeared in many hands. Their oud player introduced a hauntingly beautiful musical theme quickly taken up by hands clapping or tapping against cajóns, and feet stomped in rhythm upon a wooden platform, placed upon the dirt a safe distance from the fire’s occasional exuberant sparks. Flutes - one carved from wood and one of intricately crafted metal - piped counter-melodies to blend harmonies with just the right touch of dissonance and resolution. So entranced by wine and song was I that everything drifted, and only some time later during a pause did I finally notice that the empty chairs to my left had been filled.

Vance and his daughters had joined us, with Maddalena sitting nearby with attentive eyes. The now-bald and clean-shaven father stared distantly into the flames, his cheeks still pale while vest, ruffled shirt, and trousers hung loose upon a frame no longer sufficiently robust to properly fill its silk. Yaria’s fingers played angrily with a spoon, flipping it end over end before catching again, and was dressed not for celebration but for stealthy combat: the all-black leather and cloth covered every inch, including a zukin over her head - though the fukumen normally covering the face had been pulled down.

As for Ruyia, she slumped within a velvet robe of burnished red - more sleepwear than public attire - staring without seeing at a bowl of uneaten stew resting limply across a knee. She too was bald under a threaded cap, as the patchwork mess left by her captors had been carefully removed.

And whenever a man happened to walk past, she startled and drew herself tighter on the chair.

Even as the oud and flutes began anew, I stopped chewing a lip to lean closer to Horatio.

“Shouldn’t they be resting?”

He turned his head to whisper back. “They insisted on coming, milady. Against Maddalena’s wishes.”

“Maybe I should retire early. So they can too.”

He was about to respond, but Yaria suddenly growled and tossed the spoon like a knife, hard enough to stick handle-up in the dirt. Getting to her stealthily-padded feet she marched off towards one of the coaches, throwing the door open with a loud clang as it rebounded on the hinges.

The music died as all eyes had followed before turning to one another with uncertain awkwardness as she had not slammed the door shut behind her. Instead she emerged quickly thereafter, hands carrying two particular items as she strode back over to stand before father and sister.

Shoving a case each upon the laps of her sitting family, she snarled with disgust. “Open them. Open and play!”

Vance startled, but caught the case before it slid to the dirt. Ruyia shrank further in the chair, ignoring the dislodged stew spilling across the hem of her gown.

Shaking with fury, Yaria regrabbed the case threatening to follow the meal to the hard ground. Flicking the latches open, she pulled free the violin sitting within - and forced a sister’s hand to hold its neck before wedging the bowstring into the other. Ruyia let both fall to her lap, lifting neither instrument nor bow.

“We are alive!” Yaria shouted at the pair. “And we have suffered worse!”

Vance sighed. “I have no desire for this.”

“Oh? No desire?” she scoffed. “What did you tell us when Mother died? When our tears could reach no end?!”

“Yaria, please-”

“What did you tell us?! Say it! Or have you forgotten?!”

A dangerous spark lit behind his eyes. “I know full well what was said.”

“Then prove it, you old graxh! Get up and prove it!”

Fingers curled around fret and stick, and with deliberate slowness did Vance rise to booted feet. Looking over to Ruyia, he said, “Come daughter, your sister is insistent.”

Except Ruyia flinched and refused to meet the gaze.

Stepping between them, Yaria knelt before her sister. “Ruyia,” she said with surprising sudden gentleness. “It’s Dad. He won’t hurt you.” When she got no reaction, she added, “Close your eyes. Just close them, and listen.”

With a hesitant nod, Ruyia did so.

Not turning, Yaria addressed the man behind her. “Play, Father. Play.”

Setting chin to the provided rest, Vance breathed deeply, and after a slow exhale began to draw bow across strings. A single note pulled from the instrument, emitting a low hum which held for the longest of counts before finally shifting as other notes followed.

To my surprise, I recognized the theme: an Arabic lamentation.

With each note he summoned from the wood and strings a vibrating sorrow, haunting in its simplicity and beauty. With the tempo clear, palms began to come together from around the circle - quietly at first and then with rising rapidity as cajóns collaborated with the beat of the joining oud’s deep and repeating bassline. The sum built to a crescendo of sound to burst into new harmonies of emerging glory as if cast forth from the very sweat dripping from Vance’s hairless brow.

Then a second melody added itself to the first, reaching into hearts to tug forth the pains of life itself and blend with the rising passion of the main theme.

Ruyia, still seated with eyes closed, had begun to play.

As an intricate dance did their notes twirl, phrase after phrase spiraling about the other, his seeking heights of triumph while hers cautioned sorrows of consequences. Rapid strokes versus measured and slow, pouring sweat versus individually falling tears, the two filled the plateau with their combined song - and few were the hands and feet not participating in their rhythm.

Lifted as if by the music itself, Ruyia stood - and her sister, clapping in earnest along with the rest, stepped out of the way. A growing fury added itself to the daughter’s notes, casting them with clipped sharpness along with a burning gaze of hurt in accusation towards her father.

His crescendos softened in response, bending the melody as if to soothe the sudden aggression, as if to make amends.

The rest of us, transfixed, quieted our surrounding beats, and soon the two violins sang alone.

Within that duet Vance shifted tones, returning the instrument to the constant deep hum of his initial note - and Ruyia slowed to play again its first beautiful phrase before both finished their final stanza in perfect harmony.

In the following silence, daughter stepped into her father’s waiting arms.

Yaria, wiping away a single wetness upon her own undernourished cheek, then crossed arms in fierce satisfaction before speaking sharply to them both.

“Where existence remains,” she reminded with great insistence, “the music plays on!!”

The three did not linger long after that, their obvious exhaustion providing Maddalena the excuse to finally usher them off to much needed beds. This left me sitting with Horatio and Twitch while the rest of the Lilim’s revelries continued their dances and songs.

After noticing Horatio had been doing his best to avoid any serious topics, I finally laughed. “You still have a ton of questions you aren’t asking, don’t you?”

He had the kindness to appear chagrined. “I…naturally.”

Taking yet another sip of that fabulous wine, I gestured with the cup. “How much has Hank…sorry, Nathanael…actually told you? Dangit, when I think of him in context of our mercenary band’s great march the brain still thinks of him as ‘Hank’.”

“The issue of names is certainly a challenge at times.” He chuckled.

“Guess I’m no exception.”

“Yours are more challenging than all others.”

“Bleh.”

“Quite. But in all seriousness, both he and Camael were extremely forthright regarding your past and circumstances on Earth. I believe they wished to further impress upon us the challenges you have faced and conquered.”

My other hand froze where it’d been holding Twitch’s again. “Uh, exactly how forthright?”

He coughed. “Let us say that I would describe your experiences as rather uniquely transformative, even if one were to overlook the wings.”

Aghast I looked over to Twitch while the stomach did flips like an Olympic gymnast.

Eyes floating above the fabric keeping his mouth and nose warm twinkled merrily. Oh God, he knew.

I had to fight to find my voice. “Are you…are you okay with that?!” I asked him. “I mean, I used to be-”

Twitch’s chest shook. Dangit, he was silently laughing. He patted the back of my hand where it was kept locked in place.

“You sure?!”

Merriment focused within those irises. With a finger he pointed at my heart then at the floor before us, before spreading an upturned palm back towards me and finally placing it against his own chest.

And I understood.

You are you, you are here. As this, you are in my heart.

My face was suddenly warm, and not from the wine or still roaring fire.

But I didn’t pull my hand away.

Being perceptive, Horatio stretched and stood. “I believe my questions should wait, milady. As you, too, are in need of rest.”

“Uhm, I don’t need to sleep. Not really.”

“Who said anything about sleep?” He gave an amused smile. “By your leave…” He bowed.

Nodding, it was only after he’d started walking away that I realized what exactly he’d meant. Looking quickly back to Twitch, I found eyes that knew exactly what they truly wanted meeting mine.

But while I hesitated, he did not - pulling the cloth away from lips he leaned forward to kiss mine.

And then again.

Emotions and sensations surging, I broke off to pull away, clutching the wine mug in both hands. “Twitch…”

Gentle fingers found my cheek.

Leaning into the touch with eyes closing in spite of themselves, I spoke quietly so only he could hear. “I haven’t…I haven’t been with anyone that way since she…” I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say, ‘since my wife died’. It just seemed too final, and also too weird at the same time.

We were in Hell. Technically both Twitch and I had died too.

It’s just…I wasn’t sure what death meant anymore.

I found myself babbling. “And I have no idea where I’ll need to be in the next moment. I can’t…I can’t commit to anything, you see? I mean, I’ll probably have to go back to Earth eventually somehow - even if that requires going back through the Chaos. Everything is in flux, I don’t know what I’m doing, everything is-”

He cut me off by lifting my chin and kissing once more. And with a tender smile and tilt of the head, he showed he understood.

And didn’t mind.

Not in this moment, not here and not now.

Getting to his feet, he pulled me to mine, and I followed back into the caves to a small earthen structure that was mostly empty except for desk, chair, simple wardrobe, and a remarkably soft blanketed bed.

Whereupon he let his guard down by allowing me to see in full measure the burns across his skin. And then touch them. In turn, I let his kiss, his caress, and his giving heart help heal ancient scars of my own.

When the inevitable release of tears followed after, he spooned gently in warmly held reassurance that in this place, and at this time, I was loved.

And was not alone.

Once sufficiently recovered, he bade me sing again. For while he remained silent except for the tenderness of need filling his beautiful eyes, I certainly did not.

In those moments, I hadn’t cared who heard.

We lay there for what must have been hours, him breathing deep of the irresistible call to slumber that afflicts men after such activities. Certainly I had once been no exception (much to Caroline’s amusement), whereas now I remained awake: content and at peace, not thinking of anything particular, yet aware in gently floating lassitude.

Which meant, of course, that eventually all the wine I had initially decided not to drink made its presence known to ye ol’ bladder. With a quiet groan I slipped out of the bed, intending to explore the row of outhouses where geomancy had been used to redirect an underground waterflow and allow for sanitary plumbing.

It wasn’t until I’d manifested clothing (reaper’s coat and cloth in the foolish hope to not stand out while making a run for the loo) and stepped outside that I realized the silliness of that entire action.

After all, I’d just made cloth appear out of nowhere, but hadn’t applied that trick to myself. I could have blipped out and back and removed any need to pee.

Guess it’s true, old habits do die hard. You’d think the whole incident with the swarm of bugs at a certain river would have taught the lesson, but nope! That had been an external mess, and this was decidedly not.

At least, not yet.

Suppressing a chuckle, I easily removed the pressing issue and turned to go back in - but then spotted a winter-robed man resting on the rocky floor with back propped against Twitch’s wall. A shepherd’s crook pressed against strands of white rustling against a slumped shoulder.

Two things stood out immediately. I hadn’t noticed him and had no idea how long he’d been there, and he also wasn’t someone I knew directly from my time on the Rock. Not while running around with the reapers and mercs, and not when keeping the realm from flying apart.

Yet he felt familiar.

I cleared my throat. “Can I help you?”

Deep eyes of yellow gold opened, and a quiet voice said slowly, “I do hold great hope that you may.”

Gazing into those shining irises was like falling into eternity, and recognition from another’s memory surfaced. “Holy heck, I’ve seen you!”

From behind bangs hanging like the lightest of clouds, he considered. “Have you?”

A scene replayed. Newly forged angels sent forward by Michael to make a last stand athwart the enemy that the terrible war might end, bolstered by one among them with strength enough to bar the path of the chief offender. Before all were swept aside by the mighty blast of Gabriel’s horn.

Before the arm of Elohim locked the passage’s doorway shut forever.

“Raguel,” I heard myself say. “You’re the angel Raguel. You stood against Samael, beyond the pincer-point to Hell.”

“Ah.” Strong-yet-old fingers curled about the wooden staff, and its looped end pointed towards me. “You and I…” He caught himself, again giving serious thought to the words before continuing, “…should discuss that which I have served since that day of Elohim’s Decree.” A gentle smile dawned across the wrinkled face, an expression peacefully beatific.

“Served?” I straightened with caution anyway. Could he have meant some other Fallen? “What exactly have you served?”

After another long considered pause, he answered:

“Sanctuary.”

If you have enjoyed this story so far, please let me know in the comments! Thanks for reading!

- Erisian