On Wings of Thunder (On Wings Saga 1)

by M. D. Grimm

  It seemed he’d been chosen after all. Trystan swallowed a laugh he knew would have had the edge of hysteria to it.

  “Attention!” his father’s voice boomed.

  Trystan looked up, focusing on his mother, his father, and Annalise. She stood between both of them, a large book in her hand. The same thick volume he’d flipped through to find those pictures of Asagoroth.

  Trystan’s mouth dried.

  “Angels, calm yourselves!” his father boomed again.

  It was with obvious reluctance the angels finally stopped fluttering, stopped shouting and demanding, and fell silent. But the rustling, the agitation, wouldn’t be silenced.

  The high chancellor, a man of impressive height with black eyes, hair, and wings, stepped onto the stage to stand in front of Trystan’s parents and sister. His eyes were stony and hard as they swept over his citizens. Trystan shrank slightly, hoping that gaze flew right over him. Despite the density of angels, he felt like he had a glowing arrow above his head, pointing right at him.

  “We will have order in this room. And we shall keep that order while this situation is dealt with. That is my decree.”

  Angels responded to orders, generally speaking. The high chancellor was obviously taking charge and didn’t look the least bit ruffled—which was quite impressive, considering the magnitude of the threat Asagoroth presented. And that fact that the chancellor was now homeless because of the dragon.

  Trystan stared at him as the rest did, hoping for some reassurance.

  “As it has been made clear to all of you,” the high chancellor continued, his voice brisk, cool, reasonable, “one of our most feared enemies has resurfaced. He now threatens to destroy us if we do not hand over one of our own. That we shall never do.”

  Trystan swallowed hard.

  The high chancellor clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace the stage, a commander in front of his forces.

  “He has given us twelve hours, which means he is aware that our protective dome cannot be sustained any longer than that. That means we have twelve hours to coordinate a counteroffensive and—”

  “It took the five greatest angels in history to defeat him!” a male angel shouted from somewhere in the room. His high-pitched voice echoed off the walls. Stunned silence fell at the interruption. “And now we learn that they never actually killed him!”

  The high chancellor said nothing. He simply stared at one side of the room, apparently at the one who interrupted him. The stare and silence continued past the point of discomfort. Then with obvious satisfaction, the high chancellor turned away and addressed the crowd once again.

  “We shall also spend part of these twelve hours in discovering the true history of our elders and their once-believed victory over the Great Beast. And then we shall discover the traitor who awakened him.” He turned to Annalise. “Keeper, please tell us what you know.”

  Annalise bowed her head to him before stepping up. He stepped back. She stood straight, her shoulders back, her head high. Trystan wondered if he was the only one who saw his sister’s nerves. She’d never addressed a crowd this big before.

  “My people—” Her voice quavered. She stopped, cleared her throat, and took a breath. “My people, I am here to reveal the truth. I am here to divulge what has been kept hidden from us.” She held up the volume in her hands. “This book is the only one in our possession that explains the true events of the final battle between angels and the great dragon.”

  A short podium was brought for her and she set the book on it. She opened the volume and flipped through a dozen pages before stopping. She read a little before looking up and speaking.

  “The author of this account was an eyewitness to these events and should be considered credible.”

  Trystan pushed away from the wall, stepping closer. The pressure in his head intensified. He frowned and wondered if Asagoroth could hear what he could.

  “The great dragon attacked the Upper Realm, his forces spreading out, clashing with those of the angels. It was a fierce battle, one that destroyed much, and even spread into the Middle Realm. But the elders came to meet Asagoroth alone. It was fierce, long, loud, and brutal. But in the end, the will of the five managed to overcome that of Asagoroth.” She paused, read some more of the text. “However, the elders knew they couldn’t kill Asagoroth, for he was much too powerful. But they did realize that they could capture him. Imprison him forever. With their collective life forces, they cast a spell, imprisoning him in the foundation of the Upper Realm. But Asagoroth was more powerful and far cleverer than they could have imagined.”

  Trystan held his breath. He felt a strange… something… inside his head. It was as if there was someone else in there.

  He gulped and on impulse murmured, “Do you hear this?”

  Without hesitation: Yes, my beloved.

  Trystan’s gut tightened at the endearment.

  “The dragon changed the spell even as it took form around him,” Annalise continued. “Instead of it lasting forever, it would only last until the blood of an angel—the blood of a certain angel—was given to him, to be made to flow through his veins. Then after three days of absorption, Asagoroth would be released.”

  Silence followed her words. Trystan tucked his wounded hand close to his side, pulling it up under his long sleeve.

  “But what angel?” someone asked. “Does it say what angel?”

  Annalise looked ill. She was too pale, her eyes too haunted. Trystan wondered at it.

  “It does… in a way.” She looked at the high chancellor, as if in a plea. He gave her a slight nod, encouragement to continue. She closed her eyes for a moment, seemingly in pain, before looking at the previous page, reading silently.

  Then she looked up and spoke.

  “In his time Asagoroth wanted to rule all the realms. He was a canny and brilliant military leader and led the demons in a full-out assault upon the angels. But near the beginning of the war, he managed to take five angels hostage. The author only claims they were angels of great importance to society. He speculates that the dragon planned to torture them for information, but it never happened.” She swallowed. “Asagoroth, the great dragon, leader of the demon armies… fell in love with an angel.”

  Angry murmurings, scoffing, and rustling met her revelation.

  Trystan caught his breath as he glanced at his parents. They shared a quick glance but said nothing as they stood beside the high chancellor.

  “Is that true?” Trystan whispered, thinking the question as well.

  Yes.

  Trystan could only shake his head as his sister continued.

  “One of his captives,” Annalise said, “was named Roland. He was an artist of great talent. He convinced Asagoroth to release the other angels. It says here that Roland then left with Asagoroth. They abandoned their respective people and hid for many years, mostly in the Middle Realm or the Outer Borders. But the angels and demons still fought. And the angels eventually found Roland.”

  Trystan felt slightly nauseated. He knew that name. He shouldn’t, but he did.

  Why did this all feel like déjà vu?

  “They took him back to the Upper Realm. They branded him a traitor. They executed him in a ritual of purification.”

  Trystan felt a blast of anger and the pressure inside his head turned painful. He hissed and fell back against the wall. He gripped his head even as the pain receded nearly instantly.

  “That is why Asagoroth led his final and most brutal assault upon the Upper Realm,” Annalise said. “He no longer wanted to rule it. He wanted to destroy it and all the angels as punishment for what they took from him. When Asagoroth modified the spell, he changed it so that only a very special angel’s blood would awaken and release him.” She paused. “Roland. He created the spell for Roland.”

  “But Roland was dead!”

  Annalise nodded slowly. She shut the book, dragging her palm over the cover. Then she looked up and stared directly into Trystan’s eyes.
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  His heart bashed against his ribs.

  “Energy doesn’t die. We know this. Our energy simply disperses and joins again to create someone else. Citizens of Emphoria, we are looking for the reincarnation of Roland, the former lover of the great dragon Asagoroth.”

  Chapter Six

  Now do you see, my beloved?

  Trystan slid to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his wings around himself. He hid in them, focusing on breathing. He tapped his fingers on his forearm, struggling to wrap his mind around all of this new, amazing, confusing information.

  We are meant to be together. Always and forever. You are my angel. I am your dragon.

  Trystan rocked slightly, letting the murmurs and arguments and chaos rattle on around him. That didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. Now he had his answers, like it or not. He knew the connection now, the constant sense of déjà vu. He knew why his blood had acted so strangely, why he seemed to know the dragon’s name from the start, and why he recognized that large blue eye in his dream. If he was once Roland, he would know Asagoroth. His essence, his spirit would know the dragon.

  Come to me, my love. I know you want to. I feel your need.

  Trystan’s face heated. “I’m not Roland.” It was said in a whisper. He barely heard his own voice.

  There was a pause. The pressure in his head never lessened.

  What is your name in this time?

  He really shouldn’t be talking to the demon inside his head, but what else could he do? He doubted ignoring the beast would make him go away. Part of him didn’t want Asagoroth to go away.

  “Trystan.”

  Trystan. That voice made his name a seduction. He shivered and his cock hardened. Beautiful, elegant. Just as you are, just as you have always been. Come to me.

  Damn him for wanting to obey like a good dog! Trystan wanted more of those touches he had felt in that dream. There was a burning desire inside to see Asagoroth up close. He wanted to touch the dragon, to look into those large blue eyes for real.

  “You’re a demon.”

  I am. And what of it? You never minded before.

  “I’m not Roland.” On that point he wanted to be perfectly clear.

  He could almost sense Asagoroth’s frustration. I know you are not he. But you are of the same blood, the same spirit. He paused. I heard you in my prison, Trystan. I heard you speak to me. Your voice was the sweetest sound I’d heard in more than a millennium. Your touch was soft and willing. You caressed me and drew me from my loneliness. It wasn’t the first time you have done so.

  Trystan rubbed his temples, his eyes burning. What would happen if he said yes? If he left everything he’d ever known and took a chance on this dragon? This demon.

  Trystan, do you know what it is to hear everything and to feel the passage of time, unable to do anything? I lay in suspension, my love. Alive but lifeless. Rage my only comfort.

  That voice still stroked and crooned. It was pure power, yet was also a gentle coaxing.

  Let me comfort and love you, Trystan. I shall never lie to you. I shall always want you.

  Those words struck a chord inside him. Trystan opened his wings slightly, looking at the angels around him. He considered them, remembered how they looked down upon him or didn’t look at him at all. He remembered the rejection, the shame he’d brought to his family.

  They didn’t want him. Wouldn’t he be doing them a favor if he left?

  As if sensing the moment of weakness, Asagoroth pushed. Like a predator sensing vulnerability.

  What can they give you, Trystan? What have they given you thus far? Have they given you acceptance, love, comfort? Understanding, adoration, humor? I will give you everything and anything you want. All I want is you, Trystan.

  Then he felt something. He realized with a start they were Asagoroth’s emotions. Trystan felt pain, a deep heartache that nearly had him weeping. He felt anger, so hot and deep, he nearly started punching someone. Then he felt a heart-wrenching loneliness and sense of loss that did make him cry. He covered his mouth with his hand as hot tears streamed down his face.

  They label you unchosen, Asagoroth said, pressing hard, his raw emotions overwhelming Trystan. But I choose you, Trystan. I choose you and you alone. There is no one else for me. There never will be. Do not make us stay alone anymore, Trystan. Do not deprive us of the love and affection we deserve.

  Trystan closed his eyes and cried silently. He understood Asagoroth right then and there. He understood, and he wanted exactly what Asagoroth wanted to give him.

  They took Roland away from me. I will not let them take you. Come willingly, Trystan, or watch them die. Please.

  Please.

  Despite the threat, it was that one word that moved Trystan most. It expressed so much, said so much. It was a plea, a promise, an offer all in one. Trystan could feel Asagoroth’s desperation, his fear, and his longing for one he considered his beloved. Despite his rage and thirst for vengeance, Asagoroth would set it all aside for… for him. Trystan was the end goal, not the destruction of the angels.

  It was the same longing Trystan hadn’t known he felt, one he didn’t recognize until now: a need for connection, for one to call his own. He would never be paired with a mating partner, he would be condemned to live the rest of his life alone.

  Trystan took a shaky breath, wiping his eyes. He sniffed hard.

  “Asagoroth,” he whispered.

  Yes?

  “I—”

  “Trystan.”

  Trystan jerked and opened his wings all the way. Annalise stood in front of him, still looking pale and haunted. He opened his mouth to speak, but she knelt, touched his knee.

  “Was it you?” she whispered urgently. “Be honest. Was it you?”

  Trystan swallowed hard. He didn’t speak. But he knew the answer lay within his gaze as he stared at her. She shuddered, and her eyes filled before she ducked her head, her hair falling around her face.

  “Anna,” he said softly as he knelt, his hands on her forearms.

  They weren’t noticed by the crowd. The high chancellor was giving orders, splitting up angels to different posts. He was forming some sort of plan, but Trystan knew it would fail. All of the angels’ power combined wasn’t enough to take down Asagoroth.

  She lifted her head, her eyes red and wet. “Did you know?”

  He shook his head.

  She cupped his face. “Will you go?”

  He swallowed. “I—”

  “Trystan. Annalise.”

  They both jerked their heads up. Gabreld strode toward them, hard armor shining, pale-blond hair weightlessly fluttering around his beautiful face. His broad shoulders held the weight of his wings, which were a dark gold and large, dragging the ground. It was a point of pride to have such large wings. The only thing that marred his perfection was a formidable scar that ran along the left side of his face, just missing his eye. Tall and commanding, Gabreld had never lost a victory in all his battles.

  Trystan and Annalise stood, and he stepped between them, grabbing one of their arms and marching across the room. Trystan struggled to keep up with his father’s long strides. Gabreld managed to bull his way through the crowds, and everyone shifted out of the way, squashing against each other and the walls to make room. Gabreld continued to drag them halfway down before turning off sharply into an empty classroom. He shoved them inside ahead of him, then shut the door.

  Trystan didn’t understand his father’s intentions but made sure to shove back any emotion and all his confusion. The pressure in his head lessened but didn’t fade. He knew Asagoroth would be listening.

  “Father, what—?” Annalise began.

  “Silence.”

  She frowned.

  Trystan looked at his father for the first time in a very long time, and it struck him again just what powerful bloodlines he came from: both parents were commanders of the forces of the city, Gabreld of the men, his mother of the women. Trystan came from a strong, decorated
family, but he had still been born unchosen. Unchosen according to the angels, that is.

  “You will both tell me now, right this instant, if you know anything about what woke up the dragon. Do not attempt to lie to me. I will know.”

  Trystan blinked. He’d never seen his father so furious. Fear quavered in Trystan’s belly, guilt gnawed in his gut. But he remembered Asagoroth’s words. He remembered his place in the angelic society. He remembered the fact that his parents rarely made contact with him.

  “What makes you think we know?” Annalise said, looking convincingly puzzled.

  Gabreld narrowed his eyes until they became like shards of glass. “Watch yourself, Annalise. Watch carefully.”

  Trystan knew they were caught. Anna’s eyes were red and wet, her face still pale. It was obvious she was distressed. It was also obvious to anyone who knew her that she only became distressed when family was in trouble.

  Trystan was the only sibling she had in Emphoria.

  To deny was cowardly and would gain nothing but more trouble. To admit knowledge might be even worse. But if he was going to run off and join Asagoroth, he needed to find a way out.

  Trystan.

  Trystan blinked as more pressure surged into his head. He concentrated, focused. Yes, I’m coming to you.

  He suddenly felt as though warm, loving arms and wings enfolded him, caressed him. Trystan gasped and staggered away at the intensity of emotion Asagoroth poured into him. Annalise grabbed his arm, and his father grabbed the other. Trystan gripped his chest, took deep breaths.

  There are no words to describe how joyful you have made me, my love. My dear, beautiful, darling angel.

  “Trystan.” Gabreld shook him slightly, lowering Trystan into a seat. “What’s wrong with you? What happened? Annalise?”

  “Father, I don’t—”

  “It was me,” Trystan said. He took a deep breath as silence filled the room. He looked across the room at the wall, stared at it, and dug deep for courage, for the strength to stand on his own, to stand his ground.