by Kyra Quinn
“What preparations are left for tomorrow?” Viktor asked, eager to change the subject away from Remiel and the weight of his decision.
“Not much. I suppose we should break down the camp if you’re coming with me. The dryads and forest Fey favor those who leave things as they found them. Besides that, I’ve about packed everything up. We might need to find something to eat tonight, though.”
Viktor nodded, relieved to have a practical task to set his anxious mind to work on. “I’ll go hunt while you take care of things at camp. Let’s try to get to sleep early tonight so we can leave out as soon as the sun breaks.”
Jett agreed, and after a few more moments of idle chit-chat the two men set about their separate tasks. Viktor found himself relieved to have an excuse to shift into his more primal side. The more time he spent in wolf form, the more the loud chatter of his human thoughts and the sensitivity of the heart of man struck him as deficiencies. As a wolf, only his pack and survival mattered. The needs never became complicated or overwhelming. As a wolf, he had all the freedom of a man with none of the responsibilities.
At least, none besides preventing the end of the world.
* * *
Though he knew the importance of a final night’s rest before their arduous journey, slumber came with its own set of challenges. It took Viktor hours after he laid down and closed his eyes to fall asleep. Each chirp of the crickets or whisper of the wind made his muscles tense and heart race. Soon. The world as he had known it would soon change, and not a damn thing he did could stop that.
Viktor’s body drifted off to sleep. His mind continued to haunt him. The dreams of his childhood returned to him as they always had in times of strife, the memories clear enough to bring tears to his eyes. He found himself once more a child, frightened and alone as he stumbled through the darkness. Everything around him was pitch black, as if a starless sky had swallowed him whole. His heart pounded against his ribcage. He spun in a slow circle, admiring the endless nothing. He cried out for his mother. His father. The gods. Anyone who might help him.
At first, only a painful and empty silence answered. His limbs grew heavy with dread. His mother and father couldn’t save him. No one could. Wherever Viktor had ended up, he was alone.
Viktor did what any child might have done in his position. He screamed, cried, kicked, and ran himself in circles until his body passed out from sheer exhaustion. Dreams of racing his sister through the hills consumed him, his mother’s gentle smile fixed in his direction as she watched them play from the window in the kitchen. When his eyes fluttered open, his heart broke once more to discover the deception of his slumber.
The dark emptiness was gone. Instead, Viktor found himself in a place so beautiful he knew he couldn’t be awake. Thick, puffy white clouds floated inches above lush fields of grass. A waterfall gushed crystal blue water into an inviting pool at the end of a wide, deep river. Rainbows of flowers and small bushes covered the open fields as if one of the scenic paintings in his father’s study had come to life. Where the land ended, a golden staircase lined with flowers ascended over a crystal blue ocean, the top of the stairs hidden amongst clouds of lavender and steel.
A godly figure with feathered black wings wider than Viktor stood tall posed in front of the mountainous gold staircase. His right hand clutched a broadsword, the steel of the blade consumed by pale blue and orange flames. Solid gold armor covered his body head-to-toe. His helmet hid his eyes, but Viktor felt the heat of his gaze on him. Viktor’s eyes opened, and he straightened his spine and spoke in a voice that haunted Viktor’s dreams for years to come.
“Viktor Kinzhal,” the angel boomed, “you are here before me to have your soul weighed and your purity judged to determine your fate in the afterlife.”
His heart sank. The afterlife. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend to have dreamed up the creature in front of him, but the angel of death had come for him. Death never returned what it had claimed for its own.
“Where are my parents?”
The angel shook his head. “You know the answer to that.”
Viktor shuddered as memories rushed back to the front of his mind. His mother’s screams. His father’s orders to run. The demon’s sadistic cackle and taunts. His stomach churned as he wrapped his arms around his waist.
“Will you send me to the Shadowrealm?” he asked. “Please, I want to join my parents.”
The angel shook his head once more. “I determined the fate of your parents. They each lived righteous and courageous lives. We carved out a home for both of their souls in the Elysian Gardens.”
His heart seized. “And mine?”
“Suicide is far from an honorable end.”
Heat rushed up Viktor’s neck and into his face. His eyes burned with tears, his vision blurred. He had almost forgotten why the angel of death had arrived for his soul. He summoned him.
But the angel shook his head. “It is not your time, Viktor Kinzhal. Your mother and father have fulfilled their purposes in life and can die at peace with the decisions they made. But it is not our right to determine when or how our lives end. The gods have a plan for every soul born in Astryae, yourself included. You will stand before me for judgment one day, but it is not today.”
“I-I don’t understand,” Viktor stammered. “If I’m here with you, am I dead?”
“So you are. But Osius has spoken, and your soul is not ready to claim. Not yet. Your destiny is written in the stars, Viktor Kinzhal. You will die with honor.”
His knees went weak. “What?”
“Osius has given you a second chance, Viktor. Your life’s work is far from complete. Now go. Live a life your parents would admire.”
Viktor had woken up seconds later in Remiel’s arms, the banished angel’s face a mixture of rage and grief. When he noticed his eyes flutter open, Remiel had struck him across the face.
“Idiot! Stupid, spoiled child!” he’d shouted. “What were you thinking? I did not give up my entire life to save yours just to watch you throw it away!”
Viktor groaned and rubbed his neck where the noose had strangled the life from him. The windpipe and vocal cords didn’t feel damaged, but a nasty bruise would surface by morning. He hadn’t known how to explain to Remiel how much he missed his parents. As much as he appreciated the angel’s kindness and sacrifice, existence without his sister’s innocent giggle or his mother’s gentle hugs felt like more of a curse than a blessing.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?” Remiel snapped.
“You said the angels banished you because of me?”
Remiel’s posture had stiffened the way it always did when he mentioned Remiel’s life with the angels. “Can we not—”
“Please?”
Remiel sighed. “Yes. When news of Grace and Norrix’s conception first broke, none of the angels rejoiced in your existence. Norrix’s bloodline descended from Anja herself. His decision to marry Grace and pollute that blood with someone many viewed as less worthy infuriated many.”
Viktor’s cheeks burned to hear his mother, the mother who had tucked him into bed each night and sang to him in a voice like the chords of a harp each night until he’d fallen asleep, spoken of as if she’d been a stain on the clan’s name. He knew he couldn’t hold it against Remiel—the angel lacked most basic human emotions, let alone empathy—but he still sprang to his feet and stormed out of the small bathroom of the hostel room he and Remiel had shared for the last few weeks.
“Viktor,” Remiel called after him, his voice strained. “I refused the orders because I knew they were wrong. Grace and Norrix created something special in you. You will grow into a fine man one day.”
The words did little to dull the ache of his mother’s absence, but he nodded. “I think an Archangel spared me today. He said it wasn’t my time.”
Remiel didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice sounded far away. “They see now what I saw then. The world needs you, Viktor Kinzhal. You have a
destiny to fulfill.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Truth is Subjective
While Rhayer may value strength and bravery, Osius prizes honesty above all else. Be careful how many lies you tell, for the god of judgment is always listening.
-The Sacred Texts, 338:24 (Osius)
A restless energy spread from my gut through my body as the days ticked by. I paced every inch of Aster’s cozy maisonette so many times my feet had left groove marks in her floors. I’d flipped through every book Aster owned twice. While the passages on the Feyfolk and their different variations shed a little clarity on the magical community in Astryae, nothing explained the coming war or how to stop it.
All attempts to persuade Aster to allow me to practice more with my powers fell on deaf ears. No matter how many excuses and explanations I offered, Aster shook her head and pointed me back to the altar table and suggested I study more. As if any of her stupid books had any wisdom on how to prevent an apocalypse. Sometimes I had to question if Aster wanted the world to end.
But she kept her own nose buried between the pages, too. I watched her for a few days, but I could never tell if she read to convince me of the importance or if she hoped to find some hidden secrets inked between the spines. I asked what she hoped to find, but Aster had only grunted in response.
Early morning sunlight streamed through the open windows and onto the mezzanine. Aster leaned against the wall, a book open in her lap. She had sat me down at the altar table after breakfast with vague instructions to ‘keep an eye out for mentions of magic.’ My eyes, however, refused to focus on the words. The text wiggled and danced on the page as if to taunt me, the sentences indecipherable.
“This is hopeless.” I slammed the book in my lap shut and dropped it on the table in front of me with a thud. “A history lesson won’t help me with future events. I need to work on mastering my powers if we want any hope of this ending in our favor.”
Aster frowned. “Don’t be so certain. History is cyclic. What has been before will be once more.”
A sharp knock at the front door interrupted my response. My heart jumped into my throat. We sprang to our feet in unison, Aster’s book falling on the floor in front of her with a thud.
Viktor.
Aster and I raced down the stairs, nearly tripping over each other as we stumbled onto the landing. I tried to swallow back the seed of childish hope blooming inside of me. Had Viktor managed to save Remiel? Had he given up and returned to us for help? Was he hurt, or—
Aster threw the door open. My chin dropped to my chest as my heart sank into my stomach. Morrigan stood in the doorway with a burlap bag the size of a small child clutched to her chest. A velvety scarlet cloak covered her simple beige linen dress. She’d pulled her thick, wild curls behind her head, her bronze cheeks and lips rosy. Her topaz eyes sparkled as Aster yanked her inside and slammed the door closed behind her.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, her voice breathy. “I had to travel by train.”
Aster’s eyebrows furrowed. “But the spell—”
“Was not an option this time. The coven is under a full lock-down until things are figured out between Madre and the Elders. Any mage found using magic without explicit written permission from Madre faces banishment. Or worse.”
The way the color drained from Aster’s cheeks suggested I didn’t want to ask what ‘worse’ meant.
“I don’t understand.” Aster shook her head. “Mages are defenseless without their spells and magic. Why would Madre and the Elders wish to leave the rest of the coven vulnerable?”
“If there is any accuracy to the rumors, the decision wasn’t Madre’s. Starbright has seen more demon attacks in the last month than we have in years. Rumor has it someone unleashed the Forsaken. Passives are pointing fingers at the various covens scattered throughout the mountains. They don’t understand demonology the way Feyfolk do. Madre and the Elders have locked everything down to protect the mages. The more magic we use, the more fuel we add to the fire.”
Aster scoffed. “Ridiculous. Why would anyone summon droves of demons to the surface?”
Morrigan tugged at her ear. “Only one coven in the area subscribes to the Way of the Shadows, but they almost never leave the mountains. It’d be just as simple to lay the blame on the vampires or ghouls.”
“But humans love a good witch hunt.” Aster rubbed her forehead. “If we don’t get things under control soon, Astryae might face a second Age of Atonement.”
Her words left a chill in the room. Morrigan and Aster exchanged a long, worried glance that left an empty pit in my stomach. From what little I had learned about the Age of Atonement since my conversation with Aster, the passives wouldn’t stop with the mages. Magical blood in Astryae would spill, and the demons wouldn’t need to lift a finger.
“This is Daeva’s work.” My voice trembled as a cold sweat gathered on my palms. “It has her evil touch all over it.”
“Maybe,” Aster said, her eyes still on Morrigan. “Or maybe the demons want retribution for Andras, even if it means spilling innocent blood.”
“You think it’s bait?”
“That’s the most sensible explanation yet,” Morrigan said, leaning against the wall. She turned to me with a weak smile and added, “It’s nice to see you again, Lili. You look great.”
Heat rushed up my neck and into my face. Not prepared for company, I’d stumbled downstairs in a pair of Aster’s shorts and a linen shirt left by one of the boys. My unkempt locks fell around my face in knotted clumps. I had yet to wash my face or do anything to ready for the day.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked, hoping to detract her attention away from my appearance.
She laughed and dropped the burlap sack on the floor between her and Aster with a thud. “Books, of course. Aster is never satisfied with her collection.”
Aster grimaced. “I’ll be satisfied when I find what I need. If the rest of the coven cracked open a book here and there, things wouldn’t be so bad in Starbright.”
Morrigan’s expression darkened. I cleared my throat and stood to excuse myself from the room, but Aster’s tiny hands locked around my wrist before I moved.
Aster’s expression changed into something I couldn’t read. She tapped a finger to her lips, her gaze locked on something behind Morrigan’s head. “The wards Daeva placed on Lili at birth are gone.”
“They are,” Morrigan said, lowering her pencil-thin eyebrows.
“We must apply new ones if we wish to keep her location hidden. The house is full of wards and cloaking spells, but she’s vulnerable the moment she steps foot out the front door.”
My thoughts raced. Aster and I had gone outside almost daily to train, and harm had yet to befall us. I had no doubt I still had a target on my back, but the demons hadn’t tried to attack me since our narrow escape from the Shadowrealm. Were they busy with bigger plans? Or waiting for a better opportunity to strike?
Morrigan’s face paled. “Can you do that without your soul gem?”
“No. Which is why I need you to do it for me.”
Morrigan shuffled her weight. “Aster, I don’t know—”
“Please,” Aster said, her voice softening. She reached for Morrigan as if to grab her hand, then allowed her arm to fall limp by her side. “I know this is a lot to ask of you, and I don’t take it lightly. You have always avoided blood magic wherever possible, and I have always admired you for it. But this is bigger than you or me, darling. These wards may spell the difference between life and death for Lili. Between victory and defeat in the war.”
Morrigan’s shoulders slumped. She exhaled a shaky sigh. “As you wish, my love. The spell will consume a part of my soul, but it also demands a blood sacrifice.” She turned to me and winced. “At least you can heal yourself right after?”
“Not this again,” I groaned. It no longer scared me to have Aster cut into my flesh, but the experience was still far from pleasurable. “Can’t you kill a rabbit or something instead?”
>
Aster shook her head. “Morrigan is right. The runes will last longer if we carve them into your flesh. Your blood is also more potent than a hare’s. It will only hurt for a moment, but the protection will last through the seasons.”
“But the demons—”
“Aren’t the only ones we need to worry about,” Aster said, her tone sharp. “This is the least of what will soon be asked of you, Lili. With any luck, disguising your location and keeping you from them will slow the war long enough for us to conjure a proper plan.”
I clenched my teeth. “Very well. Make quick work of it.”
Morrigan bent down, her hands disappearing into the folds of her cloak. They reappeared clutching a jeweled dagger and a stave identical to the one Aster had lost in Shadow City.
“Turn around and move your hair to the side,” she said in the gentle but firm voice of a schoolteacher or mother.
My feet followed her instructions, but my heart sprang into my throat. “You’re carving it into my neck? Why there?”
“In case it scars,” she said. She pressed the cold tip of her dagger against the back of my neck. “Sigils are efficient, but they don’t have much aesthetic appeal.”
A burning sensation shot down my neck and through my body. The heat moved from the base of my neck down to my shoulders. Each hand gripped a fistful of my nightdress. A groan escaped my clenched teeth. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for Morrigan to finish her wicked spell.
“There,” she said after what felt like an eternity and seconds all at once, “now it’s my turn.”
I opened my eyes to see her digging the sharpened tip of the ruby affixed to the end of her soul gem into the center of her palm. Her hand trembled, her eyes locked on Aster’s. When the skin around the gem split and blood seeped into the gem, she pulled the stave away and chanted, “Abscondo, obtego, salvare. Abscondo, obtego, salvare.”