Midnight Rain

by Cecily Magnon

  The energy in the cave shifted as if Will was moving, searching. You have mastered energies. Use mine. Trust it.

  Jarron breathed deeply, accepting the Dark One’s energy to grow inside of him.

  Good work. He could almost see the smile in the Dark One’s tone. A friend comes.

  “Jarron.” Naisa called out. “Jarron, are you still here?” Her steps had slowed as she neared the cave entrance.

  He exited the cavern, meeting Naisa.

  “I was worried.” She was studying him. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, unsure of how to respond. He felt different.

  She angled to look around him. “We all were. You’ve been out here for a long time.” She tried to look around him again. “What are you doing in there? I heard a noise.”

  He scoffed and twisted to look behind him. Will had reappeared and was standing at the control desk, Ellie’s rods held reverently in his hands. “Being schooled.”

  Jarron stepped aside, letting Naisa inside the cave. She walked to Will, the two having only met hours before. They took up a polite conversation, seeming to enjoy each other’s company. He began walking away, still feeling the strength of angel energy coursing through his body.

  Chilled morning air, blew through ashes littering the forest floor, sending small embers to scatter on the singed ground. Out here, the destruction of the attack was evident--unavoidable and harsh like the smell of smoke, dirt, and blood. The land was burned and ripped open. He felt the same way.

  Up above, the same raven he’d witnessed after the demon queen had appeared, had returned. The large bird circled against the deep orange hue of the sky as if watching over him. The sounds coming from the bird touched his heart, the rhythmic crying tugged his insides, and flooded him with warmth. Thank you, his thought was directed to the bird. The spirit animal acknowledged him before flying away. Leaving him to watch the sky until the cawing faded.

  Will was still inside the cave with Naisa. Their lesson had ended as quickly as it had begun. But their energies remained connected. He closed his eyes, feeling Will’s voice echoing inside his head. Baal will use Ellie to end the world.

  Turning his hands over and under, he saw them with renewed clarity. He lifted both arms, fisted his hands, and aimed for a fallen tree. White light and red fire spun around each other, the whir of energy sounding like a song in his mind. He could see his powers clearly, the red angry flame was no longer punitive and obtrusive, but an integral part of him--like his light, White Purity. Light and dark. Rage and peace. He saw light and fire become one, saw their trajectory and force even before they exited his limbs. The fallen tree burst into nothing. His power splintered wood grains and turned them to ash instantly.

  Lesson One. Complete. Will communicated telepathically.

  He twisted, looking into the cave. He could see Will and Naisa inside. They were both watching him. Will caught his gaze and gave him a shallow bow. His eyes as troubled as he felt. Jarron returned the gesture then turned to stare where the tree had stood, his thoughts persisting on what lay ahead.

  The Order needed to rise above and be reborn from the ashes.

  Hope could not be lost.

  Chapter Two

  January 16th, The Order’s Estate

  5:00am

  Chase Sommer bent over, sweat dripping from his face, lungs burning from exertion. The estate’s large, world class gymnasium was empty. Training sessions for the civilians had not yet begun for the day. The smell of sweat hanging in the air was his alone. He swallowed, wanting to relieve the dryness in his throat. The sparring ring lit with overhead lights felt hotter than usual, or perhaps it was Kingston’s assessment of his every move making him nervous. The big guardian had not even broken a sweat during their training.

  “You are like the prodigal son.” Kingston finally spoke.

  Chase stood, a questioning smirk hooking the corner of his lip, breath sawing in and out beneath his drenched t-shirt. “I’m not asking for redemption.”

  “Maybe not from me. But it seems you seek your brother’s approval?”

  He swallowed again, his mouth felt tacky. Caleb had been an asshole, doing everything he could to make him feel stupid about his decision to join the FBI. When Chase left, he’d decided to go on without his family’s support. It affected him more than he had expected. But that was the past. Shaking his head he locked onto Kingston’s eyes. “We’ve made our amends.”

  The High Guardian straightened to his full height, huge deltoids bulged from either shoulder, stretching the sleeves of his black t-shirt as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I am happy to hear it. Brothers must be united.” He locked on to him, crystal green eyes dancing with an inner fire. “The streets have changed. What is required of us has changed. The rules we have always abided by no longer have meaning. Our best may not be good enough. Are you willing to do what is necessary?”

  The question froze him where he stood. Working for the Feds brought to light a secret project aimed at exposing Others--supernatural beings including his own people, the Anakim. The Seraphim Project was bad news and completely covert. Somehow, he managed to get recruited into the Project; allowing him to keep watch from inside the FBI, and alerting The Order about important agency activities in the city. He never really considered himself a mole for The Order. Guardian or not, his loyalty was to his people. He only chose to serve and protect in a different way.

  He was finally deployed for an active mission a few days ago, right before all hell broke loose on The Order. And he found himself playing double agent instantly. Going undercover had been turned on its heels and he was now trying to bring down the agency he worked for, or more accurately, General Mitchell, one of the most influential men in the United States Army. Severing his ties with the FBI didn’t come in to play. He was ready to do what was right. “Yes. For our people. For The Order.”

  Kingston gave him the traditional bow. An acknowledgement, and in this case, acceptance. The powerful guardian approached him, the gait smooth, flowing, king-like and intimidating. Even the man’s light mocha skin, from his shaved head to his thick corded arms, seemed to brighten as he reached out, hand extended. “Welcome to my team.”

  He let out his breath, excitement making him feel elated. Though he knew Caleb would not get in the way, he also knew the High Guardians saw him as Caleb’s ‘little brother,’ and the guardians were known for their overprotective natures.

  Kingston was smiling, his posture more relaxed. “Caleb vouched for you.”

  Predictable. “Is that the only reason I’m in your team?”

  The big guardian shook his head. “No. You are a highly trained FBI Agent. You have also been trained as an Anakim Guardian. One of the best. It was our loss when you decided to walk away. I have much respect for your brother, but the decision was mine alone. I’ve watched you since you returned.”

  “Thank you. I won’t let you down.” With Kingston as his High Guardian, he felt compelled to share information about the Seraphim Project and his suspicions about General Solomon Mitchell. “I need to tell you about the Seraphim Project.”

  Kingston nodded once. “Caleb has shared your concerns with the High Guardians. We all agreed, more information is needed before this can be presented to the rest of The Order and the Council.”

  Not yet, his brother had advised. Get hard evidence, then we can present this. The Order was overwrought, and they couldn’t go off of suspicions. Hard facts about the Project was needed. One more burden and The Order could break. If he was going to add to the scales tipping quickly against them, he had to make sure it was worth The Order’s attention.

  “This General Mitchell. You will have to feed him information.”

  “I’ll find out more about the Seraphim Project. I’m convinced it’s connected to everything that’s happening now. I just need to find the link.” General Solomon Mitchell held information The Order needed. Until Chase could find out the Project’s true mission, he had to keep up the rus
e with the army general. But Mitchell was not a stupid man. Sooner or later, he and his FBI team would be discovered. “What about Kimmer and Jackson?”

  Kingston shifted in his stance, big chest puffing up with a sharp breath. “I have watched your friends. They are good men. Good Agents. Kimmer Jones will join our team. I have asked Jarron’s team to take him on some assignments to get him familiar with our ways. His abilities will be useful.” Kingston paused momentarily as the gym lights started to come on one by one, and lines of civilians steadily poured in, many of them in idle chat. Kingston looked around until he spotted who he was looking for. He lifted a chin toward a group getting ready on mats near the entrance. “There.” He pointed. “Your friend, Jackson Powell has become an invaluable member to our cause. Without his assistance, training of the civilians would not have come as far as it has.”

  Chase nodded, not surprised both of his men have found a place amongst the Anakim.

  “Jackson is needed here at the estate.” Kingston affirmed.

  Jackson’s voice rose above the din of the noise muffling the gym. He looked at his friend, a human, who just days ago had no idea about the existence of supernatural beings. Yet here he was, balls deep and risking his life to help The Order.

  In just the few days since the Call to Arms was declared, his people had rallied together. Civilians were being trained to become soldiers to go against hordes of demons. They were outnumbered at least a thousand to one. The future of the Anakim was bleak, but watching his people now, and feeling the commitment emanating from their essences, he vowed to do what must be done; for The Order and for his people. “What’s my first mission?”

  Chapter Three

  January 17th, The Order’s Estate

  Evening

  A large brown owl swooped into the open bay of the estate’s garage. Katcher, a death rider stood waiting patiently, her sculpted arm crooked, and held perpendicular to her chest. The owl landed gently on the woman’s forearm, large talons curling carefully over the crimson bands crisscrossing the woman’s limb.

  Oversized, round golden eyes blinked methodically as the owl swiveled its big head studying his surroundings. The bird gave a hoot, and lifted off of Katcher’s arm. It circled towards the high ceilings of the garage bay, a crackle fizzed in the air, and spotted brown feathers fell softly to the ground. Wanda, the Grand Sorcerer, returned to his human form.

  The old man smiled, his toothless grin making him seem so harmless. “I do love flying.” Wanda exclaimed. “There is nothing like it in the world.” He breathed deeply, expanding the bony chest beneath the loose beige cotton tunic. “And flying with Will is out of this world.” The old man chuckled.

  “The Dark One declines my offer,” Katcher muttered, arms held tightly over her chest.

  Her words seemed to have deflated her effervescent new friend. “It is good that William does. He is too new. An angel in his infancy.” Wanda reached for her arm, and gently pulled on her hand. “He is a good man. Much of Mahalel, his father, your handler, is within him, but he is still learning to…” The old man paused, and locked her gaze. The kindness in his eyes, softening her hardened barriers.

  “To what?” she asked, frustrated.

  “Not be human.” He gave her a tight smile. “Handlers to Death Riders are the most benevolent in the realms. They are chosen for a reason. It is a task with the heaviest burden. Becoming a handler to a Death Rider is not so simple. You understand this.”

  Katcher let out a defeated sigh. “I know this. But I feel disconnected without a handler. I am without my abilities. I am just as lost as the Dark Ones. As Mahalel. I have never been without Mahalel. He grounds my powers and allows me to see clearly. With Mahalel, I know my purpose.”

  Wanda was contemplative. “William. Will. …is not Mahalel and he can never be. Will may be a Dark One now, but the events that have been set before him carves his purpose in ways so different from any of his kind.” The old man gave her one of his biggest toothless smiles, catching her off guard. He had been so serious. “You will need to find a different purpose.” Wanda pointed a bony finger at her chest. “You are not limited. With your immense powers, and the current needs of this realm, I am sure you will have plenty of opportunity.”

  “What powers? I cannot be a death rider without a handler,” she scoffed.

  “Perhaps you cannot ride the cloak of death, and reap a soul, but you are not powerless.”

  She jerked. “I do not know if I can. I have only known one way.” Her thin brows knotted. What was she, if she was not a Death Rider? She did not even know where to begin.

  “I have faith in you, dear one.” Wanda patted her arm tenderly, the kindness from his soul spilling into her, warming her icy countenance.

  “Why must old men be so stubborn?” she grumbled.

  Wanda chuckled and shuffled away, leaving her to her thoughts.

  Katcher strolled to the mouth of The Order’s garage. She pierced her consciousness into the darkness of the woods, pass the murky waters, and into the large city across the Bay. Her heart pounded rhythmically, and her breathing slowed as she reached into the night. Many were dying.

  Her hands fisted against her sides while memories of Mahalel’s teaching flashed through her mind. “Every life length is determined.” He had shown her a delicate strand of energetic fiber. It lit with his touch, and bright colors bloomed out of thousands of pinpoints of light. “This is a human spark.” He lectured. “His name was Fred Robin and he volunteered for our lesson today.”

  A human male then emerged from the spark, big brown eyes shining with peace and happiness. “Hello,” Fred Robin greeted.

  She smiled at Fred Robin.

  “Your job as a Death Rider will be to take the spark of life when time has tolled.” Mahalel instructed matter-of-factly. “A name will be given to you, and it is your job to ensure the being’s essence returns safely to the correct realm.”

  “Like Fred Robin?” she had asked. She had been so young then.

  “Yes, like Fred Robin.” Mahalel confirmed.

  “But Fred Robin looks young. Why did his life thread end so soon?”

  “The Threads of Life are complicated and filled with many variables. A thread twists upon another strand, upon another, upon another, to give it strength. But yet, a thread can still fray and weaken. But it is the nature of the thread. For some, when the fraying begins, the physical lives can manifest into events that become hard and challenging--misfortunes, losses. Depending upon the being, they can either gather themselves, learn, and rise against the difficulties--thereby not only repairing the thread but also strengthening it. Or, they can succumb. Thereby allowing the thread to snap.”

  “What about illnesses?”

  “Some can be overcome. Others are not meant to be.”

  Katcher’s young mind was trying to process. “What Being would want to give up?”

  Mahalel smiled. “Every thread is beautiful and complex, and not even I can explain the variables. We all have a purpose. One of yours will be to help, and protect those who are ready to return. When the name is spoken, rest assured the thread has come to its natural end.”

  “Can…” Katcher’s heart sped up, a dark thought nagging at her. “Can a thread be ended before Time and Fate has declared it so?”

  Mahalel’s entire being went dark, his energy droning a lowly tone, making her extremely uncomfortable. She shouldn’t have asked the question.

  “Yes. Demons.” Her teacher muttered a growl. “They can rip essences out of a vessel. They can violate a being in the darkest ways. They feed on the essences of the Creator’s children.” Mahalel looked up to the Heavens, and whispered a prayer. “An essence lost to a demon is a tormented one.”

  A cold chill crawled up her rigid spine. The dying’s pain and fears rushed her. She winced in agony. “Mahalel, where are you? These people need help. Their essences are lost,” she pleaded, “these people’s lives are being perverted to feed demons.” She stilled and beg
ged for an answer. “Mahalel, please…” Holding her breath and letting hope fill her heart, she extended her energy as far as she could stretch to feel for her mentor’s light. Waiting, she swallowed a bitter pang when only emptiness touched upon her heart.

  Humans dying tonight were being robbed of their precious time.

  Wanda was right.

  She could not exact her abilities as a Death Rider, but she was not powerless. Transgressions against the delicate balance of life, and the divine order were being committed. “Demons,” she growled, her own energy grew heavy and dark much like her mentor’s did those many years ago. Fisting her hands until her knuckles popped, she thought about the injustices the human souls were suffering from.

  An essence lost to a demon is a tormented one. She closed her eyes in meditation, remembering her mentor’s words.

  Her mind made up. She walked into the darkness of the woods surrounding the estate. Her heart beating steadily, she cloaked herself in shadow, rendering her physical form invisible. She would visit the city across the Bay. She would fight for these lost lives, not as a Death Rider, but as an ally to The Order.

  Chapter Four

  January 17th, near the dead zone

  Late evening

  Katcher cursed in frustration as she entered the city’s borders. Her footsteps slow and deliberate to avoid the carnage littering the streets. Everywhere she turned, bits of material lay strewn like garbage. She was in an industrial part of the city. Many vehicles were toppled over leaking gasoline. Some smoldered, no longer on fire, but still scalding hot. Buildings were torn apart; graffiti riddled every available surface.