The teenager didn’t know how many miles he had crossed, but he knew he had flown further than he ever had before. The mountains below had dropped into monotony. The wide expanses of fields. Nothing but flat, volcanic ground. They all stretched on forever. One after another. Imorean barely noticed them. He had been flying higher than the clouds, covering ground as fast as possible.
It was finally the tightness in his chest that forced him to stop. Imorean alighted on a high outcrop of rock. A lava field. He took a deep breath and stood still, ignoring the strong wind battering him. He looked around as he heard moving water. He narrowed his eyes. Where was he? What time was it? Imorean checked his watch. It was five o’clock in the morning. He had flown all day and all night. He hadn’t stopped since early that morning. Imorean blinked. He didn’t feel hungry, he didn’t feel tired. He looked around. All around, he could hear the sounds of rushing water crashing against rocks. A riverbank maybe? A waterfall?
Imorean looked back. He could see lights in the distance to his right. Ahead of him though, everything was black. A wilderness he didn’t know. A world he didn’t understand.
Imorean wondered how close to the ocean he was. He didn’t think he had gone far enough in any one direction. He was probably somewhere in the Icelandic interior. It didn’t matter either way. His fingers fixed around something sharp in his pocket. The tip of Michael’s sword. It was his only heading. Dimly, Imorean tossed it into the air. Immediately, the shard of metal spun and pointed straight ahead. Imorean was still going the right way. What was the right way though? The way to where? Brown eyes stared at the metal shard for a moment. He knew nothing with certainty anymore. It was entirely likely that he was heading into another trap. He blinked as the metal fell back into his hand. What did it matter if he was ambushed again? He flared his wings and leaped into the air. If he found Michael’s rift, he could rest. He would allow himself to rest then and only then. He didn’t care what happened after that. Imorean lifted off into the air again and swept forward. He couldn’t stop. Not yet. If he stopped, he would start to think.
Pearly dawn broke over the east horizon. Imorean swung to the ground, his boots crunching on dirt beneath their soles. A wasteland. Nothing but exposed rock and mossy lichen. Swathes of glacial snow lay on the ground nearby. Where was he? Was he on Earth or was this Mars? Behind him, mountains rose, showing their snowy peaks to an unforgiving, gray sky. Nothing more than rocks and dirt stood between Imorean and them. The teenager turned. Ahead of him, more snowcapped mountains. This place was empty. Devoid of life. Imorean stood still. A morning wind whipped up the dirt around his feet. He was the alien here. Why was he here? Everything faded into a blur. Michael’s rift. A tiny rift in a massive world. A rift that might not even be real. A thud in Imorean’s chest caught his attention. His heartbeat. It was the only proof he was still alive. He took a breath. The cold air of morning stung his lungs. Slowly, Imorean walked forward. But to where? There was no escape in this place. The world was as barren as he felt inside. Twenty-four hours ago, his squad had still been alive. Twenty-four hours ago, he had had life and hope. Now, there was nothing. Nothing but rocks and dirt and mountains showing their glistening, untouchable peaks to the dawn sky.
Imorean tripped, falling hard on the unforgiving ground. Did he have the energy to get up? Warmth on his hand was his only motivation. He was bleeding. His palm cut open on a jagged stone. Brown eyes blinked in listlessness as blood trickled in a rivulet down to the dusty ground. It was out of a sense of duty more than his own desire that Imorean pushed up to his knees. He staggered to his feet. A mammoth effort. He pulled a length of bandage from his AL Pack and wrapped his hand, covering the open wound. What was the point though? Why did he bother? Bloody fingers pulled the tip of Michael’s sword out of his pocket and tossed it into the air.
“Imorean!”
Imorean spun. He was alone on this terrible plain. But he knew, he knew beyond knowing, that he had just heard Michael’s voice. A soft wind stirred dust. He was alone. Imorean lowered his gaze and looked back at the sword tip. The metal caught a few rays of sunlight and flashed brightly. Like the needle of a compass, it pointed north. North. He had come far enough west. It was time to push north. Why north? Was Michael leading him now? Or was Uriel still luring him? Brown eyes looked at the sky. He could fly. But walking. It was human. It would hold his attention a bit more. Later, he would take back to the skies, but not yet. Just for a few miles, he needed to feel his own humanity. With steps like lead, Imorean walked onward. Pain gnawed at the insides of his stomach. Dryness parched his mouth, but he didn’t stop. He would push himself as hard as he could. He must not stop.
The world was turning green again. Grass was rising impossibly from the barren ground. Imorean landed on a swathe of life. The evening light yielded a river to him. It was a clear, blue color. Clean with melted snow. Imorean had lost track of how many miles he had covered, keeping his track straight north. There was not another soul in sight. He felt colder than he ever had in his entire life. His stomach gurgled at him, demanding food. The faintness in Imorean’s head told him he needed to eat. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to sleep. Tired, dry eyes scanned the world around him. There wasn’t really anywhere safe to go. He had no tent. There was no snow to dig into. All he had was his sleeping bag. Under the evening sky it was. He had no choice. Slowly, Imorean rubbed his hand through his hair. It was greasy. He risked a look at his nails. They were dirty. Nearly black with grime. While he couldn’t wash his whole body in the river, he could certainly wash his hands and face. On weak legs, Imorean walked down to the stony riverbank. Water from his face dripped away brown. A glance at his wings made him raise his brows. They were gray with filth. There was no chance of preening them here. He had no oil to condition the feathers. With a sigh, Imorean rocked back on his heels and turned his gaze skyward.
His voice sounded low and hoarse even to himself. “Michael, I need you. Where do I go? What am I supposed to do?”
“First sign of madness.”
Imorean spun, fervently hoping for one wild, insane moment that Michael would be standing behind him. No. Wrong. It was someone he had not expected to see. Someone who was supposed to be in the hospital. Ryan.
Drawing his sword, Ryan flared his wings. “Surprised?”
“You could say that,” nodded Imorean, drawing his own. Must he really fight again? “What are you doing here?”
“Uriel sent me.”
“Got you doing his dirty work? What do you get in return?”
“Nothing. I volunteered for this. I saw what happened to Roxy. She still hasn’t woken up.” Ryan’s voice cracked. “Raphael doesn’t know if she ever will. And it’s all your fault.”
Imorean lowered his sword. “I know.”
“Uriel sent me to get you,” repeated Ryan, his voice rising. “He can’t track you anymore. Said something about you falling out of his sight. So he gave me your last heading and sent me to track you down. I was part of your squad. I know you well enough to find you. Now, you’re going to come back to Upper Morvine with me. And Uriel’s going to deal with you.”
“Not yet, Ryan.”
The ginger boy inclined his head and Imorean sheathed his sword.
“Not yet?”
“I have something I still have to do,” said Imorean. “I promised I would do this. When I’ve finished, by all means you can take me to Uriel.”
“No,” hissed Ryan. “Why should you get more time?”
“I shouldn’t. But I’m asking for it.”
“No.”
Imorean hardened his eyes and ascended the riverbank toward Ryan. “I told Roxy I would do this. You wouldn’t want me to disgrace my promise to her, would you?”
Ryan wavered. His sword tip shook. Imorean placed one finger against the point and pushed it away.
“I’m coming with you,” said Ryan, sheathing his sword.
“Please do. I’d be glad of the company.”
Imorean blinked a
s Ryan grabbed hold of his uniform lapels and shook him.
“I’m not here to keep you company, you sack of shit. If Uriel didn’t want to kill you himself so much, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”
Imorean stared, a sudden, sneering anger taking his heart in its claws. “Do you think Roxy would ever look at you again if you made yourself my killer?”
Ryan’s grip slackened and Imorean twisted out of it. He fixed his eyes north. He was out of Uriel’s sight. That left only one explanation for his heading. Michael. Michael was calling him. The rush of the river nearby filled him with an inexplicable energy. Michael was still on his side.
Bright stars overhead should have heralded peace. Imorean lay on his back, his combat knife in his hand. He was not asleep. Nor was Ryan. Deep down, he was glad of the conflict. It gave him an outlet. Ryan had been a member of his squad. A person he trusted. A person who, when the natural order ruled, he knew would have his back. But the natural order was disrupted and here they lay, teeth around each other’s throats, neither one quite biting down. Imorean flicked at glance at Ryan. It was the worst kind of truce possible, but a truce nonetheless.
Chapter 57
Travel was slower with Ryan, but somehow Imorean didn’t mind. He was reminded to do normal things. He was reminded to eat and drink. He was reminded to sleep. It gave him purpose somehow. They had been mostly silent and Imorean knew there was no denying the truth. Ryan was his keeper. There was no point getting closer to each other.
Salt breeze filled the air now and Imorean knew Michael was leading them toward the ocean. The frigid North Atlantic. But why? What was there?
“Are you sure this is right?” asked Ryan, alighting on a high cliff next to Imorean.
“It has to be,” said Imorean, tossing the chip of metal in his hand. Just as it had hours before, it flipped a few times in midair and swung to point dead north.
Imorean jumped slightly as Ryan spoke up again. “Did she talk about me at all?”
“Roxy?”
“Yeah.”
Imorean couldn’t remember if she had or not. “Yeah. She said she missed you and that she couldn’t wait to see you.”
Ryan nodded. “Bunk here for the night?”
Imorean looked around. “It’s as good a place as any.”
Stars are supposed to be a sign of distant hope. For Imorean they weren’t a symbol of hope, but a sign of the end of his nightmares. Blood spattered again. Vortigern reached out to him with a dead arm. Imorean sat up and came awake with a scream. His chest was tight. His breath came in sobs. Before his very eyes, he had witnessed his grandparents’ deaths once again. He had seen Toddy’s bleeding form. Mandy’s eyes fading away, Dustin’s bloodied body. He had watched Vortigern kill his family. He had seen Michael impaled on Vortigern’s sword again. He had heard Vortigern’s laugh as the demon commander relished his sorrow. Roxy. Roxy. He had seen her eyes fading away. Dream and reality were the same. What was real?
Feeling trapped, Imorean got out of his sleeping bag and made his way over to the edge of the cliff. Below, the sea crashed against the rocks. White foam stirred by the black water. The sky was growing gray. Dawn was arriving. His watch showed six thirty. Ryan stirred, saying something. Imorean ignored him. He couldn’t do this anymore. He turned from the clifftop and ran back inland. He ran with no direction, a wild frenzied energy tearing his senses away. Fight or flight. And he was fleeing. Running footsteps behind him only added to his panic.
Imorean skidded to a halt on an open heath. Before him was an expanse of moss, grass and bracken, but Imorean couldn’t find it within himself to keep going. He fell heavily to his knees. One hand supported him, the other rested over his heart. For a moment, Imorean wasn’t sure it was even beating anymore. He shut his eyes tight and heaved a shaky breath. He released it with an agonized cry. The footsteps behind him stopped. Imorean could sense the hesitance in his pursuer. For the moment, he was safe. He could let go.
His own hands rested on his shoulders and he wrapped himself in his wings. Tears streamed down his face as he rocked himself back and forth. Sobs constricted in his chest, but Imorean took little notice of them. He couldn’t think. His head wasn’t clear. The things he had been trying so hard to outrun had finally caught up to him. They crashed down on him now like a wave breaking the shore. Imorean sobbed harder, his entire body shaking. He had lost everything. He tilted his head skyward as he cried, a list of names running through his head.
Toddy.
Mandy.
Dustin.
Roxy.
Colton.
William.
Leanne.
Rachel.
Isaac.
Michael.
Amelia.
Eleven people. Eleven people had died for him. Michael was as good as dead, and there was no possible way that Roxy and Colton had been able to heal from the wounds Vortigern had given them. Not even with Raphael helping them. Imorean had seen the injuries himself. It wasn’t possible. There was no way forward. No hope lay in the false promise of a life ahead.
Imorean couldn’t catch his breath. Not one of them had he been able to say goodbye to. It wasn’t right. Imorean hid his face behind his hands and wept. He had lost everyone. He had lost everything. All the people he cared about were dead and it was all because he hadn’t been able to save them. He hadn’t been able to move fast enough. He hadn’t been clever enough. He was worthless. A wretch. He had no right to call himself angel or human. He was neither. He had lost himself. This was all his fault. He was nothing. Nothing. Absolute nothing. If he had never accepted the Saving Grace Scholarship in the first place they would all still be alive. Imorean’s whole body shook as he cried. He cried until he had no more tears to shed. Finally, when he had cried himself out, Imorean opened his eyes. They hurt to open. His chest heaved as he breathed in. He drew his knees up to his chest and stared out blankly at the mountainous land before him. He felt as though everything that he ever was and ever could have been had been hollowed out. He rested his chin on his knees and blinked heavily. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel this awful. He felt lost, little more than an empty husk. He noted only movement as Ryan sat down beside him in silence.
It was properly light before Imorean found motivation to move again. He had lost track of how long they had stared out at the distant mountains. Still the hollow, empty feeling had not gone away. It seemed to resonate from deep within him. Imorean sniffled and pulled his knees tighter against his chest, wrapping his wings a bit tighter around his body.
“Ow,” he hissed, rubbing the back of his head. It felt as though someone was throwing pebbles at him. It couldn’t be Ryan. Ryan was still sitting next to him. There was concern in the other boy’s eyes as Imorean turned. Lying on the ground just behind them was the tip of Michael’s sword. Imorean swallowed. Was Michael trying to tell them something?
Imorean picked up the sword tip and moved to stand. As he did so, he heard a commanding, almost angry voice in the back of his head. It was faint, but most definitely there.
‘Get it together.’
Imorean shook his head and trembled slightly. He knew that voice very well. It had been Michael’s voice. Quickly, he turned around. There was no one nearby. Had his mind finally broken, Imorean wondered. No, he felt no different. On the horizon, he saw it. A flicker of green. His heart pounded. There. There. Across the sea! Michael!
Imorean’s voice came out as a breathy whisper. “Ryan.”
“You good?”
“We have to go.”
“Imorean. I’m saying this as a guy who was once your friend… you need to rest.”
“No. Michael’s calling to us. I can find him. I know where to find him.”
“What?”
Imorean pointed to another flash of green on the horizon. “There.”
Ryan looked. “There’s nothing out there.”
“Don’t you see it?”
“No! Imorean you’re hallucinating. You’re not eating or
drinking or sleeping. You need a break!”
“I’m going.”
Imorean didn’t wait for Ryan’s reply. He walked back to their camp. What he had seen was real. He knew it. He and Michael shared blood. That was why he could see it and Ryan couldn’t. That was why. Robotically, Imorean packed. Ryan was behind him again. Green flashed on the horizon. Imorean felt more alive than he had in days. He tightened his AL Pack around his waist. Tattered, bloodstained, filthy, once white wings opened and Imorean hurled himself off the cliff, hurtling down toward the sea. He tucked and caught air as he neared the surface. The salty spray of the waves brought him life. He felt his heartbeat in his chest. He was a living creature once more. He was going to see Michael again. He was close. Nearly there. Nearly there.
Chapter 58
Drawn by an invisible force, Imorean finally landed on an island. It was small, little more than a pillar of grass-topped rock rising from the water. The furious sea crashed around them on four sides. The grass was tough and grew close to the ground. The morning sun flashed, hovering over the east horizon. It was quickly gone though, obscured by heavy clouds. Imorean smiled. He was here. He sensed Ryan’s skepticism. Ryan didn’t understand. A moment later, Imorean hissed. The tip of Michael’s sword seared through the skin on his palm, leaving behind a red weal. He gaped at it. Again, he hadn’t taken it out of his pocket. The tip of the sword rose up off his hand and pointed straight north. Imorean raised his gaze and looked in the direction it was pointing. At the island’s highest point, in the distance, he could make out several large… somethings jutting up out of the ground. They were shrouded in mist. Imorean stepped forward. A feeling in his chest compelled him to go toward them. He walked onward as though in a trance. This had to be the rift.
Angels Defying (Angels Rising Book 3) Page 39