“I told you!” he shouted, turning to Ryan as he sprinted up the slope. “I told you!”
“Imorean!”
Imorean ignored him and spread his wings. He flew low and fast toward the objects in the distance. Only moments later, he landed again. He felt almost overawed by what he saw. Great, massive, stone monoliths were set up in three sets of perfect circles. This was it. This had to be the rift. Why it was so far from where Michael had fallen, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. He was here. In the very center of the circles, Imorean spotted a large, square stone, much lower than all the rest. The white-haired teenager walked slowly forward, clutching the tip of Michael’s sword. He could vaguely hear a low humming coming from the metal. Imorean passed through the first two circles of stone and finally, when he was standing within the final circle of stone, Imorean was overwhelmed by a feeling of utter peace. In that moment, he felt that all his worries, fears and guilt had melted away. The teenager pressed on, walking slowly toward the central stone. Why was this here? What was it for? Was this part of the rift? Where was the rift? Imorean couldn’t see it anywhere. He looked around helplessly for a moment.
There was nothing written on the stone. There was nothing that would identify it as being anything different from any other low, square stone. Nothing, except the outline of a massive sword engraved on the top of it. Imorean smiled.
“We did it,” he said, turning to speak to Roxy, Mandy, Dustin, Colton and Toddy, who in that moment he was certain were standing on either side of him. The shadow of the smile that had crept onto his face dropped away when he saw that it was just him and Ryan. They were just as alone as they had been for the last few days.
Imorean turned back to the stone and considered his next move. He quirked a small smile at the stones and withdrew the small velvet pouch that contained the broken remains of Michael’s sword. He could still feel Ryan’s doubt. It was stronger than ever. As was his own conviction. Imorean moved more slowly, proving his point to the other. He took the handle out of the pouch and laid it on top of Michael’s grave. It fit perfectly into the slot that had been carved out on the surface. Slowly, reverently, piece by piece, Imorean laid the shattered remains of Michael’s sword into the groove. Each one fit like a glove.
Minutes passed and soon, Imorean was left holding nothing but the razor-sharp tip that had been guiding him for most of his journey.
“If it was you guiding me and paving the way for me, Michael, I just want to say thank you. You brought me and Ryan here safely,” said Imorean, pausing before he set the tip down. He took a deep, shuddering breath and pursed his lips, wanting to say more. He kept his voice low, praying Ryan couldn’t hear him.
“It’s not the same here without you. Uriel, Raphael and Gabriel are close to tearing each other apart. We need you.” His voice was shaking now. His entire body was shaking. Tears had welled up in his eyes again. Imorean rested his elbows on the stone and bowed his head between his shoulders. “I—I lost the squad and Vortigern got away. I wasn’t able to kill him. Baxter’s been injured by Uriel. I found Roxy, Mandy, Dustin, Tod and Colton in Iceland. I was going to go after Vortigern on my own, but they followed me. They outsmarted me and tried to take on Vortigern on their own. I found them, but Vortigern had already killed Dustin by the time I got there. He killed Mandy in front of me. Toddy. God, Toddy. He was taken. Captured, kidnapped. Colton and Roxy got away, but I don’t know if they’re even alive anymore. Vortigern took Mandy, Toddy and Dustin. He took their bodies. I failed, Michael. I failed them and I failed you. Everyone’s dead.”
Imorean closed his eyes and sighed. The world around him was still and quiet. Nothing was happening. He tossed the sword tip between his hands for a moment then moved to lie it in the final slot on the top of Michael’s tomb. There was a click of finality as the metal came to rest against the stone. Imorean looked around. Nothing happened. Everything was as it always had been. Calm, still and quiet.
Imorean slumped forward. What had he been expecting? Had he truly believed he could summon Michael? And a Michael that was whole and well? No. It just wasn’t possible. Had he really been leading himself on with wishful thinking? He felt sick. The world crashed in on him again. He blinked. A few tears slid from his eyes. They landed on the stone, inches from Michael’s sword. He had been wrong.
“Imorean,” said Ryan, approaching at last. There was something in his tone that set Imorean on edge. It was the kind of voice one would use at the bedside of a dying relative.
“What?”
“Come with me.”
“No.”
“Look, you’re in shock. You’re not in your right mind. We can help you. If Uriel knows you’re this sick, he won’t hurt you. He’ll understand. He’ll send you where you can get help.”
“No.”
“Imorean, I came here to capture you, but I can’t do that now. You’ve been wrong about everything and I can see you clearly now. You’re sick. Really sick.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Imorean jumped backwards as Ryan reached out toward him. They both stiffened as another voice broke over the still stones.
“I send you to do one job and you couldn’t even do that, Ryan.”
White wings flared as Imorean turned. Uriel appeared out of the low fog.
“Uriel!” shouted Ryan, running to the edge of the standing stones. “You don’t understand. He’s not–”
“Sleep,” said Uriel, pressing one hand to Ryan’s forehead as he passed. Imorean bristled, flaring his wings wider as Ryan crumpled to the ground. Raphael shot out of his brother’s shadow, going immediately to Ryan’s side.
Uriel was at the innermost stone circle now. “You shouldn’t try to bring Michael back, Imorean. He’s too far gone.”
“What now?” asked Imorean, backing up so he was flush against the central stone. Raphael stayed where he was, but Uriel slowly proceeded across the open ground between the standing stones and the center. Imorean rested his hand on the pouch with his own sword in it, wishing more than anything that it was in his hand. He hadn’t thought he would need it here.
“You will return with me to Upper Morvine. Let’s put this whole, bloody business behind us, shall we?” said Uriel. Imorean was glad he had finally stopped advancing. The sight of Uriel’s sword handle, just visible above the Archangel’s shoulder, was worrying him. There was a strange, leering grin on Uriel’s face.
“You’re arresting me, aren’t you?” asked Imorean.
“Oh, yes,” nodded Uriel. “It’s nothing personal, Imorean. You must understand my position though. Michael’s removal has caused chaos. Angels are dividing between me and Gabriel. Gabriel has since been arrested. Big brother Raphael here is next. Gabriel’s supporters are already sympathizing with you. They see you as a rogue Archangel and heaven may soon continue on its way toward civil war. If I don’t take action, well, I’m sure you can imagine what would happen. I cannot take the risk of treason. We must be a unified force when we make peace with Vortigern. Unity is the only way we can end this war.”
“Why are you doing this?” asked Imorean.
“He thinks you’re a threat,” said Raphael, speaking for his brother. His voice was quiet and calm, but, in sympathy with his element, there was an undercurrent. One of fear and defeat. “According to him, all three of us are. Gabriel’s already been arrested. I have as well. I’m here on principle. When he’s done here… he’s making me take Michael off life support. Vortigern’s going to win.”
Imorean’s blood boiled. He couldn’t have come this far to lose. He just couldn’t.
“What will you do with me?” he asked, looking between Uriel and Raphael. It was Uriel who answered. Raphael looked exhausted.
“There isn’t much I can do. I have very few options left. I can arrest you or I can remove the divine nature of your angelic being. I could return you to a state of normalcy.”
“No!” cried Imorean, pressing hi
mself against Michael’s memorial and shaking his head. Death did not scare him. The idea of being cast adrift though, with nowhere to call home, that struck him to the core. “No, Uriel, you can’t do that. I don’t have a home anymore. I’d be homeless. You can’t do that to me.”
“Those are my options,” replied Uriel. The dark-haired Archangel contemplated for a moment, then reached over his shoulder and rested one hand on the pommel of his sword. “Well, I suppose there is another option…”
“What?” said Imorean, resisting the urge to flap his wings.
“Hand you over.”
“To Vortigern?”
“Yes. It would keep me from doing the dirty work myself, much as I’d enjoy killing you,” nodded Uriel. “I would prefer that the other angels didn’t see me as a murderer or negotiator, but it seems that’s the direction we’re going in anyway…”
Imorean trembled, his teeth chattering. He looked at Raphael in desperation.
“Uriel, you can’t!” shouted Raphael, looking horrified. Uriel wheeled around, his teeth bared.
“Stay out of this!” he shouted, a snarl in his voice.
Imorean’s mouth opened. He had heard that same snarl before, from another’s mouth. There was no doubt in his mind now.
“Uriel, stop!” commanded Raphael, grabbing his brother’s shoulder and keeping him from walking further into the stone circle. Uriel turned with a scream of rage. His free hand clawed through the air, sending Raphael hard sideways into one of the standing stones, where he lay immobile, his glasses askew, blood trickling from the scratches on his cheek.
“It’s nothing personal, Imorean,” said Uriel, withdrawing his sword from its sheath. “I just think this is perhaps our best option. You could just as easily have been injured in the battle with Vortigern. The rest of the angels would never know. You’ll be out of the way and Vortigern… well, he’ll have his pound of flesh, won’t he? He doesn’t care how he gets you. Dead or alive, it doesn’t matter to him. I know he wants revenge for what you did on the mountaintop.”
Imorean swallowed. He had come this far, just to be handed over to death by one of the angels he had trusted. This wasn’t right. Imorean sighed in resignation as Uriel walked closer and finally stopped an arm’s length away. Imorean watched as Uriel leveled his sword at his chest. He felt powerless. They looked at each other quietly for a moment. Imorean’s heart thundered uncomfortably in his chest, just inches away from the tip of Uriel’s sword.
“Like I said, Imorean, nothing personal. Just making things easier. Let’s see if you can fight as well as Michael thinks,” said Uriel with a toothy grin.
Imorean locked his jaw and glared at Uriel. He hadn’t come all this way on his own for Uriel to end his journey. He hadn’t lost his family for Uriel to strike him down now. He hadn’t watched his best friends die, only for Uriel to kill him in cold blood. He had spent so many days wanting to die. He didn’t want to die like this. Suddenly, Imorean rose. His own feeling of being shattered evaporated. He had not come this far to be killed now!
The Archangel leaned back in preparation to strike, that wild, manic smile still on his face and Imorean moved. He leaped out of the way. Uriel plunged his sword into stone. The new Chief Archangel growled as he withdrew his sword from the rock. This time, Imorean was ready for him.
“I won’t let you put me down like an old dog,” hissed Imorean, spinning his sword in his hand. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not yet.
“Imorean,” said Uriel, in a tone of long suffering, yet mocking patience. “What did we just say about making things easy?”
“You said it,” snapped Imorean. “I never consented to being killed. I won’t go down without fighting.”
“Very well,” sighed Uriel, a gray darkness clouding into his eyes now.
Imorean stood his ground as the dark-haired Archangel swept toward him. Imorean launched himself aside, bowing in pain as Uriel tore a deep cut across his back. He rolled forward, out of the way of Uriel’s attack, just as a sword dug deep into the ground behind him. The boy scrambled to his feet, his sword held tightly in his hands, his eyes riveted to Uriel. Uriel raced forward again. It wasn’t Uriel’s sword that caught Imorean this time though, it was Uriel’s fist. Imorean crashed backwards, his cut open back slamming onto the top of the stones. He could feel the cold metal of Michael’s sword under the tear in his clothes. Blood flecked the metal. Imorean lurched to his feet. Thunder rumbled overhead. Heavy clouds closed around them.
“Get up!” shouted Uriel, backing down a step.
Imorean stood upright, panting. He was dizzy, stunned by the force of Uriel’s attack. He turned and saw that a few drops of his blood had landed on Michael’s sword. The metal was glowing, fusing back together. Imorean’s jaw dropped, but before he could look further, he heard the air hissing. Imorean spun around just before his and Uriel’s swords connected. A flash of white and yellow light. Imorean dug in and put more strength behind his block. He gritted his teeth and growled aloud as Uriel pushed against him. Neither one yielded. Imorean knew Uriel was fighting for superiority, while he himself was fighting for his life. Both of them had everything to lose. He looked up at Uriel with wide, fearful eyes as his feet started to slip on the wet grass. The Archangel met his eyes steadily, that terrible, furious desperation in them. Uriel wanted him dead. The threat needed to be removed. Eliminated.
“He’s mine,” hissed Uriel in that same darkened voice. Imorean flinched. He knew it. Uriel had been possessed, or was being controlled, for it was Vortigern’s voice that Imorean was now hearing.
Imorean saw Uriel’s wing just seconds too late. He cried out as it struck him. He was thrown to the ground. His cheek hit the wet grass. Senses extended, he felt Uriel begin his next attack. He had to move! Imorean rolled onto his back and saw Uriel’s sword swinging down toward him, hissing through the air and leaving a pale, yellow wake behind it. Imorean shifted to one knee. He needed as much strength as he could muster. He pulled up his own sword in a blind block and closed his eyes tightly. Would yellow be the last thing he saw? Glass shattered nearby. The last thing Imorean knew was a brilliant shockwave. It lifted him and sent him flying through the air, followed by a vibrant, emerald light.
Chapter 59
Imorean took a breath. Breathing. Breathing meant he wasn’t dead. Pain. His back hurt. Pain meant he wasn’t dead. Uriel hadn’t killed him. In this case, pain was good. Not being dead. That was good, too. Imorean could feel the grass below him. Feeling. Good. Feeling meant he wasn’t dead. Before he opened his eyes, Imorean considered. There were three physical things that were telling him he wasn’t dead, that Uriel hadn’t killed him. He had beaten Uriel. He was safe. Imorean opened his eyes.
His breath caught in his throat and he tried to sit up. He was dizzy and he tasted blood in his mouth. Surrounding him and the three stone circles like a shell, was a beautiful, translucent emerald light. Imorean painfully pushed to his knees and looked around. He couldn’t see Uriel anywhere. He was alone. Maybe he had been wrong… maybe he was dead.
“Hello, Imorean,” said a voice. A voice that Imorean had heard in the back of his mind for the past weeks. A voice he didn’t think he would hear again. Slowly, Imorean turned back toward the center stone.
Sitting on the stone, a perfect, flawless sword shining beside him, was a winged figure. Even from his distance, Imorean could tell that the figure was quite tall and had short hair. Four wings.
“Are you…?” began Imorean, stopping himself. He didn’t even know what he had wanted to ask.
“How perfectly articulate of you,” said the figure. The voice sounded amused.
“Michael?” asked Imorean, slowly approaching the memorial cautiously. He stopped when the figure stepped down off the tomb and walked toward him. Imorean was shaking, scared that this might be his mind playing tricks on him, scared that Uriel might have actually killed him and this was the afterlife.
Imorean did not have to wait long. Only seconds later,
Michael was standing in front of him. But it was not quite the Michael he knew. The figure was whole and unharmed. His brown hair was still short and close cropped. His uniform was perfectly clean. His eyes though, were different. They were in a state Imorean had only seen twice before. They were fully flooded with green and left small trails of light behind as Michael moved and blinked. Somehow though, those blazing eyes were still powerful and imperious. In that moment, Imorean had never been so glad to be looked down upon.
“Am I alive?” asked Imorean after a moment, unsure of what else to say.
“Interesting way to start a conversation,” said Michael, smiling, an odd expression beneath those flickering eyes of light. “Yes, you are alive. So am I.”
“So you’re back?” asked Imorean.
“I think so,” replied Michael, sounding unsure. “Where are we?”
“Iceland,” breathed Imorean. “How are you back? Was it the rift?”
“Yes. Some of it, though, was our blood bond,” said Michael with a smirk.
“Tell me about the rift. Why was it not where Raphael expected?”
“I have been stranded on the astral plane. In a limbo of not quite dead and not quite alive. I waited at the volcano for several days. Gabriel came and I tried to breach the gap between us, but he could not find me. So, I set out on the move. All that is possible in life is possible on the astral plane. I traveled across the country and found myself drawn here. These stones. Ancient structures built by ancient humans. They acted like a megaphone, amplifying my calls to you.”
“Why could only I hear you?”
“My blood runs in your veins. Having your blood spilled on my sword in this spot while your emotions were running high transferred enough energy between us to break me out of the astral plane. All the conditions were correct.”
“Are you here?”
Angels Defying (Angels Rising Book 3) Page 40