He knew he couldn’t deny her any longer. He didn’t want to. He was tired of lying.
He fingered the black plated ring, his clog, before his gaze drifted to Imane’s tattoo. Slow, like if he moved too fast, she would bolt from the restaurant, hiss at him or curse him for things unknown, he reached out across the table. He breached his comfort zone, the space where he kept all of his secrets, his scars, his cocoon built on a false life to wrap his hand around Imane’s wrist. With care, he ran his thumb over the dark solid phoenix tattoo.
“You tried–well, I shouldn’t say tried. You,” he paused to take a deep breath. “You committed suicide when you were thirteen.”
There was instantaneous silence around the table.
Imane stared at him, her face a mix of disbelief and shock. “That’s not possible, Dad,” she said with an uneasy frown.
“I know. For you, a human, the thought of that is impossible. Impossible to grasp that. But for me, the concept is as natural as breathing. To think of life as an array of possibilities instead of a straight line.”
Imane’s frown deepened. “What’s makes you so different from me?”
“A lot of things, sweetheart. You know that you’re adopted, right?”
Imane blinked. “How can I not?” She motioned to her light tan skin which contrasted with his dark brown complexion.
George felt the corners of his lips rise but he fought the temptation to smile. “I adopted you, formally, two weeks after your fourteenth birthday. Your parents…died, I’ll spare you the details but…” George paused. He let go of his daughter’s wrist. “You know me as George Elder…as your father but…my name, my real name is Shemhazi no Semjâzâ. I am the eldest son of Seraphim angels Aw'rad'eyv–”
Zicon held his hand up. “Did you just say angel?”
“–Jibra'il Tsu. I am a member of clan Rachél, a noble house in The Glory…” George paused. “…Heaven. I’m from Heaven. I am also the secondary instigator of a war that lasted years in the realm called Caeli. I lost…and was spared my life as a traitor. Now I live here…with you and your mother.” He glanced at Zicon. “Your boyfriend keeps me company from time to time too,” he finished with a smirk.
Imane blinked but said nothing and that bothered George. When you tell someone you’ve been living a lie, there is a reaction. Imane was emotional, rarely rash, but sometimes she would tap into a darkness that George never understood. He’d witnessed it from the other side of a mental hospital glass door. “Imane. Say something.”
“I’m not sure what you want me to say. What war? What…what realm? What are you talking about, Dad, and I mean I want details. Details.”
George grimaced and sat back. “Details?” George sighed. “You mean you want my history.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Awọn Idajọ,
Elysian Territory, Caliean Realm
Sixty-two days after the end of Titanomachy
Awọn Idajọ sat at the base of a hill in an area called Gaash. The structure, a series of thirteen black posts so tall they seemed to disappear into the sky, could be seen miles from Elysian. They also served as the only reason anyone would ever visit Gaash. The place smelled like death.
Shemhazi stared out over the valley, most of it barren of trees. The land was dead, even grass wouldn’t grow. From his position at the center of Awọn Idajọ, he could see clear over Caeli. Most of the fires had been put out and the new buildings erected to replace the destroyed ones stood tall just over the tree line. The center one stood out the most, rebuilt from
the ashes of what he’d destroyed. They said they were calling it Elysian Central. Destruction always causes growth. Death always brings forth life. Caeli, after many years of war, had begun to evolve. Technology advanced as time passed them by. Although personal weapons, forged of iron and steel, were the way of Caeli, heavy artillery was becoming the norm. The newest addition was HALO–High Atmospheric Light One. The aircraft’s creation had been the undoing of his entire military campaign.
Shemhazi realized he’d been defeated by time.
His felt the golden manacles around his wrist chafing his skin raw. No doubt that they were bloody at this point. This was his third day of imprisonment here yet he didn’t feel fatigued. Shemhazi was a very powerful angel, in every physical and spiritual sense you could imagine. He was the eldest son of two Seraphim angels; his mother one of the strongest angels in existence. He was one of the most powerful angels in existence. I can stand out here for a hundred days! But time was his enemy again. It wasn’t the lack of food or water or companionship that was wearing him down. It was the waiting.
If they were going to execute him, they should have done it the moment he lost and surrendered. Better yet, he should have fallen on his sword and made the decision for them! He still would do so, escape his binds, find a weapon and offer himself up to death, but Awọn Idajọ reversed the Sagan Path, leaving him spiritually restrained. He didn’t have the power to break the spiritually laced bindings, nor would he have the strength to wield a spiritually powered weapon. He was as vulnerable as a newborn babe.
He looked up when he heard the tinkling of bronze. “Onijo the Dancer,” he murmured.
Traveling with her would be three others E’phors and a procession of Caelian citizens. They were approaching which meant dawn was near. Shemhazi lowered his head, both thankful that it was almost over yet dreading the afterlife.
He did not wish Gehanna on any angelic soul but he knew the consequences of his actions when he took up his sword and chose his personal beliefs over the ones he used to defend. There was no regret in his decisions; he didn’t feel he made the wrong one. How could they be? His family was and would always be the most important thing to him.
The tinkling of bronze grew louder and just as the sun peaked over a Gaash hill did he see the E’phors palanquins just ahead of the procession. It was a long trip from Elysian to where the Gaash Valley was but the trip didn’t seem to deter those who wanted to see him die.
He spotted the four nobles of The Above. They were dressed in their battle gear, white armor with their sigil etched across the front in bright gold. Behind them, stood their Astral Guards, dressed in the same blinding shades as those they protected. The eight of them escorted the four palanquins, one Above member and one Astral Bodyguard for every E’phor. Just beyond them, Shemhazi could see the few remaining members of The Fallen, their battle armor black as night. Out of frantic instinct, he searched for Shamsiel’s face in the crowd, hoping, praying he would see a proud face framed by righteousness and stubbornness and everything Shemhazi loved and hated about his brother. He laughed to himself, the sound dark and harsh, when he remembered his brother had been a casualty of the war. One he’d tried to prevent with all of his heart but his son had been too angry. His sword demanded blood. His uncle’s death provided him with that.
Shamsiel was gone, Azeal was dead, Caireen was dying and Ayesha was losing her mind with grief. All that was left of his family was Azrael. Maybe with Shemhazi’s death, it would be better. Maybe his grandson could grow up as a normal child, without the stain of his family’s betrayal holding him back. Maybe he could succeed and get their seat of power back.
It’s better this way.
The E’phors palanquins touched the soft, dead ground and their carriers stepped back. Seff, the youngest of The Above, approached the palanquin he escorted, gently pushed open the doors and held his hand out. A pale hand covered in intricate burgundy tattoos was placed in Seff’s and with his help, the owner of the hand exited her palanquin, the tinkling of bronze accompanying her.
She rose her full height, which was beyond towering. Shemhazi took a moment to take the sight of her in. Sightings of Onijo, along with the other E’phors, were so rare that most considered them folklore. They lived deep in the jungles of Later Ụwa beyond the fire mountains, beyond any region that a sane angel or human would want to visit. They were also considered more powerful than any angel, full-blooded or
Mutare. The only thing that kept the E’phors from overpowering the ones they served was the fact The Creator created them without ambition or want of power.
Their one desire was to cleanse…as they were about to do with Shemhazi.
Seff took a step back and Onijo took one forward. On her head was a crown of thin gold bars, perched in the waves of her pale blond hair. Right above her ears was a delicate hair comb, pieces of bronze jewelry trailing down her neck, tinkling like wind chimes with every step. Her eyes were a deep cerulean blue, her nose wide and broad, her forehead prominent and her cheeks freckled with red. Her gown, long with two deep slits at the side, was midnight black, contrasting with her albinistic skin. Altogether she was a beautiful sight to behold, yet she invoked a fear that none of the other E’phors could induce. After all, without Onijo, none of the other E’phors powers worked.
As Onijo approached, Ahn stepped in front of her. She made a grumbling noise of discontent, eyeing Shemhazi over Ahn’s shoulder as if he were filthy.
Shemhazi shifted his gaze from Onijo to Ahn. He didn’t…dislike Ahn but Ahn was enigmatic for reasons Shemhazi never seemed to understand and they’d butted heads on numerous occasions. Ahn didn’t have ambition, only plans. Still, he trusted him, even now, which felt strange. The man would be, in part, responsible for his death. He was responsible for Azeal’s death. He’d signed Caireen’s death warrant with his apathy.
“This doesn’t have to happen, Shemhazi. You can be saved,” Ahn pleaded. “Aria has put forth a plan and it can–”
“Don’t,” Shemhazi spat. “Don’t say her name in my presence. She killed my son.”
“And you killed hundreds of thousands of her friends and peers. Shelf your selfish, useless feelings! Or do you want to die?” Bon Baji growled.
Shemhazi opened his mouth to tell her that’s exactly what he wanted when Ahn held a hand up, stopping him. “Regardless of what you want, Shemhazi, this isn’t what we want. We didn’t want any of this, not your war, not these losses, and we don’t want your death. You are an asset to this realm.”
“How can I be an asset? Do you think Elysian will trust me again? To fight by their sides? To put their lives on the line for me? No. No. Don’t you understand? I can’t stay here.”
Ahn tilted his head to the side. “I said nothing about you staying in Elysian.” Ahn motioned to his Astral bodyguard, Liam, and the child approached with a golden scroll. “This is a treaty,” Ahn announced as Liam placed the scroll in his hand.
“A treaty,” Shemhazi said dryly.
“Yes, a treaty that will absolve you and anyone who signs it. We’re extending a hand.” Ahn took another step. “Take it. Don’t think we don’t understand why you did this.”
“You,” Shemhazi raged, struggling against his bonds. “You understand me yet you are letting Caireen die? Let my son die? To hell with your understandings!”
“Rules exist, Shemhazi, to protect order, tradition, and lives. I wished we could have saved your son’s mate,” Bon Baji admonished from her place beside a palanquin. “Yet, would I have broken the rules, our laws, showed you favoritism when we’ve shown so many others none, to save her? No. As a leader, you should know that. You let your emotions get in the way of your duty. It was so very human of you,” Bon Baji finished softly.
Shemhazi gashed his teeth. “Stop lecturing me.” His eyes strayed to the scroll in Ahn’s hands. “What are you offering me in place of my death?”
“Exilement from Elysian and Au Courant,” Parker stated. “Indefinitely.”
“Leave? That’s it? You want me to leave?”
“Yes. The other realms are available to you, but it is our wish that anyone who accepts the Treaty of Mercy make Aeon Terra their home. In addition, most of your powers will be regulated and tethered through Path restriction. If you chose to stay in this realm, you will work as a branch to Elysian authority, helping to support us and Aeon Terra.”
“You want me to support Elysian just never stepped foot in it again?” He laughed. “And what if I leave.”
“A Blood Border is going to be erected,” Parker stated.
Shemhazi was familiar with the Blood Border, or rather the essence of it. It was a shield that worked off the energy output of souls through the works of a Custodian. The identity of the Custodian was unknown and for good reason–her life was connected to it.
“You will be the holder of this treaty if you accept, Shemhazi,” Ahn said, “which means you do have the ability to come back to Caeli if you chose to leave this realm, but you have to ask for it. Khavah has promised to dissolve the Blood Border for your re-entry.”
Ahn had just named the Custodian. He filed that information for later. In order to use it, he had to get out of here.
“So I have a choice?”
“You’ve always had a choice, Shemhazi. It’s the sort of choices you make that worry me,” Seff said, a bored look on his face.
“Lead by example,” Ahn pleaded. “Accept the Treaty. Live. But you have to make the decision now. You either accept or I will allow Onijo to begin. As a leader, your people will follow you. Their only other option is death. With one action you can save thousands…”
Shemhazi leaned back against the post and looked at the sky. This wasn’t what he envisioned when he began this war with his son at his side.
After Azeal’s revolt and his subsequent death at the hands of Aria Jinni, Shemhazi had hidden away in the lush jungles of Later Ụwa and began to recruit. It took years for him to build an army strong enough to go up against Elysian’s forces. It resulted in his formation of Glut. The numbers of recruits, novice and trained, were vast, and although he slowly began to recognize his own contribution to the bloodshed and heartbreak, he believed in retribution and rehabilitation. His army would fight to make Caeli better.
In the end, they hadn’t. Elysian was too strong, entirely too strong. His hope was thwarted the moment The Above released the Nonpareils' Araboth Path restriction. The energy it took to do that almost killed Parker. Their strength, combined with Aria Jinni’s leadership, raw prowess, and unmitigated determination made the war theirs.
Now he stood before those who had defeated him with the offer of another chance. What would he do with it?
What would he do with another life?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Suzy’s Diner
Manhattan, New York
“I accepted Caeli’s treaty and I hated it. The first few years I lived here were painful and full of anger but it was much better than lowering myself to become the servants of those I once commanded. I pleaded with many of my followers to accept the treaty and a vast majority did, leaving for the Aeon Terra territory and building what is now the second largest clan in all of Caeli. Some chose other realms such as Discord. One was foolish enough to choose Antris so I’m sure she’s dead. A small number either followed me to Earth or sought me out once they defected. I thought it was because they were tired of everything…but no,” George lowered his head. “They had other plans.”
“And here we are,” Song exclaimed as she perched her head on a fist. “This is what your father meant by having patience. It’s a real mindfuck. Not something you want to get into, say, in a diner over coffee. Speaking of coffee.” Song held her hand up to get a waitress’s attention.
“So you…and these angels? Were you like Guardian Angels? Before the whole revolt-traitor-backstab thing?” Zicon asked, rubbing the bruise on his neck.
Song chuckled. “There is no such thing as a “Guardian angel”. It’s more of a concept than an actual angel job. We save the lives of those who are not meant to die. Your father,” she said, glancing at Imane, “is a full-blooded angel. He is very powerful and he is very wise. Whatever you saw him do in that warehouse was a demonstration of that. A small incy-wincy demonstration because he was stupid enough to start a war and get his powers capped.”
“Seriously?” Zicon exclaimed, looking from Song to George. “You mean to tell me that he ge
ts stronger? There is some dude back at George’s who was like…frozen!”
“Paralyzed,” Song corrected, unabashed excitement in her voice. “See, there are Seven Paths that full-blooded angels and Mutare can invoke, on varying levels of course. What you saw was the use of the Shamain path. It affects the body at a cellular level. It gets really messy but the Shamain path George’o’boy invoked allows us to flood the system with inhibitors that–”
“Song,” George said, snapping in front of her face. “Back to earth. You are not at the MATE. This isn’t a teaching moment.”
“Au contraire! Every moment is a teaching moment. Now, Zicon, with Machen, I could handle that nasty bruise on your neck and with Caffiel I could–”
“Prove it,” Imane interrupted, her voice quiet, her head lowered.
“Prove that this is a teaching moment? Sure! Let’s talk more about Shamain. It’s a lower tier path power that is the least restricted because not that much damage can be done but something like Araboth, the highest tier path–”
“No,” Imane groaned with frustration. “Prove what he is saying! It should be impossible!”
Song blinked once, twice. “Didn’t you see your father activate his Path powers in the warehouse? I’m pretty sure your boyfriend just told me that.”
“Yes! Just,” Imane’s hands rose to card through her wavy hair. “Prove it to me. Show me something. Walk on water, save a leper or pull a rabbit out of your ass. Just show me,” she pressed.
George frowned. “We’re in a crowded diner, I can’t just–”
“Apparently you can do anything,” Imane said, her frown deepening.
“Here’s your water!” Amanda pulled up to the table and placed his order down. “Sorry it took so long but it took me a minute to make “scalding” hot water. Remember,” she said as she pointed to the cup, “you asked for this so if you burn your tongue off…”
A Third of the Moon and the Stars Struck Page 14