The Passion Season

by Libby Doyle

  “It’s all right,” Barakiel said. “For the barbeque.”

  “Yes, and truth be told, I think they’re delicious.”

  Barakiel opened a drawer and took out a book of matches. He lit a candle on the counter and the scent of cinnamon wafted through the kitchen.

  “I guess I need to perform the sun ritual,” Zan said, washing her hands in the sink before she pulled a tube of sunscreen from her bag. “It’s a pain in the ass, but if I’m going to sit in Scott’s backyard all day, it’s necessary. Would you like to help me?” Zan held up the tube, the look in her eye revealing that her question was not really about sunscreen. He didn’t answer.

  “What’s wrong?” Zan asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on now, Rainer. Don’t turn into one of those guys on me. You seem upset. Talk to me.”

  “I’ve had a terrible fight with Pellus.”

  “Oh no. What happened? You’re so close.”

  “It was about you.”

  “About me?” Zan’s forehead wrinkled. “I had the feeling he disapproved of me.”

  “Pellus is cautious to a ridiculous degree.”

  “He thinks I’m a gold digger, doesn’t he?”

  Barakiel smiled weakly. “Something like that.”

  “He’s just protective of you. He’ll come around when he knows me better.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  It’s not me he’s protecting, my love.

  Zan put her hand over her mouth and looked down for a few seconds. “I’m so sorry, honey. I feel terrible. He’s like family and I’ve come between you.”

  “Fuck him. I don’t care if I ever see him again.”

  “You never curse. He must have made you really angry.”

  “Yes. I mean it. Fuck him. I’m only worried because now I don’t have a business manager. I don’t know enough to handle my affairs. Not well, anyway.”

  “You should hire someone.”

  “I don’t even know where to begin.” He closed his eyes. “Balance help me,” he mumbled.

  “What?” Zan looked at him curiously. Barakiel realized he’d spoken in his own language.

  “Right now, I want to touch you.” He grabbed her, placed his fingertips on the back of her neck and kissed her softly. Pulling her tight, he ran his lips along her jawline. Wave upon wave of energy, serene and strong, welled up within him. With every surge, he clamped her to him as his hands caressed her back.

  This power. It must be greater than time.

  “Can you feel it, my love?” he whispered. “Can you feel how much I need you?”

  “Yes. I feel like I’m going crazy, but in the best possible way.”

  Barakiel chuckled and kissed her again, greedy now. He was about to perch her on the counter to take off her pants when she stopped him.

  “Wait a minute. You have to tell me more about this fight. It was about me after all. What did he say?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Not good enough, Rainer. I don’t want to hassle you when you’re already upset, but you can’t say that. Not after telling me I was the subject of the argument.”

  “Pellus thinks I should—” He stopped to consider his words. “Um, he thinks I should keep you at arm’s length. He doesn’t want me to be too open with you.”

  Lying with vagueness again. Demon take this nonsense.

  Zan frowned and nodded. “Ah, that explains it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The arm’s length thing. I have to admit, it’s been confusing me. You act like you want to be close to me, but there’s this huge part of your life you tell me absolutely nothing about.”

  Barakiel let her go and lowered his eyes.

  “I’ve tried to tell myself it’s none of my business,” Zan continued. “But the longer we’re involved, the more it bothers me. You go on these trips. You never call. Your texts and emails seem impersonal.” Zan slipped past him. She leaned against the kitchen table. “I want to trust you, but I can’t shake the feeling that you’re keeping secrets.”

  A pile of bricks materialized in Barakiel’s gut.

  I cannot tell her what I am. Not now. Not before I learn to handle my new traveler.

  “I’m sorry to distress you, my love. It wasn’t all Pellus. You know I don’t like to talk on the telephone. I suppose I get into a mindset when I travel on business that bleeds into my texts and emails. I find it hard to relax.”

  “It’s not just that.” Zan crossed her arms, half scowling at him. “When you come back from a trip, you never tell me anything. No funny stories about some asshole you met. No mention of any problems. I’m your girlfriend. I want to help you, support you.” Zan uncrossed her arms with abnormal force and stared at the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe I want too much.”

  He blinked his eyes and pushed his hair out of his face in a vain attempt to his disguise his reaction.

  She thinks she wants too much when all I have done is lie to her.

  “Honey, please don’t get upset,” Zan said. “I told you because I feel suspicious and I hate it, but I understand now. It was Pellus.”

  “Yes, Pellus.” Barakiel had no doubt his guilt was plain on his face. “It’s true his approach to things has had an enormous influence on me. He keeps things close to the vest. He always has, his emotions as well as practical things. In most ways, I’m nothing like him, but in business, I emulate him. I never tell anyone anything. Not even you.”

  “If he knew I was saying all this to you, he’d be even more convinced that I’m a gold digger.” Zan walked back to him. She pressed her hands against his stomach.

  She wants to love me. Why can’t I bring myself to tell her?

  “You know,” Zan said, “there will be plenty of times I won’t be able to tell you a thing about my job. The only reason I can talk to you about the spleen case is because you signed that consulting agreement.” She stroked his face. “How do I bring you back to the point when you were just about to take off my clothes?”

  Barakiel kissed her, soft and sweet. He hugged her close, breathing relief into her ear. “Perhaps a change of venue will shift our mood,” he said. “I’ve added a new solar panel to the array on the roof. Let me show you.”

  “What? You have a solar array?”

  “Yes. The whole apparatus came from Germany.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shrugged. “It never came up.”

  “That is so cool. That is so you. And yeah, let’s go up. I’d love to check it out.” Zan rubbed her hands together like a little kid about to get on an amusement ride. Barakiel’s anxiety began to fade.

  Zan will enjoy having sex on the roof.

  CHAPTER 5

  Covalent City

  AS HE WAITED in the hushed anteroom of the Council Chamber, Barakiel wondered how the members would receive him and what Pellus had told them. Barakiel had refused to speak to the adept on their trip through the rift.

  The only way I saw to keep my temper in check.

  Battle had done nothing to ease his fury. No Corrupted appeared, replaced by an unusually large horde of demons. He cleared them like scrub brush but felt no calmer despite the torrent of demon blood left in his wake.

  When the jewel-encrusted doors of the Council Chamber swung wide, he passed between marble pillars that knit themselves toward the ceiling layer by shimmering layer. He bowed and thanked the members for granting him an audience. He caught his reflection in the table’s surface, which appeared as a pool of still water.

  I look like I am about to go on a rampage.

  When he raised his head, he made sure to wear a polite smile.

  “It is wonderful to see you again, Barakiel. You look well,” Ravellen said.

  “As do you, Madam President.”

  “The warriors tell us you slaughtered so many demons in battle their stacked bodies could top the city walls,” Ravellen said.

  “The warriors
exaggerate, Madam President.”

  “Yes, they do, and we are not here to make small talk,” Abraxos said, too loudly. “We have considered your request, warrior. We do not know what happened between you and your traveler because he has refused to tell us, but I suggest you get over your tantrum because we will not assign you another.”

  Ravellen winced at his disrespect. Barakiel adopted a bland stare.

  How I would love to rip off your smug face.

  Abraxos occupied the seat next to Barakiel, and farthest away from Ravellen, who sat at the opposite head of the table in the place designated for the president. The Council members near Abraxos remained expressionless when Ravellen first spoke, but they nodded their heads when Abraxos made his self-satisfied pronouncement. Barakiel suspected they were aligned against Ravellen. He had heard the warriors speaking of a schism on the Council.

  “With respect, Abraxos, I do not see the reason for your refusal,” Barakiel said. “What difference does it make which traveler shuttles me back and forth?”

  “What difference does it make? Not just any traveler can cloak you. In fact, it is not clear that even another adept would be able to do this.”

  “So, Pellus can cloak me while I am here. My journey through the rift is a different matter.”

  Ravellen shook her head. “You enjoy great wealth in the Earthly Realm. Wealth that insulates you from trouble and provides you with comfort in your difficult situation,” she said. “Why do you think you enjoy that? Who do you think is responsible? No ordinary traveler could do such a thing.”

  “I know, Madam President. I am grateful, but now that this wealth has been made, it grows of its own accord. Please release Pellus from his onerous duty.”

  “Yes, clever to make this seem like a reward for a job well done,” Abraxos said. “But we do not think an ordinary traveler is up to the task of managing your complex situation.”

  No doubt he means the task of managing me. As if I can be managed.

  “Then give me another adept,” Barakiel said. Ravellen frowned. Abraxos rolled his eyes.

  “Adepts normally choose their duty,” Ravellen said. “We do not order them. We merely suggest and appeal to their sense of purpose. You know that. Even I cannot order them, and I am one of them.”

  “Do you seriously believe the adepts would be unwilling to accommodate me?” Barakiel asked. He nearly laughed when Abraxos scowled at him.

  That’s right. You know my status, you miserable cretin.

  “Please, Barakiel,” Ravellen said. “Do not cause us that difficulty. I am asking you personally.” She leaned toward him, her hands on the table, the reflection of her weary face lost as her touch transformed the surface from water to stone. “These are tense times. In fact, the High Command wishes to meet with you when you leave here to discuss recent developments in the war.”

  Barakiel hid his surprise.

  The High Command? Why have they suddenly deemed me worthy of a meeting?

  “We need you to attend to your duties,” Ravellen continued. “To put your personal feelings aside. You will be of greatest help to the Realm with Pellus as your traveler.”

  For a pulse, Barakiel considered walking out and doing whatever the fuck he wanted to do, as he had pledged to Pellus. The Council members had no right to expect his help. They were lucky he fought for them at all. But it was no use.

  How can I refuse you, Ravellen? My mother loved you. You are the reason the Council did not kill me long ago.

  “As you wish, Madam President,” Barakiel dipped his head. “I will forego my request in service to my duty.”

  “Thank you, warrior. We will not forget.” The faintest bit of tension left her, an easing of her shoulders. “Please go with the attendant now. The High Command is waiting for you.”

  With a bow, Barakiel departed, but not before he sneered at Abraxos.

  You got what you want, but I will never listen to you and the rest of the Council knows it.

  The attendant led Barakiel through the polished stone corridors of the Keep until they reached the Gallery of Light, a vast hall of windows and mirrors that gathered the sapphire brilliance of the Stream and sent it careening around the space in waves and spirals. Barakiel wanted to linger in the delicious energy. He wanted to absorb so much power that the High Command would be struck speechless at the sight of him.

  The attendant waited as he stretched his limbs. A door opened, followed by the click of boot heels on marble. Commander Remiel came striding down the gallery, her deep blue robes swinging.

  “Hello, Commander. Ravellen did not tell me to expect you.”

  “She did not know this is to be a full meeting. All the battalion commanders will be there.”

  “Thank Balance for small favors. I am not in the frame of mind to sit at a table alone with the three high commanders staring at me.”

  Remiel thanked the attendant and gestured for Barakiel to follow her. They walked to a set of ornate double doors carved from chukka bone. The carvings told some story, but they passed through before Barakiel could tell what it was.

  “I hope you realize this is an honor, to be invited to the Nexus.” Remiel referred to the High Command’s chamber deep within the Keep. Few Covalent outside the leadership had ever set foot there.

  “I do.”

  “Good.” She set off down another polished stone corridor. “Let me prepare you, although the high commanders gave me few details beyond the fact that they want to ask you about your father.”

  “We could have guessed.”

  “Yes.” They reached a winding staircase cut from rose marble. Remiel leaned in close so she would not be overheard. “Let us wait until we are deeper. I need to speak frankly.”

  They descended into the bowels of the Keep, around in big curves until the rose marble gave way to black stone and the air turned cool and damp. They were underground.

  “Now we are alone,” Remiel said. She kept descending, but more slowly. “As you know, the three high commanders are legendary Warriors of the Rising, among the most powerful in the Realm, but I would not say they are equal. I need to warn you about High Commander Galizur. Do not trust him.”

  Barakiel had been around the battalion commanders enough to know that devotion to the High Command was hardly universal, so this did not surprise him.

  Nothing is ever simple with the Covalent.

  “Galizur owes his position to Abraxos,” Remiel said. “He is an excellent fighter, but he lacks insight. A poor fit for a position where intelligence is far more important than the sword.” She stopped to squint at Barakiel. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes. Abraxos made sure his mouthpiece would become high commander before he resigned the position himself to join the Council.”

  “Precisely. A worrisome situation.” Remiel explained that the High Command was meant to balance the Council, especially in all things military. The system could not function properly when one among them had no mind of his own.

  “To make matters worse, High Commander Camael served with Abraxos across a million turns,” Remiel continued. “Camael is a warrior of deep integrity, but he was shaped by the same events and personalities as Abraxos. Their strategic approaches are nearly identical. That leaves Osmadiel as the sole high commander to provide diversity of opinion.”

  “I have heard she is a close friend of Ravellen.”

  “She is, but no one earned her rank more than Osmadiel. I assume you are aware that her battalion drove your father from the Realm?”

  “Yes, the warriors told me. They often speak of her skilled blade and her tenacity. And her hair, for some reason.”

  “Ha! Blame the quickeners. They pen odes to Osmadiel’s blood-red hair as often as her sword. I wish they would celebrate her tactical mind.” Remiel turned hard right. They followed a rough-hewn corridor downward at a steep angle and emerged onto a flat space before a thick steel door. The Nexus.

  Remiel passed her hand over the Conduit, a glowing blue square
to the left of the door. She announced their presence and the door opened. The eleven other battalion commanders were standing in small groups when Remiel and Barakiel entered, their heads nearly grazing the ceiling of the black stone chamber. Screens embedded in the uneven walls shimmered with emerald green light that reflected off a massive onyx table. Gold static filled an archway that led to some inner sanctum, no doubt a barrier maintained by the adepts, closed to all but the High Command.

  After greetings, the warriors took their seats around the table, Barakiel at Remiel’s right hand. He wished his anger would return. The walk and discussion had left him nervous, mostly because he planned to offer some unsolicited advice. He doubted a rank-and-file warrior had ever dared suggest anything in the Nexus.

  Few can rival me on the battlefield, but I am not in my element around a table.

  The High Command appeared with a flourish, the golden static of the barrier crackling behind them. Tendrils clung to their rich purple robes as they took their places at the head of the table. All the warriors stood and bowed.

  “High commanders, Barakiel has joined us today at your request,” Remiel said. On cue, he bowed again. Everyone took their seats.

  “Gracing us with your true appearance today, Barakiel?” Osmadiel asked. “I was told you must be cloaked to remain in the Realm.”

  “Not if I remain for only a short time, high commander.”

  “Well then, let us not waste time. We brought you here to ask if you have a theory as to why your father has withdrawn his Corrupted from battle in favor of sending ever larger demon hordes against us. We surmise he may be planning a major offensive.” She looked haggard, as did the others.

  “Lucifer has withdrawn every single Corrupted?”

  “Yes.”

  Barakiel gazed at the luminous emerald screen across the chamber.

  Is he waiting for me to kill the false monks and render myself vulnerable? If only I could tell them.

  “My father could be preserving his warriors for an offensive, yes. Or he could be planning some other change in strategy.”