The Passion Season

by Libby Doyle

  Kemuel and Tariel were indeed consummate warriors. With Barakiel’s help, they cleared a space within the demon horde into which other warriors rushed to form a fearsome line. They forced the demons back. Barakiel fought expertly, but he wasn’t drawing energy in any quantity to speak of, not even in the Turning. Pellus didn’t know how he managed to go on.

  There came a hollowing of air and a metallic smell. Pellus felt them before he saw them. The Corrupted. At least twenty approached. Pellus felt fear like he never had before.

  Ah, what am I doing here? We will die together, Barakiel.

  The Corrupted made a line straight for Barakiel. Osmadiel’s warriors tried to engage the dark warriors but the Corrupted merely threw them aside. Kemuel and Tariel saw them coming, as did Barakiel. They stood abreast until the Corrupted were nearly upon them before Barakiel fell back to become the point of an inverted triangle. The protectors fought furiously but there were too many. Two dark warriors punched through and set upon Barakiel, who could not answer their blows for long. Pellus’ heart seized in his chest.

  Hang on.

  Covalent fighters came from all sides, seeking to slaughter the Corrupted. Barakiel evaded or repelled the blows of his two attackers, but he was slow. Kemuel fought desperately to hold off three more, but the dark warriors soon realized they should kill the protectors to clear the path to their true quarry. Two more fell upon Kemuel as a handful of others rushed Tariel.

  Barakiel launched himself into the group of Corrupted surrounding Kemuel. He shouted for Tariel, but by this time she was pinned down, doing all she could do just to stay alive. Barakiel was knocked back. He stumbled. When he raised his head, Kemuel lay dead at the feet of the dark warriors.

  All seven fell upon Barakiel then. They brought him to the ground, stabbing him multiple times with their swords. From his hidden place, Pellus held deadly still as he let the furious energy of the Turning invade his mind and body.

  Though Tariel had managed to take the heads of two Corrupted, she could not break free from the throng to help Barakiel, who curled and writhed defensively in a pool of his own blood, trying to strike with his dagger.

  A dark warrior brought his sword to Barakiel’s neck and smiled. The swirling light of the Turning played over his lifeless black eyes.

  “What a waste,” he said. “You could have taken your place at Lord Lucifer’s right hand. Now, your resistance has left you a useless pile and we cannot escape with you. I will have to kill you instead.”

  All the Corrupted laughed, a sound like the rattling of chains on ice. The one who had spoken raised his sword to take Barakiel’s head, but when he lowered the blade it did not connect, careening off an invisible barrier. The Corrupted near Barakiel screeched as Pellus focused the heat of battle and burned them where they stood. They backed away from the frightful pain. His blood-filled mouth agape, Barakiel watched them move away with dull eyes. He passed out.

  Pellus struggled to maintain the barrier. He mind began to splinter.

  Save him. Take him please, please. I cannot hold. I cannot hold.

  More warriors arrived from the right flank to deal with the Corrupted as Pellus lost consciousness.

  Covalent City

  The Void. Did I always know this was my home? I lied to myself across the phases, the centuries of feeling the Earthly Realm beneath my feet and claiming it as my place. If I call now, will someone answer me? All that I am is nothing.

  Yahoel?

  No heat, no cold. I hear a ringing, too high to be pleasant. I can smell him now. He smells like me.

  Still calling for Yahoel, wayward son? I thought you would have given up your craven need once I left her mutilated corpse in your chambers.

  No defense in the Void. He surrounds me. Push him away. Think of the mighty warriors as they slay the Corrupted, cutting a path to Lucifer. My sword pinning him to the ground as I crush his perversion of a heart.

  The heart, it grows, sprouts teeth to rip my flesh. Lucifer laughs.

  You foolish child. The Void is Lucifer, your home.

  I fight for the Council. I will prevail for the Council. I am a powerful warrior. Command me. Send me. I will do my duty.

  You want to take orders from the Council? Do not be ridiculous. Following orders is not for Covalent such as us. We take orders from no one.

  He snatches his heart from my hand.

  You will join me, son. Feel this power. It is for you.

  Intoxication. Thunderous, inevitable, continuous force.

  Oh, to kill Abraxos. To jam my thumbs into his eyes, his brain. To hear his voice break in agony as the life leaves him. He made my mother a pariah, the thanks she got for her loyalty to the Realm. For renouncing her mate. He exiled me, forced me from my home. Lucifer welcomes me. Together, we will rule the realms. None can challenge the Void.

  None? No, no, no. Something pulls at my hatred. I smell fresh mountain air. Another calls me back. A greater power within me. The Void will not claim me. She stands high on a ridge above a sweep of untouched snow. She glows in the dawn, her arms open to the pure wind.

  My love. Destruction sinks like a stone within you and disappears.

  Barakiel opened his eyes.

  “We did not think you would wake with such a rapturous look on your face, warrior,” said the Sylvan Three.

  “What? Where am I? What happened?” Barakiel darted his eyes around the softly lit room, half rising from his luminous green bed.

  “You were gravely injured, warrior. You have been sleeping for three turns. Your fine body was covered with wounds, your organs lacerated, but you fought so bravely we were able to heal you. You are in Balance once again.”

  “Kemuel and Tariel. They were protecting me. Did they survive?” Barakiel sat up, ready to run out the door.

  “We are sorry. Kemuel is dead, slain by the Corrupted.”

  The warrior hid his face in his hands.

  Remiel, please forgive me.

  “Do not condemn yourself.” The Three placed their delicate hands on his shoulders. “Kemuel died fulfilling his purpose. He killed three dark warriors in that battle. We will honor him.”

  “And Tariel?”

  “She remains. She dragged you from the fray when Osmadiel’s fighters arrived in force to engage the Corrupted. You were brought here, along with the adept.”

  “So, Pellus saved me once again by bringing me to you?”

  “He did more than that to save you, warrior.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The mind of the adept has been grievously depleted by the actions he took to save your life.”

  “Please, healers, tell me what you mean.” Barakiel shot to his feet but immediately fell back on the bed, overcome by a wave of nausea.

  “In defiance of Covalent Law, Pellus stole his way into the Turning,” the Three said, their voices filled with worry, and with pride. “Concealed there, he watched over you. Tariel told us that Pellus created a barrier that shielded you from the death blow and burned the Corrupted where they stood. Against his purpose, the adept performed an act of such power it was not thought possible.”

  I am not worth such a price.

  “Will he die? I killed him. I killed him!” Barakiel’s words descended into choked sobs.

  Like my mother, like Kemuel. No wonder my father calls to me.

  “He will not die, warrior, but he is lost. As he sought to master the furious energy of the Turning he ventured so far into complexity that he cannot find his way back. He sleeps, but without your help, he will sleep forever.”

  “Anything, anything. Take me, use me,” Barakiel implored them. He wanted them to see his desperation. His love.

  “We will find him and bring him back,” the Three said, as one took Barakiel’s hand. “We must open ourselves to break Pellus from the loop of perception that traps him, but we do not know the boundaries of his mind. He could trap us as well. This is why we need your help. With the power of your sentience fused with ours, we can
safely enter Pellus’ mind to refocus it and bring him back to consciousness.”

  The Three searched Barakiel’s face. “Be warned, warrior. You nearly died. We will be taking the energy you need to complete your healing. This will weaken you. It could leave us all insane.”

  “Take all you need.”

  Constant motion. Flinging, flying and vibrating. Guardian save us, the travelers live with this? Strings undulate. Membranes quiver like drums slapped by an invisible hand. The fabric of existence. We are frightened, adept. Your perception frightens us. Reach the warrior. The warrior will not be afraid. We take you from yourself. You trust.

  This expanse. This riot of power! Constant motion. Flinging, flying and vibrating. We are not afraid. The adept is lost, but the power holds us as we seek. The warrior is as open as a child. We only see what we need to see, fine warrior.

  You trust. You love. Like steel and silk, you love. You are suffused! How could you fear with such a love as this? It would pull you from a thousand chasms, allow you to hold a thousand stars.

  We wander in the maelstrom. Do the turns pass here? Do the Guardians understand? Even we cannot perceive how this seeming chaos is not chaos. No wonder you are lost, adept, in this deafening noise. The fabric of existence screams with the pain of death and birth. No one should journey here, adept, but love brought you and love will bring you back.

  The trap. Vibrations threaten to overwhelm us. The bonds you created channel your mind, fling you along a loop that wriggles and swells, your speed so great that you disappear. Swallowed by the blackness, spit out into the blinding light. Where do you go, adept? What is hidden in the blackness? Your terror shrouds you. You cannot see us. Cannot feel us. Particles invade, your own bonds nearly broken by the force you brought into your mind. The particles would destroy us, but they cannot destroy the warrior. They only make him stronger. Lead the way, Barakiel.

  Images. The warrior knows them. A Covalent of delicate beauty. Your mate, adept.

  Images. The spinning, streaming, endless heavens. Phenomena so remote and fantastic we cannot conceive. Only you can conceive of such complexity. You are lost in its majesty. You cannot hear us over the screams of existence. The warrior absorbs the deafening roar. We hold his strength within us. He calls to you. Will you not look, adept? Will you not hear? The warrior holds your beauty within him. Your mate is waiting for you, adept.

  We feel you. Return to your mate. Return to your warrior. His power carries us in its great tide. His love is a beacon. He can never be lost.

  Yes, that is right. You know us, Pellus. We are your friends.

  CHAPTER 10

  PELLUS LAY STILL, his eyes closed, enjoying that feeling of mindless peace before the imperfection of things intruded upon him once again. He heard someone enter. He opened his eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” Barakiel asked. Pellus stretched a bit and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He blinked and looked around the room, which glowed with a soft pink light. He focused on the warrior.

  He shines with power once again. Thank Balance.

  “The Sylvan Three have restored you! Have more perfect Covalent ever existed?”

  “No, not ever, I would say. But please, Pellus, tell me how you are feeling.”

  “Physically, I am intact.” Pellus ran his hands down his sides. “Mentally, I am foggy. Weak. But restored, I think.”

  “Good, good.”

  “I do not remember anything after the Corrupted raised his sword to take your head. How long have I been unconscious?”

  Barakiel told him five turns had passed since the battle.

  “Five turns! I must have been nearly dead.”

  “You were lost in your own mind. The Sylvan Three returned you to yourself.”

  “I do not understand,” Pellus said.

  “Neither do I.” Barakiel stared at his feet for a pulse or two. “I want to thank you for saving my life. It was so far beyond your duty that I do not even know how to thank you. You are more courageous than the finest of warriors.”

  “Only when it comes to you, Barakiel,” Pellus said. The warrior frowned. He moved his gaze back to his feet and rubbed his forearm.

  “Uh, I have asked Roan, your apprentice traveler, to take me home. You need to stay under the protection of the Sylvan Three until you are strong. There will be consequences for saving me.”

  “I do not care.”

  Barakiel shook his head. He appeared overcome, which made Pellus smile.

  It is nice to see that admiration in his eyes.

  “The Three have sent for Jeduthan,” Barakiel continued. “You need to be with your mate. Roan can fetch me for my next tour of duty in the Turning. You deserve to have your time to yourself.” He turned to leave after he thanked Pellus once again. Pellus felt a sudden resolve.

  I am tired of this estrangement.

  “Wait! I am sorry, you know that. I am sorry for what I said about Zan, and for how I have treated you regarding her.”

  The warrior ran his hand through his hair. He opened and closed his mouth.

  “When are you going to forgive me?” Pellus asked.

  Though he faintly smiled, Barakiel remained silent. Pellus could not read his eyes. He looked again like he might leave.

  “I miss your friendship,” Pellus blurted.

  With his head hung back and his eyes closed, Barakiel exhaled. “I miss your friendship, too,” he said.

  “Then forgive me.”

  “I will forgive you if you forgive me.”

  The Sylvan Three rested in their innermost chamber. Barakiel wished to thank them and take his leave, but he did not know if he was permitted to enter. He asked a servant.

  “Of course, fine warrior. The healers’ friends are welcome wherever they may be.”

  The chamber walls were covered by undulating vapor of palest yellow. The Three sat naked in the center of a clear, still pool. Curls of steam rose from the water. Barakiel sat on the cushioned floor.

  “Healers, I have spoken with Pellus. He is intact, although weak. He knows you have sent for Jeduthan, and that he can stay here for several turns under your protection.”

  “Good, Barakiel. We will go to him when we have completed our rejuvenation. That was a bewildering, amazing experience. It has left us exhausted.”

  “Yes, it was amazing, Three. I am forever in awe of your power.”

  “As we stand in awe of yours. We thought the journey would be a danger to you, but instead, a sea of might appeared before us. We could not see the adept and we were afraid to wander, but then we felt your love. A love that would never allow you to be lost.”

  Barakiel smiled with such joy that one of the Three rose from the pool to kneel beside him. She stroked his face with her soft hands.

  “We would have asked you to stay here with us awhile, sweet warrior, so we could fill each other with the healing grace of sensual pleasure, but now we know the love you hold within you.”

  His whole body tingled at her touch.

  What an incredible experience it would be, but still nothing compared to how I feel when I hold Zan.

  “Your touch is magic, Three. But yes, I belong to another. I am sorry. I should have told you before.”

  “Not to worry. To gain awareness in such a way was a sudden rush of purity, a feeling we will not soon forget.”

  “I will certainly never forget the way you felt within my mind. I have never been so grateful. Do you know that? Do you feel it?”

  “Yes, Barakiel,” the Three said, as the remaining two joined their sister outside the pool, their delicate bodies entwined.

  “You have helped me beyond my capacity to understand. It is more than I deserve.”

  “No, it is not.” The Three laid their hands on his arms and shoulders. “Your great power helped us heal our friend, and you do not realize how it feels for us to heal you. We receive as much from you as we bestow. At this moment, energy flows to you and hums all around us. You gather and you give. You are
everything a Warrior of the Rising should be.”

  Barakiel basked in his good fortune. The Three sat beside him, and they remained in silence.

  From the North Terrace, Barakiel admired the light show created by Covalent City’s protective barrier as he waited for Remiel. Debris from a nearby asteroid belt bombarded the transparent force field and Barakiel tried to take heart from the display.

  Warriors of the Rising viewed this spectacle as a reflection of themselves. Just as demons fell in battle, asteroids fell against the barrier generated by the warriors’ energy to vaporize in flashes of tangerine light. Travelers might shape the barrier, but the warriors were its origin. On the North Terrace, those of the Rising could feel proud of their duty to protect, but that was hardly how Barakiel felt at the moment.

  “Commander.” Barakiel bowed as Remiel approached. “Thank you for meeting me. Please let me tell you how sorry I am. I cost the Realm a brilliant warrior. How can I earn your forgiveness?”

  “Fight as you once fought, and you do not need to earn anything from me,” Remiel said as she walked along the terrace railing. “I knew the risk, as did Kemuel. He died fulfilling his purpose. He took the heads of three Corrupted. We will honor him.”

  Barakiel kept his head down, his arms hanging at his sides.

  “I know what it is like,” Remiel continued, “to watch someone die who was trying to save you. Considering how you lost your mother, I can only imagine how it felt for you to try to save Kemuel and fail. I cannot ease your pain, but I mean what I say. Honor him by throwing your regained Balance in Lucifer’s face.” She put her hand on her warrior’s back. “I look forward to having your sword next to mine.”

  “Yes, commander, thank you.” Barakiel fought to maintain his composure. Her compassion made it worse.

  “You will return to the Earthly Realm and rest for a time,” Remiel said. “When you are ready for battle, you will fight for Osmadiel, and you will fight beside me. Devote yourself to this added duty. It will cleanse you. I will give some thought to the price you must pay for breaking Covalent Law, but I will keep your secret.”