by Emery Skye
“Look Amalie, I just got used to the idea of my sister dating a guy in my grade.” Dating at all. “Please don't.”
Her eyes dulled, and I suddenly felt like the parent who tells their kid Santa Claus doesn’t exist. Then again, I’m not supposed to exist either. Funny how that works.
“He didn’t really say anything.” She looked confused and sad with downcast eyes and a head tipped right.
Amalie pulled out her notebook. She was getting reckless with that thing. She didn’t usually work on her drawings in front of the masses.
She was a freshmen when I sat her down to talk about her work and told her she’d have to keep it hidden; she told me it wouldn’t be a problem.
“Only dorks work on homework during lunch,” she had said, and I hadn’t seen her whip out the book, with its purple cover and doodles, in front of people since then. Until now.
The noise of kids eating made me edgy. Smack. A heat warmed my blood. Smack. My teeth ground together. Smack. The spot between my eyes throbbed maddeningly. I grabbed the bridge of my nose and stretched my eyes open to max capacity before squeezing them shut again. There was something about that noise.
I grabbed my stainless steel fork. I realized that I’d grabbed it like a weapon; the handle became the hilt of a dagger. I almost chuckled at my immediate response and shifted my hand around the fork so that I held it as an everyday eating utensil and not a tool for destruction.
“Am,” I started and looked at her notebook.
“Oh,” her chin dropped further, and she frowned putting it back in her book bag.
“Yeah. So, how were your classes?” I muttered, picking at my fruit while trying to ignore the commotion around me. The aroma of cooked red meat and cheesy potatoes (two components for the slop) and bleach became nauseating.
“They were good, I guess.”
“What was?” Taylor asked. She was the queen of showing up uninvited.
“Go away, Taylor. Don’t you have anyone else to antagonize?”
“Actually, I have dirt,” she paused, and a grin spread across her face partnered with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Taylor was the notorious gossip girl of the Academy. “There was another disappearance right before break.”
“You mean another noviate—”
“Is gone.” Amalie finished my sentence. Both our voices lost their jingle.
“That’s right,” Taylor took the seat next to me. I felt my mouth twist as I bitterly put my desired strawberry down. “The school is trying to keep it under wraps. The Powers have sent reinforcements to increase security.” I could hear the sourness like the taste of unripe fruit when she spoke of The Powers. It wasn’t the first time. “And, man, are they beau-ti-ful,” she clearly enunciated every syllable in the last word.
“Wow, Taylor. Six noviates are missing, and all you can think about is how cute the security is?” Amalie and I must have looked disgusted, and Taylor must have seen our logic because she changed her tune.
“Look, it’s absolutely tragic what’s happening, but we can still enjoy the total hotness of the Warriors. Can’t we?” More like a statement than question.
My stomach grumbled so loud I was sure half the room heard it. Taylor looked over, and I prepared myself for her villainous response.
Her mouth opened.
“Amalie, did Anna tell you about the party I am throwing?” I felt the taste of salt on my tongue.
Amalie stared, deadpan.
“Obviously not.” Her mouth corkscrewed. “Well, I did. You are both invited,” she manicured a nail.
“What’s the catch?” Amalie, like myself, thought Taylor might be planning to use us as angel boards.
I could hear it now, “Step right up to enjoy the Anna dartboard. Ten points for her nose, five if you get it between her lips!”
Yikes.
“There is no catch.” The eyebrows rolled. “Don’t you believe me?”
Amalie and I gave each other “the look” that said hell to no we don’t believe this crap.
Just then, Alyosha came up to Amalie. He bent down and whispered something in her ear. She looked at me with brows raised, and I watched as her throat bobbed.
“I’ll see you later,” Amalie told me. Her tone took a weathered turn.
“Not so fast,” I leaned forward. “Where are you going?”
I glanced up to meet Alyosha’s dark eyes.
She stumbled on her words.
“Alyosha was going to help me with some homework.” Her cheeks suddenly looked like they’d been smacked. Lying never did look good on her.
“What homework?” I pushed. I was suspicious. Concerned. Worried.
“Just some general ed stuff,” she mumbled.
I bit my lip. I knew she was lying; I could practically taste the saltiness of it, but did I want to call her on it? Right here? In front of everyone? No.
“Later,” I told her firmly, and I meant it.
They walked away quickly like they were about to or already had engaged in some sort of criminal activity.
“What was that about?” Taylor gawked in their direction with beady eyes as they exited.
“I don’t know,” I said finally, eating the strawberry I no longer enjoyed. But I'm going to find out. I added silently.
***
My training classes were a mix of eventful and not. I looked forward to Combat Techniques with Dr. Chayyliel.
As I entered the class, Taylor sat with her band of zombie admirers.
“Did you hear?” She asked.
“Hear what, Taylor?” I asked, against my better judgment.
“Dr. Chayyliel was summoned to Bethel to face The Powers for Judgment. He won’t be back.”
I wondered what Dr. Chayyliel had done to earn him a hearing, and how did Taylor know something so…classified?
“Then, who is teaching?”
Right as Taylor was about to answer me, a Warrior Angel walked in the room. He wore the Legion United emblem on his right arm in black ink. My heart fluttered at the marking I would someday wear. The marking of a Legite. It was an “L-U” with a pair of Angel wings behind it and a thick, black sphere circling it, signifying that he was an Angel Warrior.
On his other arm would be a thick bar, signifying his rank. The highest-ranking legionnaire I’d ever seen had four bars. Under this Angel’s T-shirt I could see three. His face lacked the lines necessary for that many bars, but tattoos didn’t lie. He could have only been twenty—tops.
He had dark brown, closely cropped hair. His eyes were a piercing, familiar green. I knew I had seen them before. As I looked more closely, I realized he was the one I ran into in the cafeteria. How could I have been so stupid? He was one of the “super-hot reinforcements” Taylor had been talking about.
Taylor.
A cringe ran down my spine.
I looked at her, and my suspicions were confirmed. Her jaw was dropped so low that if there had been flies she would have been catching them.
He could have been a succubus promising ecstasy with every glance of his eyes. He seemed to have a different, but similar effect on the boys in the room. Every guy straightened and his muscles tensed. Their jaws set. It was like watching the change from boy to Warrior right before my eyes.
“I am Legite Nathaniel Deror. I will be teaching your Combat Techniques class until Dr. Chayyliel returns.”
His voice both smooth and hypnotic, dancing around my ears like ballet dancers on a stage.
I almost missed how he said Dr. Chayyliel would be returning. Was Taylor wrong or was Legite Deror? What type of Judgment was he facing?
The studious angel in me scolded my questioning. We were taught not to question.
“Welcome, Nathan. Oh, and I am Taylor.”
“Legite Deror,” he corrected coldly.
“Thank you, Noviate Raziel.”
“Thanks,” she replied, sounding only mildly embarrassed.
“To begin, what is the best way to approach your enemy?” He paced sl
owly. “Anyone?”
I raised my hand as I spoke.
“From behind, if possible. Maintain the element of surprise. But you never want to underestimate your enemy. Always assume they know you are coming, and always act accordingly.”
“Thank you, Noviate Hasdiel.”
He knows my name! I was giddy.
Why was I giddy? I have no idea. He’s a Warrior, and Warriors are always prepared. Like boy scouts. Extreme boy scouts.
I wasn’t supposed to be attracted. This was not supposed to happen. I was here to learn. He was currently my instructor. Nothing more was possible. At least for now, the traitorous half of my mind argued. He’s really a Legite. Pull it together, now! I yelled at myself.
“Everyone, head to the gym. I will meet you shortly.
Chapter 4
I was slinging my book bag over my shoulder when Erick walked up.
“Hey, Anna.”
“Hey,” I replied.
He gallantly opened up the door for me, and we ventured into the snow.
“Isn’t it weird that we're training on the first day?”
“I guess. He probably just wants to see how bad we are.”
“Everybody sucks, compared to him," Erick said, like it was a fact. I was mildly hurt by the comment. A little ego-deflated for a second.
The sound of boots crunching snow filled the crisp air.
“How do you know that?” I asked. Sure, he was a Legite, with a little more bars than most, but it’s not like he was an Archangel.
“My sister told me he's killed six second-level and two first-level demons.” He paused. His lips moved silently. “And, get this,” his voice dropped to a whisper, and his brown eyes darted frantically in every which direction. “He's been in the Dark World.”
I tripped. He caught my arm with ninja-like speed.
“You’re lying. No angel has been to the Dark World. It’s forbidden.” We both knew of the angel who had defied that commandment – Lucifer, and he’d never been back to Bethel since.
He stared at me, wide-eyed.
“I know. It is, but he has.”
We walked into the gym and made two parallel lines on the mats and spoke amongst ourselves, just barely louder than a whisper.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Legite Deror’s trip to the Dark World. How did he get there? Why did he go?
Stop asking questions.
The gym doors closed with a loud bang that resounded through the space. I looked toward the sound; Deror walked towards the group with attentive eyes, focused on everything in the room. His stare gave me goose flesh.
“You are here because you are Legion United Noviates. In just eighteen months, if you pass, you will go before The Powers and chose to become a Warrior or Harbinger. Following that, there will be no leniency. Every move, every decision will be for your survival and destruction of the enemy.”
His voice was so hauntingly beautiful it sent chills spiraling down my spine.
“You will be required to fight at a moment’s notice. As the guardians of the human race, you will be required to ready yourselves for anything. And, as the guardians, you will be required to fight through pain and limitation. Noviate Hasdiel and Noviate Marzek, will you please step forward, and demonstrate a few maneuvers for the class.”
Why? Why in creation do I keep getting picked for these class exercises? I cursed under my breath.
“Did you say something?” Deror asked with an arched brow.
I shook my head. My mouth was unmanageable today.
Erick and I moved forward, and we both took the ready stance on the mats. Erick wore a hungry gaze. Combat blood lust had taken him. I, on the other hand, sported a straight face. This was going to suck. For him.
Legite Deror motioned for us to begin by dropping his fist and stepping away.
I performed a ridge-hand strike to his nose and a turning sidekick to his abdomen. Erick flew back off the mats, lost his balance, and hit the ground. I hadn’t meant to use that much strength. His face showed shock, and a bruised male ego, but that wasn’t my problem.
The reason I was the best was because I practiced, a lot. He started to stand when Deror made a 'stay down' gesture.
“It looks like Noviate Hasdiel needs a more experienced partner.”
Everyone laughed. I couldn’t help but smile. I felt bad for Erick, but proud of myself.
“Let me,” Deror took the ready stance in front of me.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” someone said. “You’ll kill her.” More laughter erupted.
He might almost kill me, but I planned to make him feel some pain too. Maybe.
“Noviate Raziel, please act as our arbiter.”
Taylor came between us and took a few large steps back to form a triangle. She put her fist up and then dropped it.
“Begin,” she purred, and with a swing of her hips, she stepped back.
I immediately went on offense, but I was too slow. He executed a fourth degree, mid-sweeping hammer fist, and I was down. I shot him the nastiest look I could, but felt it softened by a pout. I shot to my feet and dropped into a crouch. He wouldn't get away with that again. I tried a nice, elegant twirl into a stepping back kick. He blocked it. So much for elegance. He stood back, wearing a stoic expression, before coming forward again. I attempted a fourth degree, upward elbow strike. He did a front kick. I couldn’t block it. My body sliced through the air and hit the ground with a loud, ungraceful boom. Pain spun up my spine, rattling my insides.
I tried to stand up, but my body begged me to stay down. Each muscle screamed. I touched my lips and found my finger stained with blood. This was one of seven schools where a teacher could make a student bleed. This place was a dream come true. Dreaming about knocking out the one teacher that hates you as much as you hate them, getting the chance, and losing soundly. So. Not. Fair.
As I came back to the ready stance, Deror put his hand up. I stopped immediately.
“That’s enough for today. Please study the first and second-degree upper body attacks. I despair that you're not further along.”
He looked at me, and his whole face fell. There was something indecipherable there—disappointment, maybe. Then he turned away and strode out of the gym. I stood, staring at our safe battleground.
He'd kicked my butt almost effortlessly. Why do that in front of everybody? I groaned, vowing to get even like the totally mature adult I was.
* * *
“He can maneuver me any way he wants. Damn, he is hot!” Just the ring-a-ling-ling in Taylor's voice made images of gruesome attack scenes roll through my mind.
Then again, her voice was nothing new. I’d heard it a million times, and while it was annoying, it wasn’t my biggest issue. Her new topic was: Legite Nathaniel Deror.
He moved with the grace, speed, and agility of an Archangel, and he had total control over every muscle in his body. Not a single twitch gave him away when we fought.
But something would, eventually. Everyone had a weakness. There was no way I’d let him beat me again. No. Freaking. Way.
I envisioned the fight as I walked to my next and favorite class: Advanced Horsemanship, taught by Dr. Azrael.
The barn had twenty stalls and a tack room the size of ten more. It was the kind of thing that made any rider giddy. I passed by Sox’s stall and was pleased to see my best friend was fat and happy, enjoying a mound of alfalfa. As I rounded the corner to the office area, I saw Dr. Azrael approaching and stopped dead.
Dr. Azrael possessed the type of everlasting beauty that made me want to stare until my eyes burned. Even still, I'd keep staring. She had glossy, golden hair that fell to her butt. It was pinned back, but loose strands flowed free, accentuating her elfin features.
“Hello, everyone. Welcome to Advanced Horsemanship. I have worked with all of you, and I am expecting a pleasant term. I have news to announce, then we'll head tack up, and go riding.”
“First order of business: I will be naming the captain o
f the horsemanship team, who will compete as the representative of Hope Academy,” she paused. My breath hitched. “Anna Hasdiel,” she said.
She fixed a stony gaze on me. Her eyes held a penetrating quality similar to a dagger. They weren’t predatory, but there was something unexplainable lingering in the ripe depths.
“Congratulations, Anna. This is quite an honor. Please see me after class,” her eyes remained on me for a moment longer.
I felt myself waver.
“Yes, Dr. Azrael.”
I didn’t say thank you, nothing. I was in complete shock at being named captain. It truly was an honor, especially as a third year. My ego said I deserved it. Another part — the curious part — saw red flags and heard alarm bells. Something was up with the Horsemanship Goddess. But what?
“Second, what is the purpose of horses?”
Everyone laughed under their breath. The answer was obvious.
“Horses are a Warrior’s confidant and partner in battle,” someone towards the back of the class said.
“That’s correct Matthew. Why don’t warriors use cars? Or tanks?” A ghost of a grin spread across her face. Her hands on her narrow hips swayed as she shifted her fist, clad in brown, leather gloves.
“No machinery works in the Dark World,”
I suppose that was a correct answer. There were many reasons why Warriors chose horses over mechanized vehicles.
“That’s correct, Anna. Thank you. Now I know how much you've missed your horses. Go tack up, and meet me in the indoor arena in fifteen minutes.”
She shot me an earnest look before heading back whence she came. Had I imagined the solemnity weighing down her shoulders and face? I didn’t think so.
* * *
Sox was waiting for me. I opened the gate. He nudged me gently. It was his way of saying, ‘Hi! I missed you!’ And did I miss him. I threw my arms around his neck in a tight embrace, inhaling his sweet scent.
I gave him a carrot.
I named him Sox because he had three white socks on his ankles. He stood quietly, basking in the warm light that streamed from the window above, as I brushed his chestnut coat and saddled him.