Eternity

by Heather Terrell

  “Select one and follow me into the skies. That is where your war will be waged, so we should practice there.”

  I reached for a golden-handled sword with a medium-size blade—it seemed the most manageable of the daunting lot—and soared into the chilly night air. Michael and I hovered next to Rafe as he displayed some basic sword skills, like thrusts and parries. Then he showed us how to injure the fallen enough to draw blood, not kill. The moves appeared effortless in Rafe’s capable hands, but I knew he made it look deceptively easy.

  As Rafe conducted his demonstration, he advised, “Your initial goal is to wound, not kill. Never forget that you must draw and ingest the fallen’s blood first—and only then attempt destruction. Otherwise, the fallen’s wound will heal almost immediately, and you will be very close to a very angry angel.”

  Rafe’s comments made me wonder about my own recuperative powers. I’d healed quickly, despite last night’s exertions. “Do our wounds heal fast too?”

  “Faster than a normal human’s, although not as fast as a full angel’s. Remember what I told you yesterday. Your power is half theirs.”

  “Does that mean we are physically less vulnerable than a normal human?” I quickly reviewed my past medical and physical history. I was almost never sick, and I couldn’t remember a single injury of any sort. Not even the typical childhood breaks and cuts requiring the emergency room.

  “Yes.” Rafe could see where I was going with my line of questioning. “But you are not immortal, Ellspeth. Only full angels never die.”

  “Fallen and full angels, like you?”

  “The fallen and full angels have the same powers, the same immortality. The primary difference is that the fallen cannot enter heaven, their true home,” Rafe answered. Then, tutorial over, he nodded to Michael. “You first. Do you think you can imitate me?”

  Michael smiled a bit cockily. “I think I can give it a shot.”

  I watched as Michael reproduced Rafe’s moves almost exactly. Even though I was annoyed with his arrogance, especially toward Rafe, he had every reason to be confident. Michael was a natural.

  When Michael finished, he returned to his position next to me and Rafe. His cheeks were flushed from the exertions despite the coldness of the air, and he looked exhilarated from performing so expertly.

  Rafe turned to me and said the words I dreaded: “Ellspeth, you’re next.”

  I tried. Really, I did. But the blade weighed heavy in my hand, and my thrusts and parries felt more like the limp workings of an overcooked noodle. It was embarrassing to display my awkwardness in its full glory before Rafe and Michael, two of the most agile beings that I’d ever encountered.

  My discomfort worsened when I noticed that Michael appeared oddly pleased by my struggles. In fact, he looked downright smug at besting me in the training. Hadn’t Ezekiel said Michael was meant “to be knight to his lady?” There was no evidence of chivalry on Michael’s face.

  As usual, Rafe rushed to my side to help me. As he had the night before, he corrected my stance, changed my grip, and showed me how to brandish the sword with the right timing. After several tries, I got the hang of it. Still, I didn’t think I’d stand a chance against a determined fallen. And Rafe seemed to agree.

  “Michael, you’ll do well in hand-to-hand combat against any of the fallen. Ellspeth”—Rafe paused, as if weighing whether to state the obvious. “I have serious concerns should you find yourself in battle. For Ellspeth’s sake, I’m going to train you both in one more weapon for your arsenal, even though I’m reluctant to do so. You must use this weapon only when you have absolutely no other recourse, because summoning the weapon and using it will weaken you tremendously. If you miss your mark, you’ll be so weak that you’ll be an easy victim for the fallen. And never, ever use it alone. Only use it when the other is present. Because if either of you miscalculate, the other must have your back.”

  “What is this weapon?” Michael asked, ever eager when it came to all things battle.

  Rafe backed away from us, about a hundred feet. He extended his arm, stretched out his fingers, and closed his eyes. From his fingertips emanated a stream of light, not unlike the arcs of light that radiated from our backs during flight. Almost laserlike in its intensity, the light soon formed a shape. It became a blade, resembling the flaming swords I’d seen in many Renaissance paintings of angels.

  “This is the sword of fire, our purest weapon. It is a weapon of the mind and soul—rather than the body. You must concentrate with the core of your being to summon it.”

  Rafe stood us side by side. Rather than having us attempt the summoning one after the other, he wanted us to try it simultaneously. Perhaps he sensed that Michael’s prowess was intimidating me.

  “Close your eyes. Imagine the blade. Call to it,” Rafe whispered.

  At first, I felt nothing but stupid. Calling to a nonexistent blade? Come on. I screwed my eyes shut and concentrated as hard as I thought I could. Nothing happened.

  When I opened them, Rafe was staring at me with a bemused expression.

  “Ellspeth, you’ve got to do more than scrunch up your eyebrows to make the sword of fire. You must believe in yourself to summon the blade. Believe that God chose you to be the Elect One. Believe that you have within you the divine power to fulfill that role. Believe that the power can be harnessed and shaped into a weapon of light and strength. Repeat these truths to yourself as you concentrate. Now, try again,” he ordered, and glanced over at Michael. “Both of you.”

  I still felt stupid. Regardless, I did as Rafe requested. I repeated to myself his “truths,” although they didn’t seem all that self-evident to me. I told myself that I had been selected by Him, whoever He was, for this job, that I had power enough to fashion a weapon of light. I mouthed the words over and over.

  Soon I experienced deep warmth inside my body. It traveled down my arm until it grew almost unbearable in intensity. The heat seemed to ignite and then burst forth from my fingertips. I opened my eyes to witness a perfect blade of light streaming from my hand. I couldn’t believe that I had done it.

  “Excellent, Ellspeth.” Rafe grinned, pleased at his star pupil. For once.

  I looked over at Michael, triumphant and excited. Finally, I had something to offer him in the way of assistance against our pursuers. I hoped that that he’d be relieved that I could finally help when the fallen came. I thought that he’d be delighted, even.

  But there he stood, with only a weak, blue light trickling from his palm, looking none too pleased by my success.

  Michael stormed off into the clouds. Leaving Rafe behind, I flew after him.

  “Why are you acting this way, Michael?” I yelled, hoping that he could hear me above the howl of the wind.

  He didn’t slow his pace at all. I thought that maybe he didn’t reduce his speed because he couldn’t hear my cry. Without warning, he pivoted toward me. A scowl loomed upon his face.

  “You always have to be the Elect One, don’t you?” he shouted back at me.

  “What do you mean?” I had suspected that Michael felt that way, but it hurt hearing the words spoken. And his remark was totally unwarranted. I had never lorded over him the pronouncement about the Elect One. How could I, when I found it hard to believe myself? When I relied on Michael as my equal partner in all things? When I thought of him as my love and soul mate? When I didn’t even want to be the Elect One?

  “The sword of fire, Ellie. You summoned up the ‘purest weapon’ perfectly, didn’t you?” Michael answered my question literally, although we both knew there was much, much more to his comment.

  “You are being completely unfair, Michael. It’s not like I even want to be the Elect One. You’d be a million times better for the job. You’re a better fighter; you’re faster and more agile than me. And you’re a heck of a lot braver. I’d love to hand over the role to you, but I can’t. Anyway, about this ridiculous sword of fire you’re so mad about, you are better at a hundred things, Michael. I happen to be a
ble to do this one thing. I thought you’d be happy that I could help out for once, instead of being a clumsy liability.”

  “How could the Elect One ever be a clumsy liability?” He didn’t say the “Elect One” nicely. He said it like a curse.

  “Look, Michael, they may call me the Elect One, but you and I both know that I’m just a girl who’s trying to figure it out. And I thought I was figuring it out with you.”

  His expression softened, and he reached for me. “I know, Ellie. I’m sorry. It’s hard sometimes to play the knight to your Elect One.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The next morning, the end-days clock began to tick within me. I don’t know what caused this shift, yet with every minute and hour that passed, I sensed the end of time growing closer. I realized that I couldn’t waste a second of what remained.

  I didn’t know when the fallen would come for us again. Every moment needed to be dedicated to our preparation. We needed to be armed and ready—physically and mentally—so that we could annihilate them before they unleashed the six remaining signs. Or God knows what would follow. Rafe hadn’t yet divulged to us what failure would look like.

  Yet we couldn’t spend every moment practicing with Rafe. He had insisted that we maintain our facades to buy us this tiny window for training, and to protect our parents as best we could. That day, I rushed through my classes and homework, knowing they were pointless if Michael and I didn’t succeed. I hurried through my after-school coffee with Ruth. I even hastened through my limited time alone with Michael, no great sacrifice given our tiff and his ongoing self-absorption and continued focus on football.

  I told myself there would be time enough to deal with Michael “after”—should there be an “after.” I awoke from my nap feeling more and more confident in my role as the Elect One, and found it easier to stave off the roller coaster of emotions that Michael’s inconsistent behavior yielded. And focus on the battle coming.

  The only moments that day I tried to decelerate were those with my parents. For once, I cherished my mom’s relentless chatter over breakfast. For maybe the first time, I appreciated my dad’s dated jokes at dinnertime, laughing heartily, much to his surprise and delight. Who knew when—or if—those moments would come again?

  I waited until I reached the sky over our protected field to truly come alive. Rafe began with a lesson in reading the stars, so that we could always keep our bearings as we fought in a vertical terrain. As he finished, however, Rafe must have sensed the divide between Michael and me. Rather than address the rift head-on, Rafe separated us for the training. Maybe he thought we’d learn better, and like each other more, with some distance.

  Rafe taught Michael some advanced flying techniques and sword skills—talents way beyond me—while I watched patiently. I was amazed by Michael’s performance. Even though it had only been five days since we started training with Rafe, Michael’s abilities had grown exponentially under Rafe’s tutelage, so much that he matched Rafe move for move. It was like he’d been waiting for the training to bloom.

  After Rafe set up Michael with a few sequences to practice, he flew over to me. “Ready?”

  “What tricks do you have up your sleeve for me today?” I was ready and willing for whatever torture Rafe dished out, all the while praying that the evening’s fare was more of the mental variety than the physical. I performed much better with a conjured sword than a steel one.

  He humored me with a half smile, and then he was down to business. Apparently, there wasn’t enough time left even for lame jokes. “Ellspeth, I’ve told you before that the fallen will try to use their considerable powers of persuasion on you.”

  “Yeah, they’re desperate to have me adopt their slanted worldview. That it’s all right to create their own race in defiance of Him. I get it.”

  “We can’t let that happen. If it does, we’ve lost the war. No matter how fast Michael can fly or how well he can fight.”

  “I need to learn how to prevent the fallen from influencing my thoughts.” It wasn’t a question. “I can’t let happen what almost happened with Kael.”

  “Exactly.” Rafe paused for a moment, and then said, “I think you intuitively know how to stop their efforts. We need only to hone the skill.”

  “I’m not sure what ‘skill’ you’re talking about.”

  “Did you notice that you were able to exercise your own will with Ezekiel, while others were more susceptible to Ezekiel’s call?”

  Rafe didn’t need to spell it out. By “others,” he meant Michael. “Yes.”

  “Do you remember how you did it?”

  Shutting my eyes, I conjured up the unpleasant memories of Ezekiel trying to bend my will that awful night on Ransom Beach. I recalled that—instinctively and immediately—I had fashioned a mental shield of sorts against him. It had staved him off.

  “I think so,” I answered hesitantly.

  “Let’s try it again here. Use all your mental and physical might to fly toward Michael. I’ll try to hold you back, through your thoughts.”

  I nodded my assent, and located Michael’s position in the skies. Streamlining my body and broadening my shoulders as Rafe had taught me, I hurled myself into the clouds. Through the vaporous cover, Michael grew more distinct as I neared him. As I was about to make contact, I felt myself jerked back as if someone had grabbed my shoulders with all his strength.

  I feigned compliance, the same way I had with Ezekiel, and stopped my attempt to reach Michael. In that split second, I sensed Rafe slacken his efforts ever so slightly. That provided me with the tiny opening to build what felt like a fortress around my mind. Now defended against Rafe, I reasserted my own will and bashed right into Michael’s arms.

  Arms wrapped around me, Michael stared at me with his pale green eyes. Spontaneously, we smiled at each other as if nothing had happened—not his betrayal with Ezekiel, not the travails in Boston, not the fights and misunderstandings upon our return to Tillinghast, and not the momentous weight of learning who and what we were. We smiled at each other as we had that first day in the hallways of Tillinghast Upper School, when we were just Ellie and Michael. It was these moments that reminded me of what we really meant to each other.

  Rafe appeared.

  “I don’t think we need to practice that maneuver again, Ellspeth. You have it down.”

  “Maneuver?” Michael asked. He looked confused, not to mention crestfallen.

  “Ellspeth proved that she can hold her own against the fallen’s formidable persuasive powers. Mentally, anyway.”

  Michael thought that I’d flown over simply to be with him. His arms suddenly slackened, and I started to plummet through the skies. Rafe’s sturdy hand grabbed me before I spiraled out of control.

  “I think you and Michael are ready,” Rafe announced, once I’d steadied myself and caught my breath.

  “Ready for what?” Michael asked, his voice gruff.

  “Ready to learn a skill that only a few angels possess.”

  “I thought we were already doing that. You know, killing the fallen.”

  Rafe ignored him. “We’re going to channel our internal energies so that we can fly a great distance in a mere instant.”

  “How do we do that?” Michael asked, incredulous at the possibility of this new power. And eager.

  “First, close your eyes. You imagine your destination. The way it looks, the way it sounds, even the way it smells. Every brick in the building’s walls, every waft of cooking in the air, every conversation you overheard, every little nuance that you can remember about the place.”

  “What if you’ve never been to the place before?” I interrupted.

  Rafe smiled. Sometimes my endless questions amused him. “You conjure up the details as best you can. Invent them if necessary. It helps if you’re accurate. It’s not absolutely critical, though. As long as your intention is true.”

  “Then what?”

  “You focus your entire being on this place. Each and every cell in yo
ur body. Then you breathe and let go.”

  “And you’re there? Just like that?” Michael asked. He couldn’t believe that something so amazing could be so easy.

  “Projection only sounds simple. The description is deceptive. It actually requires lots of concentration.” Rafe stretched out his hands. “Shall we try? Don’t worry about the destination this first time. I’ll take the lead.”

  Leave the safety of the field? Wouldn’t that be like broadcasting our powers to the fallen? Why was Rafe suggesting we take such a dangerous risk? “Aren’t you worried about what might happen if we exercise our powers outside the field?”

  Rafe looked over at me, and I thought I saw sadness in his dark eyes. “Not anymore, Ellspeth.”

  Before I had a chance to ask him what he meant, we linked hands.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  A vortex engulfed me. It felt like a tornado of light instead of wind. It was so blinding I shut my eyes, and clung to Rafe’s and Michael’s hands.

  When the light finally ceased and I dared to look, I stared at a chorus of angels. They soared through an azure sky dotted with vibrant white clouds. These angels were not of the cherubic, Valentine-card variety. They were muscular and fierce. Some carried trumpets, while others bore items of a more peculiar nature, like a ladder or a wheel. All moved with distinct purpose.

  Had I died and gone to heaven?

  I allowed my vision to focus in the otherwise dim light. No, this place was familiar. I’d been here before, with my parents. The angels and the clouds and the creatures among them were not real. In fact, they were exquisite paintings—masterpieces—that decorated every single surface of a structure that resembled the interior of a treasure chest.

  Suddenly it dawned on me. It was the Sistine Chapel.