Eternity

by Heather Terrell

  I needed to be alone. For all those kids’ sake, I couldn’t allow my resolve to weaken. Against Ruth’s protests, I walked out to the parking lot and to my car. I figured that forty-five minutes in the safety of my parents’ car to gather my thoughts and muster my courage was in everyone’s best interest.

  The late afternoon sky had already turned dark and the air cold. Heavy clouds hung in the sky’s midlevels and threatened an early snow. Shivering a bit, I wrapped my coat around me and assessed the school grounds. At this time of day, the Tillinghast students’ lot was full of cars but nearly devoid of students. They were all hanging out inside the warm school, waiting for the game to start.

  The lot felt lonely and exposed, so I hustled over to my car. I opened the door, and then swiftly locked it behind me as I fumbled for the heat. The car slowly warmed, and I allowed myself a deep, calming breath. In the quiet, thoughts of Michael crept into my head. I admonished myself to stay focused, and replayed some of Rafe’s tutorials.

  As I started to utter a prayer to Him—for the first time, actually—the driver’s side window shuddered. I jumped, and reached for the knife in my bag. Then I saw the innocent face of an unfamiliar teenage girl. She knocked gently on the window.

  The slightly nerdy blonde, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and carrying a tattered backpack, smiled at me. As I gave her the once-over, checking for any suspicious signs, I noticed that the visitors’ parking lot was starting fill up. The girl, who looked lost, was probably from the rival high school.

  I rolled down my window a crack. She bent down and asked, “Sorry to bug you . . . do you know where the soccer field is? I’ve looked everywhere but can’t find it.”

  They were holding a pregame pep rally on the soccer field, which explained the early arrival of so many cars. “Sure. If you go behind the gymnasium, you’ll walk right onto it.”

  She squinted at the school building, and asked, “Which way is the gymnasium?”

  I stuck my hand through the window opening, and pointed, “There, that’s the—”

  The girl grabbed my hand and yanked my arm through the aperture. Once I was immobilized, she snaked her own arm through the tiny opening and unlocked the door. With unnatural strength, she extricated my arm and dragged me from the car.

  With an irritating smirk, she sized me up, and said, “Well hello, Ellspeth Faneuil. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Let’s not play games, Ellspeth. I think you know who I am. I’m one of the fallen. My name is Rumiel. We are going to become very good friends.”

  Rafe was wrong that I’d know the fallen when I saw them. Again.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  As I glanced at her face, it morphed the tiniest bit, a transformation so minuscule that an ordinary passerby wouldn’t have noticed. Although the blond hair and light brown eyes stayed the same, the innocence disappeared, as did the illusion of youth. I stared into the face of her true, fallen self.

  This time I refused to be a victim. I would not even play at being swayed the way I had with Barakel. I wrenched her hand off me, and took to the skies. Never mind who saw.

  Time alone in the car had helped immensely; it helped me regain the mental clarity to study the atmosphere and formulate my strategy. I read the wind and understood how to gain speed by maximizing the currents and airflow. I scrutinized the cloud structure and realized that I could use the cover to make my movements hazy and hard to follow.

  Within minutes, I saw that Rumiel was having trouble keeping up with me. Whether she was short on practice after all these easy millennia, running the world unchallenged, or whether Rafe’s instructions actually were that good, I didn’t know. I was thankful. Her inability to keep pace would help me tremendously.

  Climbing vertically, I waited until I observed her starting to tire even further. Then I sought out a particularly weighty cloud, one laden with the dark promise of snow. Ducking behind it, I readied my knife and held myself in abeyance until she neared.

  I swooped down upon her—slicing her arm with my blade.

  Rumiel looked at me aghast. From her shocked expression, I could tell that she couldn’t believe that I’d bested her, even if I was prophesied to be the Elect One. But then she realized something more, something that the nature of my attack told her. I knew how to kill her.

  She fled.

  I could have caught Rumiel instantly. Incredibly, I seemed faster and better at understanding the skies. My strategy, however, didn’t include capturing her yet. Instead, I wanted the fallen to exhaust herself and become so weak that I could obtain her blood and deliver the final blow with certainty and ease. I would take no chances.

  I stayed in Rumiel’s wake. I kept my distance as she wavered in the ocean fog now drifting over land. Temporarily, I spared her, as I watched to see where she would land.

  Finally, Rumiel reached the neighboring, rural town of Spaulding. She pursued the destination so doggedly that I wondered whether she had a safe house there, a place where she could hide and nurse her wound. Not that I’d give her the opportunity to recover, mind you.

  Even though my body and soul longed to dive down and destroy her—after all, she was responsible for the fifth sign, the persecution of believers—I waited. I lingered in the shelter provided by the fog until she lowered herself to a farm field. It seemed that reaching its picturesque red barn was her real objective.

  Rumiel rushed across the remaining yards of the field, and swung open the big barn doors. I waited until the doors banged against the wall behind her, and then I dove down through the fog to reach her side. Without looking around the barn, I grabbed her arm and squeezed hard. I heard her gasp in pain. Looking down at my palm, I saw a few smears of blood. Bracing myself for the revulsion of the act, I licked the blood, shuddering at the bitter, metallic taste.

  To my astonishment, Rumiel laughed. Actually laughed as I licked her blood.

  “It was worth it to let you drink my blood, so that I could lure you here.” She gestured at the barn.

  What was so special about this barn that she’d sacrifice her blood to bring me here? I quickly glanced around. There, amid the hay and the cows and goats and farm equipment were my parents. Bound and gagged on the floor.

  It was a trap.

  As I raced to their sides, I heard Rumiel say, “You see, Ellspeth, I have the unique pleasure of breaking the fifth seal—the persecution of believers. And I thought to myself, what better way to sway young Ellspeth over to my way of thinking before I open the fifth seal than by threatening to persecute some of her favorite believers in Him. At first, I thought I’d use your little friend Ruth. But then I thought of Daniel and Hananel, and I knew they’d serve my purposes a lot better.”

  While Rumiel giggled to herself, I pulled off my parents’ gags and untied the ropes around their wrists and ankles. I asked, “Are you guys okay?”

  “We’re fine, Ellie. You need to worry about Rumiel. Not us,” my mom hurriedly answered, as she and my dad shook their feet and hands back to life.

  “What happened to your friends? The Light Fallen, who were supposed to protect you?” I whispered.

  “Rumiel killed the six who were guarding us. Including Tamiel.” My dad’s voice wavered for a moment, then grew stronger. “Don’t worry about us, Ellspeth. Kill Rumiel.”

  Rumiel’s voice rang out across the barn. “You’re welcome to unbind them, Ellspeth. That won’t set them free.”

  Motioning for my parents to stay in one of the barn’s back stalls, I turned around to face my nemesis. Rumiel was no longer alone. Four male Dark Fallen of immense proportions flanked her.

  “These fine fellows will be guarding your beloved parents until the end. As long as you act as I say—and, of course, judge the end as I say—they will remain alive. The minute you disobey my instructions, my friends will be happy to strike.”

  How dare she? How dare she use my parents as pawns in this awful endgame to get at me? My dad�
�s words emboldened me. I would kill Rumiel.

  I felt a rage unlike any other ignite within me, and I knew that it would take little for me to channel those flames into the sword of fire. But I couldn’t summon the sacred weapon without Michael. Rafe forbade it.

  Without an outlet, the rage transmuted. It burned throughout my entire being. Soon, it felt as though the wrath was extinguishing all the humanity in me, leaving only the fire of the angel.

  Rafe hadn’t told me that this could happen to my body.

  Regardless of my parents’ presence, I had to act. The fire demanded it. Almost of its own volition, my back expanded with the arc of my wings, and my body lifted into the air. As did Rumiel’s. She left her minions to stand guard around my parents.

  Across the vaulted ceiling of the barn, I hurtled myself at Rumiel. Her blood made her vulnerable to me, and I wanted to squeeze the life out her with my own hands. As I came within inches of her, I noticed a weapon beneath me. A scythe rested against the stall closest to me.

  Instead of finishing her off with my bare hands, I dove down for it. The scythe felt substantial—and pleasing—in my hands. As I approached her again, scythe swinging in my wake, Rumiel smiled.

  “You won’t do it. You’d risk your parents,” she announced with a sickly confident smile. But I noticed hesitation in her eyes.

  “You really think I won’t, Rumiel? Well, you’re wrong. My parents gave me their blessing.”

  Then I swung the blade. It lodged right into Rumiel’s heart. For a seemingly endless moment, she stared at me in disbelief that I’d actually take the chance with my parents so close. As she fell to the hay-strewn barn floor, the life bleeding out of her, her followers scattered to the wind.

  It was an act of which I never thought I’d be capable. Despite the prophecy and despite the stakes.

  But I had done it. I had killed a fallen. Finally, whether I liked it or not, I felt like the Elect One.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  “Where have you been? I had to fight to keep a seat open for you. The game’s already started,” Ruth asked, as I sat down on the packed bleacher.

  “You don’t want to know,” I answered, and meant it. I had no intention of revealing the news about Rumiel to the already petrified Ruth, especially since Rumiel had seriously considered kidnapping Ruth and using her as blackmail to sway me. Or worse.

  I almost hadn’t come to the game. After watching the blood drain from Rumiel’s otherworldly body—to make absolutely certain she was dead—the championship football game seemed utterly meaningless. Plus, I was extremely reluctant to leave my parents in the care of the remaining Light Fallen. They had failed to protect my parents before—how could I have confidence that they’d protect them now?

  Yet, I knew I should stay near Ruth, after what Rumiel had threatened. And I felt an undeniable compulsion to be near Michael, even from the distance of a stadium bleacher. I literally had no choice but to heed those calls.

  I could tell that Ruth had questions, many questions. She had a right to answers; her life was at risk too, and she knew it. Fortunately, the game had already begun, and the deafening noise prohibited much conversation. To my great relief. I had other work to do.

  I needed to focus on the stadium. Not the field where the football game played out but the stands where an end-days battle could transpire. Paramount in my mind were the words spoken by poor Tamiel. She had warned me that the fallen would use any weapon at their disposal to sway me, particularly threats to crowds, to which my sentiments made me particularly susceptible. I couldn’t let harm befall my classmates simply because I’d taken the risk of coming to the game. Look what had almost happened to my parents.

  I kept my eyes glued on the stands. I observed students and parents from both schools cheering for their respective teams. I watched the popular Tillinghast juniors and seniors cluster together on a remote bleacher as they tried to sneak sips from beers. I noticed a couple kissing in a dark alcove under an awning, much as Michael and I once had.

  I discerned nothing unusual. Nothing otherworldly.

  Turning my attention to the blur of players on the field, I realized that the Tillinghast coach had called a time-out. The players were huddled on the sideline, listening intently to Coach Samuel’s instructions. The whole exchange appeared pretty typical, and I nearly refocused on the stands. Then I noticed the peculiar expression on Michael’s face. He looked astonished by whatever play the coach was calling.

  The referee’s whistle sounded, and Michael quickly hid his reaction. The players clapped, and they started jogging back onto the field. The coach gave Michael one last encouraging slap on the back.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Michael as he ran down the field into position. He moved so differently from the other players, so gracefully. So angelically. Watching him made me wistful for what we once shared. I wondered whether we would ever recapture those emotions, whether we would ever be together again. Before . . . or after.

  I wondered what had gone wrong between us. It wasn’t jealousy of Rafe, although that played no small part. Something had been off for weeks.

  As I stared at Michael preparing for whatever play the coach had called, I felt—rather than saw—a pair of eyes on me. I scanned the stands, trying to identify the source. No one seemed to be glancing in my direction, and I started to feel anxious about the odd sensation I was experiencing. Was there another fallen out there? One I couldn’t locate? Then I comprehended that I couldn’t pinpoint the person staring at me because I was looking in the wrong place.

  I should have been looking on the field.

  When I shifted my gaze to the sideline, I locked eyes with a black-haired, blue-eyed man. It was Michael’s coach. Obviously, I’d seen him countless times before, at games or practices. But his face had always been shielded by a baseball cap or obscured by sunglasses. I had never had the opportunity to really look at Coach Samuel closely before, and I certainly had never seen him studying me.

  At once, I realized that he was a fallen angel. And from the expression on his face, I saw that he realized that I knew his secret.

  Suddenly, I knew what had been wrong between me and Michael since we returned from Boston.

  Chapter Forty

  “Ruth,” I whispered, at the same time that something momentous happened on the field, causing the crowd to roar. In the din, she couldn’t hear me. “Ruth.”

  I poked her arm in an effort to get her attention. She mouthed the word “ouch,” and rubbed her arm. I started to voice my suspicions to her, yet didn’t dare speak very loud. Ruth shook her head in incomprehension.

  Pulling my cell out of my bag, I pointed to it. As she reached for hers, I started typing furiously. Then I waited for her reaction.

  “The coach is a fallen.”

  Ruth read the text and froze. When she came to, she stared down at the field, and then whipped her shocked face in my direction for confirmation. I nodded, and she returned to her cell to text a response.

  “Let’s go get help.”

  Even without an explanation of “help,” I understood her meaning. She meant that we should seek the assistance of the Light Fallen who were floating around, ostensibly to guard my parents. I knew that they couldn’t do anything at all; they were busy trying to keep my parents safe from other threats. But what were our choices? For the millionth time, I wished Rafe hadn’t left. He would know exactly what to do.

  As we got ready to leave to secure that “help,” the crowd got even louder. Ruth took a bit longer than me to gather her belongings, so I glanced down at the field. I was scared to make eye contact with the coach again, even though I wanted to see what the players were doing that had caused such a furor among the fans.

  I didn’t see the play, but I saw the outcome. In dismay, I watched as Michael fell to the field from the extraordinary height he’d jumped to in order to catch a pass. He fell hard, so hard he wasn’t moving. I stared as Coach Samuel, or whatever his real name was, raced onto t
he field to “aid” his injured star player.

  I knew, without a shred of doubt, that the coach had no intention of aiding Michael. That whatever play he had ordered—a play that produced a visceral reaction in Michael the moment he heard it—had the explicit purpose of harming Michael. And that Coach Samuel’s ultimate goal in wounding Michael had to involve me in some way.

  With a sudden clarity, I understood that Michael had been vulnerable, physically on the field and spiritually for some time. For weeks, the coach had planted seeds of dissension in Michael, nurturing his insecurities and jealousies and doubts and ego with a deft touch. Michael was as susceptible to the coach as he’d been to Ezekiel, although it was a different kind of susceptibility, one so subtle Michael didn’t even understand that it was happening.

  Coach Samuel was “what had gone wrong” between me and Michael.

  Every fiber of my being—human and otherworldly—screamed to get down to that field to Michael’s side. Knowing that he was in danger was like having my own heart torn from my body. I needed to drag Michael out of this stadium to a place of safety. And I had to get him there before the coach “aided” him any further, by making sure he didn’t receive medical care or, worse, sending him back out onto the field with a major injury.

  The moment I stood up and raced out of my seat, the entire crowd reacted to another development on the field and stood up as well. I pushed and shoved past all the gaping fans packed into the bleachers in an effort to get onto the field. As I squeezed through the masses, I saw a couple of medics rushing to Michael’s side.

  I couldn’t make a swift escape on foot from the bleachers. Instinctively, my body readied for flight. If I had to reveal my true nature to save Michael, I would do it. Because all this—the innocence of high school football games; the carefree enjoyment of others’ company; even the beauty of a crisp, late fall evening—would vanish if I didn’t save Michael and stop Coach Samuel from triggering the next sign. Whatever it was.