Eternity

by Heather Terrell

  Ruth was behind me. She observed the transformation of my body—the expansion of my shoulder blades and the fierce concentration in my eyes. Having secretly watched me and Michael fly, she knew what I was doing. She held me down so I could not get airborne.

  “There’s another way out,” she yelled over the commotion. Pointing to a gap in the crowd, she shouted, “Over there.”

  If I ran through that gap, I figured that I might make it onto the field in time. On the other hand, if I raced through the hole, I would leave Ruth dangerously exposed as a pawn in Coach Samuel’s game.

  I looked back at her and mouthed, “What should I do? I don’t want to leave you.”

  She motioned for me to plow ahead, that she would be fine. I hesitated, but she pushed me onward. With her blessing, I dove through the throng.

  It was up to me now.

  Chapter Forty-one

  I raced into the break in the crowd and down those stairs faster than Rafe would have believed possible on my earthbound feet. I knew my window of opportunity was extremely small. I had to extricate Michael from the coach’s grasp before it was too late.

  Pushing past the security guards who were there to control the crowds, I ran onto the field. A swarm of referees and players and medical personnel hovered around the spot where Michael had fallen. I shimmied through a gap, hoping to see an alert Michael in the midst of the masses.

  He was gone.

  I turned to the referee standing next to me, and yelled, “Where is he? Where is Michael Chase?”

  “Miss, you shouldn’t be out here. Guards—” he started to shout, before I cut him off.

  Grabbing the referee’s arm, I commanded, “Tell me where Michael Chase went.”

  The fight disappeared from his face, and he pointed toward the gateway that led to the locker rooms. “Coach Samuel took him that way, miss. He said a doctor was waiting for them inside.”

  I dropped his arm and ran toward the locker room, but not before I banged right into the security guards. Unfortunately, the guards had heard the referee’s call for help. Taking a page out of Michael’s football moves book, I leaped around them with a dose of angelic dexterity, and sped down the long hallway leading to the Tillinghast players’ locker room.

  Slowing my pace as I reached the heavy door, I listened for sounds of Coach Samuel and Michael. The hallway leading to the locker room was dead quiet, as the team and staff waited out on the field for word from the coach to resume play. Given that, I expected I’d be able to hear something, maybe the coach’s footsteps as he carried Michael. Nothing.

  I pushed open the locker room door slowly. Wincing at the door’s loud groan, I crept into the space and began my search. Although I examined every corner of the labyrinthine room, I didn’t see any evidence of them.

  Just as I was about to leave, I heard the thud of a closing door. Where had that come from? I was standing before the only door in or out of the locker room that I was aware of. I sprinted to the area from which the sound seemed to originate and discovered what looked like a closet I’d dismissed on my initial investigation. Kicking myself for failing to check it, I turned the handle and braced myself for the otherworldly force within.

  Only dirty mops, shelves of cleaning products, and an electrical box stared back at me. Where were Michael and Coach Samuel? Then I spotted it. In the far corner of the dimly lit closet, I could make out the outlines of a narrow door. Dirt smeared, it nearly blended in with the rest of the closet. Nearly.

  I pried the handleless door open with my nails. I entered the opening that lurked behind the door. It was fairly dark, with shallow steps, narrow walls, and a low ceiling. It looked like a tunnel. Was this the often rumored about, though never seen, tunnel between the stadium and the high school building?

  Something in me immediately recoiled. I couldn’t explain why, but the notion of burrowing deep into the earth didn’t sit well with me. Maybe because I’d become a creature of the sky.

  Despite my revulsion of the deep earth, I propelled myself down the steps into the space. God knows when it had been last used and for what. I had to do it. Michael was somewhere in here. And he needed me more than ever.

  Even with the low light from the closet behind me and the occasional bulb on the ceiling above me, I could tell that the tunnel was too constricted for flight. I had to rely on my human skills; yet even then, the passageway was too dark for running. I scurried as fast as I could in the only direction available to me. Forward. Fear took hold, and I started to worry that this was a trap. Had Coach Samuel planned Michael’s injury and this whole escape as a means to lure me to this God-forsaken place?

  Within a few minutes, I made out a brighter light ahead of me. The tunnel started to widen, and I was able to pick up speed. I thought I discerned the outline of a figure in the distance. Longing to reach the figure as quickly as possible, and knowing that I still couldn’t fly, I began to attempt a projection.

  Through the darkness and my own focused thoughts, I heard a voice calling to me. In my shock and terror, I lost the necessary concentration.

  “Ellspeth, the space is too narrow for projection. Please do not attempt it. We cannot risk any harm to you, the Elect One.”

  I froze in fear. The owner of the voice knew who I was and precisely what I was. Whoever was behind that voice could tell exactly what I was doing.

  I assumed the voice belonged to Coach Samuel, since it definitely wasn’t Michael’s. Who else could it be? I was about to call out, when the tunnel abruptly ended. I stood before two narrow passageways, a dark one to my right and a slightly brighter one to my left. Oddly enough, I saw no signs of Michael and the coach. How had they gotten so far ahead of me?

  In my split second of hesitation, in that indulgent moment of indecisiveness, a figure emerged from the darkness of the tunnel on the right. And it wasn’t Coach Samuel or Michael.

  “Samyaza sent me,” the figure said, as he swaggered toward me.

  Coach Samuel must be Samyaza, I thought. How did I know that name? Then I remembered. Rafe mentioned it when he first told me the story of the fallen and again, when he listed the six Dark Fallen responsible for the end days. Samyaza was the leader of the two hundred angels who descended to earth at His behest to guide humankind, before the angels’ fall. And Samyaza was the holder of the seventh seal.

  The figure continued his taunt. “Samyaza thought the Elect One might want some company.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  “Who are you?” I asked the handsome fallen sauntering toward me, while I tried desperately to keep my voice from quavering.

  Even in the dim light, his amber eyes were luminous, and his dark-brown hair lustrous. He was as beautiful as the other fallen I had encountered, although somehow he looked harder and stronger than the rest. Even his clothes—a black leather jacket and boots that had an almost militaristic feel—added to his physical intimidation, not to mention his self-confident swagger. I figured that this smug fallen must serve in the ranks of Coach Samuel, Samyaza I guess I should call him, now that I knew who he truly was.

  The fallen answered, “Does it matter, Ellspeth? I’ve been called by so many names over the millennia. When I first arrived on earth, humankind knew me by one name. Since then, I’ve been known by so many others. But my real name is Azaziel.”

  “I’ll call you Azaziel, then,” I said distractedly. My words were only my currency to buy time. I needed to assess which tunnel held Michael. And how to get rid of this Azaziel in the process.

  “My name is not important, as you well know, Ellspeth. All that matters now are the signs. I’m in charge of the sixth. War was always my expertise,” he said with an unsettling chuckle.

  “War?” Some memory came back to me. Something Rafe had said. But I didn’t have time to focus on it. All that I wanted was a few more seconds to determine my course of action.

  A distant sound emanated from the brighter tunnel on the left. Michael had to be down there. All I needed to do now was
evade this fallen and hasten down that tunnel to Michael’s side. Destroying Azaziel would take too much time, precious minutes that rendered Michael more and more vulnerable.

  “Yes, I am responsible for the sixth sign. The revolutions. I will be unleashing war soon.”

  Oh no. With a start, I remembered what Rafe had told me. Azaziel wasn’t a minion of Samyaza. Azaziel was one of the key Dark Fallen in the path to the apocalypse. When Michael killed Barakel and I killed Rumiel, the end days timeline had skipped past the fourth and fifth signs to the sixth. We were already at the sign for war.

  The knowledge presented me with an impossible situation. I could no longer abandon the task of killing Azaziel so that I could race to rescue Michael. I had to kill Azaziel and save Michael or the apocalypse would be upon us. How on earth was I going to do both?

  “Samyaza sent me here to impede your progress, to give him more time to prepare for the seventh sign, the final unleashing of our new leader. Our common goal.” He smiled. “As usual, Samyaza underestimated me. He didn’t think I’d try to sway you myself. He didn’t think I’d have time. Fool. He’s always been a humankind-loving fool.”

  The tunnel felt like it was tightening around me, bringing Azaziel dangerously close. I needed to get out of there fast, even though I had no idea where I was going to go or what I was going to do. Although it pained me, although it went against the blood tie Michael and I shared, out of sheer desperation, I dashed past Azaziel into the heart of the dark right-hand tunnel.

  I felt, rather than saw, the passageway widen as I entered it. I was able to gain considerable speed and force, enough to allow me to lift off the rough floor and into the air. Azaziel pursued me, as I knew he would. Even though flying through the right-hand tunnel took me farther away from Michael, I needed to get some space between me and Azaziel to figure out how I was going to kill a fallen angel whose particular expertise was war. Only then, if I came out unscathed, could I return to my hunt for Michael. If it wasn’t too late to save him.

  We soared and ducked and wove through the increasingly convoluted and surprisingly long tunnel. Much to my own astonishment, I felt like I was outdistancing him, until I felt a burning sensation around my ankle. Still flying as fast as I could, I glanced down.

  A whip of bright light had coiled around my ankle, and Azaziel held the other end. It seemed the sword of fire could take many forms, particularly in the hands of the creator of war.

  Rafe hadn’t prepared me for this.

  I reached down to free my ankle, but the cord of light burned my fingertips. I felt Azaziel trying to reel me back with it, like some poor fish on a hook. Although I had no intention of going down quietly, I had absolutely no idea how to unbind my leg.

  Without warning, the tunnel emptied out onto a patch of empty countryside. I tumbled down hard upon the ground, and the impact caused the whip to let loose. I stood up and quickly looked around. I couldn’t see the high school buildings anywhere. In the background, I heard the crash of the waves. I wondered where I was.

  I had no time to speculate before Azaziel raced out of the tunnel. As I took off in the opposite direction of the tunnel, I suddenly placed the sound and locale. I remembered that, before its recent rebuilding, Tillinghast High School used to sit on a hill overlooking the ocean. This was one of the abandoned playing fields that was adjacent to the high school. I used to play here as a kid.

  Unexpectedly, the location gave me an idea.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Before I had time to work through my idea, I headed to the nearby coast. As I remembered, there was the rocky shore, topped by a jagged cliff from which a promontory jutted. I flew as fast as my body allowed, yet Azaziel seemed easily able to match my pace.

  With the wind at my back, and Rafe’s instructions at the forefront of my mind, I gained over Azaziel. I heard the flapping of his jacket in the wind as he raced to catch me. I let the air current take us beyond the rocky beaches over the sea. I continued my trajectory a few moments longer before I flew back to the promontory. In part, I was banking on my more intimate knowledge of this particular coast to gain an advantage. However small.

  Skirting the single jagged stone that protruded from the hard ridge of rock comprising the promontory, I hovered over the flat center for a second. I stayed long enough for Azaziel to grab my foot and swing me down onto the hard rock. Obviously, his efforts to sway the Elect One weren’t going to be gentle. But then, I hadn’t expected the angel of war to handle me with kid gloves.

  In order to break my fall, I landed on my left hand. The fall left me with a stinging, bloody palm and a gash on my forehead. Pushing myself back up with my uninjured right hand, I struggled to my feet.

  We stood within inches of each other on the flat center of the promontory. The waves crashed angrily against the rocks at the promontory’s base, some hundred feet below. Up close, Azaziel’s beautiful face turned ugly in its meanness. I’d never felt so exposed, so at risk. I had to stand my ground or lose my very tiny opportunity.

  “Shall I give you a hand, Ellspeth?” Azaziel asked, with a mocking chuckle. He sounded victorious already. I guessed that Azaziel hadn’t seen much in the way of defeat over the millennia.

  Before I could answer or take to the sky, he seized my bloody left hand, grinning when I winced in pain. Azaziel was practically beaming in delight at the prospects of swaying me through his ancient, powerful touch. He clearly could not imagine a scenario in which he did not succeed.

  As he dug his fingers deeper and deeper into my raw palm, I got a flash into the inequity and vice of Azaziel’s soul. He spent his long, long years on earth taking out his anger at God on the minds and bodies and spirits of men through relentless warfare. Every human whipped into a hostile battlefield frenzy was another victory to be flaunted at Him. Azaziel coveted control over me—and the ensuing control over the end days—so he could magnify his domination.

  I felt no compunction whatsoever about killing him. Did I have the bravery and physical prowess? With Barakel, I’d proven to myself that I had the mental fortitude to fend off the fallen’s wiles, and with Rumiel, I’d proven that I had the physical power to destroy. I prayed directly to Him for more of both. Because Barakel and Rumiel paled in comparison to Azaziel as adversaries.

  A rope of light formed in Azaziel’s free hand. As he wrapped it around my wrists, his fingers grazed my skin, and he started to transmit thoughts to me through his touch—messages about the end days and the necessity of following his lead. The part of me still able to think clearly got really, really scared. How was I going to free myself from Azaziel and his cord of light before I lost my remaining will?

  A mad idea came to me.

  Instead of wresting my wrists from the rope, I pressed the rope deep into my bleeding palm. The burning was almost intolerable at first, and I nearly let go. But then I sensed the power of the otherworldly light—the power summoned from Azaziel’s own core—surging into my body.

  Who said a half angel could never have the might of a full angel?

  With the ease of Azaziel’s borrowed strength, I broke the rope. Azaziel froze in astonishment. I could almost hear his thoughts: There was no way a stupid teenage girl—prophesied Nephilim or not—could best the creator of war.

  I flew in a vertical line directly above the sharp point of the promontory. Azaziel came for me. Faster than I expected. And with more hatred in his eyes than I believed possible. I knew then that he would kill me if he could.

  Rather than flying away from him as he approached, as every fiber of my being screamed at me to do, I rushed toward him. With my newfound strength, I grabbed his arm and shoved him directly into the promontory’s razorlike point.

  Azaziel wasn’t used to suffering injuries; he was only used to inflicting them. I dipped my finger in the blood flowing from his wound, and then into my mouth, before I shoved him into the promontory point again. His eyes flickered in disbelief even as the life drained from his body. The pride I’d counted
on—the pride Rafe described to me—served me well.

  This time, unlike after the destruction of Rumiel, I couldn’t watch to ensure that I’d destroyed the fallen. I had to find Michael.

  Chapter Forty-four

  One fallen remained. One sign left. And Michael.

  Would I make it in time to kill the fallen, stop the sign, and save Michael? Or would I be forced to choose?

  I had to go back into the same dark tunnel that had dumped me onto these neglected playing fields. I had to retrace my route through the subterranean warren for which my sky-bound body was so ill fitted. How else would I find Michael?

  Though I shuddered at the thought of reentering the tunnel, I braced myself for the inevitable. I tore my eyes from the body of Azaziel splayed across the rock beneath me. As I accelerated through the crisp night air toward the mouth of the tunnel, I could tell that my body was hurt and fatigued. Fortunately, adrenaline pumped through me at such a rate I could hardly feel my hurt hand, my bruises, or my exhaustion. I had to save Michael.

  I slowed my pace only to better navigate through the passageway. Then I immediately picked up as much speed as possible. Just as the tunnel started to constrict a little, I saw light in the distance. I knew I had to be getting closer to the brighter of the two tunnels—the one into which I was certain Michael and Samyaza had escaped.

  I reached the place where the three tunnels first met. As I made the turn into the mouth of the tunnel, it tapered down. There was no hope of flight, so I lowered myself to the ground.

  The air was so still I could barely breathe, but I knew I could bear it, if each step deeper underground brought me closer to Michael. I replayed images of Michael in the high school hallways and at the Odeon theater on our first date and in the night sky, as if the memories would shorten my journey to his side. Remembrances of the real Michael, not the Michael he had become under Samyaza’s influence. Anything to propel my slow, earthly legs faster.