Forsaken Angel

by J F Cain

  “I don’t know … I have my reservations about this. Have you considered why It hasn’t sent any of Its emissaries to us?” Drust asked with doubt in his voice.

  Galen returned to the present of the physical dimension.

  “It won’t be sending us a representative to announce what It wants. It is our responsibility to decide.”

  “And anyway, why would It do it? When it gave us the right to decide about our evolution, we showed complete disregard for Its will,” Lyon added, a heavy note of bitterness in his voice.

  “I don’t understand why we’re discussing impossibilities,” Aldard questioned. “Not only does the Great Spirit have no reason whatsoever to contact us, it has every reason not to. So let’s drop the subject. We should be concerning ourselves with the vampires, and especially Lucard.”

  Upon hearing that name, Lyon’s blue eyes glowed fiercely.

  “That snake has summoned all the vampires from every corner of the Earth. New York and its environs are full of the undead. Most of them are newly created and will want to feed. The Guardians are going to have a hard time of it.” He glanced around with a conspiratorial smile. “Maybe we should help them.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Aldard glanced uneasily at Drust, who was sitting beside him in the armchair, and then turned to Lyon.

  “The Guardian leader has taken the necessary measures. She has already gathered many of her warriors and I assume more will be arriving soon. They will deal with the situation. We mustn’t get involved.”

  “We can get involved without exposing ourselves,” Lyon insisted, always willing to send as many vampires as possible to Eregkal.

  “We mustn’t risk it,” Aldard replied steadily. “Lucard knows what the Guardians are capable of. If he sees more vampires disappear than they should be able to kill themselves, he will immediately suspect us and will find the opportunity he’s been looking for to dissolve the alliance. We would then have to cancel our plans, and I’m sure none of us wants that.”

  “It would be a good opportunity to get rid of a good number of them. The monsters are constantly increasing in number; but you’re right, we shouldn’t risk it,” Othmar said and looked up at Galen who was standing across from him. “How many undead are there in your area now?”

  “A bit over one thousand six hundred.”

  “In yours?’ he then asked Drust.

  “About one thousand two hundred,” the head of the European werewolves replied.

  “My area has seen a disproportionate increase the last few years. There are almost one thousand four hundred of them,” said Aldard before his comrade could ask him. He knew he was next in line to answer, since the United States, Europe, and Asia, and especially their northern regions, had the biggest concentration of vampires.

  Othmar did a quick reckoning in his head.

  “So there are almost seven thousand five hundred undead,” he concluded with displeasure.

  The big number troubled Valens.

  “I think we need to summon a few more of our kind. The one thousand seven hundred we’ve recruited are more than enough to deal with the bloodthirsty monsters, but I don’t trust Lucard at all. His extreme confidence in our last meeting troubles me. We must prepare for the likelihood that he has a hidden trump card.”

  Lyon grimaced with contempt.

  “That son of a bitch always had too much confidence. There must be a reason for it.”

  “You’re thinking he’s colluding with one of the higher Spirits of the underworld, right?” Galen asked Valens.

  The latter nodded.

  “I’m sure he is.”

  “We’ve discussed this likelihood and have decided how we’re going to move forward if that’s the case,” Drust remarked.

  Valens looked troubled.

  “The likelihood just became a certainty, and it’s making none of us happy. So I ask you again. Are you ready to implement what we’ve decided?” he asked, his voice a portent of impending danger. He regarded his comrades one by one and they each nodded in agreement. “Alright then. We’ll see it through,” he added decisively.

  “We have no other choice. It is us who brought the curse down on ourselves and our race, so it is us who have to fix it,” said Galen, feeling the heavy burden of that wrong decision. It was impossible to find the eternal in the ephemeral, and all the long-lived werewolves had paid a steep price to learn this.

  “I think we will need to follow the same tactic with the lower Spirit too,” Drust suggested, referring to Lyla.

  Lyon smirked.

  “We don’t need to do anything about that. It will dig its own grave.”

  Valens shot his comrades a puzzled look.

  “I still don’t understand why the Sorcerer is supporting it. What does a great Spirit want with one that is many levels below it?”

  “I’ve been wondering the same thing ever since I saw him with it at the monsters’ fortress,” Galen admitted.

  “It could be anything,” Drust said with a shrug. “The netherworld is a place that is in constant ferment and flux. The Sorcerer must have his reasons. We ought not to be indiscreet. We owe our guide some respect. He has been aiding our efforts ever since our creation.”

  “That is why we won’t take part in any action against the lower Spirit. Lucard will undoubtedly try to take her out. He wants to have all the parameters of the scheme under his control to ensure that he will benefit the most,” said Valens, dislike written all over his harsh face.

  Othmar grimaced.

  “The monster knows very well what he is doing. The one that doesn’t is the lower Spirit. It believes it will capture the Enlightened Spirit’s soul and become all-powerful,” he said disapprovingly. “I really want to know where it got the ritual from. There are only rumors about it among sorcerers. Eiael made sure to eradicate all traces of it a long time ago. She is the only living theurgist who knows the ritual. But she would rather end up in the netherworld than give it to an infernal Spirit.”

  “Perhaps she got it from someone who is already there,” Galen replied pensively.

  The werewolf elders exchanged bewildered looks. No Guardian leader had gone to Eregkal. The dark kingdom wasn’t worthy of the theurgists, who put humanity’s interests above everything else. Their souls, even those belonging to the most imperfect among them, went to Elether’s lower levels.

  “Do you believe Alric is in the netherworld?” Lyon asked, his tone conveying his disbelief.

  The ancient wrinkles on Galen’s forehead stood out in stark relief.

  “After what he did, there is nowhere else he could be. Even so, no matter how many times I looked for him, I never managed to find him. Perhaps the lower Spirit is keeping him hidden and is exploiting him.”

  “If it managed to get Alric’s soul, then it is smarter than we thought. Perhaps we should be more cautious around it,” said Aldard, who had started to worry.

  Othmar’s lips twisted into a contemptuous grimace.

  “What it is, is audacious. And that’s what is going to destroy it.”

  Drust got up, approached Galen, and rested his hand on his shoulder.

  “What we care about, above all, is to achieve our purpose,” he said, and the gaze he pinned on his comrade’s eyes told Galen that he wasn’t only referring to their common goal.

  Galen looked out of the window at Kenelm, who was standing motionless in a corner of the garden, his consciousness immersed in the timeless sphere.

  “Everything in its time,” he said, as if addressing his second-in-command, and then turned to Drust. “Our race above all,” he added melancholically, but with unshakeable conviction.

  The rest of the elders got up and stood at attention. The small living room was suddenly filled with their tall, massive bodies.

  “Our race above all,” they boomed the oath they had taken when the council had been formed and then bent their heads respectfully in a bow aimed at all the comrades.

  Hidden behind the tree trunk,
the little squirrel dematerialized and its energy vanished in the forest’s thick darkness. Many miles away, the shaman who had animated it opened his eyes and lay still on the old cot bed’s torn mattress. While his consciousness was returning to the Earth’s space-time continuum, he gazed blankly at the stars peeking through the hut’s crumbling roof. Although fifty-four years old, he looked like a teenager, and the way he dressed—in jeans, sweaters and sneakers—suited that age. His youthful face was kind, unlike the young werewolf with the cruel features that was sitting next to him. Uncaring if he was disturbing the transition of the shaman’s consciousness, he was tapping his foot on the rotting floor boards. His nervous movements had raised a small cloud of dust that dimmed the faint light from the candle that had been placed on a chair. As soon as he saw the shaman’s eyes focus on him, he grabbed him by his thin shoulders.

  “Talk, James. What did they say?” he asked impatiently.

  The young shaman reported the elders’ conversation to his brother.

  “See, Brian. There’s no need to worry. The elders aren’t going to betray our race,” he said reassuringly when he was done. He watched his stepbrother, whose head was bowed in thought. He had put himself at risk to ease his worry, but he would never do it again for any reason. “I’m off. I’ve got to get home,” he said and stood up, making the cot’s rusty bedsprings squeak.

  Brian leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

  “Yes, get moving little one. Your mother will be worried,” he mocked.

  “You always seem to forget my real age,” James replied expressionlessly.

  “Be that as it may, you’re still much younger than me,” Brian returned snidely.

  The young shaman walked to the hut’s open door.

  “That means nothing at all,” he remarked, disappointed in his brother.

  Brian glared with hostility at James’s back. He was jealous of his stepbrother because everyone loved him, but especially because he had the aptitude to become a shaman. James’s teacher had refused to teach Brian, saying that he didn’t have the calling and his character wasn’t suited for studying the most ancient form of theurgy. The other three shamans he had approached had told him the same thing. In fact, the last one had added that he wouldn’t be able to walk even the first path on the Medicine Wheel—which represented the student’s four steps toward knowledge and power—unless he walked the paths backwards. A course that shamans avoided because it led to the abuse of power and an obsession with dominating others.

  There was no doubt in Brian’s mind that the teacher had been referring to the race’s elders. They abused their power and made far-reaching decisions without asking anyone. Just like they were planning to do now. But this time there were many who didn’t agree with their decision.

  Looking in her urn, Lyla watched Abaddon, Aranes, and Eiael talking in the castle’s library. Three days had gone by since the celestial couple’s arrival at the Guardians’ residence, and all this time the Succubus hadn’t let them out of her sight. Her few brief breaks had been to check if Abriel had had any contact with Estaria.

  “You’re not going to give up, are you?” she heard the fallen commander’s voice say beside her.

  You’ve got a lot of gall, showing up uninvited, Lyla thought to herself. She reined in the strong desire to slap his handsome face with the clear blue eyes that reminded her of Estaria, and stepped away from him.

  “Not until I get what I want,” she said with her back to him.

  Abriel shook his head disapprovingly.

  “Lucifer himself failed to get her soul. What makes you think your chances are better?”

  “He failed because he was trying to get it with her consent. I’m not going to be so polite,” Lyla explained sarcastically.

  “And how do you intend to do it? With the ritual?”

  “Exactly!”

  Unintentionally, Abriel’s eyes slid to her sensual hips, which were barely covered by the small piece of leather fastened around them. Her leather rerebraces on her upper arms, the pauldrons covering her shoulders, and the tall boots with the metal greaves on top admittedly emphasized her sexuality.

  “I don’t know of anyone who succeeded in stealing the soul of an Angel. And we’re talking about the souls of lower entities, not the Superior’s …” he said, lifting his gaze to her back so that he could focus on the discussion.

  He did it just in time, before Lyla could turn around and catch him in the process of lusting after her luscious curves.

  “Perhaps because those who attempted it were some stupid sorcerers,” she replied scornfully.

  “Do you realize it has to be performed by physical beings?”

  “Why do you think I’ve kept the Cursed around for so long?” she retorted with a smug look on her face.

  A fake smile of approval formed on Abriel’s face.

  “Crafty … So, are you planning to attack soon?”

  The Succubus’s suspicious gaze rested on him for a few seconds before she spoke.

  “Why are you asking? Have you decided to support me?”

  “Let’s just say that I will be watching to make sure someone doesn’t get harmed,” he replied vaguely.

  Lyla perked up.

  “I’m sure that you wouldn’t let anyone harm me,” she said, testing how much influence she had over him.

  Abriel didn’t give her the confirmation she was looking for.

  “Of course,” he replied obscurely.

  The sly Demon swallowed her displeasure at her failure to extract this exceptionally important piece of information from him and took action. Aiming a provocative look his way, she approached him, all the while swaying her ample hips.

  “Such willingness should be rewarded,” she said and her sly smile left no room for misinterpretation regarding the type of reward she was referring to.

  The fallen commander contemplated her as he watched her approach. He didn’t think she was totally stupid, but neither was she so smart that she could be flexible in demanding situations. Some of the things she did made him confused about her mental capabilities. The only thing he knew for sure was that his encounter with Estaria had brought the expected result. It had bothered and, more importantly, frightened Lyla enough to put a dent in her excessive ego.

  “You don’t usually reward me for my services in advance, and especially not of your own free will. Has something happened?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

  The Demon placed her one hand on his crotch and dragged the other up his left arm, to the silver pauldron covering his shoulder.

  “Absolutely nothing,” she replied in a breathy voice as she caressed him over his tight pants. “I just want to enjoy your special charms again.”

  Abriel didn’t touch her so that he wouldn’t give in to the temptation. He stood motionless, controlling any bodily reaction that would betray his desire for her.

  “Not now. I’ve got something very important to do,” he said blandly.

  Lyla felt the rejection like a hard slap on her face. Her hands froze on him and her green eyes widened with astonishment. It was the second time he had refused to sleep with her. Even worse, he was ditching her with the same excuse she used to get rid of him. Was he doing it on purpose to teach her a lesson, or did he really have something to do? She had to find out without fail, and to do that she had to sacrifice her pride. Her hand began its sensual caress on his crotch again and her eyes filled with the promise of unbridled passion.

  “I thought you kept your word,” she said with a plaintive note in her voice that sounded very real.

  Abriel followed her usual tactic; he pretended not to understand.

  “What exactly are you referring to?”

  Lyla wrapped her free arm around him and pressed her breasts against his chest.

  “You promised me that you would take me whenever I asked you to, and right now I’m dying to feel you inside me,” she whispered in his ear with a voice that would charm even a snake. She lightly tr
aced the outer shell of his ear with her tongue and then gently sucked at his lobe. “I want to take you in my mouth, deep, the way you like it. Lick you, suck you, and get you ready to take me in every way.”

  The fallen gritted his teeth so that he wouldn’t give in to her highly tempting offer.

  “I’ll give you everything you need, baby. But I can’t satisfy your needs at once, the very second you express them. That would be a lot to ask. Don’t you think?”

  Lyla pulled back and regarded him with a puzzled look. She didn’t know what to believe. First he reminded her of his promises, then he was indifferent. Was he maybe playing it cool to put her in her place and get the upper hand? She searched his eyes for the answer but encountered an inscrutable gaze.

  “I understand. The hunt for power comes first and requires sacrifices,” she said with a forced smile, removing her hands from his body.

  Abriel swallowed the relieved sigh lodged in his throat. At last, the torture was over! Even so, it bothered him that she gave up so easily. Whenever she had a choice, she avoided anything that required effort and may consequently enhance her mental capabilities. Her obsession with Aranes and Eregkal’s leadership were the only difficult situations she willingly jumped into, with a self-destructive tendency, as if unconsciously she wanted to annihilate her own self. And her desire for Abaddon made her even more eager to achieve her goal.

  “You know best,” he replied brusquely and left her standing there at a loss to explain why he had been annoyed.

  This time Lyla didn’t react strongly to the rejection. She didn’t get angry, she didn’t plot revenge, and she didn’t take it out on anything. With an air of calm superiority, she walked to the low pyramid in the middle of her private chamber, climbed the steps, and sat in her imperial seat that was proudly perched on the flat top. The way she was dressed, she seemed out of place on her throne, which didn’t suit her nature and abilities. But this incompatibility had never crossed her mind. The only thing that she thought about was how to usurp the dark kingdom’s highest office. So she remained calm on the surface so that if Abriel was watching, he wouldn’t see how much his stance was worrying her.