by J F Cain
The high-ceilinged corridor was illuminated by two rows of torches burning along the walls. The twenty Guardians defending Aranes’ room stood facing the stairs with their swords in their hands, ready for battle. Stephan Thornton, who was leading the team, did not take his eyes off the werewolves gathered at the other end of the corridor. From the moment the pack had reached the keep’s top floor, he had been watching all its members worriedly, trying to determine their intentions from their actions. Aranes had advised the warriors of Light to engage in battle with the werewolves only if they attacked them. So the Guardians remained watchful, ready for any eventuality.
Stephan saw two of the werewolves extinguishing every last torch illuminating their end of the corridor. The only thing that could now be seen in the darkness were the dual-natured beings’ glittering eyes. For the umpteenth time, the Guardian’s gaze fell on their leader. He was upright on his hind legs, plastered against the wall beside the stairway, his enormous body hidden in the shadows. He seemed to be waiting for something. But what was it? Stephan thought there was no way he was waiting for reinforcements. The eight members of his pack were more than enough to fight against the Guardians. So what was he waiting for then? Right when he was asking himself that question, his gaze met the werewolf’s. He saw no threat in his eyes. In fact, he gestured with his head toward the stairs to warn him that the enemy was approaching. Stephan nodded to say he understood.
“Get ready. They’re coming,” he told his fellow warriors softly over his shoulder.
As soon as the first vampire stepped onto the landing, Kenelm grabbed him by the neck with one hand, crushed his throat, and flung him behind him like a piece of garbage. One of the werewolves standing behind him grabbed the body from the air and hurled it deeper into the dark corridor. Another vampire cautiously made his way up the last steps. When he reached the landing, he pasted himself against the wall and peered out into the corridor, but the only thing he managed to see was the wolfish hand that grabbed him. Since the narrow winding stairway made it impossible for those following to see the ambush awaiting them, but also to stage a coordinated attack, the first few to arrive on the landing were taken by surprise and therefore annihilated. But those that came after heard the dull thuds and scrambled up the wall like spiders. When they reached the top of the stairs, they surged into the corridor, slithering up to the ceilings to avoid the werewolves, who were leaping into the air, grabbing them, and pounding them into the floor. Some vampires chose to swiftly weave through the werewolves. The very few who managed to slip past charged toward the Guardians and began to fight them. Kenelm picked up Dranko’s and Morcad’s scents fighting with their teams on the level below, while other werewolf deputies had taken over key parts of the fort. Confident that his comrades would keep back most of the undead, he flung the vampire he had been holding onto the ones climbing the stairs and, after ordering another werewolf to take his place, he rushed to help the Guardians.
But by now many vampires had discovered where Aranes was and more kept on arriving on the fifth floor, most of them sticking to the ceiling like a swarm of big black bugs.
Aranes heard the sounds of battle coming down the corridor. She had used her military genius to help the warriors of Light win this battle, but harsh reality extinguished the faint hope she had had that, maybe, she wouldn’t be forced to leave her partner. She had to submit to the Source’s will.
“Eiael, please bring me the gown,” she said sadly.
As the theurgist headed to the wardrobe, Aranes handed her child to the female Exorcist and got out of bed tiredly.
Eiael rushed to her side.
“What are you doing?” she asked, giving her the gown.
Aranes slipped the loose garment over her head and took the baby from the Exorcist’s arms.
“I am going back,” she answered as she stepped away from the theurgist.
Eiael hurried to the table, picked up her sword, and strapped the belt around her waist. Aranes stood in a spot where there were no objects around her and waited with her eyes on the door across the room. Suddenly, the blood on the back of the gown became animated, turned a bluish hue, and formed a halo around Aranes and the baby. Eiael stood before her and gazed at her with awe. Her smile showed relief that the Superior of the Angels was about to rise. At last, the Source’s chosen would return to Its side, where she and her child would be safe.
“This part of my mission is over. I thank you kindly for your help, Eiael,” Aranes said serenely.
The theurgist didn’t get the chance to answer. The loud bang behind her made her swivel around. She saw the door rattle and realized that someone was ramming into it with his shoulder. The exorcist, whose vision could penetrate physical objects, dashed to the table and grabbed her crossbow and quiver. She quickly slung the quiver over her shoulder, notched an arrow in the crossbow and aimed at the door. Eiael turned anxiously toward Aranes, but the Superior didn’t seem worried about the looming danger. Totally calm, she had tilted her head back and was looking at the ceiling. The theurgist followed her gaze and saw the wooden beams dematerialize. From the hole that had formed, a circular ray of light shot down from the dark sky and surrounded Aranes and the baby. The Superior of the Angels lowered her gaze and smiled at her spiritual daughter as she bid her farewell. As the thuds against the door grew more violent, the incarnated Celestial rose up slowly, holding the Source’s new creation in her arms. She was just over six feet above the ground when the door slammed open and three vampires stormed into the room with Kenelm behind them.
Eiael swiveled toward the invaders and lifted her hand as if to stop something.
“Satey cahel,” she commanded.
Her command suspended time and everyone in the room froze, except for herself and Aranes, who continued to rise up inside the dazzling ray. Eiael turned back and watched the incarnated Celestial’s ascension anxiously. It was forbidden to mess with earthly time and it could only be suspended for a few seconds. But the ascension was happening slowly. The Superior wouldn’t be able to escape through the roof in time. She was even in danger from the vampires who would scramble up the walls to reach her. And unfortunately no Ethereal could help her before she passed the energy shield.
Eiael soon felt the room’s vibrations change. She turned to face the Cursed again and unsheathed her sword, which became enveloped in flames. As soon as time was restored, the Exorcist’s arrow left the crossbow and killed a vampire. The second one charged toward Aranes, but Eiael quickly rose up and got in front of her. The vampire leapt into the air and thrust his claws into the theurgist’s chest at the very moment that she plunged her sword into his body. Their pain-filled cries filled the room and, as they fell to the ground in a fatal embrace, the bloodthirsty being glared at her with malice in his eyes and dragged his claws down to her stomach.
As the vampire turned to ash, the third comrade had already reached the Exorcist, who was busy arming her crossbow. Before she could pull the string back, the vampire grabbed her weapon and slashed her throat. He then glanced at Kenelm. The werewolf was standing with his back to the ray, as if waiting for him. Wanting to avoid the fight, the vampire scrambled up the wall to attack Aranes from up high, but Kenelm pounced on him and, using his forelimb like a fist, he smashed his head into the wall. As the vampire fell to the floor with a thud, Kenelm landed gently on his feet and looked up at Aranes. His heart rejoiced when he saw her smiling at him and gesturing her thanks. He bent his wolfish head in a bow and went to stand in front of Eiael’s bloodied body lying on the floor in order to protect that as well as Aranes. She had reached the roof, but vampires could still reach her where she was. And some would soon manage to enter the room, without question.
Outside the shield, Abaddon and the remaining Demons watched Aranes rise up above the roof of the keep.
“And the woman was snatched up to God and to His throne,” Lucifer recited the verse from Revelations with a triumphant note in his voice.
Abaddon stood beside him numbly. Alt
hough he had thought that the Source would take Aranes and their child from him, he couldn’t believe it was actually happening. The Dark Lord’s words wormed themselves into his mind and shook him out of his motionless state. Despair slowly but gradually rose inside him until it vanquished him. He left the clearing and appeared above the keep, next to the ray, and with his heart about to burst with agony, he waited for Aranes. When she passed the protective shield he reached out to grab hold of her, but as soon as he touched the unearthly light, it burned his hand. He pulled it back and his sorrowful gaze fell first on his newborn child and then on his partner. He didn’t say a word, and he didn’t need to. The misery in his eyes said it all.
Aranes returned his gaze, the look on her face on of overwhelming warmth. Her strength was the only thing she could offer him in that difficult moment.
“I won’t leave you alone here,” she consoled him, and the determination in her eyes told him she intended to keep her word.
Abaddon didn’t say anything; he just nodded with bitter resignation.
At that moment, Michael appeared at her side inside the ray and gripped her around the waist. He regarded Abaddon with an inscrutable expression on his face and then vanished, taking Aranes and the child with him. The ray withdrew into the heavy clouds that had blanketed the sky, and as the light faded, night’s darkness reigned over the clearing once more.
The Cursed elders watched from afar. The vampires’ faces betrayed their anger that the Source had unexpectedly intervened and ruined their plans, while the werewolves feigned equal annoyance.
“What do we do now?” Kochee snapped.
“We will wipe them out,” Lucard replied, incensed, with his gaze on the Guardians in the fortress’s bailey.
“Don’t be stupid,” Galen said, his voice savage. “Each loss we suffer from now on is one less warrior we can use to defend ourselves against Lyla’s rage and that of the Celestials.”
“You’re right,” the vampire Setam agreed. “We have to withdraw from the battle.”
Lucard seemed to be trying to control his anger.
“Fine, then,” he said sullenly.
Galen turned toward the fortress, assumed his animal form, and gave a drawn-out howl that echoed throughout the mountains.
Guardians and Cursed had gathered in Aranes’ room. The werewolves were killing vampires who, having had the prize slip right through their fingers, were taking out their rage on the Guardians. When they heard the cry telling them to leave the battle, the undead tried to escape through the broken windows some of them had used to gain entrance, but the werewolves caught them and killed them so they wouldn’t be able to reveal their betrayal. The werewolves then went out into the corridor and, as they ran down the stairs, they joined other Cursed and left the fortress together, weaving through the Guardians left standing in the bailey, and the Demons, who were still on the plateau and were watching the developments.
One vampire remained behind, gripping the keep’s outer wall above the dark canyon. As soon as the Guardians left Aranes’ room, he snuck in through the window and grabbed the bloodied sheet from the bed, bundling it up hurriedly and hiding it under his clothes before leaving through the window again.
The golden gateway opened wide and Aranes entered the Source’s sanctuary. With her newborn baby in her arms, she crossed the vast plane and, when she reached the manifestation of the Sovereign Power, she bent her head in a bow.
“Welcome back, Great Mother,” said Its strange voice.
“Eternal Source, I am happy to be with You again,” Aranes said, feeling moved, and lifted up the child. “I have brought You our son,” she added, handing him to It to be blessed.
The pleasant otherworldly hum generated by the spheres of light revolving around the manifestation of the Timeless Spirit grew softer and Its ceaselessly moving circles began to rotate more slowly, demonstrating that something of exceptional importance was about to happen. Like arms reaching out to embrace something precious, bright blue beams of light shot out of the center of the circles and tenderly embraced the newborn child. They lifted it high up, beginning a ritual that had never before been held in Elether. The baby, sensing the love flowing from the Creative Force, smiled and began to wave his little hands and utter happy little cries.
The inside of the sanctuary resounded with a commanding voice that had a masculine timbre.
“Glory unto you, firstborn of the incarnated Angels,” It said warmly. “Your birth will herald the start of a new era. You shall be called Erel-Asha and will possess the matchless qualities of your parents. Nothing in the dimensions will be able to resist you. Even the darkness will love you. I give you my own power of limitless intellect so that you may act with wisdom and sound judgment in the defense of balance.”
As soon as the Source’s masculine manifestation had spoken, other gold beams shot out of the circles and enveloped the baby.
“Blessed be you, the like of whom has never been,” said a sweet voice with a female timbre. “Light and darkness will coexist inside you in complete harmony and your unique nature shall give you the ability to understand all beings. I grant you my power of limitless love so that you may always act with kindness and leniency.” The Source then addressed Its beloved daughter, saying: “Aranes, the Celestials will always be grateful for your offering. Yet once again you have proved your devotion. You may take your place as the Superior of the Celestials once more.”
From within the hidden folds of invisible dimensions, concentrated powers that emerged in the form of golden light appeared around Aranes. The white gown with the marks of her sacrifice dematerialized and was replaced by a new gown that shone with the hue and brilliance of the sun.
“My sincere gratitude, my Creator,” she said, and then bravely posed the question that was tormenting her: “What will happen to Abaddon?”
“The Dark Angel must remain on Earth,” the masculine voice replied.
Aranes nodded silently. She had known for some time that this was Its decision. But Abaddon had fought beside Lucifer, and that held many dangers.
“They both had their reasons,” the Guiding Mind answered her thought.
The bright beams holding the infant up lowered and deposited him in Aranes’ arms. She bowed and walked out of the Source’s sanctuary and, as the golden gateway closed behind her, she traveled to her celestial residence.
A moment later she appeared on the dais at her headquarters. The hall seemed to awaken suddenly, as if her presence had set an invisible mechanism into motion. Everything that had come to a standstill during her absence became activated again: the spiral that had frozen above the curved window at the back of the hall began to spread its circles into eternity and the beam of faint light shooting out of its center lit up the austere throne standing in the middle of the dais. The big bright sun and silver moon appeared again on either side of the throne—two eternal symbols suspended high above it, representing the qualities of the celestial leader.
Standing in front of her throne, Aranes lowered her eyes to the Angels filling the enormous hall and embraced them with her gaze.
In the front row were all the Archangels, in the second Hope, Wisdom, and the other representatives of the Superior’s principles. Lined up in the third row were the commanders of the celestial armies, among them Cassiel and Cerviel, and behind them dozens of high-ranking Celestials.
As one, they all went down on one knee and bowed their heads to their leader and the new member of the celestial community.
Gabriel lifted his head and regarded Aranes. Although her expression was one of serene satisfaction, he could see an imperceptible sorrow in her eyes. And he knew very well what had caused it. He wondered what she would do to save Abaddon. How far would she go to save her partner from Lucifer’s designs this time? By restoring her to her position, as the creator of a unique entity at that, a privilege that only It possessed, the Source had given her even more power. Now, no one who had doubted her actions before would ever dare t
o do it again. Aranes was the absolute ruler of the celestial realm. But her actions showed that she didn’t accept the Source’s decisions without protest. And she wasn’t the only one …
Large patches of ethereal fire burned on the plateau, their upward coiling flames enveloped in furious masses of smoke. The dismembered corpses of the Cursed, cloaked in ashes and earth, looked like a macabre shroud covering the ground. The fortress walls were ravaged by the gargoyle attacks, as were the lower turrets, and fallen merlons could be seen here and there.
Inside the bailey, thousands of mangled Guardian and Cursed bodies lay among the gargoyle fragments; a mass of stones and wounded writhing flesh. The blood pooled around the trampled corpses of the warriors and dripped down the stairs leading up to the walls, as many of the bodies hung half off the stone steps. The moans of the wounded filled the silence of the night, a hymn of death sung with anguished cries. Blood, smoke, ashes, and the smell of sacrificed souls everywhere.
It had begun to snow, as if nature wanted to hide the terrible reality of war beneath its white mantle. The Guardians who had survived the battle, some five hundred souls, had gathered in the bailey. Those whose injuries made it impossible for them to move sat on the entrance steps, drenched in blood and sweat. With hands trembling from the biting cold and exhaustion, they were trying to stem the blood welling up from their wounds with theurgist methods. The less seriously wounded, although also fatigued, searched for living comrades among the bodies on the ground.
A white-clad figure emerged from the keep’s entrance hall. With a bloodied face that betrayed his deep sorrow, Fares stepped out onto the landing carrying Eiael in his arms. An astonished whisper traveled through the air and then a deathly silence fell in the bailey. Icy shivers rushed through the Guardians’ veins, as if the breath of frightened souls had penetrated their bodies. Numb with shock, they stood there staring at their blood-drenched leader lying motionless in Fares’ arms.
Standing alone on the plateau, Galen watched the scene with a faint smile on his face.