King of the Wicked (The Banished Series Book 1)

by T. R. Hamby

  King of the Wicked

  Mel

  200,000 Years Ago

  War. The first of its kind. And it was happening in the Immortal World, on the rocky plain at the base of the mountain. Messenger fought against Messenger, using their newly forged swords and axes. The smell of blood hung thickly in the air.

  Mel was breathing heavily. He stood, wearing only his clothes. He and his army had arrived in the night, sneaking into the armory and stealing as many weapons as they could--they hadn’t had time to steal the armor.

  His sword was heavy in his hand. Above him the clouds swirled, black and heavy, and little bolts of blue light zigzagged across the sky. He could feel the electricity in the air, and his fingers twitched, aching to touch it.

  His brother Michael stood before him. He wasn’t wearing armor either--he didn’t have to. He was the strongest Messenger ever created, and very difficult to kill.

  But Mel was trying, with everything he had. White-hot anger flowed through his veins, made his heart pound, made his eyes black. If only it affected Michael like it did the others.

  Lilith flashed through his mind. Her dark eyes, her mischievous smile. And then her body...stiff and gray...lying on the ground. Unmoving.

  He looked at Michael, who stared back. There was a strange look on his face...something like despair. Desperation.

  But Mel didn’t care. He looked up; the electricity was fierce, the bolts of light close. In one swift movement he thrusted his sword in the air, and a bolt clashed with it, running down the Blade and into his hand. He grasped it, smiling triumphantly, and the Blade erupted in blue flames.

  He lowered his sword, swung it a few times. The flames whooshed, and he could feel their heat.

  Messengers could be killed with two things: an Immortal Blade, or fire. Mel was immune to fire...but Michael was not.

  Michael stared at the Blade. He almost looked resigned. He looked at Mel, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it.

  Mel ignored this. He didn’t care what Michael had to say. He was going to kill him. He would pay for what he had done.

  He flicked his sword, and the two were at each other, Blades swinging, grunting and ducking. Their clashing Blades sent sparks into the air.

  But Michael was slowing, only parrying Mel’s blows, his face screwed up in what looked like anguish.

  Mel growled. “Fight me!” he hissed, hurling his Blade at Michael’s side.

  Michael blocked it, but only half-heartedly, and Mel’s sword forced his own against his side, cutting him. He stumbled and looked down, amazed at the blood seeping into his shirt. He had never been injured before.

  He looked at Mel, and there was desperation on his face again. He whispered under his breath, and then threw his sword onto the ground.

  Mel shouted, incensed. He kicked the sword back to him, but Michael didn’t pick it up.

  “You’re a coward!” he hissed. “You’ve always been a coward.”

  Michael didn’t say anything, just stared at him, breathing heavily.

  There was a sudden shout nearby. They looked, and Mel felt his heart drop. Another Messenger was standing a few yards away, facing Michael, holding an axe over his head. He roared again, hurling the axe towards Michael’s chest.

  Mel moved fast. He darted in front of Michael, nearly bowling him over, and the axe buried itself in his chest.

  There was a crushing pain. He stumbled, staring bewildered at the axe, which was causing him more pain than he had ever felt before. He seized it, and in one motion ripped it out. Blood spurted, and he stumbled again.

  Michael was beside him, touching him, and then gripping him. The ground was rushing up to meet him, but he didn’t feel himself hit it. The pain in his chest was excruciating; he writhed, unable to breathe. Blood was rushing into his lungs and pouring from the wound.

  “No, no, no,” Michael breathed, staring at the wound. “No--Judith! Help me!”

  Mel’s breaths were so ragged. His eyes were fixed on the sky, which continued to spark. His whole body was on fire as he struggled for air; he coughed, and tasted blood.

  He was going to die. He was really going to die. Thousands and thousands of years in this Place, a few weeks on Earth with his beloved, and it was over. If only the pain would end…

  He could barely hear Judith’s voice. Michael was over him, gripping his arms, moaning.

  “Why did you do it, Mel? Why did you do it?”

  He wasn’t breathing anymore. His lungs were finished. His vision was clouding...all he could see now was the lightning, lighting up the sky. His heart beat faintly, weakly...until it stopped.

  Darkness.

  He lied there for a long time, before he realized...he was conscious. He blinked, then shifted--he was moving. He wasn’t breathing, and his heart was resolutely still, but he could think. Was this what death was like?

  He slowly sat up, and the darkness lessened into a gentle dimness. He looked around, and realized he was in his house. His walls were engraved with jewels, and they glowed faintly.

  Mel, a familiar voice said, and he let out a breath. He had not heard that voice since his Creation.

  He scrambled to his feet. “Father,” he whispered.

  The voice was all around him, in his ears and in his head. You saved your brother’s life, he said. I wasn’t expecting that.

  Mel frowned. That seemed like a long time ago.

  Why did you do it?

  He didn’t reply. Anger was boiling in him again. He didn’t want to give Father any satisfaction.

  There was a sigh. You are angry.

  “Of course I’m angry,” he breathed, his voice low and dangerous. “What you have done to me is beyond betrayal, beyond cruelty. Beyond forgiveness.”

  There was a silence. Mel let out a bitter chuckle. “You don’t even defend yourself.”

  I don’t need a defense, Father said, angry now. I am your lord. I Created you, and I can Uncreate you. Is that what you want?

  Mel wasn’t frightened. He shrugged. “Is there an alternative?” he asked dryly.

  There could be, Father replied, if you choose it.

  Mel shook his head. He was still furious, and his question had only been a joke. There was a long silence, in which he considered it. The unfortunate truth was that, as angry as he was, he didn’t want to go into Nonexistence...didn’t want to go into the next realm, the Unknown, the mysterious.

  But perhaps it would be better than living life without her.

  There will come a time, Father suddenly said, when you will be glad you chose to live.

  He shivered, furious. “You know that will happen, then? You know I will choose to live?” He shook his head, angry tears forming in his eyes. “Why then? You knew what would happen to us. Why Create her only for her to die? Why bring me to her when you knew we would love each other, run away together? Why would you let that happen?”

  A flash of fury. I lost control the day you revealed yourself to her, Father hissed. I lost control of you, and the day she ate the fruit, I lost control of her. What you have done is catastrophic.

  “I loved her,” Mel moaned, almost pleadingly. “All I did was love her.”

  Your punishments were just.

  “Her death was not just!” he shouted, and his voice echoed in the dimness.

  There was a long, dangerous silence.

  Then, I am your lord. You are my Creation. What I say is law, and that will never change.

  Mel was shaking. He wanted more than anything to continue arguing, to challenge, to injure. But he was at his limit, and he didn’t know what would happen if Father became even angrier.

  Final
ly he sighed. “What do you want.”

  I will restore you to life--to your powers, to your Immortality, Father said. In exchange, you will be banished to the Earth, and you will work with your brother in finding evil mortals--there will be evil mortals, one day, when there are enough of them. You will send them to a Dark Place, Down Below, where they will live in agony for eternity.

  Mel frowned--it was a lot to take in. “How?”

  Michael will make his own deal with me. He will find them, and you will use your anger to kill them. Your anger, though only painful for Immortals, will be deadly to humans. That is how you will send them Down Below.

  Mel raised an eyebrow. Michael was going to make a deal with Father? Strange, when he was so clearly Father’s favorite, Father’s chosen, the only one of them to speak with him regularly. What could the great Michael possibly want?

  He cocked his head. “What does Michael get in exchange for his services?”

  That’s not your business.

  He snorted.

  Don’t tell me you’re worried about him--after all this?

  He seethed. “I should have killed him.”

  And yet you didn’t. You saved his life--which is why I’m sparing yours. If, of course, you choose to live, and serve me.

  Mel laughed bitterly. “It’s hardly a choice.”

  It is as much choice as you deserve.

  He thought for a long time, his brow furrowed, staring at the sapphires that lined the hearth. He realized, with a pang, that he would never see his house again--the house that he had built millenia ago, the jewels that he had mined from the mountains in the north, the rug that Judith had woven for him not two months ago.

  He sighed. His anger was starting to ebb away.

  “I want to ask for something,” he whispered hoarsely. “Just one...just one thing.”

  There was a pause. Then, Go on.

  “I want to see her again. Just one more time. I have to see her.”

  Another pause. Do you know where you are now?

  Mel frowned, and looked around. “My house,” he said, confused.

  It is your house...but you are not in the Immortal World. You are in a new Place...a good one. A happy one. I Created it for her.

  He let out a breath. Tears formed in his eyes as relief washed over him. “She’ll be safe? She’ll be happy?”

  More than happy, Father said. Go outside...you will find her…

  He didn’t leave a moment to spare, but rushed to the door, aching to see her, desperate to hold her.

  He had known when he had first held her that he would never love another. She was his only love...his beloved...and now as he ran out to her, he thought of it again: that the centuries would pass, and there would be more mortals to come. But none of them would be her.

  And he wouldn’t love a single one.

  Nora

  It was the very beginning of spring, and still cold, yet Nora cursed her knitted sweater.

  She was standing on the stage of the Teatro Mondo, and the lights were so hot she was sweating. She should have known better than to wear the wool sweater, but she had been distracted that morning. She had spent the night at Luca’s again, woke up late, and had to rush to get home and get ready for rehearsal. The sweater was the first thing she could find to wear.

  “Whenever you’re ready, Nora,” Leo Ricci, the director, called from the audience, speaking his native Italian.

  Nora lifted her chin, taking a deep breath and nodding. The orchestra, below her in the pit, began the opening notes of the aria. She began to sing, and for the next few minutes her voice filled the theater.

  She was proud--she hit every note, just as she had practiced. There was an impressive ring to her voice, and when she finished Leo nodded his head approvingly.

  “Brava,” he said, smiling. “That’s exactly how we want it.”

  Nora smiled, and after a few minutes they started again, repeating the song a few more times before Leo was finally satisfied.

  “Now, I have an announcement,” he said once rehearsal had wrapped up.

  Everyone left the stage, drawing closer to the front row, where he stood. There was an odd look on his face, and Nora frowned.

  “Unfortunately,” he began, “Carmen Garcia has had to take leave--indefinitely. So, her lovely understudy, Signora Giovanna, will be taking over the role of the Countess.”

  Everyone murmured, surprised, and Nora looked around at Bezi--Bezi Romero, her roommate and close friend. Bezi shrugged, looking just as bewildered.

  Nora turned to Leo. “Is Carmen okay? And congratulations, Giovanna,” she added to Carmen’s understudy, who looked both pleased and sheepish.

  “I hope you didn’t poison her,” Bezi joked, and a few people chuckled awkwardly.

  “Carmen needed some time to herself,” Leo explained vaguely. There was still that strange look on his face that Nora couldn’t decipher. “Now thank you, everyone, and seven o’clock on Monday.”

  The cast dispersed, leaving Nora and Bezi to gather their things. Nora grabbed her water bottle from one of the seats, glancing furtively at Leo, who was texting on his phone.

  “Do you think we should check on her?” she asked, slipping into English. She was American, hailing all the way from L.A., and had been living in Rome for a year, pursuing her opera career. It was a special place for her, as her father had been born and raised there.

  Bezi shrugged. She was native to Rome, but her English was fluent.

  “You know her better than I do,” she replied, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe send her a text?”

  “It just doesn’t sound like her,” Nora said worriedly. “She had her heart set on this. I mean, it’s a huge role.”

  Bezi shrugged again, and they walked backstage towards the exit.

  “Oh--Nora, Bezi,” Leo’s voice called, and they turned.

  He was approaching them with a man at his side.

  Nora appraised the stranger; she had never seen him before. He was tall, lean, with neat black hair and striking blue eyes, dressed in a button-down and slacks. He was handsome--somewhere in his forties, maybe. He was looking around with relaxed interest, though Nora noticed something about his eyes...something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  A shiver went down her spine, and she hugged herself against the cold. She didn’t know what it was, but she eyed him warily, and had to shake herself.

  Don’t be silly, she told herself. Don’t get paranoid.

  Leo was smiling, though he looked almost irritated. “Signor King, this is Eleanora Rossi and Bezi Romero, two of our cast members. Ladies, this is Signor Mel King--he’s a good friend of the owner here, and is interested in the show. I thought I’d show him around.”

  Mel inclined his head, smiling. “Ciao. I just had the pleasure of hearing you sing, Signora Eleanora. It was very beautiful.”

  His accent was hard to place, though his Italian was flawless.

  Nora smiled, though she still felt unsettled. “Nora,” she said, “and grazie.”

  “Nora,” he said, nodding.

  “I remember you!” Bezi said suddenly, brightening. “Antonia is my aunt. I remember meeting you; you were at her New Year’s Eve party one year. I was like, sixteen.”

  Antonia Romero was the owner of the theater, and Bezi’s aunt.

  Mel King studied her and nodded, smiling. “Yes, I remember you. You sang Christmas carols for us.”

  “Yeah, and then I drank all the Bellini and passed out under the buffet,” she said shamelessly, grinning. “And you carried me to the couch.”

  Nora chuckled, rolling her eyes. Bezi wasn’t one to hold back.

  Mel chuckled too. “Yes, I remember. You were the life of the party.”

  “Something tells me she always is,” Leo said, eyeing Bezi, who gave a little curtsy.

  But Mel’s smile dropped, and his head gave a little twitch--like some sort of tic. He glanced at Leo, and there was anger on his face, strong e
nough that Nora shivered again. He caught her movement and looked at her, then seemed to compose himself, smiling again.

  But she wasn’t fooled, and she avoided his gaze.

  They said their goodbyes and left the theater. Nora couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder; Leo and Mel King were talking, and both looked tense.

  She wondered at it. What was his deal?

  “That was weird, right?” she asked as they hailed a cab.

  Bezi shrugged. “I don’t know...men, right? Leo was probably annoyed he had to show him around. My aunt is always asking him to do things.”

  “No, but--that guy. He seemed...like...really pissed off.”

  “Yeah, he did. Felt weird with him. Probably trying to get with my aunt,” she replied, “and instead he’s dealing with Leo.”

  “Antonia’s married.”

  “Yeah, but she wasn’t when she first met him. He’s hot; I bet they were fucking.”

  Nora rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Bezi. He’s at least forty.”

  “So? He’s still hot.” The taxi pulled away from the curb, and she strapped herself in, smirking at her. “So...how was Luca’s?”

  Nora felt herself flush, and she picked at a nail. “It was fine.”

  “Speaking of fucking.”

  “God, Bezi. Do you have to say it like that?”

  “What, should I say making love instead?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “No, but…”

  “Are you two a thing now?” she asked, her green eyes piercing.

  Nora let out a breath. “No; like I told you, I’m not looking for that right now. It’s just a friend thing.”

  Bezi feigned a sigh. “Shame. It would be nice to have you as a cousin-in-law.”

  “Your cousin isn’t exactly marriage material,” Nora said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well...Luca is...Luca.”

  They lived in a tiny one bedroom apartment on the south side of the city. There were cracks in the walls, the bathroom was moldy, and there was barely enough space for their two beds. But Nora didn’t care. She was living her dream--singing opera in the greatest city on Earth. She could live in a cardboard box for all she cared.