Though they were created to be awful to humans, the Grandinians are merely bad. They aren’t evil. As a rule they don’t kill.
But there’s an exception to every rule, now, isn’t there?
Yes, the Grandinians as a group aren’t not genuinely evil angels, but the biggest threat the universe faces in my time is an angel born and raised in Grands.
His name: Gideon Chase.
Gideon is evil. He’s the epitome of evil. Death follows wherever he goes. I mean that literally: his best friend is the Grim Reaper.
Not only is Gideon evil, he’s also the most powerful angel in Grands. When I complain about the state of Grands, you should know that it wasn’t always bleak and cold and ruined. It was made bleak six years ago, shaken and darkened and blasted by, well, the sort of thing that destroyed and darkened and blasted a place: a full-on apocalypse. An apocalypse that had torn the kingdom apart and destroyed nearly everything in Grands. An apocalypse caused by an eleven-year-old Gideon.
I’d never been able to work out why an eleven-year-old would destroy an entire realm, nor how. It would require enormous power, and enormous rage. The destruction was so complete that it had taken the Grandinians almost four years to bring the kingdom up to even its current substandard state of repair. Aid poured in from many different planets and dimensions with the unstated agreement that any and all could rely on similar offers of help should Gideon, um, happen to any of them.
No! No, stop. Please stop! You can take the money! Take all of it!
Suddenly, I was no longer looking at the Grandinian palace I had been flying toward; I was looking at the inside of a Mini-Mart in Utah, where a cashier was being held at gunpoint.
A man wearing a ski mask held a gun on a young woman wearing a polyester Mini-Mart uniform. The bodies of two unlucky customers already lay on the ground at the man’s feet, though he didn’t seem to notice them. With shaking hands the woman was pulling money from the cash register and shoving it into a Mini-Mart shopping bag the man held.
“Please, please don’t kill me, I have a little girl at home and—” She was sobbing, choking on her words.
I was moving in to rescue her when I saw a shadow appear behind her. I knew that shadow. It was the Grim Reaper, which meant the woman’s fate had already been decided, and all I could do was to watch her die because I can’t interfere with the balance of life.
“Please,” the woman gasped, “don’t kill me!”
Too late, though. Boom went the gunshot, and the woman’s chest was a ruin. Down she fell, and the gunman dashed behind the counter to grab what money was left. He took a single dollar bill, kissed it, and tucked it into the woman’s waistband with a flourish. Then he rushed off.
Just like that, I was back, hanging in the darkness above Grands, but now? Now I was screaming.
Suddenly, my breath caught, and try though I might I could not make a sound, any sound. My screams strangled in my throat. Just as I thought I would choke in earnest, a gasp escaped me, and at that moment I knew the woman was dead.
It took me a second to come back to myself.
Guns couldn’t physically injure angels, but oh, they could hurt me. A nasty side effect of my being me was that whenever I witnessed suffering, I felt it in my own body threefold. When the Mini-Mart cashier was shot, I felt her pain, magnified. When her lungs filled with blood, my breath was closed off in my chest. It only stopped when she died.
My mind was like a goddamn radio station, and not the kind that played the songs I wanted to hear. It was like a horrible, scratchy AM station that was stuck on Reginald Dixon’s Hammond Organ Hits. There wasn’t a single second that went by that I didn’t hear someone, often many someones, crying for help. Sometimes I was amazed that I could think for myself.
I answered as many of the calls as I could, but I could never answer them all.
When I’d first started hearing them, I had tried to answer every one, but how? Saving one person nearly always meant leaving another to suffer. Trying to choose… it was impossible to weigh them out: the man who was the sole support and nurture of his elderly parents, or the man who would leave a young orphan and widow behind? The child of three, or the mother of four? Choosing to save one meant playing some part in the death of another left unsaved. The choosing? The choosing made it worse.
Tristan? Are you on your way? I await your arrival inside the Great Hall.
Oh, and then there were those other messages in my head. King Daligo’s voice, repeating his summons.
You’d think after essentially taking a bullet to the heart I’d be given a second to myself, but no. I can’t complain, though, not when I know so well what others have to complain of.
I took a deep breath and dried my tears. I made sure I was no longer shaking, and then forced a smile. I’d done this enough times to know that, at the moment, I looked convincingly happy.
“FINALLY.” KING DALIGO directed me toward a seat the moment I appeared inside the Grandinian Great Hall.
I bowed. “Forgive me, Majesty.”
The first thing you see when you go into the Great Hall of the Grandinian palace is a black grand piano that stands at the far left end of the hall, between two vast marble arches. The walls, papered in rich silk, are adorned with elaborately carved and gilded cornices and hung with the portraits of past kings and queens.
Set into the yellow-and-brown marble floor is a glittering mosaic of the Grandinian coat of arms, a golden shield with angel wings extending outward from it. In its center, the shield bears a diamond divided into four fields, one for each of four neighboring worlds. The topmost field represents Lumens, the right, Earth, the lowest field, Grands, and the left, the Underworld.
For this meeting an oversized golden table hovered in mid-air above the mosaic, surrounded by ten richly ornamented granite chairs. The headrest of each chair bore a carved lion holding a sword in its teeth. Enormous chandeliers floated in the air beneath a ceiling enchanted to look like the sky as it looked from above the city’s ever-present clouds. When I looked up, the lowering sky, red with the light of the setting sun, seemed close enough to touch.
The Grandinians might be bad, but their taste was not.
Taking the seat indicated by the king, I said, “Thank you, Majesty.”
King Daligo was directly across from me, wearing an impeccably-styled black drawstring shirt and black woolen pants with a black leather wrap belt. He thought the black-on-black look was intimidating. Over this, he wore a leather jacket, black, of course, fitted with large silver clasps. I wasn’t sure the get-up was intimidating, exactly, but it made him look much younger than he was. Although I knew him to be more than five hundred years old, Daligo could easily pass for a man in his forties. His hair was bleached a severe platinum blond and was always neatly combed back, bringing more attention to his alert, deep-gray eyes.
As you might guess from his appearance, Daligo did not strive to be good. Everything about him projected intensity and power. He knew what he wanted, and he was never afraid to take it, no matter what the consequence. He ruled through fear rather than love. Thought it was more efficient.
“So, um, how was your day?” he asked. Not a good start. Oh, boy.
I was about to answer when Princess Sela entered the room. King Daligo and his wife Queen Lailah were the reigning Grandinian monarchs, and had been for centuries. Daligo had taken the throne when his father died, and he’d married his wife shortly after. They had lived and ruled alone for more than four hundred years. Only sixteen years ago had they had their first child, the Crown Princess, Sela, and I think she was worth the wait. The moment I saw her, I felt a real smile try to creep in behind the fake one.
“Your Highness,” I greeted her as she came in. Both the king and I stood in the presence of a lady.
At the age of sixteen, Sela was widely considered the most beautiful angel of our generation. She had her mother’s tangerine-colored hair and smooth fair skin, and her eyes were a tropical-ocean blue. Those eyes
were her most prominent feature. They were mesmerizing. She had a perfect straight nose, and full lips the color of strawberries. She was, simply put, breathtaking. My breath? Taken.
I allowed myself a long look, taking in every detail of her appearance. Her lace and silk dress. Those amazing eyes. The smile on her face, a smile directed at me.
She returned my greetings. “Prince Tristan.” Then she turned her attention to Daligo. “Father, am I interrupting?”
King Daligo loved his daughter, and indulged her in all things. “Certainly not, darling. Tristan and I were just waiting for his father to arrive.”
My father was invited to this impromptu meeting? What?
Sela took a seat beside her father, and then the king and I sat. The King was making small talk, telling Sela something about aphids in the rose garden, when my father materialized in the seat beside me. From the look on his face I knew it was going to be one of those meetings, the kind that never end well.
Sela offered her hand to my father, and he took it warmly. My father, King Beraht, had every bit as much power as Daligo, but his grew from the love of his subjects, not their fear. He didn’t feel a need to impress or intimidate anyone, and preferred to actually relate to them, His clothing was similar to Daligo’s, but in a tasteful, understated brown. His hair was a curly, salt-and-pepper tangle that fell over his forehead. His bright blue eyes shone with compassion and understanding. He had time for everyone. No, he made time for everyone, and it was clear that when he told the princess that he was happy to see her again that he truly meant it.
“It’s good to see you, too, Your Majesty, but I should be going. Father informs me you have business to discuss.” Father said his goodbyes to Sela, but still seemed distracted. Not a good sign. It would take a lot to get him distracted.
I leaned close to Father’s shoulder and hesitantly asked, “So, is there a problem?” I hoped he’d surprise me and say no.
“No, son.”
Crap. While technically he’d said “no,” I could hear in his voice that yes, something was wrong, very wrong. The only other time I’d heard him sound so rattled was when he’d asked me to go with him to talk Zeus out of a war with the angels after Gideon had visited Olympus and killed some of the Dryads. The gods of Olympus were very much alive and given to crankiness. A problem as upsetting as a rumble with Zeus was a problem I wasn’t looking forward to facing.
Daligo spoke before I could ask Father if he was sure. “The Guardian Elders have brought in a new assignment.”
A new assignment? As in, they were assigning me to another human? I was happy with the human I was currently guiding, Abigail Cells.
“Am I being reassigned?” I asked, as if I hadn’t heard clearly the first time.
Father and King Daligo exchanged looks.
My father took a while before he answered. “No, but… they… we have all agreed to have you work together with… with Gideon.”
There is a moment in everyone’s life, when for just a moment, the world stops. This was my moment. This was my moment to be afraid. But of course I couldn’t be afraid. When everyone depends on you to be strong for them, you aren’t allowed to be afraid. To avoid the fear, I simply couldn’t allow myself to feel at all. Not now. And so I blinked, and with that quick shutter of my eyes; my moment was over.
TURNING POINT
They wanted me to work with Gideon? Was this some sort of joke?
I wasn’t laughing!
I couldn’t work with Gideon, especially not where Abigail was concerned.
There was a crash from behind one of the great marble columns at the end of the hall, and then a cry.
“What?”
Sela. It was Sela. She’d been eavesdropping. At the sound of her voice, I snapped out of my thoughts. “What is this about assigning Tristan to work with Gideon? Gideon doesn’t need a guardian angel. He needs a leash.” Sela was shouting, forgetting in her fury that she wasn’t supposed to address her father, nor mine, in that tone. “You know it can’t be safe.”
The silence from both kings indicated that yes, they were assigning me with Gideon. Both men were standing. They’d stood up as soon as they’d seen Sela standing. Old habits die hard. It was almost funny. Their propriety and their fine manners felt all out of place.
“We do not have any other choice, child,” Daligo said.
My father took over. “If we did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” From the look on his face, and Daligo’s, I knew what he was saying was true. Whatever crisis had arisen, it seemed pairing me with Gideon was the only way to solve it.
I carefully put a smile on my face and asked, “So when does he start?” loudly enough for all of them to hear.
If looked could kill, Sela’s would have slayed me. “Tristan, be reasonable.” In the enormous hall this request echoed, and made Sela’s voice seem very small. The echoes died. “Sela, I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I’m sure Gideon will be a delight to work with.” If I were a psychopathic killer looking for a partner in crime, I thought to myself. “Please, calm down. Gideon isn’t that bad.” I wanted to punch myself in the face after I’d said this. Not that bad? If a mere killer qualified as ‘that bad,’ Gideon was ‘that worst.’
“Fine, have it your way!” She dried her tears, and then gently bowed her head. “Your Majesties. Prince Tristan,” she said, and with a rustle of heavy skirts, she ducked out of the Great Hall.
I forgot my manners and disappeared after her. I reappeared just behind her in one of the draughty hallways in the Grandinian palace. “Sela, wait!” I ran to catch up with her, but she didn’t stop. A single thought and I rematerialized in front of her. She bumped right into me when she took her next step.
She looked really angry. “Get out of my way, Tristan!”
I understood that her anger was really half fear, and that she was entitled to that anger, but I was the one being given a life-threatening assignment to work with an evil angel.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she huffed, and using all her strength she shoved me out of her way.
She’d only managed to take one step before I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward me, so that she bumped into my chest. “Hey! Let go of me!”
Shaking my head, I let go of her arm and placed my hands on her cheeks. I lifted her face until she was looking into my eyes. “Please, don’t be mad at me” I whispered. “I can’t stand it when you’re mad and…”
She cut me off, “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’ll see what I can do about that. I don’t want me to get hurt, either. Come on, I’ll be fine” I wiped her tears away with my fingers. Her skin felt soft and warm underneath my fingertips.
Nodding, she managed a weak smile. “You’d better be,” she whispered. “You’d better be.”
I leaned in to kiss her.
“Sela!”
Her father was walking toward us, looking murderous. I suppose that could be because I was about to kiss his daughter, but it was hard to tell: he always looked murderous. He generally gave off a murderous vibe. “Wait for me in the Great Hall,” I heard him hissing at her. He stormed off, practically dragging her in his wake.
My father beckoned to me from behind Daligo. “Walk with me, son. We have much to discuss.”
MY REIGN
Gideon
“You see what power is – holding someone else’s fear
in your hand and showing it to them.”
Amy Tan – The Kitchen God’s Wife.
The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout.
Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
What was the next line again? Oh yeah…
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain.
Typical of humans, needing to mention the sun showing up and drying up the rain.
And the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.
That’s one stupid spider.
The l
esson I took away from this little ditty was a simple one: when it rains, you sing, and since the city of New York was being pummeled by heavy rain, I was entitled to a song.
I stood beside a traffic light, watching the cars passing by and the bustling crowds of people in the crosswalks.
“Paul honey, zip up your jacket.” This came from a young mother who was waiting nearby for the walk signal to change, together with her son. Paul was circling his mother, singing and splashing in every puddle in reach. The boy zipped his jacket, and his mother pulled his yellow raincoat’s hood over his ball cap.
When she’d finished, Paul’s mother took a step back, and since I was standing right behind her, she bumped into me. She would have brought both of us down if I hadn’t caught her.
“I am so…” she caught my eyes and then froze, forgetting what she was about to say.
I shook her gently, “Are you all right?”
She blinked, twice, and then a third time. When she came to, she stared at my hands on her arms, and then up to my face. Yeah, now she was convinced I was real. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I let go of her hand. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
She answered with a nod, and then started to blush. “Sorry again.”
Turning back around, she pulled her son closer to her. I was sure it was to keep herself steady more than to comfort the boy. The moment her back was to me again, I made myself invisible. I knew she wasn’t going to turn back around, because she felt embarrassed, and no one else was paying me any mind. This was New York, after all.
I walked, invisible, out of the crowd, and that was when I spotted Paul’s Lumenian guardian angel. He stood, invisible like me, on the other side of the street. His eyes were filled with wonder at the tiny human life unfolding before him.
I saw this as a chance, and so I made myself appear right behind him. I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, startled.
Dominion (Re-edition) Page 2