Reckoning (The Arotas Trilogy #2)

by Amy Miles

  His gaze softens as he reaches out a hand to her. She takes a calming breath at his reassuring touch. Malachi perches on the edge of the couch, forcing Fane to rear back away from him. Fane wrinkles his nose, as if smelling a foul odor. “They are the chosen few who protect the secret of Arotas.”

  Nicolae slips to the edge of his seat. “I’ve heard that name before. Sorin spoke of it.”

  Their host turns swiftly to regard Nicolae. “You know Sorin Funar?”

  “Knew,” his face falls, “he was my uncle.”

  Malachi clears his throat, mumbling his apologies. “There are some, spanning the globe, who know of the prophecy. Bits of it, mind you. Only a handful knows it in its entirety.”

  Roseline grips Fane’s hand as excitement brews in her stomach. Surely, this is what she has been looking for, the answer as to why Gabriel was stolen from her.

  “Sorin was one of those?” Nicolae asks.

  “Yes,” Malachi smiles tightly, “but he only knew enough to get himself killed.”

  “We think Vladimir knows of the prophecy as well.” Roseline adds.

  “Indeed.” Malachi pauses to brush a fleck of lint from his impeccable suit. “And that is why he sent Davros to find you. Most likely, by now, he has put two and two together about Gabriel. You both disappeared within a few hours of each other. It is only logical to assume you are together.”

  “So what’s this all got to do with the kid?” Fane asks, wrapping his arm protectively around Roseline’s shoulders. She burrows into his side.

  “Everything,” Malachi replies, spinning to his feet. “Gabriel had markings, did he not?”

  “Yes,” Roseline whispers, “two halves of a cross on his forearms. They…they glowed.”

  Malachi nods, hurrying to a bookcase that spans from floor to ceiling on either side of the stone fireplace. His fingertips glide across the leather book bindings. A musty scent gently wafts into the air as Malachi selects one.

  He cradles the book to his chest, as if holding a loved one. “Gabriel is not just a part of the Arotas prophecy,” he pauses to look at Roseline. “He is Arotas. The one destined to restore balance to the world, or so the rumors say.”

  Fane swallows a snort as Roseline turns to glare at him. “Sorry,” he mutters lamely. “It’s just that I can’t see the kid as being some brave doomsday slayer or whatnot.”

  “Of course,” Malachi states icily at Fane, “that is because he has not faced the trials yet.”

  “What trials?” Roseline stiffens. She does not like the sound of that.

  Malachi grimaces, caressing the book in his hands. “That is where the details become a tad hazy. No one actually knows what they are or even when they will happen. There are some who believe they are a rite of passage. Others speculate that it is a test of character. Either way, Gabriel must pass all three.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Fane asks, rubbing his hands along Roseline’s arms. She shivers as a sudden chill seems to permeate the air.

  “Chaos,” Malachi replies.

  “And what’s in that book?” Nicolae asks, nodding his head at Malachi’s selection.

  Malachi hesitates, the hard set of his jaw betraying his indecision. “Answers, some of which you might not be ready to accept just yet.”

  Roseline jerks out of Fane’s grip. “Will it help Gabriel?”

  “Perhaps, but I believe it is more crucial for you to know,” he replies, staring deeply into her eyes.

  Her throat constricts. This is it. The moment of no return. Whatever Malachi has in that book will forever change her life. Roseline clenches her fists to her stomach, fighting a wave of nausea.

  “Do it,” she grunts, bending low to avoid meeting Malachi’s eyes.

  “And you?” He turns toward Fane.

  She hears his adam’s apple bob, but his voice is strong when he replies. “If it will help Roseline, then I’m in.”

  “Well, you know I am,” Nicolae pipes up.

  “Very well.” Malachi moves to stand in a prominent view before the fireplace. “The Arotas monks are a secret sect that was formed centuries before your births. At the beginning of time.”

  He pauses to let his words sink in. Nicolae leans forward. “Do you mean like Day one sort of thing?”

  “Oh no,” Malachi laughs, shaking his head, “I mean after man was already on the Earth, but not long after.”

  Fane stiffens. Roseline’s brow furrows as her gaze averts to question him, but he shakes his head and turns his attention back to Malachi.

  “Take a look at this.” Malachi dips low, opening the front cover of the book. There is not a title. Glancing up at the bookshelves, Roseline notices for the first time that none of them is engraved with a title. All are the same color, texture and size.

  “How did you know to pick this one?” she inquires, reaching out to touch the stiff paper. No, not paper. Papyrus.

  Malachi’s eyes light with admiration. “That is a secret.”

  Each person leans in to take a closer look at the page. The words are written in a tight script, nearly spilling from the edge. Nicolae frowns. “I don’t recognize this language.”

  “Indeed,” Malachi smiles, “this language is no longer spoken on Earth.”

  Fane snorts. “Really? You’re going with aliens on this one?”

  “Don’t be daft,” Malachi reprimands, “aliens do not exist outside of books. The race which I speak of is angelic in nature.”

  Roseline’s eyes widen with surprise. “You’re talking about God? From the Bible?”

  He tips his head. “In a sense, yes, but more specifically about the battle between the Fallen and the Redeemed.”

  “I’m not following you,” Nicolae speaks up, pointing to the picture adorning the top of the page. “How can cute little cherubs have anything to do with Gabriel?”

  “My dear boy,” Malachi gasps, offended, “you insult the very name of Angel. They are not fat little babies who lie around on silvery clouds all day long, strumming harps. They are warriors, more fierce than your precious hunters.”

  Roseline cuts off Nicolae’s fierce protest. “What does this have to do with Gabriel?”

  “I’m getting to him.” Malachi flips to the center of the book. “This is The Fall of the Damned, painted by Peter Paul Rubens in 1620. What can you see?”

  Fane leans in close. “I assume the answer you are looking for is angels falling from Heaven.”

  “On the contrary, I was hoping your keen mind could look beyond the obvious.” Malachi casts him a disparaging glance. “Apparently not.”

  Roseline hides her smirk behind her hand as she studies the picture. “Hatred. Darkness. Turmoil.”

  “Exactly.” Malachi beams, looking as if he might pat her on the back for her insightful answer, “This was a tragic time in Earth’s history. Legions of angels were cast out of Heaven, cursed to walk the Earth until the end.”

  “End of what?” Nicolae asks.

  “Of the world, of course,” Malachi snaps.

  “Oh,” Nicolae smiles weakly, “is that all?”

  “Indeed.” Malachi’s face pinches with disapproval. He turns back to Roseline. “What would you say if I were to tell you that everything you know about your immortal brethren is wrong?”

  Roseline frowns, shifting uncomfortably. “That’s a pretty bold statement to make.”

  “Bold, but true, nevertheless. Humans call you vampires. You call yourselves immortal, for that is a basic definition of what you are, but that isn’t the whole picture.” Malachi’s voice drops so low even Roseline struggles to hear him. “You are from among the celestial beings.”

  “Angels?” Roseline gasps.

  “Alright, that’s it,” Fane rises quickly, upturning the book onto the floor. “I’ve heard about all I can take from you. Let’s go.” He holds out his hand to Roseline, but she hesitates. A part of her wants to throw up her hands and leave Malachi and his crazy beliefs behind, but a part of her feels drawn to him, to his tal
e. What if…

  She turns to face Malachi. “Can you prove what you say? That we are something more than we think we are.”

  He dips his head. “Yes, if you will give me the chance.”

  Her mind tells her to hop into Nicolae’s car and floor it, but she cannot make herself move. She turns to Fane. “I’m sorry. I can’t leave.”

  Fane’s shoulders droop. “You want to stay here, with him? He’s lying to you.”

  “Perhaps,” she nods in agreement, wholeheartedly hoping that Malachi is not playing a sick joke on them, “but I can’t take the chance that he’s not. I have to find Gabriel and if this is what it takes, then I’m staying here.”

  Fane sighs, glancing at Nicolae. “What about you?”

  Nicolae brushes his hair back out of his face. He still looks a tad confused by the new information but shrugs. “I promised Roseline I would help her search for Gabriel. If this is where she chooses to be, then I’m sticking around too.”

  “Please stay, Fane,” Roseline pleads. It is not fair for her to ask, not after she crushed his hopes back in Romania, but she needs him by her side, as a friend. “I need your help.”

  Fane groans, running his hands down his face. “Why do I always give in to you?”

  “Because you’re a sucker,” Nicolae grins.

  “No doubt.” Fane sighs heavily. “I know I’m going to regret this.”

  “I most certainly will,” Malachi mutters under his breath.

  Chapter 22

  Gabriel ducks through the narrow kitchen, careful to avoid Asrim. The gray haired, rotund cook bustles about, stirring a large stockpot of mystery meat stew. Last night it was yak. It was actually not too bad, once you got past the stray bits of hair.

  Ordin grumbles from his chopping board, mutilating a pile of carrots beyond recognition. Yep, something is definitely up. Skirting past Ordin’s rapid-fire knife, Gabriel rushes into the dining room.

  A long wooden table fills the room. A chair sits at one end, where Sias usually sits. Two wooden benches run along either side, where Gabriel joins the monks three times a day.

  He smiles as he finds Enael, knelt low to retrieve the table settings from a wooden cabinet. Enael’s bowl cut hair looks perpetually wonky. His robe is rumpled, no doubt from lounging in bed all day, reading books.

  “Hi,” Gabriel calls, letting the door swing shut behind him.

  Enael yelps, leaping upright. A stack of wooden bowls and cups go flying. Metal spoons clatter to the floor. Enael grabs his chest, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry about that,” Gabriel grins, rushing to help his new friend pick up the mess. “You are slipping, Enael. What if I were an assassin sneaking in to kill you?”

  The boy’s eyes light with amusement. “I can only hope. At least there would be some excitement around this place. You have proven to be rather dull, no offense.”

  Gabriel laughs, collecting a handful of spoons. “So, there isn’t anything weird going on tonight?”

  “Uh no.” Enael glances up, his round face pinched. The creases in his forehead vanish as excitement replaces his confusion. “Why? What have you heard?”

  Well, there goes any hope of dragging details from Enael, but this only confirms Gabriel’s suspicions. Something is happening and Sias is no fool. Everyone knows Enael cannot keep a secret to save his life.

  That is probably the reason Enael is rarely allowed to leave the premise, and never on his own. If it were not for Sias being his uncle, Gabriel doubts Enael would have ever been chosen for this position.

  “Nothing,” he shrugs. “Everyone just seems a bit tense around here.”

  Hoping Enael does not see through his lame explanation, he quickly sets to work helping his friend lay out the tablecloth, even though it is not his chore.

  He has not been given a single daily chore since emerging from his blood transfusion. At first, he was pleased about that. Who would actually want to scrub the floors or dust this massive place? But now, looking back on it, Gabriel should have been suspicious.

  The other monks spend a great deal of time to keep this place running. Shouldn’t he be a part of that process too? It is almost as if Sias is trying to keep him for becoming too invested in the monastery.

  Gabriel and Enael both glance up as a howl of pain escapes under the gap of kitchen door, followed immediately by a splash of fluid. That does not bode well for dinner. A harsh shouting match ensues. Gabriel grins over at Enael, who rolls his eyes. “They do it every night.”

  “Does it ever get old?” Gabriel asks, chuckling as he places the final bowl in Sias’ spot.

  “Never,” he grins back. His smile vanishes, as the kitchen door swings open. Asrim enters, a sour look etched on his face, as he struggles with a sloshing bowl.

  “Are you okay, As?” Enael asks, rushing to help set the bowl on the table. Gabriel notices a large red welt beginning to rise on the man’s forearm.

  “That bloody oaf bumped into me again. Gonna burn me skin right off one of these days. He’s mental I tell ya,” Asrim grumbles, in a thick northern English accent.

  “Quit your whining,” Ordin grunts, pushing a cart of covered dishes through the door. “I’m sick of your bellyaching.”

  “Enough!” Everyone whirls around, instantly dropping their gaze from Sias’ thunderous face. Ortuh rises on his tiptoes to see over Sias’ shoulder. “Have you all gone completely mad? Hollering like that? I heard you two all the way down the hall.” He points directly at the cooks.

  Even Ordin has the good graces to look properly reprimanded. Sias exhales, straightening out his robe so his hands have something to grasp besides their two necks. “I expect you all to be on your best behavior this evening, brothers.”

  His gaze shifts to each of his brethren. When he reaches Gabriel, the corners of his eyes pinch. “We have a visitor.”

  ***

  “Can’t you tell me anything?” Gabriel pleads, rushing to follow Sias down the lengthy hall, its steep decline making the task easier.

  He had been disappointed to learn that the visitor had politely declined the invitation to join them for dinner. Gabriel had barely touched his food, his stomach coiling painfully each time Sias darted a tense glance at him from the end of the table.

  Why are they in this abandoned part of the monastery? Why does the visitor want to speak to him alone? And, why the heck did Enael look on the verge of tears when he left dinner?

  “It is not my place to reveal anything more than I have already done. Your journey with me is complete. You will be leaving tonight.”

  Gabriel halts. “So that’s it? No goodbyes? Just shove me out the door?” He knows his raised voice is echoing back down the hall to the dining room, but he does not care. Let them hear. “You kidnapped me, remember?”

  “Do not assume that I care less for you because of this. I am not in charge, Gabriel. I am only a man with a task and I have done that task.” Sias sighs heavily and turns back. “There is so much more that you must learn, to fulfill your destiny, and you cannot learn it from me. Your lessons here are complete.”

  “But I haven’t learned how to heal yet or learned all those stupid names you asked me to memorize. I can’t even beat Enael in the ring yet.”

  “You were holding back, both in the ring and in your studies.”

  Gabriel winces. “Ok, maybe a little, but that’s not the point. I can still learn from you.”

  Sias’ hands fall on his arm. “It is time, Gabriel.”

  Sias moves on, leaving Gabriel behind. Frustration plants his feet into the ground, refusing to let him follow. It is not fair. He has only just begun to settle in here and now he has to uproot yet again. “I don’t want to leave.”

  Sias turns, his steps purposeful as he closes the gap between them. “Your mentor knows far more about you than I ever could. He alone can train you. If you stay here, your education will be stunted. I do not want that for you. You deserve better.”<
br />
  “And if I refuse?” Gabriel crosses his arms over his chest, in defiance. Anger simmers in his ice-blue eyes.

  Sias leans back against the wall. The flickering candlelight overhead casts dancing shadows across his face. “I told you before that you are not being held against your will. This choice must be yours, but please choose wisely.”

  The desire to just leave everything behind grips Gabriel. It would be so easy. No one could stop him. No one would even try. But what if he is wrong? What if whoever is behind that door up ahead has the answers he is searching for? Shouldn’t he stick around long enough to find out?