Against the Fading of the Light (Action of Purpose, 3)

by Stu Jones

  Against the Fading of the Light

  Against the Fading of the Light

  STU JONES

  Against the Fading of the Light

  Copyright 2015 by Stu Jones

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 9781514880395

  ISBN-10: 1514880393

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015910967

  Createspace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  Author’s Note

  THOUGH THIS STORY can be thoroughly understood and enjoyed without prior knowledge of previous events or characters, it is my intention that this book be read after finishing the first two books in the Action of Purpose series, Through the Fury to the Dawn and Into the Dark of the Day.

  It should be noted that certain locations, terrain features, roads, and railways had to be altered or transplanted entirely in order to coincide with events in the story.

  This is a work of fiction in the strictest sense of the word. All characters, locations, cultures, tribes, organizations, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. This greatly pertains to the Native American Comanche Indian Nation. Customs, religious beliefs, practices, and some languages have been altered for continuity within this series. I have done my best to preserve the historical and cultural elements, and any misrepresentation is my doing alone. In no way is this interpretation meant to show anything other than profound respect for these proud people and their vast, rich heritage.

  To Kara:

  God knew the fears of my heart when he blessed me with you.

  As long as you will have me, I will be found by your side.

  I love you.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Part 1: Ashes and Dust

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Part 2: A Time for War

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Taking a Stand against Human Trafficking

  Prologue

  LONG AGO, IN a time beyond recorded history, a mighty kingdom trembled on the brink of war…

  Raziel, the high keeper of secrets, made his way up the long, winding staircase; the heavy, plain cloak he wore shifted against his muscular legs as he took the stairs two at a time. He was built like a mountain man and had the wild, unkempt hair and beard of a hermit. His strong, worn brow bent in consternation as he worked the situation over in his mind. No matter how he tried to make sense of it, something was wrong. He was never summoned to the royal court like this without some advance warning. Not ever. He knew the entire kingdom had recently been thrust into turmoil. He knew that one of their own, one of his brothers, had challenged the supremacy of the king. He knew there had been whispers that a war was coming. What he didn’t know was how it would unfold.

  Moving with urgency, Raziel passed between two mighty celestial sentries as he crossed beneath the massive archway of the royal court, the sentries’ armor glinting by the low, flickering flame of the white-fire sconces that lined the walls. He gave them a nod and continued on across the open expanse of the outer court, where the high, vaulted stained-glass ceilings gave the breathtaking arena a violet glow. Ducking through the scarlet drape that hung as a crimson partition between the outer court and the inner court, he stepped inside and dropped to one knee, bowing his head low. For a long, quiet moment, he held this posture, seemingly frozen in space and time. With a lowered tone, full of care and reverence, he spoke.

  “It is I, Raziel, high keeper of secrets, guardian of the way, and humble servant of the most high king. I have responded here in light of your urgent summons. What is it you desire of me, my king?”

  Before him, as he continued to kneel low, a form materialized out of the darkened corners of the room. As it moved, it separated into three distinct shapes, their figures tall and powerful, adorned in glowing armor.

  “Please stand, old friend. Your king is not present physically, though his spirit still presides over us, as always.”

  Raziel scarcely tried to conceal his surprise as he raised his head and stood, looking into the wizened eyes of his oldest friend. “Michael?” he whispered, glancing quickly at the two who flanked the archangel: his standard-bearers and personal guard, Zadkiel and Jophiel, two of the kingdom’s most notoriously fierce warriors. He turned back to his commander, speaking now with urgency and confusion. “But I was summoned by our great father. Why are you here—and in this sacred place no less?”

  “I know this is all highly unusual, but we have all just been thrust into perilous times. The heavens are embroiled in a turmoil the likes of which none of us have ever known before. The Dragon has made his move, and his spies are everywhere. We must act with the utmost secrecy.”

  “The Dragon…” Raziel paused, tasted the words, and continued. “Is that what they’re calling Lucifer now?”

  “It is.”

  The keeper of secrets hung his head. “He and I came along together, you know. He was once a brother to us, Michael.”

  The archangel nodded quietly. “They all were, until they began to believe that equality with our great father was something they deserved. Now they are our enemies.”

  “How many have gone with him?”

  “At least a third of our number—maybe more.”

  “How could they do this? How could they betray us?”

  “We don’t have time to concern ourselves with that now. Now it is time for action. It is time for war. The high king has tasked me with leading our forces against Lucifer. We will drive him and his followers from this, our holy realm, and we will extinguish this unforgivable act of treason.”

  Raziel nodded his head resolutely. “Very well then. I will take up arms with you against these defilers of the throne.”

  Michael smiled and laid a powerful hand upon the shoulder of his friend. “I admire your devotion, brother, but you have been called here for another reason. This order comes down from the very top, and the task is one of utmost importance.”

  “Go on.”

  “You are familiar with the Machine—the secret device our great father has entrusted to your care?”

  Raziel froze, unsure whether or not he should answer.

  “Raziel,” Michael said and smiled, “I know of it. I know you were sworn not to speak of it. And until very recently, you were one of only a very few who knew of its existence.”

  “How could I be unfamiliar with it?” Raziel shrugged. “It’s the most sacred of all the great secrets that have been entrusted to me: the Machine, a device that has the power to create worlds—or destroy them.”

  “Yes, the very device our great father created to assist him in ‘speaking’ this universe into existence.”

  “But you said we were the only ones who knew until recently— how has that changed?”

  “Lucifer and his fallen are now aware of the device. Our great father knows the Dragon
will make an attempt to possess it in hopes that it will provide him an advantage against our armies in the battle to come.”

  “No…” Raziel whispered to himself.

  “I’m afraid so, my friend. He desires to remake the universe, and everything in it, in his own terrifying image. Time is short, and by now he surely knows that you possess the most intimate knowledge of its whereabouts. In fact he may already be making a play for the device as we speak.”

  “Then there’s no time to waste. Follow me,” Raziel said, turning and disappearing through the heavy crimson curtain as Michael and the others followed suit.

  Across the outer court they raced, passing the celestial sentries who only managed a brief acknowledgment of their commander as the four blew past. Down the stairs they continued at a breathless pace, their royal garments swishing beneath their glinting, mirrorlike armor. Reaching the bottom of the steps, Raziel took two strides and launched over the open balcony and into the precipice below. As he fell, the others fell with him, their backs arching as immense, light-filled eagles’ wings flapped open from under their garments. Soaring across the darkened, starry expanse of the heavens at the speed of light, they arrived in moments at Raziel’s hidden archive secretly nestled in the side of an enormous spire-like mountain.

  Landing at the entrance with a few flaps of their brilliant wings, Raziel began toward the door, but his companions remained where they stood, curiously rooted in place behind him.

  Turning, Raziel looked quizzically at Michael. “What is it?”

  But Michael did not reply as he continued to stare forward at the entrance of the archive. There in the darkness of the shadow, several figures stepped forward.

  “I knew you would come to try to claim the Machine, Lucifer,” the massive shadow before them said as it stepped forward from the mouth of the archive. “You’re not as clever as you think.”

  Raziel’s eyes widened as he took in the massive form. Standing there before him was Michael the archangel—the real Michael.

  The archangel drew his glistening heavenly blade and was quickly flanked by the very imposing and very real Zadkiel and Jophiel. “Stand with us, Raziel! The Dragon is behind you. He has deceived you!”

  “What is this trickery?” Raziel gasped as he turned to the companions he had just led to this secret place. He then saw something wicked flicker under the facade of the false images they bore. Without missing a step, Raziel spun, releasing the Blaze from its scabbard on his side as he swung his fiery blade in a rearward arc. “Traitorous devils!” he snarled as he lunged toward the imposters behind him, the white-hot spirit fire of his weapon clashing against the dripping, dark blade of his foe.

  Behind the weapon stood the Dragon, his physical beauty already replaced by a rotting, disfigured, deathlike appearance, the corrupt result of a new existence—one forged in the absence of God.

  “I don’t fear you, Raziel, even though you bear a weapon forged by the king himself. You were too easy to bend to my will, you feeble-minded pawn!” the fallen angel hissed. “If it weren’t for Michael, our father’s lapdog, you would have led me straight to it. But that’s of no consequence now. You all may have been created immortal, but you are not invulnerable. I will shed your pure blood upon this stone and seize what belongs to me!”

  “You shall not have it!” Raziel growled as he pressed the fight and felt Michael, Zadkiel, and Jophiel join in it beside him. They were moving fast, fighting faster than the speed of sight and sound, heavenly armaments forged in the fires of heaven clashing against each other with blinding flashes of light and smoke. The battle raged as heaven’s skilled warriors appeared to get the better of Lucifer and his followers. But then the other fallen began to arrive: first just a few at a time but then in droves. It was only moments before Michael, Raziel, and the others were cut off from the mouth of the archive.

  Moving as one, Michael and his standard-bearers came together to form a wedge like the point of a spear. “Raziel, get between us!” Michael shouted. Raziel immediately knew his meaning. While he was highly trained and created of the warrior class, he was not as skilled in frontline combat as Michael and his standards. He was the high keeper of secrets, and the king had seen fit to bestow upon him other strengths. As he slid between them, Michael’s voice bellowed again, “Zadkiel, Jophiel, carve your way through these bottom-feeders; they are no longer our brethren. We must make it to the archive!”

  The din of battle grew nearly unbearable as the three forged ahead, their glistening heavenly weapons cutting down their fallen brothers, as sword and war hammer slammed against armor and shield.

  “Forward!” Michael screamed into the chaos.

  “Stop these slaves! The Machine will be ours!” Lucifer howled to his faithful.

  Suddenly, with an earsplitting crack, several blinding bolts of light struck down upon the cliff at the entrance to the archive, the light swelling and encapsulating the goliath forms nestled within. The battle seemed to slow as all eyes watched the glowing, whirring suits of armor as they came to life, rising, towering above the group.

  “That’s…” Raziel began.

  “Yes,” Michael called, “our father’s seraphim!”

  Raziel watched as true fear slid its way across the faces of the fallen as they saw the blinding, mechanical, whirring hulks come to life with a hiss: the seraphim, the high king’s elite guard. Nothing in the heavens, or below, could stand against them. With a titanic boom, the armored giants thrust forward, slamming into the lines of the fallen, whose dismembered bodies flew into the air like scores of shattered mannequins.

  “Move!” Michael called to Raziel. “Get to the Machine! Spirit it from this place!”

  “Where am I to take it?”

  “As far from here as possible.”

  As the group closed on the entrance, Raziel separated from them and stepped into the fray. Dodging left and then stooping low, he leaped high into the air. Swinging the Blaze down into the skull of one of the fallen, he saw the fiery blade cleave the evil creature below him in two. With a parry and counterstrike, he dove for the entrance, rolling and rising, swiping his blade upward to the torn screams of another demon.

  Slipping through the warring lines, he made it inside quickly, moving with uncanny speed through the vaults and stores and reliquaries. He only had a small window to act before all was lost. More than anything, he wanted to stay and fight, to stand with his brothers in the heat of righteous battle, the sting of Lucifer’s near-successful scheme still fresh in his mind.

  But no, his task was why they were fighting: he had to see the Machine safely away. Ducking into a secret alcove, Raziel moved his hand in the practiced manner down the length of the wall. With the sound of grinding stone, the thing was revealed, shrouded in light, an orb no larger than one’s fist. Draping a heavy cloth over it, Raziel wrapped it tightly and covered it with his hand. The device gave off a slight hum and even slighter warmth. Raziel hesitated. He knew he could not hold it in his bare hand for long. With a final resolution, he plucked it from its place and turned to run—but was stopped in midstep. There, beyond the darkness of the alcove, something stirred.

  “Michael?” Raziel called out. “Zadkiel? Jophiel? Is that you?”

  “You should be so lucky,” a terrible voice intoned from the darkness, deadly fangs just visible beneath black, lifeless eyes.

  “Abaddon,” Raziel growled. “How could you do this? You…How could you side with the Dragon?”

  “Because I like to win. And win we shall.”

  “You’re delusional. Look at you—what you’ve become. When did this poison begin to eat you from the inside? You used to be like a brother to me; you were my mentor.”

  “That I was. I suppose you could say I taught you everything you know.”

  “Not everything. I still know something about loyalty.”

  The dark shape laughed, shifting menacingly in the darkness. “Enough of this squabbling. Give me the Machine. You cannot hope to defeat m
e; you never could.”

  “Listen to yourself. Listen to your vanity. Do you really believe that the power of the most high is yours to share?” Raziel spoke with conviction. He sidestepped, jockeying for a better position as he continued to stall. He knew his adversary was right. He did not stand a chance in single combat with this monster. Flight was his only option—flight and deception.

  “Why should the power of heaven belong only to one? It is ours to share, and the Machine is our path to redemption! Join us, Raziel. Join us, that you may enjoy the power for yourself.”

  “Never. I would rather die than abuse the charge the high king has bestowed upon me.”

  Abaddon laughed mirthlessly. “You are but a sheep awaiting the slaughter. I certainly will oblige you the death you so long for—but it will not be swift. Give me the Machine. Lucifer has commanded me to seize it from you—dead or alive. I will not stop until I have completed this task.”

  Raziel paused and appeared to labor significantly before looking back up. “Very well. Come and seize it then. I am not yet ready to breathe my last,” he stated plainly.

  Caught off guard by this response, Abaddon was stepping forward when Raziel made his move. In a stunning flash of fire, Raziel swept Blaze from its scabbard and lashed the fiery blade across the eyes of his tormentor. Abaddon howled in pain and clutched at his face as Raziel lunged past him and leaped from the balcony, sailing out into nothingness. As he fell, he arched his back and felt his wings pull free of his garments. But as they did, a crushing force slammed into him from behind as Abaddon clamped down upon his body and with a roar brought his dark blade down across Raziel’s back. Raziel screamed like he never had before—the pain tearing a jagged hole in his mind.