Knowledge Protects

by D. S. Williams

  William glanced at Clint and Matt. “Lyell tells me you need a sharpshooter. I have sniper experience and the added advantage of vampire speed. Let me give it a shot.”

  “William, if you get hit by lightning…” I started to protest, but before I could finish the sentence he'd snatched the gun from Matt's hands, and disappeared in the blink of an eye, a blur of activity as he tore away from us, and headed up the steps.

  “William!” I screamed. It was useless in the current circumstances – we could barely hear one another from a foot away, and William was well beyond that distance. I cringed when another rumble of thunder foretold of the next lightning strike, and all I could do was hold my breath and pray it wouldn't hit William. He'd reached the top of the stairs and was creeping along the wall, keeping low to avoid detection.

  When the lightning did strike, it hit further along the wall, and I released a breath I hadn't been aware I was holding when William continued to creep along the edge of the wall, his shirt plastered to his back. He turned to gauge where he was, judging just where he needed to set up to have the best possible chance of hitting Enlil and putting an end to this mother of all storms. If this failed… I didn't want to think about what would happen next, but I couldn't repress a twinge of dread.

  William crawled another foot or so, before he lifted the rifle, checking the ammunition, examining the scope and the sight, and holding it up in front of his chest to get a feel for the weapon. Another thought added itself to the panicked mix of fear congregating in my chest – how long had it been since William shot anything? He'd been created in the seventies – this weapon was probably nothing like what he'd used in Vietnam.

  “Have some faith, love,” Lucas murmured. “William is only too aware of what is at stake.”

  I watched William carefully adjust the weapon, before he held it up to his shoulder. What Lucas had said was true, William had his wife in the city, and of course, little Katie – he had as much to lose as the rest of us. Satisfied with the weapon, he released the safety, and then cautiously lifted himself onto his knees, resting the rifle on the edge of the wall. I pressed my hands to my mouth and crossed my fingers when another rumble of thunder echoed across the city. When the lighting struck, it hit further along the wall for a second time… and I sincerely hoped this would be over before the next hit.

  The wind buffeted against William, his wet shirt flapping wildly, untucking itself from his jeans and whipping back and forth. William quickly lowered himself to the ground again, placing the rifle on the granite beside him and resting one leg over it before he tore off the shirt and threw it to one side. The wind caught hold of the sodden material, whipping it into the air and it was sucked into the tornado, soaring in a circular motion into the vortex before it vanished from view.

  Picking up the rifle, William assumed the same position he'd taken just a minute ago, slowly creeping up to allow the tip of the rifle to slide out over the granite and targeting a point down below. As we watched, uniformly holding our breath, William adjusted the sight, taking a moment to settle the rifle more firmly against his shoulder.

  Time seemed to slow, each second passing at the speed of minutes as William struggled to maintain his balance, the wind battering at him, and rain leaving his skin slick. Water poured over his shoulder blades, hitting the stone beneath him. When the next rumble of thunder came, the ground vibrated enough to make it seem as if I would fall, but I stayed focused on William, watching as he steadied himself one last time, and took the shot.

  There was a moment when I assumed he'd missed, a moment when the next bolt of lightning hit and I thought everything was lost.

  But suddenly, as if someone had turned off a massive faucet overhead – everything stopped. The rain abruptly ended, the tornadoes dissipated, and the clouds overhead, while still stormy, lightened considerably.

  And everywhere around us, there was absolute silence.

  Chapter 40: Where in the World are Archangelo and Bran?

  Refugees started to arrive from the Realm, within hours of William stopping Enlil's attack. We'd already decided against sending further contingents through the rifts, and much to Keenan's disgust, even his forays were placed on hold. It was too risky, and we could do no more regarding a coup until we ascertained what the Fae and Drâghici's next step would be.

  Rifts began to appear on the plain, one after the other, creating further alarm when we suspected it was a second attack. When they opened, dozens of people poured out, Gilborg and his family among them.

  Watching from the top of the wall, our initial fears gave way to confusion as the Fae refugees walked from the rifts they'd created and approached the gates. A gnome came through a rift, rolling a rough cart behind him, which he pulled with a leather strap wrapped over one shoulder and around his waist. On the cart were what seemed to be all his possessions, along with a heavily pregnant wife, and two or three young gnomlings. From another rift came a Fairy woman, her leather tunic torn, her face badly beaten. She carried a small pack across one shoulder, and a baby in her arms. The countenance of her face was one of uncertainty and fear, panic and strain.

  “This isn't an attack,” Epi announced. “Aethelwine has learned of the coup.” He turned to hurry down the stairs, shouting for the gates to be opened.

  “A heads up might have been nice,” I grumbled to no-one in particular when I turned to follow him.

  “If I could have, I would,” Lucas snapped.

  He sounded distracted, and I paused mid-step, trying to figure out what was wrong. “What's going on?”

  “I can't tell you, love.” His response had alarm bells ringing, but for now, I had bigger problems.

  Gilborg greeted us with a tight smile, his red eyes more alarming than usual, because they were surrounded by heavy bruising, and a deep cut marred his left cheekbone. He had his arm wrapped around a beautiful Elven woman, who carried a sack in her arms, gripping it desperately as she stumbled along. I suspected it carried all she had left of her life in the Realm.

  “What happened?” Epi demanded. A swarm of our people hurried out through the gates, everyone capable of using a Hjördis commandeered to get these new people marked, and inside. There was a risk that this was a trick, a way of getting us to open the gates, but the alarm had come from our own system when the rifts started to open. The spirits remained silent, suggesting there was nothing to worry about. The uneasy sensation in my chest continued to grow, as I considered the lack of interaction I'd had with the spirits since my return from the Realm, but I had to push it aside, and deal with this next disaster.

  “When the Drâghici returned to Sarbon, they informed Aethelwine of your reappearance here at Zaen. It didn't take long to realize you couldn't have managed that feat in such a short period… not without Fae support.” Gilborg glanced down at his wife, and I noticed the strain in her features, the terror in her eyes. “We had little warning, but when she sent members of the Queen's guards to the barracks, we knew our deception had been revealed. Aethelwine is systematically slaughtering anyone suspected of being in league with the renegades. Rhoswen and I escaped with seconds to spare, but I'm afraid…” he swallowed deeply, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbed up and down with the effort required to hold back tears. “I'm afraid our son, Aldorin is missing. He and his bonded partner, Eraslein live in a different area of the city, and we had no way of reaching them with a warning…” He swallowed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment or two to regain his composure. “I believe all is lost.”

  “What of Archangelo and Bran?” Epi snapped. I watched him surveying the plain, mentally calculating how many were approaching the city. The number was in the hundreds, with more appearing with each passing minute.

  Gilborg shook his head. “I do not know. Neither of them have been seen for some days, but there are rumors—”

  “What kind of rumors?” Conal demanded when he caught up with us. He'd rounded up Gabby and many her witchy friends, no doubt to work enchantments over thi
s piece of land in front of the city, an attempt to protect everyone until we could mark them, and get them inside. There would be no opportunity to check their loyalty before we allowed them access – this was a rescue effort.

  Gilborg brushed an anxious hand over his chin. “I wish I could tell you more, but I know nothing. The rumors are indistinct, nothing clear, and Aethelwine and her supporters are keeping mute on the subject. What I have heard, suggests Bran and the vampire angel have broken away from the Drâghici and Aethelwine. There are rumors the two are now able to create an army of the dead and have no further need for the Drâghici or the Fae, but I have no proof.”

  In the mid-morning brightness, men could be seen on the ramparts repairing the damage, and alongside them, human men hurried along the wall, weapons at the ready, keeping a wary eye on the plain while we dealt with the masses of Fae approaching the city.

  Conal glanced at me, offering me a smile I suspected was meant to be reassuring. We hadn't slept since the attack; Conal and I sitting first with the city's leaders to discuss the events which occurred outside the city, and then on our own, trying to figure out what to do next. “Maybe it's time you spoke to Nememiah,” he suggested.

  Epi glared at Conal, before he turned his attention to me. “Have you heard something?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Has there been a nightmare?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. And I'm worried, because the spirits seem to be less forthcoming with each passing day.” I gestured towards the people stumbling towards us. “They didn't bother to mention this.”

  Epi scratched at the tufts of hair on top of his head. “That is disturbing child. Perhaps it is another sign of the Fae magic changing your abilities.”

  I bit down on my bottom lip, sucking it between my teeth while I considered. “I honestly don't know. But it's time I found out.”

  Epi nodded. “Go and speak with Nememiah, child. Leave us to…” he glanced over the mass of arriving creatures with dismay, “deal with the refugees. I hope Nememiah gives you good council. We need something to work with.”

  Epi's words stayed with me as I walked through the gates and headed towards our cottage, wondering again what was happening. It wasn't like the spirits to be reticent; usually they were burying me under advice, and I tried to think on when I'd noticed changes. Since I'd returned from the Realm, things had been different and I couldn't pinpoint when the spirits changed behavior had become distinguishable.

  Reaching the cottage with Nissa in tow, I left her downstairs with Rowena and Patrick, while I retired to our bedroom to try and figure out how best to get some answers.

  “Nememiah?” I settled on the bed cross-legged, pushing the worries to the back of my mind while I focused on calling the Angel.

  As the minutes passed, I spoke his name again, growing increasingly alarmed when nothing happened. While Nememiah often delayed his responses, now the minutes ticked by interminably, and I fretted, wondering what was wrong. Were we being abandoned to our fate? Was it all over, and we'd been left to deal alone with whatever happened next?

  “Where are you?” I muttered, lifting my gaze to stare at the ceiling while I considered what to do. “Lucas? Mom? Are you there?”

  There was another extended pause before either of them responded and I started to panic. When they did speak, I crossed my arms over my chest, gritting my teeth in frustration. “Wanna tell me what's going on?”

  Lucas shut his eyes, rubbing his fingers over his temples as if he was suffering a headache. “Things are… complicated, my love.”

  With a brief burst of concentration, I brought both Lucas and Mom into being, gesturing to the end of the bed as I eyed them suspiciously. “Define complicated.”

  “Charlotte, if I could tell you—” Lucas began, but I wasn't having any of it. The fact that I was late for my morning jab probably wasn't helping. The fact that I'd had less than three hours sleep probably wasn't helping. The fact that I was just damn well sick of all the side-stepping and avoidance had brought me to the end of my tether.

  “Tell me where Nememiah is,” I snapped.

  “He's been called before a congress of the Nephilim,” Mom admitted, uncomfortably.

  “Excuse me?”

  Lucas settled heavily on the edge of the bed. “He's been called before the other Angels. What is happening with you, Charlotte, what you can do… it is so far from the original concept of Nememiah's Children, and questions have arisen regarding whether you should have been smited.”

  “What?”

  Mum sat beside me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and I leaned against her chest. I was tired, so terribly tired. The phobias I'd developed about Archangelo were debilitating, but the constant waiting… worrying… it had become an endless cycle of terror. Since returning from the Realm, I'd struggled to get a handle on the abilities I had, and the new, more powerful skills had only added to the muddle. In conjunction with a sensation of having been abandoned by the spirits, I was swamped.

  “There have been questions raised, concerns regarding if what you are doing is the right thing. Nememiah has given you more aid, more support than other Children have received,” Mom added.

  “Some of the Nephilim believe you should be stopped,” Lucas added. “They think Nememiah should withdraw from guiding the supernatural beings on Earth, leave them to destroy themselves.”

  I was struck mute for a minute or two, while I considered this explanation. The fact that Nememiah was now in trouble… for letting me do what I'd done to save these people so far… the knowledge burned in my gut. “So, what you're saying… after all this… all the terrible things that have happened, all the pain, and the heartache, and the grief and the loss… these angels intend to wipe their hands of the entire affair. What does smiting even mean?” I demanded.

  Lucas smiled, the silver in his dark eyes swirling. “Ah love, I miss you, so very much.” He shook his head infinitesimally. “It means you would be removed from the Earth, struck down and removed from existence.”

  “But we hope that won't happen,” Mom added hurriedly.

  “But you don't know it won't,” I responded dully.

  “Child.” Nememiah's voice boomed through my consciousness and Lucas and Mom's presence dissipated, leaving me bereft. The prospect of what they were suggesting, the idea of leaving my baby alone… I was crying before I responded to Nememiah's voice.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I demanded, the words echoing around the empty room. I focused on Patrick's cradle, a swaddling blanket discarded at the end. If I wasn't here… if he was taken by the Drâghici… I struggled to think beyond that prospect until Conal's handsome features wavered across my eyes. I couldn't leave him again. I wouldn't leave him again. There had to be a way to sort out this mess.

  “No.”

  I scrambled to the edge of the bed and got up, pacing across the small room. “I don't suppose you're going to tell me what's going on? You've obviously got the spirits hog-tied and unwilling to tell me too much, because you'll send them off into oblivion if they misbehave. Well, if it comes down to it, you might as well do this smiting thing, because you know what? I'm sick of this. I'm sick of not having any messages about what's happening with Archangelo and the Drâghici. I'm sick of not getting any warnings. And I'm sick of this war! I'm over being your minion, and being left to deal with shit on my own!”

  The silence which followed pressed down on me, the very weight of it making my shoulders slump, my neck ache with pressure.

  When Nememiah spoke, his voice was a cold gust which set my hair to fluttering. “You have gone beyond what was planned for you, Nememiah's Child.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” I responded tartly, resorting to speaking in my mind. I didn't want to bring Nissa and Rowena hurrying upstairs – things were difficult enough and I didn't want them anywhere near if things were about to go pear-shaped.

  “I do not believe you do understand. Just as the other one is no longer fully Angel – neither are you.” />
  “What?” I stopped for long enough to stare up at the ceiling, and then wondered what I was trying to achieve with the action. Nememiah wasn't here. He was a voice, and that was all. With the current threat of being smited – that was probably a good thing.

  When he spoke, his deep voice was soothing. “You are no longer only a child of the Angels.”

  “I am!”

  “No, you are not. You have the magic of the Fae in your veins, and that changes much.”

  “Yeah, but that will wear off eventually—” I began, but Nememiah spoke over me.

  “The Fae magic is permanently entrenched in your soul. It cannot be removed.”

  I didn't relish the idea of having injections forever, because that would horrible, but before I could voice the thought, Nememiah continued.

  “The Congress agrees you will continue your quest, but there are limitations in place, not only upon myself, but also over what your spirit friends may do to help you win this war. Nememiah's Children were never destined to absorb the magic of the Fae, and this changes the doctrines under which I am able to assist.”

  I leaned my fists against my hips. “You do realize this Fae magic wasn't my fault, don't you?”

  “Yes Child.”

  His brief reply seemed to suggest I wouldn't be getting much more information. I decided to change tack. “So what does it mean? Can the spirits still fight with us?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I bring them back solidly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they going to give us warnings when there's going to be an attack?”

  “No.”

  I scowled. “Why not?”

  There is was again – that impression that the Angel was smiling, amused by something I'd said. “Because you do not need their warnings child.”

  “Can they give me advice?”

  “Some.”

  “Well, this sucks.” I flopped onto the bed, wondering what all these changes would mean, and fretting over our situation.