Star Angel: Rising (Star Angel Book 4)

by David G. McDaniel

  Yes, she thought. Best to leave the Conclave shrouded in mystery.

  Not that those events were reviled by most. On the contrary, many secretly thanked the Gods for the disruption of that upper hierarchy, for the loss of their religious dogma. The new alliance would never have come to pass without those events. Likewise the mood across the Dominion was filled with hope for the future. Kang had been banished, the old guard was gone, the Shogun and the Witch and the clerics and all else—no more. They had the beginnings of a global alliance and things were looking up.

  “What’s he saying?” Egg’s sister tugged at her arm. Egg looked down.

  “He’s talking about the angel.”

  “Ooh! I want to hear!”

  “So listen!” Egg shushed her and pointed toward the front of the large hall. Her little sister couldn’t see—Egg herself could barely see over the taller adults in front of her—but it wasn’t like the Daimyo was being quiet. He could be heard if she would just settle down.

  “Shhh,” Egg shushed her once more and craned her neck.

  At the front of the room the Conclave’s senior member was relating the details of his recent trip across the sea to the land of the Venatres. He’d gone with Yamoto, along with other top delegates from the Dominion, many of whom were still there, discussing plans. Now Daimyo Kazukhan was back and one of his first orders of business was to brief his fellow believers.

  Apparently Jessica’s friends had returned to Anitra but the angel had not. From what the Daimyo could gather she went off on yet another part of her quest, with yet another Icon, and the hearing of that raised spirits throughout the room. There were about a hundred members of the Conclave in attendance, all of varying degrees of conviction when it came to the Prophecy but all believers nonetheless, and they were excited to learn the angel’s journey continued. None more than Darvon. She looked over at her father, a few people away in the crowd, rising up and down on his toes to see just like her (Dad was short, even for an adult), though in his case it was probably also simple eagerness. Knowing her dad it was no doubt a combination of both. No one in there was more eager than him to hear word of the angel.

  As the Daimyo told it, Jessica’s protector, the Kazerai, Horus—known as Zac—had returned to the Venatres, along with one of the Venatres scientists and Jessica’s friend from Earth. They came with the starship and tales of an even bigger threat. An ancient alien force from another world that could be headed right there for Anitra. Yamoto and the Venatres were working even now on a way to stop that threat, to protect their world.

  All in line with the words of the Prophecy. All of it. These things that had happened, these things that were happening, the things they expected to happen—all of it. Everything fell right into line.

  It was exciting.

  Just as the priestess Aesha said it would a thousand years ago. The Golden Age was upon them; the angel had entered the final trials and the end was near. Whereupon she would deliver the world into a bright and shining future.

  Egg smiled. All the interpretations, all the philosophizing, all the imaginations of grand designs … She was sure the truth of it all was somewhere in the middle, somewhere between the believers and the skeptics. All that mattered was that things were going as planned.

  Their much-anticipated future had arrived.

  CHAPTER 38: LORD CHEOPS

  If the warriors looked like a cross between Sparta and Road Warrior, and the castle looked like a fairytale, the décor of the Brotherhood’s citadel was straight out of ancient Egypt. Their whole existence was like the fusion of three distinct themes, at least as far as Jess was concerned. Maybe here, on this world, they all went together naturally. On her world they were from three entirely different realities.

  Reaching the castle was done via a single bridge, spanning about fifty yards across a plunging gorge, which in turn cut the base of the mountain and separated the woods from the castle itself. On one side of the mountain a huge waterfall cascaded into a mighty basin then to a lake, the lake sweeping round one side of the mountain and off into the distance. It was quite spectacular, actually, and Jess tried unsuccessfully to take it all in as their small group of escorts clomped them methodically across. Most sound was overwhelmed by the proximity of the roaring fall, but there was definitely a quiet introspection that gripped them. Her own thoughts swirled maddeningly, trying to imagine—and not imagine—what was about to take place. The only bright spot was that Galfar continued to look unworried. Haz, when she glanced in his direction, looked about as nervous as she felt.

  The warriors, as Galfar predicted, were not displaying a high degree of excitement to learn who she was, and it was clear they struggled to show the enthusiasm they knew they should. If Jess was who Galfar claimed this was supposed to be a joyous occasion. They, however, had that slump-shouldered, suspicious look about them one had when realizing they might be facing the end of something they liked. Jess did not want to be at the middle of that. She most definitely did not want to be the cause of it.

  As they passed over the bridge and drew up on giant iron gates at the entry to the courtyard the Egyptian themes began to impinge. More of the dog-headed Elnab guards stood at the gate, looking like the Egyptian god Anubis with armor. Long pennants flew and banners hung at each side, alternating blue and gold horizontal stripes like those of a pharaoh’s headpiece, and now that they were closer she saw the banners carried images of golden scarabs and other icons that had a decidedly Egyptian feel. Beneath the archways of the gatehouse golden poles angled from mounts, stylized birds of prey wrought from the same atop each, looking like what could only be soaring eagles.

  At the gate the group held as the leader of the party exchanged information with the guards within. A deep grinding began and the iron bars eased from their locking holes, ratcheting upward, the weight of the whole apparatus tangible with each resounding clang and following thunk. Jess struggled from the rear of the group to see into the courtyard beyond. It was easy to see over the heads of everyone from atop Erius, but the gatehouse was long and there was nothing clearly in sight. Just more people, more warriors dressed like the ones with them at the gate, not much else to be seen.

  The group was moving again. Into the tunnel and down into the gray light at the end. The day was overcast though clearing, and most of the mist had lifted. At the same time the air had turned even cooler, the thin fabric of her tunic drier but still clinging wetly, and she began to hope she would be given a room and a chance to change. She’d been camping before, roughing it with her dad, but never for this long. After all the time in the open she had a certain crust about her she was more than ready to be rid of.

  Inside the keep they were taken to portions of the castle where private rooms awaited. Not sleeping chambers but places where they could clean and change and she found herself rejoicing. Amazed, in truth, at how civilized such simple amenities seemed. Just a short while ago a stone castle would’ve been primitive. Now, after days on the road and at sea, it felt like a five-star hotel.

  She was given female attendants, the first people she’d seen at the castle who were not obviously of the warrior caste, and they brought her a long gown made of blue fabric with gold embroidery. Whether from the same effects on her perception—having been so long among the austere clothes of that world—or if it was actually the case, the dress was one of the most beautiful she’d ever seen. It was made for a taller woman and dragged the ground when she walked, but she could wear it. There was a polished metal mirror to check it in, a sink filled with water and some hair brushes and other things. She scrubbed herself all over, wet and toweled her hair, then got into the dress. She didn’t know how much time she had or what was expected, and was still thoroughly numb and tired from the night before in the furious rain, but she got the sense things were proceeding and there would be no time to rest.

  With a dress like this she was probably meant to meet the Lord of the castle—Cheops, no doubt—so she adjusted it and made herself look
as fresh as possible. In the mirror she was once again taken by the stark beauty of her reflection. This was the first time she’d seen herself clearly since Galfar’s hut and she’d forgotten how changed she’d become, yellow eyes and all. After the fever, after the time on the road in the fresh air and the sunshine she was leaner, richly tanned and looking way more healthy than she felt in that moment, so striking she could scarcely believe it was her. It was her, of course, it was totally her; no one could deny that, no old picture or memory would show otherwise yet … she was something so beyond anything she’d ever been.

  And those eyes …

  When they came for her she was brushing her hair, over and over, deciding to do that as long as she could. It was shining. Long and brown with lighter streaks from the sun. It looked, actually, like the rest of her, stunning.

  What am I turning into?

  More and more she felt a spectator to her own evolution. Wondering what would come next.

  She followed the attendants from the room, down halls and up a few winding staircases, up from those lower levels to a wide room with towering arched ceilings that looked to be right at the center of the great castle, across to a set of stone steps that spanned nearly its entire width. Like a set of stairs leading up to a vast museum or a courthouse, only these were inside and led up under the same giant, vaulted ceiling. The sounds of a large gathering filtered down to fill the space. She wondered at Haz and Galfar and if they’d been taken to rooms like hers, and as her worry once again reached a peak she stepped the last few steps the top of the stairs and appeared before a great hall filled with warriors assembled at a tremendously long table.

  She swallowed in the quiet that fell.

  Galfar and Haz were there. Thankfully, she saw them at once, standing off to the side dressed in elegant jackets of the same blue fabric as her dress, similar gold trim and piping. They wore fresh pants, not unlike the linen-quality tunic they’d been wearing the whole journey, each with a pair of soft blue slippers. They looked sharp, their clothes fit perfectly, and all at once she felt vulnerable standing before that crowd in the loose-fitting dress. Like a child in her mother’s clothes, naked and barefoot beneath, fringed hems dragging the floor and gathering dirt; on display before a bunch of strangers at the dinner table. The dress had a high neck which came almost to her chin, short sleeves that hung to her elbows. It was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t hers, it wasn’t her size, and the ill-fitting weight of it made her feel suddenly shy and stupid.

  Galfar was coming to her. He barely used his staff, tapping it lightly on the floor as he walked, not leaning on it, holding himself erect in much the same way he’d sat straight on the horse as they approached the outpost earlier on the road. Forcing a greater bearing than came naturally. Jess could see he wanted to look strong before these people.

  So did she. Only it wasn’t working well. She hazarded a long scan of their bearded faces. Sitting at the table, waiting. For her. They’d been boisterous a moment before, but as she rose into view coming up the steps they quieted and now everyone regarded her in silence. Her eyes flitted across them, feeling like the guest of honor that no one wanted to be there—not her, not them—unable to scrutinize anything too closely in her current frame of mind. In passing it looked to be a table filled only with men. Warriors truly befitting their namesake: The Brotherhood of the Fist. As yet she didn’t know exactly where that name came from or exactly what they did, but she knew they were supposed to be the last bastion of defense for this world and they looked every bit the part. Most of them sported a mohawk of some sort, one or two bald—probably guys who were bald anyway and so, since they couldn’t grow a mohawk, simply shaved it all off. Mohawked and bald alike sported tattoos on the bare skin of their skulls; all had beards, many tremendous, all were white-skinned with white features; hair color ranged from black to blonde to red. Vikings. Each wore the same black armor pieces, plate metal on shoulders, chest and abdomen, gauntlets and greaves (the term for shin armor, she remembered from various Ren Fests), and heavy boots with hobnails that clacked and ground the stone floor as they moved or shifted, emphasizing their weight. All were big, as far as human men went, bare biceps and thick necks gathered all around the table … quite impressive.

  All this she took in as best she could, turning her gaze back to Galfar in the hope he might provide reassurance.

  “Come,” he smiled as he reached her and held out a hand. “Let me introduce you.” She noticed the female escorts who brought her had disappeared. When they left she didn’t know, but she was alone. She took Galfar’s hand, feeling his warm, calloused palm, and worked to gain composure. He led her to the head of the table and the man who must be Cheops.

  “Lord Cheops,” Galfar nodded to him as they stopped, confirming that expectation. Galfar released her hand. She wondered if these guys used telepathy. Her stomach was knotted so hard right then she thought she might heave. “Of the Brotherhood of the Fist,” Galfar added by way of introduction. “Protector of our world.”

  Jess nodded to the large man in the big chair at the head of the table, not knowing what, if anything, she should say or do. He was probably in his forties by the looks of it and leaned a little to the side, relaxed, with overblown muscles like all the rest. He had heavy, naturally brooding brows, a powerful, jutting chin wrapped by a red beard that jutted even further, a tall red mohawk and tattoos on his bare skull. She saw them clearly now and noticed the tatts were more of the Egyptian-looking glyphs.

  Curious! She felt a bit of her nerves fade, just a bit, as she found herself wanting to know so much more.

  “This is Jessica,” Galfar completed the introduction.

  “Jessica,” Cheops repeated. His voice was deep and rich.

  “She is come from the Other Side,” continued Galfar. “I believe she is the one for whom we’ve been waiting.”

  This statement only deepened the silence in the room, the weight of Cheops’ brow growing. If that was possible.

  “So I have heard.”

  Jess tried desperately to divine what the red-haired warlord was thinking, but before the atmosphere took a permanent turn for the worse he slapped the arm of his chair and sat straighter.

  “Then let us feast!” He smiled out to the faces assembled at the table and was met with shouts of agreement.

  Conversations resumed.

  Jess sagged, overwrought with the emotion of the moment.

  “Your timing could not be more perfect, Watcher,” Cheops said to Galfar in the ensuing bustle. “We were near sitting for the evening meal. Now we shall truly have something to celebrate. Come!” And he stood, as tall as any of them—much taller than Jessica and her little party—came over and took Galfar and her both by the shoulder. Jess smiled sheepishly as he put his beefy hands on them and steered them toward the other side of the table. Haz followed as Cheops walked them around to their chairs.

  “You have unusual eyes,” the warlord looked down into her face as he guided she and Galfar to the empty seats to the right of his own.

  Jess thought to say something about them, came up with nothing, chose instead to nod deferentially and comment: “Your name sounds familiar.” It did, of course, though he would never know why. It, as so many things she’d so far seen, was Egyptian.

  Cheops held the high-backed chair for her. She sat and he pushed it in behind, an unexpectedly gentleman touch, as Galfar and Haz took seats to either side. She breathed a sigh of relief as Cheops responded without apparently thinking her comment out of line:

  “Cheops is a king’s name,” he said, “taken from the time of the godmakers. From whence I take my lineage.”

  Of course. All these worlds must be tied together in the distant past. Earth, Anitra, this place—all of them. Earth was on the fringes or not known of during the Kel dynasties, apparently, all the way up to a thousand years ago when the Wars brought their empire to ruin, but prior to that Earth, and the other Kel worlds, must have been part of another empire, or at least in
contact somehow.

  Perhaps that also explained the presence of humans. How else could humans exist on separate worlds?

  “My mother regrets it,” Cheops added conversationally. He went back around to his own seat. “She says it’s done nothing but give me a big head.” Jess smiled—finding herself amused not only by the fact that Cheopses’ mother would regret giving him such a regal name, but that this bear of a man had a mother at all.

  One of the closer warriors leaned in. “Your mother regretted that big head the very day of your birth,” he said and that got a hearty round of laughter. Jess, too, giggled as she imagined a little baby Cheops popping out of his poor, anguished mother, flaming red mohawk and all.

  And as the entire table joined in they seemed a bit more human, these laughing giants. She looked up and down the length of it, at all the jovial faces. She felt so tiny! Haz and Galfar to either side did nothing to help. Her small group in their delicate blue clothes, seated at a table full of mighty warriors in black metal armor. Absently she wondered at their true strength. After what she did to the tree, what could she do if she had to fight them?

  A few more jokes and she marveled at how well she’d mastered the language. They might as well have been cracking wise in English. She took deep, centering breaths; simultaneously shocked and comforted to be sitting with so many strong men, the center of their attention, the air filled with their deep, bellowing laughter.

  She only hoped they didn’t turn on her.

  As food and drink were passed the festival atmosphere grew and she found herself watching everyone freely. They ate with the exact sort of gusto one would expect from guys that looked and talked like that, banging the heavy wooden table here and there to emphasize this or that point, speaking loud, spitting crumbs and taking huge bites. The plates were large and each setting had a tall, sturdy chalice, roughly engraved, forged of what looked to be solid gold. If that were true then each was a pound or more of the precious metal and worth, like, twenty-thousand dollars.