Shattered Walls (Seven Archangels Book 3)

by Jane Lebak

  Nivalis said, “They’re all pointing toward you.”

  “Well that’s no good,” Zadkiel whispered to the sphere in her hands. “We need you guys to point to the rest of your friends, not have you all point toward each other.”

  She extended her heart into the sphere, and Saraquael did the same. His touch felt warm around the edges, and the little shards of Sheol material didn’t want to be with him. They avoided him, like magnets arranged the wrong end around. For her, on the other hand, they waited, still and poised. They had no motion as much as an air of waiting. Of longing.

  Remiel had described them like a school of fish, and Zadkiel concentrated on that image: a dozen or more darting creatures, all lined up together and wanting to stay together. She kept her concentration on the sphere but at the same time thought of the shrapnel in her spirit, and she tried to figure out a way to introduce them to one another, like water poured into water.

  “Should I lessen the Guard?” Michael asked.

  Deep inside herself, she didn’t answer, but she registered that Saraquael was saying not to break her concentration. Nivalis was moving around her too, still passing in energy but with the finesse of someone reeling out the thread of a silkworm cocoon. Zadkiel kept feeling through herself for the splinters of shrapnel that pervaded her spirit.

  The energy from Nivalis spiked, and Zadkiel flinched, but then it eased back. In that energy came understanding and tension, and then something more. A question. Nivalis wanted to hold the Sheol material too.

  Saraquael’s presence backed off. He wasn’t able to touch them, but Zadkiel keened inside as he withdrew. Then Nivalis entered into the exchange, and Zadkiel welcomed her presence.

  Nivalis reached for the Sheol material, and it responded.

  Zadkiel tensed. Nivalis moved through it, and while it didn’t follow her, it also didn’t run. It vibrated in place, and Zadkiel imagined it like that same school of fish darting for a just-spotted food source.

  Next Zadkiel felt Nivalis moving the Sheol material in the Guard, and although she couldn’t see it, she could visualize what it felt as if Nivalis were doing: kind of like a German Shepherd taking care of a flock of sheep, she was trying to get the material not to focus on Zadkiel’s material but rather to focus outward. And then she sent, May I?

  Zadkiel shivered. She couldn’t speak, but she nodded.

  Nivalis dissociated into Zadkiel, merging their spirits together. With an involuntary moan, Zadkiel hunched forward in Saraquael’s arms and fought nausea, and he held her tighter, but Nivalis stayed moving in her. It felt worse than the vertigo of being transported. This time her interior was rebelling and her body was trying to reject itself.

  Michael said, “Nivalis, stop.”

  Give me five seconds.

  Zadkiel counted, and at two, Saraquael said, “You’ve got it!”

  Zadkiel blew out a hard breath.

  Nivalis sent, I might be able to get the material out of her.

  Michael said, “What?”

  Zadkiel didn’t have a chance to react. In the next second, a deep dread filled her whole body, coupled with a desire to run and a desire to hide. She made a sound that wasn’t a whimper and wasn’t a shriek—she didn’t know what it was, but her body reflexively curled as if she were hiding, and Michael pulled that sphere from her palms just before she dropped it.

  “Nivalis! Out—now!”

  The sensation vanished, and Nivalis was saying, “I had it, but it wouldn’t come.”

  Saraquael said, “Michael, they’re oriented. They found it.”

  Shaking, Zadkiel wrapped her arms around Saraquael’s neck again as they flew. Beneath the heavy clothes she shivered, her body wet with a dull sweat, and she pressed her face against his neck. That feeling, that emotion—what was that? Limp, she let Saraquael fly wherever the shrapnel was directing him, but her heart kept returning to that dread and the urge to vanish.

  Nivalis was saying, “When I linked the stuff inside her to the stuff in the sphere, I was able to handle it. It was slippery, but it didn’t resist me. Not the way it resisted Saraquael. I thought I could get it out of her.”

  Michael said, “It looked like you’d have done that by killing her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Saraquael said, “You stopped when you needed to. I think you did great work. It’s not as if any of us have manipulated this substance before, and here you gave us a compass needle.”

  Zadkiel fought past the feelings toward the shrapnel inside her, and she found it responsive now. It was all straining in one direction, and she said, “Saraquael, we need to correct course.” She leaned in the direction she wanted him to go, and he shifted. All the little bits in her pivoted their direction again, and she listened to them. Seeker: Seekers could listen to the world and find what was hidden, reveal what was concealed. What did that make Nivalis, that she could gather what was scattered?

  The shrapnel didn’t feel any less pulverized or less diffuse than before. It was just acting as a unit with the material on the outside of her, and now as a whole they were stretching for another bit of themselves they’d been separated from.

  “How did you do that?” Zadkiel whispered, but her voice got blasted away by the wind.

  Saraquael went lower, and Zadkiel gauged the pressure in her heart. She wanted to be there. There was where the rest of this material was, or at least some of it, and it was trying to be all together. Distance didn’t matter to it: it reached through Creation and bent space to find itself and draw together. She leaned forward out of Saraquael’s arms, and he said, “Whoa, stay put. I thought you didn’t want to fall.”

  “It’s out there.”

  “I know.”

  No, he didn’t know. He couldn’t feel that tug, that crazed yearning to be near the other object. What is this stuff?, she prayed. Why does it respond this way? The original Sheol material hadn’t behaved like that. Or had it? Gabriel had developed a way to get it to interlock with itself, but that had been a forced thing. The weaponized stuff wasn’t passive. It struggled to be with itself, and she had a hard time staying still against the urgency.

  And somewhere, out in Creation, this stuff was yearning to be with her, too, straining back toward her even though it didn’t know her or who she was. It just wanted to be all together again.

  “Down,” she said before she even realized she was speaking, and Saraquael descended, but it wasn’t fast enough. Zadkiel fought the momentary urge to jump. He projected a question, and she reached with one hand as if she could grasp the thing she was Seeking. He followed her arm, and she gave minor corrections as they drew closer.

  He stopped.

  “Keep going!” She leaned forward. “What are you doing?”

  “There’s a mountain in front of us. Right here.”

  Her fingertips brushed stone.

  “Set me down, then.”

  He placed her on her feet with a caution not to move too quickly, and Zadkiel embraced the rock. “It’s so close,” she whispered. She pressed her body against the side of the mountain, then rested her cheek against it too. So, so distressingly close.

  Mary finished helping the servant put away the cups and bowls, then turned to find the household’s little girl in the kitchen doorway. “A visitor wants you. She’s in the courtyard.”

  Mary wiped off her hands and tucked her hair back out of her eyes before taking an oil lamp from the shelf.

  “Do you know who it is?”

  The little girl giggled, an amazing sound from someone who’d been so close to dying. “I don’t know who any of these people are, Mistress.” She took Mary’s hand. “But it’s fun. Daddy’s so confused, but Mommy is happy.”

  Mary smiled, then turned through the courtyard door and stopped.

  It was Remiel, Remiel standing, shaking. “Oh, sweetheart!” Mary rushed to her. “You’re back! We were so worried!”

  Remiel nodded. “Can I have some water?”

  Mary sent the little gi
rl into the house to fetch a cup, and she guided Remiel to one of the benches. “Sit. You’re exhausted.” More than exhausted: her clothing was damp, and she had bruises shadowing both eyes. She wasn’t wearing her sandals, and an air of smoke clung to her from the house fire. “What happened to you?”

  “Satan took me last night.” Remiel’s eyes filled with tears. “I had to fight, but I got free. I came back. Where is Zadkiel?”

  The girl brought the cup out to her, and Remiel gulped it down.

  Mary said, “She’s looking for you.”

  Remiel looked up, eyes wide. “Do you know where she went?”

  The oil lamp sputtered a bit, and the little girl went back into the house. Mary said, “I don’t know how they planned to find you. I wasn’t part of that conversation.”

  Remiel leaned forward urgently. “Tell me! Who went with her?”

  Mary took Remiel’s hand. “Don’t worry about Zadkiel right now. They’ll come back when they can’t find you.” She gathered herself. “You’re so tired. You should lie down and sleep.”

  “Not until I know what happened to Zadkiel.”

  The hair stood up on Mary’s arms and on the back of her neck. She prayed, Help me.

  Remiel clenched her fists in her chiton. “Tell me! This isn’t a game—she’s in danger looking for me, more danger than she knows, but I’m safe! I have to go after her!”

  Mary tried to focus on Remiel in the dimming light. “I thought she was your superior officer.”

  Remiel’s nose wrinkled. “Hardly. I’m one of the Archangels of the Presence. She’s so much weaker than I am. That’s why I need to protect her.”

  Was this really Remiel? Was it a trap? Mary couldn’t be sure. Remiel had been rough around the edges at the best of times, and maybe she felt ‘off’ because she was scared. Maybe getting beaten up by Satan did that to you. Or maybe it wasn’t Remiel after all. She looked like her. She sounded like her. She acted like her, and she felt like her. But how to be sure? Humans weren’t meant to make these kind of discernments. God, help me, please.

  “Please. I have to go after her. I can’t just abandon her.” Remiel blinked with tears running down her cheeks. “And I’ll need you to help me too. When I return, I’m going to be hurt. I’ll need you to remind me of what I was because I’ll be battered and confused, and if you do that, I’ll be able to recover. I’ll need you to give it like an order: Remember who you were. You need to be what God made you to be.”

  Mary took Remiel’s shaking hands in her own. They were soft, clammy. “Sweetie, you know I want what’s best for you, and you know I’d do anything God wants me to do for you. You came to me for help, and I took you as my guest.” She braced herself. “That title you use for me?”

  Remiel said, “You aren’t going to stand on titles now, are you? This is important!”

  Mary waited.

  “Fine.” Remiel rolled her eyes. “My lady.”

  Mary stood. “Leave here.”

  “You’re not going to help?” Remiel’s eyes widened. “How can you do that to me?”

  Mary walked away. “You’re not Remiel. Go.”

  Remiel rushed after her, grabbing her arm. “Anything that happens from here out is your fault! You could have helped!”

  Mary said, “You have no authority here. In the name of my Son, leave.”

  The pressure vanished from her arm. She turned, but there was no one, only the hint of smoke and a pair of damp footprints on the courtyard stone.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Michael made sure Zadkiel wasn’t about to slip off the edge of the mountain and plunge a mile to her death. Hastle had chosen a lovely spot to hide his cache of stolen goods: no human was going to randomly stroll into this area, given that it was a thick forest broken only by tons of upthrusted stone. Even to get here required the ability to fly. Either that or skill to stick to walls. Most humans didn’t have either.

  “Now what?” Nivalis said.

  As Michael watched, the color returned to Zadkiel’s face. Whatever Nivalis had done to her before, it had left her ash white in a way Michael hadn’t seen other than on a soldier bleeding out from a hacked-off limb during a battle. Her blood pressure had dropped, and her brain had output a cornucopia of stress hormones, and when he’d ordered Nivalis to stop, he hadn’t even been sure it was soon enough.

  Just like stepping off this cliff, in other words. Michael said, “How far inside is it?”

  “I’ll scout it out.” Saraquael pressed up against the rock face the same way Zadkiel was, only he didn’t wear the same contented look. “About a wingspan in, there’s an opening, like a natural cavern. I bet it’s in there.”

  Eyes closed, Zadkiel nodded.

  Nivalis said, “Should we flash her inside?”

  “It’s this big,” Saraquael said, holding his hands apart. “We might get her head in, but not the rest of her.”

  Nivalis frowned. “So what are we going to do?”

  Michael formed up his sword. “Hold onto her,” he said, and he sliced through the mountainside.

  The rock split beneath the soul-energy of the sword, and he felt Saraquael directing his cuts so they gained access to the area but didn’t destroy it. Nivalis steadied Zadkiel, and Michael cut a broader shelf for her to stand on, then made two more slices. Stone slide away down the mountainside, and while smaller pebbles skittered along the rockface, he studied the new opening.

  Saraquael said, “This is good. Hang on.” He solidified and began removing stone pieces by hand. “Let me know if you feel the material come loose.”

  Zadkiel said, “It hasn’t moved.”

  Michael and Saraquael shifted stone until Michael found the first opening of the crawl space in the stone. No, not crawl space: Saraquael was right about the size of the thing. Maybe a badger could fit inside, but even that would be snug. Water must have hollowed out this tiny spot over centuries, and then the flow had dried up, leaving just this hollow area.

  Yeah, Hastle knew how to hide a thing.

  While Michael cleared more of a shelf so Zadkiel would be able to reach the rock cubby, Saraquael shone light inside and sent a warning to any critters that might be living in the area. “No spiders, snakes, or rodents,” he called into the hollow. “You aren’t wanted right now. We’re big scary angels, and we’re higher up the food chain than you are.”

  Zadkiel sounded tart. “I’m not afraid of spiders.”

  “Humans have this reflex to jump when a bug crawls on them.” Saraquael shrugged. “I didn’t want your body to take a flying leap while your brain was insisting it wasn’t afraid of spiders. At any rate, it’s clear now.”

  “Thanks.” Zadkiel pressed her chest against the rock, then her cheek. “It’s so close. You have no idea. The pieces want to come together.”

  Oh, he had the idea. Michael looked at the sphere, all the little shards pressed up against the side nearest the stone, all pointing the same direction, same as Zadkiel was doing. If they could turn her back into an angel, she’d already be in there, curled around the material. Instead she reached a hand deep inside and probed, but Michael could tell she wasn’t finding it just by touch.

  “Hold the sphere inside,” Nivalis said. “I’ll go in and get a direction from the shards.”

  Nivalis vanished, either making herself tiny or else discorporating to enter the cavern. Michael miniaturized himself, leaving Saraquael to keep Zadkiel steady on the rock ledge.

  In Zadkiel’s hand, the sphere glinted, and Michael sent to Saraquael, Tell her to move her hand a bit left, and then, Have her raise it. Each time, he streamed a light forward from the points of the shrapnel. And finally, Have her move it a third place. Anywhere.

  Gabriel had said more than once that with three vectors you could triangulate the location of anything. And right now, Michael had all three.

  Where the three beams crossed, Michael found an ordinary stone. He touched it. Ordinary. Solid.

  Zadkiel pulled the sphere back from the op
ening, and she must have passed it back to Saraquael because when she reached back in, she was empty-handed. With Nivalis guiding her movement, she extended her fingers and was just able to brush the stone. Michael heard her gasp. She strained forward, and with her fingertips she rolled the stone out of its niche in the wall.

  It dropped, but she found it again, and Michael flashed back outside.

  On the ledge, Zadkiel had the pebble in her hands. “It’s here. It’s Guarded, but it’s in here.”

  Michael said, “Time to unGuard it.”

  He took back the sphere, and while Saraquael kept Zadkiel secure on the ledge, Michael held both it and the pebble on his palm. He asked Nivalis to create a Guard surrounding both. “I don’t want this stuff to scatter, so make it strong.”

  Within the outer Guard, Michael created a third, tinier Guard encircling the pebble, and he crushed it down, focusing his entire will on the stone. The pebble fragmented, and he let the rock bits pass through the Guard like a shower of powder on his hands. He pushed harder, and at the core he met with resistance, a miniature Guard woven into the rock itself and searing with desperation.

  Oh no, you don’t. This was Hastle. This felt like Hastle and it vibrated like Hastle, and if he could smell and taste it would have done those like Hastle as well. The Guard buckled but then rallied, and Michael knew that in Heaven, in a sealed cell, Hastle was fighting him, resisting with all his power as the pressure on the Guard intensified every second. Hastle wanted this. Whatever Hastle had been planning, he needed this, and right now he diverted all his strength into it.

  Somewhere between Hell and Creation, that tunnel had to be collapsing because Hastle couldn’t power both of them. Somewhere in Hell, anything Hastle had tried to stash in secret was now on its own. He was putting every energy into resisting, and Michael kept pressing, crushing it down, determined, relentless, until finally Hastle’s Guard caved and Michael’s smashed it apart.

  “Got it!” Nivalis exclaimed, but she didn’t need to. A blizzard of Sheol bits exploded out of the place the pebble used to be, swirled like a cloud, and then rushed around the sphere of other bits. Michael released the inner Guard between them, and they all joined together.