by Dianna Hardy
Her grandfather sat to her mother’s right, looking almost as distant as Gwain. It was clear that things were still strained between him and his daughter, but the two of them had exchanged words, and some kind of healing seemed to be taking place. It was bizarre to see them together, though – her grandfather looking youthful, and her mother looking old.
Elena sighed. You should be healing rifts with him too, scolded her mind.
Yes, she should. She just wasn’t quite there yet, even if the world was ending.
Katarra had gone back to her tribe to await the apocalypse. The Brujii, like the Totilemi, were keen for it to happen. The change would signal a freeing of powers for both of them, and for the Brujii, the ability to breech the confines of their forest homelands. If the dimensions were no longer separate, all demon tribes would be roaming the earth freely, even the Shanka.
The Dessec were one of the few demon races that did not welcome Armageddon. They had their own little desert oasis, and they wanted to keep it that way. Pueblo had often scoffed that for a tribe whose gift was bending time, they were ridiculously resistant to change. And now he was off on a mission to overthrow them all…
Finally, Elena looked for Karl. She caught sight of him through the kitchen doorway, on the far side of the living room looking out of the window. He’d been strangely quiet since Gwain and Mary had shown up, and following his little outburst of temper. She knew he would beat himself up over that for weeks to come, given that he hated thinking he was anything like his father.
She’d seen Gwain talking to him in private after that, but Karl hadn’t divulged anything to her. She’d let it lie, giving him time to calm down, but now, Elena stood and made her way to him. She didn’t get very far.
Karl turned and strode back into the kitchen, his expression grim.
One by one, everyone fell silent.
“Hundreds, if not thousands, of angels line the horizon,” he said. “This is it.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mary should have been scared. No – she should have been downright terrified. Terror was something that had always sat in the pit of her stomach, waiting for nightfall; waiting for her to close her eyes…
But she wasn’t afraid. For the first time she could remember, every single thing felt right, and the fear that lived in the pit of her stomach, had been banished by faith. She knew Gwain felt it too, but he had been tarnished by too many years in the physical dimension with only one half of himself for company. Faith was harder to trust when you were bound to something that promised you suffering.
She was no longer bound. All trace of pain she’d ever felt was gone. The only thing she was bound to was Gwain, and since they came from the same source, that actually just meant she was bound to herself. Since it’s impossible to be bound to yourself, she wasn’t really bound at all, but one hundred percent free.
Before the hour was up, she knew Gwain would feel the same sense of freedom too.
What they had wasn’t really just love. Love had a name. There was no name for what they shared, and since her transformation, and Sophia’s revelation, she had stopped questioning it, and had just let it be what it was.
Gwain stood abruptly, and his chair squeaked on the tiled floor. “Go,” he said to Karl. “Carry Kat; the rest of you can teleport. Did Karl give you my address?” he directed at Elena.
She nodded.
“You really won’t let us stay and fight with you?” asked Karl, clearly angry.
“This isn’t a battle you’re going to win,” shot back Gwain.
“Your faith in us, after everything we’ve done, is astounding.”
“Damn it, Karl, it’s not about that.”
“Karl,” said Mary, softly. She put herself between him and Gwain, and placed a hand on Karl’s chest. She let just the tiniest amount of her light filter into him.
His anger diminished a fraction.
“Karl, look out of the window.”
He did as she asked.
Michael’s enormous army of angels blocked out the morning sun as they flew closer.
“This isn’t your war,” she whispered. “This started an aeon ago, and it’s been a long time coming to this point. I know you want to stay, but there is nothing you can do. The part you play will be in what happens next. We’re at the end – you’re the new beginning…” she glanced at Amy, then at her womb…“all of you.”
Elena stepped forward. “Mary, what are you going to do? If you use that dagger … with the apocalypse triggered, man will fall into Hell. Isn’t that what Sophia told you?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I won’t let man fall into Hell. I’ve been there – it’s not nice. I wouldn’t put anyone through that.”
Gwain stiffened at her side, because the alternative was Michael killing them: apocalypse averted, mankind saved, their connection destroyed, and Mary suffering Hell in place of mankind.
I know, m’angeal … I know.
Karl swore, blinked back tears, then turned towards Katherine Green. He picked her up.
“Karl,” said Gwain, his voice rough with emotion, “I’ll be seeing you.”
Karl simply nodded, even if he didn’t believe it.
Mary turned to Amy and gave her a hug. “You’re going to be fine,” she told her. “When you next see Pueblo, tell him I think he’s going to be an amazing dad.”
Amy was too choked up to reply.
“Come with us,” said Elena.
Mary shook her head. “They’ll follow me wherever I go, and I’m not leading them to you.”
Elena’s face crumpled, and she threw her arms around her.
“Thank you, Elena … for everything. You’re kinda my only friend, you know that?”
A cough sounded around the room – it came from Paul. “I’m sorry to break up the party, but we need to leave now.”
“He’s right,” said Gwain, quietly. She was the only one who saw the corner of his eye glistening. “Now get the fuck out of here.”
With a last look at Gwain, Karl nudged open the kitchen door with Katherine in his arms, and took to the sky. Paul, Amy and Elena took each others’ hands, and dematerialised.
Mary turned to Gwain. “And then, there were two.”
~*~
It was the middle of the night in Death Valley, not that Pueblo had a problem with the cold or the darkness. His fire kept him warm, and his cat had great night vision.
He found the spot where he’d met that winged imp, sat himself down and wondered for the millionth time if this would even work. He’d gleaned a small amount of knowledge about shamans over his three hundred years, mostly out of morbid curiosity – that, and he’d been looking for a way to destroy them all; certainly in his youth, anyway. He never thought he’d be sitting outside his home dimension using their magical methods for himself. But life was full of things you never expect.
He closed his eyes, did the breathing thing he was supposed to do to centre himself, then brought the image of the fairy to mind. In his head, he made him tangible, real, corporeal; remembering what he smelt like, how the air moved around him as his wings buzzed at high speed—”
“You called?” came the voice he was hoping for.
Without wasting a second, Pueblo shifted into fire and pounced on the fairy before he could disappear.
“Hey! Fuck! You flaming, fanged pussy—”
He ignored the imp’s tirade and pinned him to the sand by his neck. Pueblo let his fire travel down his arm towards his hand, and the winged man’s eyes widened in fear.
“Don’t burn me! Don’t burn me!”
“First you need to shut up, then you need to listen,” he growled.
The fairy did as he was told.
“I’ll let you go, but first I want your word.”
“Er … word?”
“Yes. I believe that’s how it works, isn’t it? You give me your word, because if you don’t something bad will happen to something you care dearly about. Isn’t that how
it goes?”
“Erm…”
“Isn’t it?” He tightened his hold on his neck.
The fairy spluttered. “Yes, yes, it is…”
“Good. I want your word that you’ll do whatever’s necessary to help me take my kingdom back.”
“What? Go against the whole Dessec tribe?”
“Your word, imp! And the precious thing you hold dear, in this instance, is your life. I figured that’s the thing you care the most about.” Pueblo concentrated, and the flames around his wrist grew, licking the fairy’s face with their orange tips.
“No!” he screamed. “I mean yes! YES! You have my word!”
“Excellent!” smiled Pueblo. He put out his fire, plunging them both into darkness, and hauled the fairy up to sitting. “That’s all I wanted – your word.”
The imp eyed him warily. “You couldn’t have asked nicely?”
“Would you have given me a straight answer, or one clouded in riddles?”
He huffed, rubbed his neck, and then dusted the sand off his body. “Good to know you’ve got a set of balls behind those loin cloths – you’re going to need them if you plan to go up against your tribe.”
“I don’t plan to, I’m doing it. Finding you was the first step, and you only have yourself to blame.”
“How so?”
“I’m going to be a father, and I gave you my word I wouldn’t run. This is me not running.”
The fairy sat, stock-still, staring at Pueblo, and then his chest began to heave … and then he was laughing.
And so was Pueblo.
“Oh, shit,” the imp guffawed, wiping his eyes. “Demon, when you do run, make sure it’s never at me.”
“Don’t give me a reason to run at you, then. What’s your name?”
“Teigas.”
“Well, Teigas, my people have a shaman working with them.”
“They do?” he frowned. “That’s news to me.”
“Me too. You said I had latent powers. I’d like to learn how to use them.”
Teigas’ eyes lit up. “The end of the world is such an exciting place, isn’t it? We’ll make a shaman out of you, my friend… And you’ll take your kingdom back.”
~*~
Elena, Amy and Paul had already materialised inside Gwain’s apartment by the time Karl and Katherine got there.
They opened the door, and ushered them in.
“Good grief!” exclaimed Elena’s mum. “This is a damn sight better than his last abode.”
Karl placed her down on the leather sofa – which was the size of a bed – and turned to Elena. “Baby…” He didn’t need to say anything else. She was in his arms, and thank fuck for that, because he needed her. “Elena…”
She stroked his hair. “Sshhh … it’s okay … it’s okay.”
But they both knew it wasn’t.
“Karl … Elena…” Mrs Green beckoned them to her side. “Now, you two listen to me. Everyone’s path is different; everyone’s ‘happily ever after’ is different. Do you know what I saw when I looked at Gwain this morning? I saw a man who had finally found his way home. So, don’t you go shedding any more tears, or wasting any more anger over it.”
Karl took in her words with some difficulty. Maybe she was right. “It’s just … it almost feels like he’s just given up.”
“Pffft! You’re not paying attention. How long did he say he’d been searching for Mary?”
“Ten thousand years.”
“Just over,” added Elena.
“Right you are,” said Mrs Green, a look of reverence crossing her features. “Now tell me again, if that’s a man who gives up. Whatever the outcome, it won’t be because he gave up.”
She was right – Karl knew she was right. He was just pissed that some angel he’d only known for a month – who, in that short time, became more of a father to him than his own ever had been – was about to die, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He hadn’t been there for his mum either when she’d died. And it’s happening in the same fucking house.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, and dug his hands into his pockets … and froze.
Oh, shit. Oh, no…
“Karl?” asked Elena. “What is it?”
His right hand touched the metal of the keys that Gwain had given him; his left hand touched cool air as it passed through the hole in the cotton lining of his trousers.
This set the record for being the worst possible time to get a hole in your pocket.
He looked at Elena, his sense of helplessness now truly complete. “The Witching Pen – it’s gone.”
~*~
“Minutes,” muttered Gwain, as they stared out the living room window. “Just minutes before they’re here.”
“Gwain,” she whispered. Mary turned to face him. “I meant what I said to Elena. I can’t let man fall into Hell. I would hate myself knowing I…” Her voice cracked, and then she was in his arms.
“I know,” he said, his voice raw. “We’ll fight. We’ll stand and fight, however many of them there are. And Mary…”
She looked up at him.
“No one can separate us – not really. Ten thousands years couldn’t keep us apart. Whatever happens, my last breath will always be yours.”
She stood there, staring at him, trying to imprint his face into her mind in case this was the last time she’d ever see it, and wondered if all of her nightmares put together had ever been more painful than this second. “And mine, yours.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the kitchen.
“Where are we going?”
“Outside. However this ends, I want to see the sky above me.”
They were only a few feet from the back door when Abaddon appeared in front of them. Before anyone could say anything, three walrus-faced monsters tackled Gwain, pulling him down and separating them.
“NO!” screamed Mary, and lunged at the Hell-God. He predicted her movements with irritating ease, and before long, she was backed up against the fridge.
A quick glance at Gwain told her that it took all three of those monsters to hold him back, but hold him back they did.
She returned her attention to her not-so-heavenly father. “You hurt him, you hurt me.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve merged; the merging had an anomaly: he bleeds, you bleed. Heaven knows, Hell knows, the whole bloody world knows, and besides,” he wrinkled his nose, “you stink of him.”
She didn’t bother keeping her wings from folding out in war mode – she was too damn angry.
Abaddon reeled back in mock shock. “Ymari … what … my God … did you bleach your wings?”
Confused, her anger faded a little. Was he making fun of her? The apocalypse was here, and he was … teasing her?
He let out a chuckle, then unfolded his own wings. They were exactly the same as before: black as night, and slightly oily looking. Still, he stood there as if patiently waiting for her to realise something.
She shook her head.
He sighed in disappointment. “Did you bleach your brain too, my dark angel?”
“You lay a finger on her, I’ll find a way to end you, you twisted—”
“Down, boy.” he directed at Gwain, not taking his eyes off Mary. “Or you’ll find out what my wonderful minions like to eat for breakfast.”
Abaddon reached out with a tentative hand, and stroked one of Mary’s wings.
Gwain was practically busting a gut to reach her now, but those walrus things were fucking strong bastards, and it was three against one.
Gwain, stop. Save your strength. He’s not hurting me. And Michael will be here soon.
Mary was under no illusion exactly how much self-restraint it took Gwain to settle down, but something of what she said got through, and his struggling lessened.
She looked at Abaddon, and was astounded to find tears in his eyes.
They met hers. “Hell is gone, Ymari. No more sin; no more Hell.”
She swore she actually hear
d her brain click into realisation.
And he shall take all sin from the world. “You’re—”
“Free. I’m free.”
The hope that flared in her chest was immediate and sharp. She caught Gwain’s eye. No Hell – man can’t fall if there’s no Hell.
He nodded once in understanding.
Abaddon took a deep breath in through his nose, and then grinned. “I’ve heard nice things about the Himalayas. After being in Earth’s underbelly for so long, I fancy being high up near the clouds.”
“Your wings,” she frowned suddenly, as she thought of her own. “They’re still black.”
His grin faded into a sad smile. “Some sins are ingrained so deeply, the taint will never wash.”
And that’s when it hit her, how much pain he must have carried all these thousands upon thousands of years. Her nightmares had been horrific, yet she had still managed to be absolved of everyone’s sins. Abaddon hadn’t.
Unexpectedly, she welled up in sympathy for him, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
This time, his shock was not faked. “What are you doing?”
A little laugh escaped her. This was insane, but then, so was he. “What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m crying.”
He stood there, staring at her for a while, then reached out towards her face with a hand. “May I?”
Tentatively, she nodded.
He caught her tear as it slipped off her chin, and stared at it, dumbfounded. “Can I keep this?”
She bit back another laugh, because she sensed his vulnerability. Oh, hadn’t the tables turned… “Yes.”
He closed his hand around her tear, then brought his fist up, and flattened his palm against his chest, between the open collar of his shirt.
That was a nice shirt – she briefly wondered where he’d got it from.
When he removed his hand, she could see that her tear had crystallised above his heart. It shone like an opal, embedded in his skin. She looked up at him, speechless.
“No one has ever cried for me before. I shall never forget it. And you were wrong…” He stared at her open wings. “You look beautiful in white.”