Michael (The Airel Saga, Book 2)

by Aaron Patterson

  As my mind refocused on our more immediate perils, the Sword disappeared. I tried to call it up again but it was no use. Great!

  That’s when the last thing She had told me resounded in my head once more: I began frantically searching for the release for the reserve chute.

  Desperate, desperate, desperate. I groped, fumbling in the dark as we spun out like a one-winged bird.

  I caught a glimpse of the water below. I gasped as I realized how close we were to hitting the surface. It would be bad if we did, at this speed. Water or concrete, it didn’t much matter. Both were just as deadly.

  We couldn’t have been more than five hundred feet above the surface of the sea when my right hand finally found the release. I pulled as fast as I could. There was a great sweeping rushing sound as the reserve chute deployed into the darkness.

  But we were still falling very fast; I could see the waves distinctly now and we were not slowing.

  At last, when I felt I could reach out and touch the sea, when I, eyes wide, beheld our end and was powerless to effect it, there was a big pop above us. My limbs were wrenched again and I saw stars.

  I reached up to the control handles and pulled them both very hard, flaring the chute.

  Our feet kissed the waves; the deep reached up and pulled us in. Down.

  From the Book of the Brotherhood, Volume 3:

  …

  Dear Host, it is your privilege to further any advance of the Leader’s Kingdom. You hold your very life forfeit for the cause. You are to obey orders instantly and without question. For when you are finally unmade, you will find the nothing you now seek. The Leader wants to give it to you, but you must obey to the death…

  CHAPTER I

  Somewhere over the South Atlantic, present day

  NWABA WAS ENRAGED. THAT cursed idiot girl had brandished the Blade as if she had known more than she could know. It filled him with perverse admiration, for it was the kind of blow he would liked to have struck. But he had missed her entirely.

  The daughter of El had proven cunning. But how could she have known, been so precise? She had wielded the Sword expertly, had cut the cocoon away from his belly, had separated him from the host, Kim. Plus she had raked the righteous tip of the Sword across every rib on one side, a clean slice that oozed black blood.

  He quivered with deep hatred and anger, looking around frantically for the body of the host of the Bloodstone. The one named Kim was falling like a rag doll to smack upon the welted surface of the sea, lost unless he snatched her in midair.

  Worse still, she carried the precious cargo.

  Squinting his eyes he searched, crazed.

  There. He saw her flailing and pathetic form below him.

  Growling in scalding curses, he launched himself with his great wings and then folded them to intercept her. He could not damage the body of the host; he must get under her and slow her fall gradually. He shot past her like a bullet, spread his wings, nuzzled her onto his back and then flared just above the surf.

  He spread into a glide and slowed, reaching back with a claw and pulling her down to his feet where he could grasp her, look her over, ensure the precious cargo was safe.

  The host was intact; in a kind of hibernation mankind called a coma now. The host was, in fact, never better. But the pink backpack was missing.

  An unholy roar erupted from the heart of him. That insufferable girl must have cut the backpack off as well!

  So now Nwaba had two choices, and he hated them both equally: He could either spend himself fruitlessly searching for the wretched backpack, the Bloodstone, and that other valuable cargo— which by now had certainly been swallowed up by the sea—or he could return to his stronghold and attempt to mend and regroup. He could then return with fresh troops, specialized men and Brothers who could retrieve the object of desire from the bosom of the perilous deep.

  He called his captains to him and issued new orders: “Pluck them from the sea. And bring them to me.”

  Cape Town, South Africa, present day

  Mr. Emmanuel sat at the top of the world and clutched his side. This was not good. And it would ruin a perfectly good shirt. Though his laundress could certainly get bloodstains out, it wasn’t practical to introduce the problem in the first place. Too many questions would be asked, he would become quickly bored with it and then certainly have to kill her, and then he would have to go to the trouble and inconvenience to find a new laundress. And he particularly liked how she turned out his shirts.

  Exasperated, he stripped it off.

  The master must be suffering. And he will arrive soon, no doubt. Mr. Emmanuel sighed and employed the wasted shirt as a bandage, slowing the flow of the blood. It would do for now.

  He walked through his fiftieth floor penthouse toward the gymnasium. This would sting a bit, but the life was in the blood and he didn’t want to go ‘round losing too much of it. Whatever had happened, it was big. The gash was about a foot long, spanning the distance from just under his right pectoralis down one side to just above his pelvis. The inner flesh of all the ribs on that side had been exposed.

  In a cabinet in the gymnasium, there were various medical supplies. There were also cans containing an aerosol liquid that he hadn’t quite yet taken public. It was too good for that just yet.

  He sprayed it over his wound, the edges drew closed, and the bleeding stopped. It did leave a scar, and it certainly hurt a lot, but it repaired the damage.

  The mind was powerful, so much so that the connection between demon and brother would bring about real enough wounds if one or the other were injured. It was psychical, spiritual, so powerful that it crossed with ease into the natural. But Mr. Emmanuel fancied himself a god, and gods were eternal beings. He was in control of his own mind. Even if his demon died—the one for whom he played host—he would yet live. Besides, the Bloodstone was calling Nwaba onward now, and once they possessed it together the rules could change. Possibly in my favor; but he dared not think such things out loud yet.

  For now the only change he needed was in regard to his shirt.

  He slid the old one down the chute to the incinerator.

  False Bay, South Africa, present day

  I heard shouting in the wet dark, but it came and went and was distant. The waves were relentless and unpredictable, crashing in on us, entangling us in the lines of our chute, which, now that it had completed its job of grabbing air, was grabbing currents in the sea, threatening to pull us under.

  I flailed. Though he was strapped to me, it was very difficult to keep Michael’s head above water. The only way I could do it effectively was to lie on my back and thrust my belly up, but it was a herculean effort. Even with my superhuman abilities, I would not be able to continue like this for very long.

  The shouting came closer, but I still couldn’t make it out. Something about a propeller? Or something called shoo-daway? It didn’t make sense. Besides, I had other things to worry about. Great. We’re saved from certain death at the hands of Brotherhood traitors by an enormous plane crash, which thrusts us into certain death at the hands of gravity. And an airborne horde of demons. I went down the list, thinking that if I were a cat I would almost be out of lives by now.

  My top priority was fast becoming finding a way to release the chute from Michael and me. I thought it certainly had to be like the ripcord pull, only different enough to eliminate confusion. I tried to scramble for it with one hand, but every time I did that we sank under the waves. I was seriously worried about Michael. If his airway became restricted in his unconscious state, he would suffocate and drown. I didn’t know how to release the pack straps; I searched in vain.

  Now the shouting was near and very clear. It was Ellie. “…your chute away!”

  I figured she was telling me to cut the chute away. Like duh. Trying that, genius.

  “Airel, cut your chute away! Use the Sword!”

  The Sword! “Duh!” I said, and focused as hard as I could on my grandfather’s blade. It was obvious
when it appeared; the sea lit up all around it, fizzing like crazy. I did my best to cut us loose, being careful not to injure Michael or me. But the cords of the chute were on all sides now, tangled with us. After the first few swipes of the Blade we were in better shape, which was good, because I didn’t have both arms to keep us afloat. I kicked my feet as hard and as quick as I could to keep us up, but I was running out of energy fast.

  I looked around for the largest remaining mass of cords and took one final swipe at them. The Sword made the sea boil around us; I could feel the warmth coming across us in alternations of cold and hot. But at last we were free; the parachute fell away and drifted off.

  I had figured out by now how to put the sword away with a thought, and I did so. I basically just had to think of something I needed more desperately, and what I needed then most of all was to keep us afloat. The Sword returned to wherever it had come from and I treaded water furiously, hoping Michael hadn’t gotten too much seawater in his mouth.

  Then I heard Ellie’s voice. “We’ve gotta stick together! Stay close, okay?”

  I was breathing very hard, working even harder. “Okay!”

  “We’re in real danger, all right?”

  “Well, duh! Unless I’m missing something?”

  She spat salty seawater out of her mouth audibly. “Yeah! You are! We’re in False Bay, girlie. There’s no greater concentration of sharks in the whole world…”

  As I treaded water, I rolled my eyes. This is impossible. Just one thing after another.

  “Is it?” She answered me. “Just watch.”

  “So stay close!” Ellie continued. “And here.” I heard a pop and a whooshing sound, like something being filled with air. She slapped the water with it in front of me and I peered at it in the darkness. “Grab it!” she shouted.

  I did. It was a float. Now I truly understood the meaning of the words “life preserver.” I didn’t know where in the world she had gotten one; I figured it had to be just another part of all her fancy survival gear I had seen stashed away in the back of the plane. The plane. Holy crap, we just survived a full-on plane crash! But I couldn’t take the time to be amazed at anything. I had to keep Michael’s head above water.

  “And stay close, remember?” Ellie shouted.

  “Okay!”

  I tried to get Michael higher. I stuck an arm through the inflatable life ring and shifted his weight around, pulling the ring under us and floating us both. I slowed my kicking, just trying to keep us close to Ellie. And breathe. I needed to breathe.

  “Now,” Ellie said, a little calmer now that the situation was more in hand, “we just have one more thing to worry about!”

  Through my gasping ragged breaths I managed to ask her, “What now?”

  She pointed up. About a hundred demons were circling above us in the night sky.

  “Great.”

  Cape Town, South Africa, present day

  Kreios watched unmoved. The man and his Brother inside were scared, they knew that everything they did from this moment on was in vain. They ran in circles, maddened by his proximity to them, their minds driven to tatters in the drawing out of the moment by the angel standing, waiting at the doorstep. For here now was real authority, and their rebellion had found its end.

  But Kreios would wait for the signal as he had waited for Joshua at Ai.

  Then the two inside stopped their madness and faced him, cowering, finally bowing down and begging as they had been destined to do. For they had been devoted to destruction. Untouchable by any but the angel of death. When Kreios touched them they would find an end—and a truly terrible beginning; one they both knew and dreaded. Kreios was not the Judge, he merely went before Him to prepare the way.

  The moment drew near, he could feel it.

  Nwaba could feel something too. Ordinarily his master Lucifer, the prince of the power of the air, owned the very skies. But something was changing. Something familiar drew near in the air, but he could not isolate it and identify it. Who would dare to challenge Lucifer’s principality?

  But he knew the answer to that question. At least he thought he did, because still, specifics eluded him. It was a true authority, which meant the artifice of his own was soon to pass away. Oh, how he hated to be reminded that the favor he enjoyed was merely temporal. And it was favor, curse it all. He hated all of it.

  He flew on, toward his citadel.

  False Bay was a bubbling cauldron of activity that centered on three huddled individuals treading water. Demons circled above, swooping down upon them, trying to make a play for snatching them out and carrying them off. They descended as near the water as they dared, being as mortally afraid of it as any angel under the sun might have been. Some pumped their wings furiously as they tried to hover, some swooped and dove in massive arcs, aiming for the helplessly swamped daughters of El, and the Alexander, the traitor. All they needed to do was finish, snatch them up and be gone.

  But this was only one component of peril. The Great White shark, terror of the sea, was circling as well, and in numbers not found in any other body of water on the planet. Smelling fear, smelling prey, they closed in.

  “Just watch,” She had said.

  Well…I’m waiting. I was exasperated. I looked heavenward into a midnight blue sky, peppered with points of starlight and afflicted by evil beasts that wished only to end us. El…help! We were spent, surrounded, and my Michael needed help.

  I heard an unholy shriek from behind me. I turned quickly. In the light cast out into the bay by the millions of city lights, I saw a demon struggling to stay airborne. Then another Hellish scream resounded from another direction, and I turned in time to see one of the horde splash down, struggling violently in the sea. There was a frenzy that accompanied it, and I couldn’t make sense of what was happening at first.

  Then Ellie said something, awe in her tone: “Airel, look! Watch.” She pointed into the darkness.

  Lit in silhouette by the lights on shore, we watched in amazement as an enormous Great White shark breached, rocketing out of the water, its terrible mouth clamping onto the hovering body of one of the demonic horde. This one didn’t have time to do much but vomit forth a pathetic yelp before it foundered in the sea, sinking to its death.

  I gasped but was otherwise totally speechless. The sharks were all around us. Contrary to what I had thought, though, they weren’t a danger to us. They were like our vanguard. I wept for joy as our brave cohorts began to defend us.

  CHAPTER II

  Cape Town, South Africa, present day

  KREIOS SMILED. THERE WAS the signal; he could feel it. El was on the move.

  He stepped forward toward the doors and extended a finger. The glass returned to dust at his touch and scattered to the floor, some to the wind. The door’s metal frame, which had held the glass, oxidized and corroded in seconds, crumbling into blackened slag and falling into a heap.

  Kreios looked left and then right, withering every window and frame on the main floor into nothingness; dust. He stepped into the lobby, his body emitting pure white light that pulsed with his heartbeat.

  His footsteps left no trace, not even the residue from the soles of his shoes followed him. Indeed, the base elements fairly cried out and abjured him, grains of sand becoming animated and scurrying off to avoid his touch, his vicinity. He moved across the lobby smoothly, without observable evidence.

  The man and the Brother cowered powerless before his approach. In his wake was woe, the screams of the damned, the dust of the earth. As he passed by it overtook the two, and they were no more.

  Kreios moved into the heart of the building. Up. There were no barriers.

  The battle belonged to El, and it was magnificent. Now on every side of us there were hundreds of sharks breaching, pulling demons out of the sky, dragging them into the sea and then fighting over their remains. Black demon blood roiled in the salt water, producing a horrible stench that could not be described.

  The remaining demons retreated with scr
eeches of rage. They would not return to their master: to fail was to die. This night was death; a sound defeat. Something had changed. The few that remained turned to the west, disappearing over the wide expanse of sea.

  Kreios moved through the corridors of the skyscraper, working his way up from ground level. There weren’t many here tonight, but those that were wished they were not. He would oblige them, then. They would be no more.

  A man in a corridor staggered away from him, blood soaking into his clothes from underneath. Kreios passed him by; he was gone. Another man in an office met his eyes and then fell to his knees, begging mercy. A semicircle of blood soaked through his shirt. It was the size of his entire abdomen. For a moment it appeared that a shark had made a single bite out of the man’s torso. He collapsed and died before Kreios got to him, but in the wake of the angel he became mere dust.

  More. Upward. To the top.

  Nwaba landed by the enormous elm tree in the rooftop garden of his skyscraper citadel. He opened his jaws and spoke to Mr. Emmanuel, who had been waiting with salve for his wound. “We have had a change to endure.” He dropped Kim’s comatose body on the floor. “This one cannot yet be discarded. The Bloodstone is…temporarily lost.”

  Mr. Emmanuel said nothing, merely stepping forward and spraying the salve on his master’s wound. It stung Nwaba like mad, but it repaired him.

  Nwaba the chameleon then selected a smaller form; his favorite. The massive wings retracted and diminished, the color of his skin changed to pure white, and he became more like a lizard with the face of a man. The massive talons on his feet became mere claws, the claws on his hands became grippy pads, the wings became more like a cloak, shrouding his newly spare and diminished seven foot tall frame. His tail reduced its thickness to a mere wire, long and thin.