The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6)

by Travis Simmons

  Angelica lost contact with the sword. She darted forward, trying to grab the pommel, but the rephaim turned, stumbling further away. He clawed at the blade, trying to wrench it free, but it wouldn’t budge.

  He collapsed to his knees and arched his back. He opened his mouth to scream, and out of his gaping maw sprung forth a powerful white light. Now that Angelica watched, she could see fissures and creases opening up along his skin, splitting him like weathered stone. Light poured out of his being, refracting off the falling snow, illuminating the area with blinding white light.

  And then the light was gone, and so was the rephaim. The shin-buto blades fell to the ground where he had once been.

  Relieved, Angelica sagged to the ground, allowing herself a moment to catch her breath before gathering her sword and checking on Jovian.

  Even as the snowfall began to thicken, Joya didn’t lose sight of the verax-acis. She raced through the distance, waiting to get a better sight of him, her wyrd humming through her body. And then, just as she was about to release it, the verax-acis turned and fixed her with its dead eyes.

  All the memories of what she’d endured came back to her: all of the fear, the torture, the feeling of bugs in her brain. On the snow she could smell the burning wood and flesh of the plantation from her most recent vision as the power of the verax-acis threatened to drown her once more.

  “No!” she yelled, flinging out her arms, and a torrent of pink fire consumed the verax-acis, combusting his robes and swirling around him.

  But then the vision wavered, and the fire was gone, and Joya was kneeling in the snow at the mercy of the verax-acis, wondering if she had even lashed out with her power or not. She straightened, staring straight into the creature’s eyes. Every inch she rose was like fighting her way out of a grave. He bore down on her with his power, making Joya desire nothing more than to kneel before him, but she fought through it. Sweat bloomed on her lip, and her head began to pound, but through the pain, she rose higher.

  This time when she lashed out, it was with lightning, blasting the verax-acis into the air and smashing him into the side of a building with such force that when he began to slide down the surface, he left behind a trail of blood.

  Again the vision wavered, and Joya was on her knees, the verax-acis getting closer and closer to her.

  And then, out of the darkness to her left came a blinding white flash.

  The verax-acis stumbled back, and Joya could almost see them, the ghosts summoned by Cianna to protect them and keep them safe. They converged on the verax-acis, and through her wyrd Joya could hear the hum of their lies, chasing the verax-acis further away from her as he fled. But she wouldn’t let him go. With a twist of her mind, Joya hardened the air around the verax-acis, freezing him in mid-flight.

  He was weak now, his focus obscured. It was her chance to strike, and she did. Joya held her hand up and conjured water. The pink liquid formed in her hand like a spear, where the air quickly froze it. And then she released it, the spear flying straight and true, skewering the verax-acis through the chest. Blood slashed across the snow. With another twist of her mind, the ice exploded, showering chunks and bits of the verax-acis around her.

  She raced to Cianna’s side as the necromancer started to come to. In the distance Joya could hear Caldamron and Shelara coming back to themselves as well.

  “Oh, dear Goddess, Joya, I saw the worst things!” Cianna said, clinging to her cousin, casting terrified eyes at her.

  “I know,” Joya said, nodding. “But they were just what the verax-acis wanted you to see, they weren’t real.” She was comforting Cianna, but also trying to soothe her own emotions. No matter the conviction she put in the words to Cianna, Joya couldn’t believe them. They had seemed so real, like she wasn’t actually seeing what the verax-acis wanted her to, and more like she was seeing something that had happened. “They play off our fears,” she said to herself and Cianna. “Whatever you saw wasn’t real.”

  “Unless it was,” a menacing voice said from out of the darkness.

  Cianna jumped up beside Joya, and peered out into the thickness of night. But they couldn’t see anything. Through the snow a darkness came closer, like a cloud of night moving in on them. Tendrils of blackness snaked out of the distance and through the city, plunging it into night.

  Laphrael led Grace down the hall from where she had come, through the altar room, where the moonlight shone through the atrium, painting silver silhouettes on the floor. From there he took the central spoke, behind the chair, down a darkened corridor lit by insubstantial lamplight. After the intense light of the altar room, Grace was nearly blind, but she kept following Laphrael’s back, which almost glowed in the darkness.

  As they neared the end of the hall, Grace could hear voices from behind a closed door. She recognized Sara’s voice. Laphrael didn’t wait, nor did he knock. He pushed through the door as if he owned the basilica.

  All eyes turned to Grace and Laphrael as the door thundered against the wall.

  “I’m sorry,” Grace started to say, apologizing for the intrusion.

  “This is who we need to protect — not the High Votary, but the Moonchild,” Laphrael said, cutting through the silence brought on by their entrance. He indicated Grace.

  “Well, hello to you too,” Annbell remarked.

  “What do you mean, we need to protect Grace?” Atorva asked.

  “I told you,” Laphrael said to the High Votary as if he’d already explained this and didn’t want to do it again. “When the Goddess sent me here it was with instructions to protect her body in the realms. I came here thinking that would be you, naturally.”

  “And it’s not?” Atorva asked, his weathered face wrinkling with confusion.

  “That’s what I’m telling you now,” Laphrael said. Grace blanched at the way the angel was speaking to the High Votary. She had never even heard of a person speaking to the High Votary in such a way, but then again, Laphrael wasn’t a person.

  “Sorry for our confusion!” Rowan said, bowing grandiosely. “How foolish we are to assume that the chosen body of the Goddess in the realms isn’t the actual body of the Goddess in the realms.”

  Grace backed away a little. The room was high with attitudes. She was used to being the final voice in most affairs she was concerned in, but here she felt nothing but a child, watching a play of power before her. Apparently Laphrael wasn’t as well-received as she thought he would be.

  “Atorva was elected by humans,” he said the word scornfully. “Grace is the Moonchild.”

  Atorva sat down heavily, but the others gathered within the room didn’t seem to understand what the title meant.

  “The Moonchild is real?” Atorva asked.

  “I’m lost,” Sara said, massaging the space above her eyebrows. “What, exactly, is the Moonchild?”

  “She is the body of the Goddess in the realms,” Atorva said.

  “And Grace has always been the Moonchild?” Rowan asked.

  “It’s not something that comes and goes. If she is the Moonchild now then she’s always been the Moonchild.” Atorva was looking at her with a mixture of skepticism and reverence.

  “How do we even know this is real?” Rowan asked. “Because Laphrael said so?”

  “I can’t think of any better reason to believe it,” Azra said.

  “Grace, is this true?” Annbell asked.

  “That’s what I’ve been told,” Grace said, stepping forward to stand beside Laphrael. She felt amazingly small next to him, and not because he was a towering sculpture of muscular relief. His power was immense, and she could feel it wafting off of him like the rays of the summer sun.

  “Who told you?” Atorva asked as though they were now finally getting to something, as if Grace had a test to pass.

  “I did,” Laphrael said. “I noticed the power the moment she found me.”

  “I’ve been having dreams,” Grace said because no one looked at Laphrael. They were waiting for an answer from her. “The G
oddess has come to me in a dream; there’s a huge oak inside a field of many flowers. She has told me that I’m the embodiment of Her in the realms, and then she showed me many other incarnations. She said I was a Harbinger of Light, whatever that is.”

  Sara looked at Grace, concerned, and Grace could sympathize. It was strange beyond words for either of them to hear terms they didn’t know, and “Harbingers of Light” and “Moonchild” were certainly foreign words to them.

  “So what? They were only dreams,” Rowan scoffed. “You’re just as bad as Azra.” Rowan sat down and leaned back in her chair.

  Grace nodded agreement. “That’s what I thought too, but strange things have been happening. I knew Laphrael at a glance, and I’ve felt the power of the Goddess grow in me with every dream.”

  “No, she’s right,” Atorva said. “When votaries are chosen they speak of the same visions. The Goddess comes to them and chooses them. They see the field of flowers and Her Kingdom beyond, but never are they allowed to venture through the field; that is sacred only to the Goddess. Are you sure you were inside the field?”

  “Yes, and under the tree. I was told it was my tree, and I could feel that was true.”

  “Then it’s settled. I can do my work out amongst the fray,” Atorva declared.

  “But there was more. Actually, when I ran into Laphrael tonight, I was coming to tell you about the most recent dream I had. The Goddess came to me and warned me that the attack by the alarist today wasn’t the last. There would be more, and before the angels are able to come to our aid,” Grace said.

  “We knew that already,” Rowan said.

  “No, actually we didn’t,” Annbell said.

  “That’s why we were here tonight,” Sara reminded them. “We were trying to figure out when they would come.”

  “So what do we do with Grace?” Aladestra asked.

  “Keep her safe,” Laphrael said.

  Pyang opened his mouth to speak, but before any of them could say a word, the air vibrated with a strange note of power. Grace placed her hands to her head and looked around at the assembled Guardians for indication of what was going on.

  But she didn’t need to ask them. She knew already. The notes of the buildings that trembled with holy power in the light had changed. They were a warning: danger was coming.

  There was a loud explosion, and Grace swayed on her feet. No, danger wasn’t coming, it had already found them.

  “Jovian?” Angelica said, reaching out to touch her brother. But as if her words stirred him Jovian jolted upright, scrambling for his weapon, which was several feet away.

  “Where is it? Where’s Maeven? What happened?” His eyes fell on Maeven, and he was up, stumbling across the snow in his befuddled state. He crumpled beside the dark-haired man and pulled him into his lap.

  Angelica reached for Jovian’s shin-buto, unsure if she should touch it or not. After what had happened with the rephaim, Angelica was wary to place fingers to pommel. She was certain it was the effect of the two shin-buto blades combining in the center of the rephaim that had done the trick, but she couldn’t be sure. Finally, with a deep breath, she gripped the sword. Nothing happened. Quickly she took the blade back to Jovian and rested it beside him.

  “Is he breathing?” Angelica asked.

  “Very faintly,” Jovian said. “I can barely feel a pulse.”

  “We can’t keep him out here in the cold,” Angelica said. “Even with his cloak, the cold isn’t good for him. What are we going to do?”

  Jovian looked up at his sister, his eyes wild. “What will even happen to him now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s so weak, how will he survive?” Jovian asked.

  “I really don’t know,” Angelica told him, hating the helplessness in her voice. “But we need to get him somewhere away from this coming storm. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to hole up here; we can stay the night and try to figure something out.”

  “Help me get him into the vault,” Jovian said.

  “I don’t think he can enter there,” Angelica said.

  “Why not?” Jovian said.

  “I think that’s a place for angels. Let’s get him into that tower there,” Angelica pointed to the building closest to her. The door was shut, but didn’t seem to be locked. “With any luck it’ll be warm.”

  She grabbed Maeven by the shoulders, and Jovian took hold of his ankles.

  “Be careful with him,” Jovian said. Angelica nodded, and she lifted Maeven’s weight. She had never thought the man could be so heavy, but he was completely limp, and that was making it harder to move him. Slowly they reached the building, and Angelica looked for a knob. She couldn’t find one, and she looked all around, realizing now that the door was a single piece, not anything that looked like it could open up as she wanted it to. Remembering what happened with the glass when Jovian touched it, Angelica laid her hand to the door, and it sprang into action, hissing open, lifting up out of her way like a curtain on a stage.

  When the door opened lights flickered on inside, as if in response. They were in a hallway, which branched off to several rooms with similar doors barring their way. Angelica picked the first one, slapped her hand to it, and the door hissed open.

  “In here,” she said, realizing the space had a bed in it. “It feels warm.” Outside Angelica could hear the first gust of wind howling around the towering peaks of Vorustum-Apaleer. With the wind came the sound of snow and hail pelting the metallic walls just outside the room.

  “Alright,” Jovian said, carrying Maeven inside and resting him on the bed. “Now what?”

  But Angelica didn’t get the chance to answer, because outside they felt the quiver of wyrd, and saw the darkness of unnatural night falling around the clearing.

  The verax-acis was dead, and the spirits Cianna had summoned were awaiting her command, swarming around her in a chattering silver miasma. She clung to her cousin Joya, peering into the gathering darkness, wondering what was coming. The wind tore at her, and the hail and snow made her turn her face away from the night and toward Joya.

  But the ghosts whispered to her of what came. They were scared, and they conveyed to her their terror, their fear of what it was. On the darkness she could feel power, and it spoke to her senses, called to the part of her that was Arael’s daughter.

  “Fallen,” Cianna whispered to Joya. Her cousin nodded.

  “That’s right!” a disembodied woman’s voice said. “You found us!”

  “Or rather, we found you,” another voice said out of the darkness, this one male. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “Master wants you,” the woman said again.

  “He can’t have us!” Joya said, stepping away from Cianna. Her hands began to glow pink.

  “So futile,” the woman said, and then laughed. “You honestly think your wyrd can harm us?”

  “I would rather die trying than be taken by you,” Joya said, her voice nearly lost in a forceful gust of wind.

  “That can be arranged. Honestly, he doesn’t care a bit about you, only his daughter and your brother and sister,” the male said.

  Joya flung her hands forward and pink lightning shot forth, fading into the blackness oozing toward them.

  “Again, that won’t hurt us,” the woman said.

  “I know something that will,” Angelica said, joining them, drawing her shin-buto. Jovian was there with her, his sword in hand, looking around him. The darkness had completely swallowed them at that point; there was no way they could see through it. An arrow whizzed by Cianna’s ear, and Shelara and Caldamron stepped out of the darkness.

  “The whole group! What a treat!” the male said.

  “Are we going to talk all night, or are we going to get on with this already?” Jovian wondered.

  Lightning, black and glowing, lanced out of the darkness and straight for Jovian. But before the darklight could strike him and condemn him beyond the Black Gate, a pink shield jumped into being before them.
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br />   From the mountains there came a rumbling, and the earth shook directly behind Cianna. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but she feared that with all the fighting there might be an avalanche. She’d seen the damage that could cause back at the Guardian’s Keep, and she didn’t want to be caught out in it. But when no snow washed her over the edge of the highlands, she breathed easier.

  There was already a wyrded battle happening, Angelica trading fiery blows with the fallen sentry that had found them.

  Out of the darkness loomed a large figure, male, taller than Cianna, but not by much. Something in her recognized him, recognized his energy. He stalked toward her, throwing his energy over the pink orb that held them as if he were covering them with a blanket of power.

  The darkness settled around the orb and started pressing down. The shield began to shrink in on them.

  “I can’t hold it much longer,” Joya said. “That’s darklight; we’ll all be done for!”

  The pull of wyrd came to Cianna’s ears, and the sound of a dog barking. She knew instantly who it was: Altavius.

  “What in Arael’s name is that?” a female voice said from beyond the veil of darklight spread over the pink orb.

  “A ghost wolf,” the male said, and it must have distracted him, because Joya gave a great heave with her wyrd, the pink orb bubbling back out and casting the darklight off like molten oil. Where it fell on the fallen angels, their skin smoldered and melted. They screamed, but the darklight didn’t have the desired effect of carrying them beyond the Black Gate.

  Cianna caught a glimpse of the ghostly wolf before it darted behind the female fallen and started barking. But the angel knew the same thing Cianna did: Altavius couldn’t actually harm them, he could only distract them. He had already done his best.

  From behind them came the sound of something large moving, and Cianna turned to see what it was. There were several giant forms materializing out of the storm behind them.