The shield reverberated with power behind Cianna, and she turned back. Angelica wasn’t making any impact on the fallen, and Jovian seemed too addled to be of much wyrded use.
Cianna gathered the ghosts to her, forming them into wyrd, and lanced out with the silvery force. Lightning issued forth, taking the female fallen in the chest, spinning her into the air and slamming her into a building. There Cianna held her, her face twisted in a mask, and she stepped forward, twisting her hands, pulling at the wings of the fallen with the ghost lightning that pinned her in place.
By now the fallen angels had seen the giants, and the male was beginning to retreat. Cianna lost focus on him. He could escape for all she cared; at least they could down this one angel. But then the male appeared again, and Cianna knew he was behind her because his strong arms gripped her around the shoulders, stopping her flow of wyrd. He lifted off the ground, his wings beating powerfully at the snow and carrying her higher and higher into the air.
She struck out with her wyrd, trying to stop him, trying to halt his flight.
“Stop struggling, or I will drop you,” he commanded. At that point Cianna wasn’t sure she would mind plummeting to her death — it was either that, or see her father. But she was no good to her cousins dead, so she stopped struggling and tried to forget that she was soaring through the clouds, where only birds were supposed to fly.
Jovian watched where the other fallen had wheeled away into the sky, carrying their cousin with him. It was quickly lost in the darkness, and Jovian turned his attention to the last sentry before them. She was trying to fly, but the attack from Cianna had shredded some of the important flight feathers from her wings.
She would never take flight. A female giant strode forward, grabbed the angel about the mid-section, and dashed her against a tower wall. The blue metallic wall was bathed in a crimson splash as the angel’s head popped from the force of the blow. The angel stopped struggling, and with her death the darkness began to clear.
Jovian sagged to his knees, catching his breath. “Thank you for coming to our aid,” he said, watching Joya step forward and gaze up into the sky, trying to find Cianna.
“We have to go for her,” Joya said, turning around, her face an unreadable mask.
“We are. She’s going to the Turquoise Tower, correct?” Angelica asked.
“Yes, but we need to hurry,” Joya stated, as if they weren’t already moving as quickly as possible.
“You are still in the Realm of Earth,” the giant said. The other giants started cleaning the clearing of Vorustum-Apaleer. Jovian wondered if they were guardians of the city, since one giant was left in place here. It would make sense; why else would they take such care of the city?
“That’s what I feared,” Angelica said, barely audible above the wind and swirl of snow.
“We might be able to help with that. My name is Phaleco,” the giant said. As she kneeled before them Jovian could saw that her face was rather pretty. Her hair was a deep red, and her eyes a sparkling blue.
“We need to tend to Maeven first,” Jovian said. “He’s been drained by a rephaim, and he is at the cusp of death.”
“Show me,” Phaleco said, standing once more. Jovian led them to the building that harbored Maeven. Though the giant was three times the height of a human, the building was large enough to accommodate her easily.
Jovian placed his hand against the door as he had seen Angelica do, and it hissed open, lifting as a single unit out of their way. Again, he opened the door to the room where Maeven slumbered, and Phaleco stepped in.
With the giant inside, there was scarcely room for anyone else, so the rest of his group gathered around Jovian at the door.
“He was drained?” Shelara asked.
“But he still lives?” Caldamron asked.
“Yes, to both,” Angelica answered for Jovian, which was just as well because standing there staring down at his fallen lover was nearly too much for Jovian to handle. He could barely find his breath, let alone words, now that the adrenaline of battle was fading from his blood.
Phaleco sat back on her heels with a grunt.
“What is it?” Jovian asked, stepping further into the cramped quarters.
“It is lucky he lives. When a rephaim takes a victim, they rarely live. We’ve been seeing a lot of this blood-sucking variety, not much of the other kinds of leeches.”
Jovian remembered the ones they had discussed before, those that lived off the energy of death, off ghosts, and off the life force of other living entities.
“How do we fix this?” Jovian asked.
“You can’t fix this, but the better question is, how do you heal him?” Phaleco appraised Jovian with an arched, red brow.
“What do you mean we can’t fix this?” Russel asked at the same time Jovian asked: “How do we heal him?”
“I don’t know how to heal him,” Phaleco said sadly.
“You need to force his change,” Caldamron answered. “In the time before the border of the Shadow Realm went up, it was said my people could freely change to and from their cat form. In times of great physical need, changing would help to heal the damage that had been done to us.”
“How’s that even possible?” Joya asked, her eyebrows knitting together.
Caldamron shrugged. “I’m not certain, but it’s the only choice we have.”
“I would like to speak to you of something else,” Phaleco said. “He was bitten by a rephaim. Legend says one bitten by a rephaim will retain a part of their death within them. A curse, neither to be living nor to be dead.”
“What does that even mean?” Joya asked, crowding forward.
“Long ago it was said the rephaim had a collection of followers, those that were nearly drained of all life, but not quite. They were susceptible to the thrall of the rephaim, and used as servants. There was a part of the fallen angel inside of them, but what this actually meant, the legends never said. I assume they will be a lost person, easily enthralled and used by the rephaim for their own needs.”
“But the one who bit him was slain, doesn’t that make a difference?” Angelica asked.
Phaleco looked back at Maeven’s ashen face. She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I can still see the poison inside of him. He is now but a pawn for the rephaim.”
“So, Maeven is going to be a rephaim?” Jovian wondered.
“Will he need to drink blood?” Angelica asked.
“I doubt he will need to drink blood. No, he will neither be human nor angel, living or dead. He is a non-entity now, something crossed between the two of them, belonging to neither one group nor the other.”
“So he’s just a husk of a person now?” Russel asked.
“Maybe not. He is also a druid, which means two forms share his body. If he is able to transform into his other shape and heal, it might restore his freedom of mind.” Phaleco shook her head. “It’s difficult to be sure; he is close to death as it is. If he isn’t healed quickly, his being a husk of a person won’t matter. I’m afraid that he might always be easily swayed by the rephaim, though.”
Jovian closed his eyes as the world began to spin. What should I do? He reached out to Angelica. He could feel her eyes on him. Through their link she soothed him, sending him as much strength as she could. Her energy was tinged with her own worry for Maeven, and her grief for Jovian. Maeven was so much more to her than just a traveling companion; it was clear with the vibration of her thoughts that she thought of him as a brother.
The only thing we can do is try to heal him. You have to figure out how to force his change, Angelica sent to him.
Jovian sighed and nodded. “Alright, I’ll try it. No chance anyone here would be able to help me out?”
Phaleco shook her head. “I’m sorry, shape-changing isn’t something giants are able to do.”
The rest of the group indicated they would be of no help either.
“I’m the closest thing you have to a skin-walker,” Caldamron said, stepping forward.
“But my people lost the ability to change before I was born, and I’ve never changed in my life.”
“It’s alright,” Jovian said. “I’ll think of something.”
“We need to give him some privacy,” Joya nodded. She turned toward the crowd and started ushering them away from the door, allowing Jovian more space. It helped — at least he felt like he could breath — but when they left it seemed as though all of his support went with them, and his knees started to shake.
Jovian moved out of the way, pressing tightly to the metallic wall so that Phaleco could stand and leave. “There’s a chamber down this hall and to the left,” she said, pointing the way for Jovian. “We will meet there when you are done, and discuss your venture.”
Jovian nodded, but didn’t take his eyes from Maeven. When the door hissed shut it was just the two of them, and he wondered why they’d left him, and not someone like Joya who was much better versed in her wyrd.
He gazed at Maeven: his waxy, pale face, the way his chest rose and fell in slight, ragged breaths. The two holes were still in his neck, black and bloated, like blood blisters that might pop at any second under the pressure of the poison swelling against the wound.
Jovian kneeled beside Maeven and gathered one of his clammy hands into his own. He kissed the back of it, remembering that night in Fairview, and how it had been Jovian’s first night laying with anyone. They’d been drunk, but even through the alcohol he knew there was something more there, something more he was feeling. He knew it was more than just sex, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself then.
He hadn’t thought much about the future at that point; he’d still been young and carefree. There were pressures on him already, but Jovian didn’t feel the weight of them as he did now. Now the world had gone crazy, and it all centered on them. Now Jovian couldn’t help but think of the future, and what might come for them.
Jovian closed his eyes against the wash of tears that blurred his vision. He felt them fall hot and wet down his cheeks, grabbed by his facial scar, to slip over their entwined fingers.
To be completely honest with himself, Jovian felt an incredible danger swarming up before him that he couldn’t see past, and he’d tried. He wasn’t sure about Angelica, but he’d tried tapping into the anakim gift of foresight, to see what lay beyond the doom he felt coming at them, faster than he liked. He didn’t see anything, and that scared him. It was more than the inability to read the future of an angel — Jovian knew that with the darkness they faced would come a nothingness beyond.
What did that mean for Maeven? How would this change him?
Jovian shook his head and dashed away tears. Maeven’s hand jerked in his grip, and Jovian felt a spark of what remained inside of Maeven, felt a spark of his humanity there. Jovian clung to that feeling, pulled it into his mind, and rode the tenuous feeling of life into his lover’s body.
He was in a tumultuous sea of energy, as if Jovian were a rock in the center of a storm, and the three powers inside of Maeven were waging war with one another, slamming against the intrusion he represented. He felt the energy trying to throw him out, and he clung on for all he was worth. Now that he was inside, he was certain this was where his work would happen. He couldn’t let the forces win and push him out.
He felt Maeven’s humanity, weak and slipping away fast. He was no match for the stronger, darker power of the rephaim, which Jovian could feel dominating the other two forces. But it was the other force that Jovian sought. It was enigmatic; its form of attack on the intruding force of the rephaim was very much dodge-and-evade, and Jovian was trying to get his hands on it.
It was a wild energy, feeling of the wind and the trees. If he thought about it, he could almost feel the wind through feathers and smell the warmth of a summer forest baking in the sun. He knew that it was the eagle side of Maeven from its cunning and the way the energy thrummed against his being. He remembered the first time he’d seen Maeven like that, and had known it was Maeven.
How had he known? Was it his eyes? His personality? Jovian couldn’t remember; he’d just known. He called out to that other energy with the longing he had felt then, the same longing that had pushed him to open the door of his room in the Guardians’ Keep and let the other man in. So too did he let Maeven in now.
He felt the wings of the golden eagle wrap around him, enshrouding him in a cloak that was both wild and completely Maeven. He let the feel of the eagle deluge his very being, every aspect of him. He pushed some of his own wyrd into the animal force, strengthening it against the dark tide of the rephaim’s power.
And like that, he was thrown from Maeven’s body. Jovian slid across the room, slammed into the wall, and nearly fainted from the blow. But he couldn’t faint, even though splotches of blackness were swarming in his vision. He couldn’t allow himself to lose consciousness.
The sound of bones breaking and snapping brought Jovian to his senses. He crawled across the floor to the bed and reached for Maeven, taking one of his hands. Jovian closed his eyes, hating to see the transformation of Maeven from human to bird. But under his palm Jovian could feel the bones and muscles of Maeven’s hand swimming and reforming themselves painfully. He gritted through the disgusting feeling, and instead pushed his thoughts and energy into Maeven, letting the other man know that he was there for him.
Eventually the noise stopped, and Jovian felt downy feathers growing on the tip of the wing he was now holding in place of a hand.
He sat back and opened his eyes, watching the feathers grow all along the exposed flesh of the eagle. When the entire transformation was complete, Jovian still sat there, watching Maeven to make sure he was okay. Only after he’d sat there for a long time, and was sure that the other man’s breathing wouldn’t suddenly stop, did he push shakily to his feet and out the door.
The hallway was long. Jovian was so lost in his own thoughts that he barely saw the small, cold lights that lined both the walls and the ceiling. There were times he thought maybe this wasn’t a city at all; maybe it was something else. But that was absurd. Most likely those thoughts could be attributed to how many times he’d hit his head that day, and how tired he was. If it wasn’t a city, what would it even be?
Jovian turned left, and saw that at the end of the hall a large door was held open, and he could look inside. His group was gathered around a table that seemed to be illuminated from underneath, the light shining dimly through the top of the table. Phaleco kneeled behind the table, facing the door, and his sisters sat to either side of the giant. Behind the red-head stood the other giants Jovian had seen during the fight, and he wondered if the city was all clean now.
Shelara and Caldamron stood behind and to either side of Joya, where he was used to seeing them. The light of the table dimmed the blush of green that languidly marred the surface of Shelara’s skin. Russel sat to the left of Angelica.
They all looked up at him when he entered.
“How is he?” Angelica asked, coming to Jovian’s side and helping him to a chair.
“He shifted, and he’s breathing. I can’t read energy well enough to know if he’s gaining strength or not,” Jovian said, allowing his sister to push him into a chair.
A giant came forth, offering Jovian a cup of some steaming liquid and a plate of food he barely recognized as fruit and cheese.
“Please,” Phaleco said. “Eat. We will discuss how you are to leave here.”
Jovian didn’t feel like eating. He felt like sleeping, but he fell into the plate with a hunger he hadn’t realized he had until then. The fruit was somehow fresh, and the cheese was creamy and pungent. He took a swig of the brew and didn’t recognize the flavor, but it was rich, thick, and warm, all of which he liked.
“You said you had a way for us to get to the tower quickly?” Joya asked. A plate sat empty before her, and she had her hands cupped around a mug like Jovian’s.
“Indeed,” Phaleco said, setting her mug down. “Have you ever heard of the groo?”
“Yes,�
� Angelica said. “They are supposed to be one of the three protections Aaridnay placed upon the realms so we wouldn’t be found by the outside world. The other two are these mountains, and the mist beyond.”
“That’s correct,” Phaleco said.
“But they are said to be only myth,” Shelara commented.
“To some people, you would be considered myth,” a giant in the background said. He was tall, dark-haired, and reminded Jovian of an ox.
“Just as these mountains and the fog beyond are myth?” Phaleco asked.
“That could be nothing more than natural phenomenon,” Caldamron said.
“Alright,” Jovian said, his head sinking into his hands. He tried rubbing away the ache, but it wasn’t working. “Could we focus on what Phaleco is trying to tell us?”
No one spoke until the red-headed giant broke the silence. “They are real, they are fast, and they would be willing to take you to the Turquoise Tower,” Phaleco said.
“Well that’s settled,” Jovian said. “When Maeven shows signs of improving, we’ll head for the Turquoise Tower.” But now that the end of their journey was so near, Jovian was dizzy with worry. He knew what was coming, he knew that facing Arael was inevitable, and he also knew that he and Angelica were their only hope of stopping the leader of the fallen angels, but he couldn’t help but think of that black cloud he had seen in his visions: how it was threatening to swallow him whole, and how he could see nothing beyond that point.
The meeting room burst into activity. Laphrael pushed Grace toward Sara, and the old lady stumbled into her sister’s embrace. Sara clung to Grace, holding her upright until the crone was able to gain her footing.
How can this be true? Sara thought. How can my sister be some embodiment of the Goddess? But there wasn’t any time for further thought. The noise rippling through the city was a distressing note, filling all within the embrace of Lytoria with need and fear, urging them to protect the city at all costs.
“There’s a room through that door,” Laphrael said, pointing to an age-worn door in the back of the room. “Take her in there, and keep her safe.” He motioned to the High Votary. “Atorva, come. There’s much to do, and now that you don’t need to be protected, I feel your Goddess energy will be a great boon.”
The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6) Page 17