Covenant

by Sabrina Benulis

  An unhealthy silence followed by the whistle of icy wind filled the alley. The man who had trapped Israfel at the wall stared at him with growing anger. His small eyes narrowed that much more.

  Without warning he grabbed Israfel by the neck and began to tighten his grip.

  Israfel allowed a second or two of pain, but as the memories of abuse flooded back—memories where he had stared into darkness for aeons while other hands held him and forced anything and everything upon him—he set his teeth and spoke through tighter lips. “Unhand me. NOW.”

  A clatter of metal against stone echoed down the alleyway.

  Everyone paused, searching the darkness for the source of the noise. From behind a pile of garbage, a small human face peeked out at the unfolding drama. It was a little human girl with a ratty braid of red hair, her face smudged with layers of dirt. She held a makeshift platter of old food in her hands. So—she was the one who had been leaving little meals for Israfel since he’d collapsed here.

  Realizing what was taking place, she stepped back, her face blanching with fear.

  Without a word, she dropped the food and ran.

  “Son of a bitch,” the taller man hissed. “What the hell are you waiting for?” he shot at his companion. “Get that little blood head brat and make sure she doesn’t get out of here alive—”

  Israfel found his last bit of strength immediately.

  He grabbed the man by the face, crunched through some bone, and pitched him face-first into the ground. The man screamed and rolled in agony.

  Israfel left him behind, racing in the direction of the human girl and her pursuer.

  He didn’t have to travel far. Israfel slipped on the ice once or twice, but after rounding a sharp corner, he found both humans at a dead end.

  The little girl cowered against the ground, her arms over her head.

  The man stood over her, ready to kick her hard in the stomach.

  With a burst of speed that sent pain into every part of Israfel’s weary body, he raced forward, grabbed the man by the back of his jacket, and flung him like a stone into the wall.

  The human’s body connected with a vicious thud. He groaned and sank to the ground, blood gushing from his nose. One of his teeth had broken, and he spit out more blood before rushing at Israfel, his hands ready to punch him directly in the face or head.

  Israfel caught him by the hand, eliciting a scream from the human as bones broke.

  They struggled for a moment, and then Israfel kicked him directly in the stomach, sending him flying to the ground. The human hit the ice even harder than the wall, his cheeks bleeding. He rolled onto his back and moaned with pain, blood dribbling from the side of his mouth. Israfel stood over him, cold anger working its way through every part of his soul. This was the kind of wickedness that would have no place in his new universe.

  “What—what the hell are you?” the man spat, gasping for air.

  “Enough. Worms like you deserve judgment,” Israfel said, pressing his foot onto the man’s throat.

  The human clawed at his leg, desperate.

  “Oh—now you want mercy? Of course, there would have been none for me or the girl. Why for you? Why have the rules suddenly changed?” Israfel leaned down, his white hair brushing the sides of his face. “Now I’ll tell you what I am. I am the face and voice that will haunt the rest of your miserable days. You might as well call me God.”

  The girl uncurled from her little ball, staring at Israfel with owlish and awestruck eyes.

  No—he would never kill anyone in front of a child if he could help it. No matter how much they deserved punishment. Israfel had been a warrior at one time too, but he was a far cry from his sister, Lucifel. Innocence deserved preservation at whatever cost.

  He lifted his foot from the man’s throat. “I’d suggest you start to pray.”

  The human gasped like a beached fish on the ice. His eyes were closed, and his teeth chattered with cold. But he was very much alive.

  Refusing to look back, Israfel took the little girl by the hand and stepped over the body lying prone on the ground. Together, they left the alley and the snow behind. She remained quiet for a long time, but as Israfel’s steps slowed with his returning weariness, she began to gather her courage.

  “Are you hurt?” she finally said in a tiny voice.

  “I will be all right,” Israfel said, gazing out into the darkness. In the back of his mind, he heard the voice from his dreams calling to him.

  “My name is Tress Cassel,” she said a little more loudly. “What’s your name?”

  Israfel smiled. “That is not important.”

  “It is so. Mama told me that a name holds a person’s soul. It says everything about you. And we’re friends now, so I’d like to know your name.”

  She was much like Israfel’s guardian Thrones when they had been chicks. He could see them still, peeking above their nest to greet him when they had first been brought to his chambers in Heaven. Now they were ruthless bodyguards, a far cry from the spoiled children of aeons ago. He tried not to show the sorrow on his face, adopting the cold mask he’d learned from millennia as ruler of Heaven.

  “My name is Israfel.”

  “Israfel . . .” She brightened at this revelation. “That sounds like an angel’s name.”

  He stopped, yanking her to a halt. “You know?” he said, searching her innocent face.

  Tress nodded. “You still had your wings when I first found you. So I didn’t tell anyone who you were or where they could find you. You looked really tired and hurt. But the next time I came back, your wings were gone. But your eyes were still so big and blue, and your hair shone like the snow.”

  “Where do you live?” Israfel said, resuming their journey. “I’ll return you to your home.”

  “Me and Mama live near the sea. I’ll take you there, and you can stay with us. Mama’s always telling me about angels and other people with wonderful names. She can see visions and has so many dreams. She told me where to find you and what to give you to eat. She said it was very, very important to keep you alive.”

  Israfel touched his stomach. His head had already started to ache painfully.

  Then he stopped walking again, realizing what Tress had just told him. Her human mother was in tune with the Realms. If that was so, then she could help him return to Heaven through another route, perhaps circumventing the crumbling gateways between Earth and Heaven. Anticipation flooded him and made his heart throb. He knelt down and held Tress by the hand.

  “You’re so pretty,” she said to Israfel, touching his white hair. “So pretty.”

  “Tress, you are a compassionate girl. I will reward you and your mother for that as soon as I can. But first, I must return to Heaven. Tell me—does your mother have a large mirror in her house?”

  “Yes,” Tress said, beaming.

  “As I thought.” Israfel smiled gently. “I would be glad to visit your home, little one.”

  “Follow me then,” Tress said and tugged on Israfel’s hand.

  Israfel bit his lip and followed her, but his thoughts were far away, too lofty to explain to the human as she continued to question his every expression and gesture. He stepped delicately across the ice and snow, noting with increasing distaste that this was not what he imagined for Earth in the future. But first, he needed to return home and set things right. He’d thought that impossible with the dimensions blurring and melding together. Yet here was a chance, however slim.

  But one detail was absolutely certain. Archangel Zion, Lucifel’s chick, had every bit of knowledge that Israfel was trapped on Earth and had very pointedly refused to send aid.

  Israfel narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. That upstart would get what was coming to him soon enough. Soon Israfel and the Archon would open Raziel’s Book together. Soon—everything was going to change and they would be ruling over a newly remade universe. But this horrific disintegration . . . Israfel had more than his share in its cause. His mind flashed to the Father�
��s mangled corpse, oozing blue blood from a fatal wound.

  Indeed, Israfel’s stained hands might never be washed clean.

  Tress wrapped her fingers around Israfel’s tighter, humming to herself.

  Help me . . .

  That voice echoing in his head was familiar yet indistinct enough to be anyone’s. Yet one thing was undeniable. The person crying out to him—

  They were not only in danger, they were in Hell.

  Tress’s home was little more than a hovel with cheerful candles flickering in the windows, situated on a street crowded with other run-down buildings almost exactly like it. But it had a commanding view of the upper levels of Luz. Between the other buildings, the city rose up gradually like an enormous mountain of brick and stone layered upon more brick and stone. Turrets sparkled with light, seeming to reach almost to the clouds. Underneath, the ocean thundered ominously against the supports that held the city out of the waves.

  Tress let go of Israfel’s hand at the mildewed door. Some of the wood remained shellacked in ice.

  She knocked on it once or twice in a distinct rhythm.

  The door creaked open, letting out a dim light. Then it opened completely, and Tress guided Israfel into the house.

  The building was even darker than it appeared outside, only a few candles lighting the most random spots of the room. Human junk lay everywhere. Tables, benches, and shelves overloaded with everything from cracked glass bottles to embroidered boxes barred Israfel’s path. Necklaces hung from a coatrack, their heavy jewels throwing back the candlelight. A cloying, heavy scent filled the air, and smoke screened books stacked in haphazard piles. Everything suggested the remains of some sort of human shop flung into one small room. Israfel stopped in front of a large cracked mirror.

  How human and weak he appeared. But his eyes were still large enough to give away the difference if someone peered closely.

  “You’ve decided to come.” A woman’s soft voice broke the silence.

  She stepped out of the shadows, opening her arms for the little one. Tress ran into them, almost glowing with excitement. “Mama, an angel! An angel! There were bad men in the alley, but he saved me from them, and—”

  “Hush,” the woman said, putting her finger to Tress’s lips. “I know. Now go upstairs and continue packing your trunk. And wash your face—you’re filthy.”

  Tress gave Israfel one more longing glance but obeyed and clattered up a rickety staircase.

  The woman examined Israfel with veiled eyes. She was tall for a human, and her hair glistened a coppery red shade near the candles. A shawl covered most of her chest and shoulders, and her long skirt had been patched and repatched with dozens of colorful fabric swatches. “We don’t have much time,” she said very slowly. Her hand gripped the back of a chair, trembling a little. “My daughter and I will be going to the lower levels of Luz before the Vatican can find us. It’s no longer safe for people like us here, but we can’t leave the island. I do not have much help I can offer you.”

  “You know why I am here, woman,” Israfel said gently. He stepped deeper into the room. “I thank you for your generosity in keeping me alive with your food. Being trapped here for so long, I am not quite myself . . .

  She watched the movement of his feet as if entranced, but quickly regained her senses.

  “Why?” she said and took a step backward, instinctively putting distance between them. “Why do you stay on this Earth? You say you are trapped as well, but how?”

  Israfel sighed. “Indeed, I tried to leave Earth over a year ago. But the Realms, the dimensions of the universe, are slowly collapsing one by one. This means that portals in and out of Earth are closing or disappearing entirely. I attempted entering a portal right as it sealed, and suddenly I found myself flung violently back to Earth. I was weak already, having used most of my energy to keep a human from death.”

  “The Archon,” the woman said with grim certainty. “She is alive and moving among us, isn’t she?”

  Israfel watched her carefully. “And if she is?”

  “Go to her,” the woman said. “I am sure she can help you better than I.”

  “I cannot go to her just yet,” Israfel whispered.

  Tress’s mother questioned him with a stony expression. “Raziel was your brother, correct?”

  Israfel struggled not to show the pain on his face. “It does not surprise me that you know of our history.”

  He wouldn’t tell her that the Archon was not Raziel. That she was a total mystery, with an unidentifiable yet enormously powerful soul. One that Raziel had deemed important enough to spend a possible eternity protecting.

  “I am learned enough,” the woman said. “The Vatican tries to keep much arcane knowledge away from ordinary citizens of Luz. But secrets and legends always have a way of traveling from eye to eye and ear to ear. For a long time, I flaunted the existence of my shop, knowing I couldn’t be touched without evidence of witchcraft, as they like to call it. But with my daughter . . .” She turned aside, deep anxiety stealing her confidence. “It is not fair of me to put her in danger. She has suffered through much. We have grown poor simply trying to stay alive. Now that blood heads are being gathered, sought after . . .”

  She shuddered.

  “I will reward you well for your generosity as soon as I have returned to Heaven,” Israfel said. “But first you must help me leave this Earth. Your daughter told me that you have a mirror.”

  “Yes,” the woman said. She walked to the cracked mirror framed in bronze at the far end of the room. “I have used it for scrying in the past. It is the only mirror in this city with a connection to the other worlds. I went through great pains to obtain it years ago, but never let visitors to my shop know about its existence. If word got out, my imprisonment would be certain. My death, a possibility.”

  Israfel stood in front of the mirror, staring at his fractured image. There was still enough glass for him to work with. “Woman, I would have you watch with me. You must say—”

  “The words. Yes.” She took a deep breath, appearing fearful.

  “However,” Israfel said, “when the visions begin, you must close your eyes. I cannot guarantee your safety otherwise. There are many aspects of the Realms dangerous to human senses. Your daughter?”

  She searched the stairs for her daughter, and certain that Tress was upstairs and out of harm’s way, she then pulled out a chair and sat far enough away from Israfel to think herself safe. “I’m ready.”

  Israfel stared into the mirror, listening as the woman mumbled softly under her breath. Human or not, the words she spoke would have the intended effect. It was the power and desire that counted. He watched and watched, sure of his skills. Israfel had spent enormous lengths of time staring into the Mirror Pools of Ialdaboth. He had discovered the Archon’s existence in the reflection of those pools, one long and lonely time ago.

  Help me . . .

  His mind turned and shifted focus. An image began to form within the dark shadows of the mirror. Gradually, it swirled and strengthened, taking shape from his power.

  Angela Mathers, the Archon, appeared in front of an immense and ugly black door. Israfel could not identify the companions beside her, but that mattered so little. He recognized the door that she was opening and entering. It was a portal to Hell. At least one still remained, perhaps because the Netherworld had been emptied. Previously, all humans had to die and pass through the Underworld to enter into Lucifel’s kingdom. Yet with the Realms blurring together, old portals would close, and new ones would spontaneously form before disintegrating entirely. This one was a holdover.

  Lucifel knew she was running out of time. She fully understood the risk of bringing the Archon through such a dangerous route.

  Israfel clenched his long fingers. His sister must have known something about the Book that he did not.

  Help me . . . Save me . . .

  It was Angela Mathers’s voice Israfel had been hearing. A sharp heat rushed through him as he r
emembered their brief kiss.

  No. It was far beneath him to feel anything for a mere human. And if she was not really Raziel reincarnated, he had every right to crush his feelings whenever they arose. So why when Israfel looked at her did this odd confusion spring up in him? Why did he feel this need to understand? Why did he constantly wonder who she really was, and why Raziel thought her special? Was it her physical similarity to Raziel? What could it possibly be?

  “I thank you again,” Israfel murmured, breaking his trance. “I now have my freedom back.”

  The situation was not ideal. He would have to enter Hell through the same door. From there, he could find another stable portal back to Heaven.

  There wasn’t any other choice.

  Yet the idea of entering his sister’s mockery of a kingdom filled him with disgust. And worry.

  Israfel pressed a hand against his stomach. If anything were to happen to him . . .

  Then again, perhaps he could kill Lucifel first. She would not be the only monster he’d eradicated.

  “You said you would help us,” the woman replied, rising from her seat.

  Israfel smiled. “In good time. As I said, I must first enter the other Realms and regain my power. But rest assured, I will keep my promise to you and your daughter. Please give her my farewell and my thanks.”

  He turned and started to leave the house.

  “You will die before you can help us,” Tress’s mother said after him.

  Israfel paused. His head throbbed, and his vision swam for a moment.

  “You are very ill,” the woman continued. “But what kind of disease can kill an angel? I wonder—perhaps it would be better for you to stay on Earth, after all . . . how much longer can you possibly have?”

  “I still have time,” Israfel whispered. “Not much. But some.” He reached for the knob of the door, refusing to face her again. In the background, he could hear little Tress’s shallow breathing. She had clambered back down the stairs in the short time Israfel and her mother had been talking. Israfel didn’t need to look at Tress to sense the confusion in her soul.

  A series of swift and violent knocks hit the door.