Past Life Strife (Rise of the Discordant Book 1)

by McMullen, Christina

  “No,” Seth shook his head. “To do so would weaken my resolve.”

  “Very well,” said the Creator, a hint of regret echoed in its voice as it dissolved back into the nothing from which it came. “Your service has been recognized and the Cycle thanks you for all you have done. Go in good faith and may fate find your intentions worthy.”

  *

  Small things, like the smell of damp earth and the singing of birds in the trees, alerted me that I had been returned to the Cycle. I turned from the opaque gray blanket that covered the town and faced the large stone building in front of me. Two mahogany doors were all that stood between me and the fate I had chosen to accept. Appropriately, each door was inlaid with an ornate woodcarving depicting an archangel, swords raised in preparation for battle. Whether it was a sign or coincidence, it gave me pause. I wondered if I was ready for the battle I was about to engage in. I closed my eyes and cleared my mind. This was not the time for hesitation.

  Inside the cathedral, the silver glow surrounded me, reflecting off the normally brilliant trappings of the Catholic ritual with a radiance that befit the church’s ascribed depictions of Heaven. The source of the brilliant light stood upon the altar, tall and imposing. I had only ever seen an angel once before. At the end of the battle for New York, the inner turmoil of those responsible for the atrocities that nearly took down the entire economy summoned forth the creature of judgment. Hundreds of souls were lost in the scant minutes before the Warriors could put out its eyes.

  At that time, it had been from a distance and even so, the force of attraction was strong. Here, enclosed by the solid stone and mortar walls of the church, the draw was nearly suffocating. Angels were ageless, sexless creatures of pure beauty, which was part of their danger. My feet moved forward of their own accord. My eyes were transfixed on the beautiful being made of silver light, standing seven feet tall, with arms outstretched as if welcoming me home. Even with the mask obscuring the dangerous void of its eyes, I could not look away.

  “Why have you summoned me, Observer of Order?” The angel did not move in any way or open its mouth to speak. The words, as pure as crystal bells that seemed to echo inside my own head, gave me pause.

  When Donna told me of the storm, I did not want to believe the small voice that nagged at the back of my mind. It was easier to assume that the anomalous weather was just a natural part of the influx of Discordant that had been on the rise in recent months. The appearance of the angel seemed both serendipitous and telling, but standing before it now, I could not deny the truth. I had summoned the angel, even if I did not do so consciously. Jim’s death had been just the beginning. His soul had been spared, but only just. That he was not the only soul Amara had already enraptured was enough for me to realize that I had no choice but to take away the invulnerability that I unwillingly provided her.

  “Have you no words to explain your actions?” the heavenly voice taunted. “Now is not the time for timidity.”

  “I’ve nothing to hide,” I said, lifting my eyes to the blank mask. “I offer my soul for judgment.”

  The angel bent forward, a curious expression on the lower, uncovered half of its face.

  “Well now. That is a first.” Laughter echoed throughout the chamber, a beautiful and terrifying sound that I could only describe aptly as… discordant. Sudden embarrassment that I wasn’t expecting crept over me. Admittedly, offering one’s soul for destruction was an odd request, but there was really no need to rub it in.

  “Does the manner in which a soul presents itself truly matter?” I asked. “Do you not receive the same gratification despite the circumstances?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” it said, turning its gaze to the crucifixion scene displayed on the wall behind it. “I should revel in this moment, but I can see into your soul, Seth. What you wish of me and what I can give you are not the same.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, confused by the angel’s reluctance. The Discordant were not known to consider and weigh options before taking action.

  “I expect you do not. If I am to grant your request, the consequences would be unpleasant for the both of us,” it replied, emphasizing the last words.

  “I do not expect the act of rending my own soul will be enjoyable, but what hardship would you, an angel, endure? You live for this. Why would you not savor what I am willing to give?”

  “I sense altruism,” the creature spat. Although I could feel the waves of disgust, the voice was just as beautiful, lulling me into a calm euphoria. “You seek oblivion, yes, but your motives are not selfish. Your soul, a habitually martyred one at that, is structured, ordered, and at peace. The motives upon which I feed: guilt, shame, regrets, all noticeably absent in you. Although…” It turned back to me. “I sense an emptiness. Broken and missing pieces that I admit, I am curious about.”

  “That would be the reason I summoned you,” I said with a heavy sigh. “A succubus took a piece of my soul to accomplish her birth. As long as I exist, she cannot be destroyed. Supposedly, if I can get the martyred pieces of my soul back, I can break our bond, but there is no time. Already she has destroyed many lives. I don’t want to give her the opportunity to destroy souls as well.”

  “So you wish to use me as a tool for Order?” Intense feelings of offense and pride bombarded me. “Do you assume there is no solidarity among the Discordant just because we are creatures of Chaos? What would I gain from this arrangement?”

  But I was not to be swayed. “Are you implying that your kind is above striking deals with Order? Need I remind you that it was an angel who struck a deal with our current Warrior back when he was a newborn?”

  The angel bristled. “Circumstances were different. The Warrior asked for the destruction of a soul that was not his to give. As the council saw it, the loss was in our favor. Order gained nothing from the arrangement.”

  Sadly, I realized it had a very valid point. I was foolish to think that I could strike a deal with a Discordant that would ultimately be in the favor of Order.

  “Am I wasting my time here?”

  “You tell me,” it said, beckoning me forward. “See for yourself what awaits behind my mask. Your witch has foreseen to this point. Your actions from here on out are your own. Your judgment awaits.”

  The angel leaned forward, bowing its head and clasping its hands behind its back. The mask hovered inches from my own face. I understood what I was meant to do. In her vision, Louise saw me reaching for the mask. The angel would not remove it. The only thing standing between me and oblivion was my own conviction. But was I brave enough? I reached out with shaking hands and faltered.

  Why? Why was it so hard to end it all? What would it matter? I would be gone and Desmond could kill Amara. I couldn’t bring back the countless souls she had already claimed, but I could prevent her from taking yet another. I reached out and took hold of the mask, lifting it from the angel’s face before my brain could formulate a protest. With a final breath, I raised my eyes, ready to meet my sins head on.

  And saw nothing more than a beautiful face staring back at me.

  “I don’t understand,” I said in a small, strangled voice as the awe washed over me. I should have seen my own eyes reflected back. My mind should have been bombarded with images of every wrongdoing, every misstep. Instead, I saw two silver pools of liquid perfection. Words had yet to be invented to describe an unmasked angel, but I can tell you, it redefined beauty on a level that humans were not yet evolved enough to comprehend.

  “Your intentions are pure,” it said, taunting me. “You are a creature of Order. Your sacrifice lends balance to your sins. Your soul is safe.”

  “But I…” I lowered my eyes and let out a bitter laugh. “As long as I live, Amara cannot die. You are unable to destroy me.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “I just looked into your eyes and I’m still here. How many others have done this?”

  “Six,” it stated blandly, “and not those you would expect. W
hen I reflect a soul’s intentions, I am merely an instrument. The soul destroys itself. I can destroy you, Seth. Say the word and I will devour your soul. But know the price you pay.”

  “My soul would be gone. A loss for Order, yes. But if I can save countless others, it would be worth it,” I said and realized that I meant it. I was no longer afraid. What was death? Some say it’s just the gateway to the next adventure, but if my soul was destroyed, there would be no more adventures for me. But what would it matter? I would cease to exist. There would be no judgment, no punishment or reward, just oblivion, and I welcomed it.

  “Your soul, yes,” the angel said with a cruel smile. “Your essence would remain.”

  “Come again?”

  “Did you think it would be that easy? You are asking me to do the work of Order. I get nothing from destroying your soul, Seth. I am only fed when you are imbalanced enough to destroy yourself. I require payment. If I destroy your soul, your physical essence will be spirited to our realm, never to return. You will become a servant of Chaos and you will slowly go mad as you lose yourself to the imbalance of our world.”

  “Oh.”

  I sank down onto an available pew since my legs decided they didn’t want to work anymore. Oblivion, I was prepared for. Eternal servitude as a soulless madman hadn’t been factored into the equation. I couldn’t blame the angel either. It had every right to refuse to do as I asked because Chaos is completely self-serving. Of course, I had the option to be just as self-serving. I could cycle. Amara would live on and continue to steal souls, knowing she was invincible. I would gain the hate of everyone I had grown to care for, but what would it matter? By the time they found out, I’d be rebirthed, which was its own form of oblivion.

  But I knew myself too well. I was chosen as an Observer for a reason. I would not let Amara win. I couldn’t do that to Donna, Betty, Louise, Bogie, anyone in the world, for that matter, and I certainly couldn’t do that to Desmond. Even if that meant martyring myself by way of damnation. I stood again and looked the angel in the eye once more, taking a moment to truly appreciate the meaning behind my actions. The beauty that I saw represented everything I was leaving behind. All of the beautiful imperfections that balanced the light and the dark. My world, all that I’ve ever known, would be mine no more. I was ready.

  “I accep-”

  “Oh hell no you don’t!”

  A crash issued from the back of the chamber as the cathedral’s ancient mahogany doors were torn from their hinges and crashed into the plaster walls. Through the dust and debris, four bodies emerged. Desmond, Donna, Betty, and Louise ran down the center aisle toward me, wearing something over their eyes. As they got closer, I nearly laughed at their ingenuity.

  “You’re an idiot, Seth,” Desmond growled, lifting his glasses to glare at me. “But you’re an idiot that I care about. I can’t let you do this.” His eyes softened. “Please, there is another way. Myrna Rose’s prediction-”

  “Is a pipe dream at best,” I said, cutting off his protests. It was hard to remain upright from the torrent of emotions that both Desmond and the girls were throwing at me. I was touched. Though it made what I was about to do a million times more difficult, their love only served to strengthen my convictions. “I’m one insignificant soul, Des,” I said softly. “Is it really a sacrifice if no one else has to suffer?”

  I don’t know why, but my words caused Desmond to flinch and take a step back. “What did you just say?” he asked. His eyes were wide and the conflicting emotions he was throwing at me made me dizzy.

  “I said, is it really a sacrifice if no one else has to suffer?”

  “That… is what I thought… Seth. My god… you’re… I can’t believe…” he took a step forward. I wanted to move away, but I found myself rooted in place, unable to look away as a light began to glow around us, brightening until it obscured everything except Desmond, who was still moving forward. “This ends now,” he whispered. The last thing I remembered was his arms wrapping around me before the light overtook us completely.

  Chapter 13

  The Martyr Soul

  “Where the hell is Bogie?”

  The trip from the Five Penny to St. Anthony’s had been difficult, but thanks to the glow sticks, we hadn’t lost one another. Or so I had thought. At the top of the hill, the fog had thinned into a light mist and I saw that our party was one demon short.

  “He was right behind me,” said Betty. When she turned around, I saw red. Rather, I saw neon green.

  “And you didn’t notice this?” I asked, plucking Bogie’s glow stick from her back pocket.

  “No, actually, I didn’t,” she said with a look of surprise. “What do you think happened to him?”

  “I’d be more concerned with what’s going to happen to him if I ever see the little rat again,” I growled.

  I knew he was up to something! The little weasel had played me for a fool. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have taken his advice and bound his ass to the bar. But no, I had to try being the nice guy. This was the very reason why I don’t believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt.

  “I’ll deal with his punk-ass later. Right now, we’ve got bigger issues. Everyone have their glasses?”

  At least Bogie had been good for one thing. The mirrored aviator glasses, which advertised a now defunct brewery, were a stroke of genius. Not only would our eyes be shielded from the angel’s gaze, but if it tried to pass judgment on any one of us, it would see only itself and destroy its own soul.

  “Tacky,” Louise sniffed, checking out her appearance in Donna’s lenses.

  “This is a rescue mission, not a beauty pageant,” I reminded her. “Come on.”

  Carefully, I pushed through the large mahogany doors, grateful to find that they were well-oiled and made no noise. Once everyone was in the vestibule, I motioned for silence. The angel’s influence was strong here. Twice, I had to pull Betty back away from the doors that led to the cathedral itself. With a warning glance, I put my ear to the door. The sound of the angel’s voice sent an unpleasant chill down my spine. Some have described the voices of angels as the most beautiful sound in the world. I would beg to differ.

  It was then that I heard him. Seth was still alive. I pushed the door, hoping to hear more, but met resistance. I tried the other side, but that one too would not budge. The doors had been sealed by Discordant magic. I pressed my ear to the door again.

  “Come again?” I heard Seth say.

  “Did you think it would be that easy? You are asking me to do the work of Order. I get nothing from destroying your soul, Seth. I am only fed when you are imbalanced enough to destroy yourself. I require payment. If I destroy your soul, your physical essence will be spirited to our realm, never to return. You will become a servant of Chaos and you will slowly go mad as you lose yourself to the imbalance of our world.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Too long.

  I reached into my pocket. “Neutralizing explosive,” I requested and my hand closed around the thin plastic ball. “Stand back,” I said to the witches and tossed the explosive. The ward came down, taking the door and half the wall with it, but I didn’t have time to consider the vandalism or desecration as Seth’s voice rang out.

  “I accep-”

  “Oh hell no you don’t!” I shouted, sprinting to the altar. Our dramatic entrance at least had enough of an impact to tear Seth’s attention from the abomination in front of him. “You’re an idiot, Seth, but you’re an idiot that I care about. I can’t let you do this. Please, there is another way. Myrna Rose’s prediction-” I pleaded, but he cut me off with a sigh of resignation.

  “Is a pipe dream at best. I’m one insignificant soul, Des. Is it really a sacrifice if no one else has to suffer?”

  I froze, or perhaps my blood froze in my veins. Regardless, I stood immobile as I remembered the last time I heard someone say those exact words to me more than three hundred years ago. It couldn’t be.

/>   “What did you just say?” I asked. I had to have misheard.

  “I said, is it really a sacrifice if no one else has to suffer?”

  I could not believe it. The words were like a punch to the gut that kept going, tearing through me until they reached in and ripped apart my soul with more efficiency than any angel could ever manage. The memories from my lifetime, from the events that would be my undoing, flooded back with clarity, as if it had happened yesterday and not centuries ago.

  I had been blind, perhaps even deliberately so. The signs had been there the whole time. The familiarity, so much stronger than other familiar souls I had met along the way, could no longer be ignored. The missing pieces fell into place, both in my mind and in Seth’s soul. A connection rose up around us, blinding in its radiance, even against the already saturated brilliance cast by the angel’s aura.

  It had been Sarah’s birthday and our last night together. The slave quarters had been filled with laughter and celebration. The cook had managed to sneak a small cake from the kitchen and spirits were running high well into the night, which drew the attention of the master. He saw the small, decorated cake, recognizing it as being like the one he’d had the kitchen make for his daughter’s afternoon tea party and flew into a rage, demanding the kitchen staff line up for punishment.

  It was then that Sarah stood, tall and proud, and took responsibility, stating that she had snuck into the kitchen and saw the cakes. Wanting one for herself, she coerced the staff into stealing one. She begged to spare them, offering herself for punishment instead. The way the master looked at her disgusted me. A cruel smile twisted on his lips and he told her to follow him.

  I begged her not to go. I knew the punishment he had planned was far worse than the beating and humiliation he’d planned for the kitchen staff. I told her that the violation would be punishment far worse than the simple crime of coveting sweets demanded. I argued that if anyone deserved punishment, it was the cook who stole from the kitchen, but she wouldn’t listen.