Star Angel: Awakening (Star Angel Book 1)

by David G. McDaniel

  “Why did you come?” Darvon asked. “Were you sent?”

  Jess swallowed. Said: “I wasn’t sent.” Chewed more. “It was an accident. There was a man who came to my world.” Already she was halfway to him, Zac, having actually made it back into the city. I made it into the city, she marveled. She was inside the city walls. I’m coming for you, Zac. “He had a device,” she said. “We activated it, by accident, and it brought us here.”

  “The Icon,” Darvon called it by name. The others nodded.

  Jess paused in her chewing. “The Icon?”

  “The Holy Relic,” Darvon explained, and it was obvious the thing held great significance. The fact that she didn’t know its proper title seemed to surprise them.

  “The man is Horus,” another added. “He stole the Icon and tried to ascend.”

  Horus? the name echoed in her head.

  “Were you defending against him? Did he make a raid on Heaven?”

  “Blasphemer,” one of them cursed beneath their breath.

  Slowly Jess put the name with the face. The face she knew as Zac. Zac, who was called Horus on this world. So that’s his real name.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He saved me in the fall.” Their wonder at this possibility was clear. To them it seemed impossible.

  “But he’s Kazerai,” one of them protested.

  “Was he not under a spell?” asked another. “Surely you held him somehow, to escape as you did.”

  “She’s an angel,” one of them speculated. “She must have the strength to fight even Horus.” This brought a brief, hushed awe.

  Another was more insistent: “His actions were an affront.” Then, directly to her: “You’re saying your mandate was not to bring him to justice? You let him escape?”

  “Mandate? Look,” she wanted to be polite but found herself uncharacteristically short. These people were already exhausting her limited patience. She was hungry, she was tired, and she wanted to get on with it. “This is only getting more mysterious.” She took another bite of cheese and spoke as she chewed: “Why don’t you guys give me the short version?

  “Where am I? What’s happening?” She waved her hand in a general direction. “Who’s fighting on the other side of the city?”

  This, more than anything, dropped their jaws. You don’t know who’s fighting?! their shocked expressions shouted. She could almost hear the gears grinding to a halt in their heads. How could she not know why the city was under siege?

  But, in the end, her innocence only seemed to reinforce the angelic purity they imagined her to represent.

  “The Venatres attack,” Darvon acted as if he didn’t know where to begin. He probably didn’t. She knew nothing of their world, a reality that was slowly sinking in for them.

  But she needed to know. The highlights at least. Where was she? She’d been asking herself that question since she got there. And here were some people that might know. And so she played the role of “stranger from a strange land” as far as she dared, stopping short of validating their belief that she came from some heavenly origin. Once they got going they were eager to share, painting a picture of their world that, when done, neither confirmed nor denied whether this was a planet in her own dimension or another, across the universe, across the galaxy or right in Earth’s back yard, but perhaps that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that, as far as anyone knew, the only way back was with the Icon.

  The importance of that device could not be understated. It was revered as the Holy Relic, used a hundred-and-fifty years ago by their now-dead Emperor, a guy named Kagami, to travel between their world—which was called Anitra—and what they kept referring to as Heaven. The more they described it the more she realized “Heaven” was in fact Earth, and at times, as they spoke so reverently of it, exhausted as she was, it became hard not to laugh.

  Of course, the sobering reality was that this meant she came from Heaven. In their eyes, at least, and must therefore be imbued with some special gift.

  An angel.

  For the time being she tried to leave that one alone.

  Emperor Kagami, the guy who used the Icon to travel from Earth (Heaven) a hundred-and-fifty years ago, was the only one with Divine Right, and therefore the only one to ever use the Icon. Absently Jess wondered how he hadn’t fallen to his death like she almost did—surely he was a normal man, despite any insistence on their part to the contrary—but then maybe the connecting points back then were different. Maybe they’d shifted in the meantime. Whatever the case, when Kagami died the Icon was buried with him, in his compound right there in the city. Osaka, capital of the Dominion. Preserved, untouched, in anticipation of his return. Now Zac—Horus—had violated all that.

  The entire event was a huge scandal.

  The Dominion was the most powerful “country” on Anitra. The Venatres, the group attacking outside the city walls, was a conglomerate of smaller countries, unified in order to defeat the Dominion. That was the simple version. The Dominion had been formed long ago by Kagami who, after arriving on Anitra, wasted no time creating an empire and installing himself as Emperor. Anitra itself had been in the midst of a dark ages at the time of his arrival, which Kagami managed miraculously to revert. For that act alone most everyone, including the Venatres, acknowledged him, and for that one thing—bringing their world back from the brink—both sides gave him credit. However that was the extent of their gratitude. Though Kagami helped restore knowledge and technology, what he then did with that power few could abide. In fact the Conclave—the group of people Jess sat with there in that room—though technically members of the Dominion—were of the opinion their own empire had to go.

  According to them the Dominion was corrupt.

  They believed the Emperor was a heretic and never had Divine Right. They believed he stole the Icon in Heaven and perverted their ancient religion, though they didn’t dispute his Heavenly origins. To the Conclave Kagami was cast as a sort of anti-Christ, a Lucifer or something. Upon talking further it became apparent that, though these members of the Conclave weren’t total fanatics, they were ardent believers. Very much so. They believed in something greater. They believed in the freedom to pursue their ancient religion, in its purest form; an area where the Dominion, to put it mildly, pretty much sucked. The Conclave weren’t officially allied with the Venatres, yet shared the same foe. The Conclave expected that, if they could organize a coup, they would likely find help within the ranks of the Venatres. Already there were sympathizers.

  For Jess there remained the burning question of how humans—humans with what appeared to be the exact same characteristics, the exact same everything as humans on Earth—were on this world at all, but it was a question she didn’t ask. From their comments she gathered they wouldn’t know anyway. Kagami no doubt had a big hand in the language and the culture she saw all around her, the heavy Japanese influence and so forth, but how humans were already there when he came to Anitra over a hundred-and-fifty years ago? That there seemed to be no answer for.

  What she really wanted to know, of course, was more about Zac. But she quickly realized that wasn’t a subject she should dwell on. All she managed to discover was that he was Dominion—one of the bad guys, as she’d feared; something called a Kazerai, a high military leader—and that he and the other Kazerai were not looked on favorably by citizens on either side. The Kazerai were freaky strong (that she could confirm) and their sole purpose was to wage war. She, of course, knew this wasn’t Zac at all, but she didn’t press the issue. Better just to move on.

  “I have to tell you,” she said during a quiet moment, digesting the volume of information, “I’m from Idaho.” She waited for their reaction. Which, of course, was blank. What was Idaho? “That’s where the Icon connects,” she said. “When this Emperor Kagami came here a hundred-and-fifty years ago, when he went back and forth between this world and “Heaven”, Idaho was woods and pioneers. Now it’s shopping malls and suburbia.

  “It’s on a plan
et called Earth.”

  They all just kind of stared at her. At once she felt guilty. She had no right, really, to cast doubt on their beliefs.

  But she was getting impatient.

  “The point is, I need to get back. To Heaven, to Idaho … I need to go home.”

  “You must fulfill the prophecy,” said one of the oldest men—as if she’d just spoken the very thing on their minds. The others nodded eagerly.

  She had no answer for that. She was exhausted. She had all the info she wanted for now. She just wanted to get going. To finish this quest and get home.

  “You should get some rest,” another advised, noting her mental state with a touch of concern.

  “I don’t want to rest!” she blurted, way more terse than she intended but starting to get annoyed. Then, more politely: “I don’t need rest. I’m not tired.” That was an obvious lie. She softened her tone. Offered: “I’ll take some coffee, though.”

  “Coffee?”

  “A drink. Something to keep you alert.”

  “We have tea,” said Darvon.

  “Perfect.” She looked herself over, suddenly feeling the full weight of the ick covering her.

  “What I could really use is a shower.”

  CHAPTER 20: NEXT OF MANY TESTS

  At the top floor, thirty-five from the ground, according to the numbers in the elevator, Darvon stepped from the lift, Jessica right behind. Quietly he led her down a plush hall to a door at the end, fresh clothes in his arms. At the door he pulled a key and let them into the penthouse suite.

  After a soothing cup of tea they left the safe house and Darvon took her through hallways, down a few alleys and into this building—playing it cool all the way, obviously wanting to avoid scrutiny. They made it without incident. Inwardly Jess breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the suite, relaxed by the calm of the clean, beautiful room. It had an open plan, a huge main room, high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows and a spectacular view of the night city.

  In that moment it was almost too tranquil to be real.

  “This belongs to a Daimyo,” said Darvon, using yet another Japanese title. Emperor Kagami apparently implemented the full feudal hierarchy over a hundred years ago. “He’s a member of the Conclave. Not here tonight. Take as long as you need.” He put down the fresh clothes, then walked over to what could only be a phone. “When you’re done use this to call me. I’m leaving you a code.” He showed her a small piece of paper and laid it on the table next to it. “The shower’s in there.”

  “Thanks.” Jess continued looking around the room, then deliberately brought her attention to Darvon’s jovial face. “Thanks, Darvon. You’ve been sweet.” She gave him a smile. “Thanks for saving me.”

  He returned the smile, proud, humble, and she wondered if he’d ever stop looking at her that way.

  “I’ll go now,” he said and turned to leave. At the door he paused.

  “Though you may deny it,” he said, “you are an angel. We all believe it.” Then: “We all know it.”

  And he was gone. For a long moment she stared after him.

  Then turned from the door.

  The room sat high above the city. Out the tall windows the lights shone beautifully. The battle, with its raging fires and flashes of explosions, took place far on the other side, out of sight, casting what she saw before her in an eerie, false serenity. A city at siege, yet in many ways business as usual.

  Hard to believe the one could exist so close to the other.

  She tried to put the chaos from her mind, concentrating on the beauty instead. She’d always loved big cities. The energy, the lights. This one looked as big as any New York or Chicago. In her short life she’d managed to visit a few, and though she wasn’t a “city girl” she often thought it would be cool to live in one. For a while, anyway.

  She took off her watch and laid it by the phone, on top of the paper Darvon left—noticing the numbers on the paper were standard numerals. She could read them: 45809 … Like a phone number back home.

  Too strange.

  She stretched and took a deep breath that turned into a wide yawn. The air in the room was clean, fresh, the temperature cool and perfect. It felt wonderful. Drawn irresistibly to the view she walked over to one of the windows—catching her reflection in the glass as she did. It made her pause. She took a moment to turn to the side, studying herself.

  Truly a mess.

  Hair a wild tangle about her head, ponytail lost in the jumble. Bare legs curving beneath the ruined skirt. She hitched it higher and looked them over. Their shape was …

  Interesting.

  A little flash of feel-good stirred within her.

  I have nice legs.

  She’d probably noticed before, maybe, but had always been too hard on herself. As she stood there looking at their perfect curve she realized, as if an epiphany, she’d never really noticed. It never struck her, particularly, that she had nice legs, because it was never part of her personality. Being a reclusive daydreamer, that was what she did best.

  She regarded herself a moment more, turned this way and that, then dropped the skirt and lengthened her focus beyond the glass. Walked closer to stand right against it. At the center of the sprawling expanse of skyscrapers stood the two tallest towers, the ones she’d seen on approach, prominent against the cityscape, rising high above the rest and surrounded by an inner compound wall. There, on a massive platform at the top of one of them, sat the giant airship. Was it … Her breath caught as she confirmed what she’d seen from afar.

  That was the one.

  The one that took Zac.

  It was an intimidating vessel even at this distance, crouched on its pad, ominous in silhouette against the city lights, a flying building in its own right. But the presence of the ship only confirmed her earlier suspicions.

  Zac would be there.

  She peered at the tower, imagining him inside, held in place by God knew what. That he could be captured at all shocked her, and the reality of that presented an additional barrier she’d so far refused to consider. Fact was, even if she could reach him, he might be impossible to rescue.

  Of course the idea of rescuing him at all was absurd.

  But she’d made it all the way back to the city. Somehow. And now there he was, right there in plain sight—he’s right there!—right there in front of her—she could almost leap to the other building and grab him and, after everything so far, to be that close … she felt an insane certainty that she could—would—pull it off. Actually would. Her own determination, having come through such a maelstrom of impossibilities already, to be standing there after everything … The facts of the situation began to impress upon her. After all that she was not going to give up now.

  She would find Zac, in that tower.

  And rescue him. And with him find the device.

  The Icon.

  And he would help her get home.

  A brief thrill shot through her. She’d never acted this overtly about anyone. Especially a boy. Now, of a sudden, she’d not only made the first move and kissed him—I kissed him!—but she was actually, even now, chasing after him, trying to rescue him, and doing it despite being surrounded by the madness of a world at war. Strange how the additional barriers seemed to compel her to do things that would’ve left her otherwise quivering with inaction. If Zac had been just another boy at school, back in regular, calm Boise, would she even have talked to him? If they’d been paired up as lab partners, would she ever have tried to kiss him? No way. Of course not. She would’ve wanted too. The same urges would’ve existed. But she never would’ve acted on them. Would she even have asked him to do something simple, like sit with her at lunch? Would she have even said hello in the hall?

  Nope.

  Would she have dreamed about him? Obsessed in her own mind about how great they’d be together?

  Absolutely.

  And now look. How things had changed.

  But these were no ordinary conditions. And Zac was no o
rdinary boy. With a shudder she recalled his embrace. His terrifying strength, held in check by tender compassion.

  The kiss.

  She puckered a little, admiring the reflection of her mouth in the window and liking it; recalling his soft, tender lips. The way they felt against her own. The way he didn’t pull away.

  Ugh.

  What an excellent way to recall it.

  He didn’t pull away!

  Yay. How wonderful.

  Exhaustion was working hard to drag her down. After a day of non-stop running, in the cold, the rain, the full-bore adrenaline and constant spikes … The calm, quiet warmth of this beautiful room was making her fade. Maybe she did need to rest.

  She took a deep breath and stepped away from the window. Walked further, back toward the fresh clothes Darvon left, peeling off the rags that were once a nice—if color uncoordinated—outfit. She grabbed the fresh ones and headed for the bathroom.

  In the shower she scrubbed forever at the seemingly permanent grime, at length deeming herself clean enough, refreshed enough, turned off the water and stepped reluctantly from the soothing heat. She dried slowly, taking time to examine each cut and bruise, finding nothing major. Everything would heal. She took one more look at herself in the mirror, then tried on the new clothes, finding them a good fit. A plain black jumpsuit that matched every other outfit she’d seen so far, along with comfortable black boots that came midway up her calf like jackboots. She stomped her feet a few times, adjusting to the feel. Lastly she pulled her damp hair back from her face, tight, tied it into a fresh pony that swished away from the top/back of her head, and looked herself over.

  Not bad.