What right did he, the one who had caused her immortal death, have to now seek comfort from her?
I ran toward him, able to do so in my corporeal form, and let my fist fly. The satisfying sound—feel—of my fist meeting his jaw gave me a minute bit of peace as he first cried out and then glared at me with a mixture of anger and surprise etched in the lines of his handsome face.
“Think twice, Azrael!” He growled at me.
“To the Hells with you Ishitar.” I replied, spinning away from him. “And may Countenance’s shadows dance twice upon your grave.”
I dissipated the mortal body I had been cloaking myself within and willed myself out of his sight.
I didn’t know, until that moment, that I had the ability to do so.
In my grief, I did not recognize the significance of this gift at the time.
-76-
Not that I had left him completely.
Through Zadkiel’s eyes, I watched him continue to scour the cottage in search of the comfort of the woman he thought of as his true mother. When he couldn’t find her, he made his way to the kitchen, where Zadkiel—patient father that he was—waited for him.
“Where is she?” He asked, more irritated than desperate.
“Gone.” Zadkiel swallowed the pain of the word and raised his gaze to meet that of the God that he thought of as his son. “Ishitar. She’s gone.”
“Gone where?” Ishitar snapped at him.
Zadkiel blinked at him, confused.
Then, understanding dawned upon him.
Ishitar didn’t realize the extent of the damage that he had wrought.
“Ishitar . . .” He shook his head and reached for Ishitar’s hand. Ishitar stared at him, at the hand that grasped his, frowning. “You . . . bid that they all . . .”
“That they all what?” He snapped, his anger and impatience clearly overwhelming him.
Zadkiel, who had, until that moment, feigned strength and wisdom, swallowed the hitch of his sob.
“She’s gone.” Ishitar’s brow furrowed. “You bid that they all turn to ash.” He looked swiftly away. “From the first . . .”
Ishitar’s eyes widened. He glared at Zadkiel with an expression of pure horror. He realized, in that moment, that his beloved mother was the first.
A fact he should have held in his mind all along.
“She’s in Azrael’s bed.” Zadkiel was finally able to say the horrible words. Then, unable to hold his anger at bay. “Go, boy. And see for yourself the reality you are capable of creating when you have the mind.”
-77-
I was laying on the bed, my body curled around what was left of her, when he opened the door.
“Azy?” His voice trembled.
I ignored him.
In that moment I loathed him. As such, I was in no mood to placate him.
He walked around the bed, slowly. When he stood at the other side, he fell, gracelessly, to his knees.
As his eyes fell upon her, I knew he needed my comfort.
I couldn’t offer it to him.
And, to my horror, I found great satisfaction in the sound of his guilty, self-condemning screams.
-78-
Iladrul took stock of the damages before making his way to the throne room. He would be expected, he knew, to give comfort and counsel to those whose loved ones had been lost.
That his own family was now gone to him would mean little and less to his people. He was their King now. And he must, from this point forward, put his own happiness and pain to the side of himself.
Though he hadn’t seen his mother’s body, he assumed she had fallen. The Temple, after all, was now little more than soot and ash.
Ash . . . He thought distractedly as he looked around himself. Ash is everywhere . . . Blotting out the sun. Blackening the day.
As were the rotting bodies of angels and elves.
The first order of business, he knew, was to instruct the healers to bring the bodies of the dead to the Priestesses.
And to build a pyre . . .
More ash, he thought.
Then he shivered.
-79-
Osete stood on the border of the lands of Wisterian, his niece clutched tightly in his grasp. He turned his gaze to Prince Paul, swallowing.
“The soot of this place is smothering.” The vampire Prince muttered. “My face will not be welcome.”
“Will mine?” Osete asked, swallowing. “Will Nostimun’s?”
“Nostiman’s.” Prince Paul turned to meet his gaze and gave him a tired smile. “She’s a girl. She requires a girl’s name.”
He raised his hand and ruffled Osete’s hair.
The doxy bit his lip and lowered his gaze.
“No, Osete.” Prince Paul replied. “I don’t think so.”
Osete shivered and buried his face into the girl’s hair. She smelled like fresh tobacco leaves, oddly enough. The scent of her did not comfort him.
He raised his gaze and met that of the vampire Prince. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. “Where are we to go?”
Prince Paul continued to smile at him. As he did so, he extended his hand. Osete looked upon his palm, confused.
Prince Paul’s smile grew as he raised the hand and wrapped it around Osete’s neck.
“Come with me, Osete.” He entreated. “And bring the girl with you.”
“With a vampire?” The horror that coursed through Osete’s veins was undeniable. “For your food?”
Prince Paul shook his head and returned his gaze to the castle. He raised his hand and pointed in the direction of Wisterian’s lands.
“My people perish tonight.” He muttered under his breath. “As may yours, for all I know.” He shrugged and returned his gaze to Osete. “We can return to the castle and the lands that I rule in truce.” He grinned. “Vampire and elf. Allies.” He flicked his eyes to the burning city before them. “And Iladrul’s daughter will return to him, when she is ready, a Queen.”
Osete flicked his gaze to the babe in his arms and shivered. She slept, peaceful in dreams, despite the Hell raining down upon them. He licked his lips, looked toward the city that had ever been his home, and then returned his gaze to Prince Paul.
He saw no ill intention on the vampire’s face.
Hoping his decision would not damn the girl, or her race, he gave Prince Paul a tentative smile.
“A second city of elves.” Osete muttered. “Raised at the hand of a vampire.”
Prince Paul chuckled and laced his hand around Osete’s neck again. Osete, despite the cold shiver that passed over him, smiled at Prince Paul in return.
“A second city of elves.” Prince Paul agreed. “And vampires, who I believe have no right to nest, will be forbidden from its walls.”
“All vampires?” Osete asked, curious.
Prince Paul’s smile grew.
“Mayhap all but one.”
-80-
Gabriel stood next to Ishitar, his eyes imploring.
“Are you certain?” He asked. “It’s a heavy choice.”
Ishitar leaned forward and kissed Gabriel’s cheek. When he pulled away, he wore a tight, desperate smile.
“You do understand that you shall be stuck in your mortal body until Moira’s will be done by you.” Gabriel reminded him. “You’re mother’s barter with her before you were born—”
“I understand, well, the cost I must pay for my choices.” His expression was painful to look upon. “Yet, it is the only course I can take.”
Gabriel nodded at him, raised his hand and ran his finger over Ishitar’s brow in an attempt to draw Ishitar’s memories from him.
“As you command me,” Gabriel smiled at him, “thy will shall be done.”
He raised his hands, setting them upon Ishitar’s shoulders and, with all of his strength, pushed.
Azrael
“I didn’t know where he went.” I raise my gaze to look upon Charlie’s profile. He had long ago become lost in the story and was a
ttempting, now, to reconcile its meaning within his mind. “Nor, I must admit, did I care.”
Charlie nods.
“I have nothing more to say to you.”
He raises his face upward to imply that he is giving me his full attention.
“Where do we go?” He asks. “When Zadkiel takes us?”
This question surprises me. And I, not one who is easily surprised, let out a confused chortle.
“I don’t know.” I admit.
He nods.
“But he went to Gabriel.” Charlie mutters. “Not Zadkiel. So he was still . . . alive?”
“He is still alive.”
“Still mortal?”
I grant him a tight smile.
“And . . . Sappharon?” He swallows. “Samyael?”
“Sappharon has been made a Goddess.” I remind him. “And Samyael’s wings are now white.”
He nods.
“I’m . . . sorry.”
He reaches for my hand. He cannot grasp it. This seems to frustrate him but he says nothing about that. He realizes, for the first time, that I am either who I say I am or he has lost his mind and I am a figment of his imagination.
“For your loss. I grieve for you.”
“Thank you.” I whisper.
The pain is still acute. Whenever I think of her, I am felled.
“It’s getting late.” I tell him. “And I am unable to continue with this story.”
He tries to reach for my hand again. This time he grunts his frustration and shakes his head. But his words, despite his confusion, are kind. “I understand, Azrael.”
I smile.
“Will I see you again?”
“Oh, yes.” I grant him a regretful smile.
Hearing my voice raise above him, he takes my cue and finds his feet. His legs have gone numb, so he shakes them, one at a time. As he reaches for Rocky’s harness, he gives me a weary smile.
“Until then,” he says, a shudder passing through him.
Unable to bear the heavy weight of the air around us, I grant him a final, regretful smile.
Charlie
Charlie sat at his kitchen table, spinning his cup of tea, his mind racing.
He had more questions for Azrael, damn it. And he should have asked them while the strange man had been standing at his side.
“If he was standing at my side.” Charlie scoffed. Then he laughed at himself. “I must be losing my mind.”
The knock at the door roused him from this thought. He stood and walked toward it, opening it to stare with blind eyes at the man on the other side.
He knew who it was, well enough. He could smell him. The faint order of mixed spices permeated the room. Not precisely a cologne that Charlie was familiar with.
But, then, given Joshua’s accent, he supposed the cologne has come from whatever lands the man, himself, had risen.
“Am I intruding?” Joshua asked him.
“No.” Charlie took a step back, his smile coming easy. “Please, Mr. Silverstone. Come in.”
“I’ve come to replace the bottle of scotch I drank the last time I visited.” Joshua’s voice was tinged with a note of amusement. “Perhaps you can entice me to a glass before I go.”
“If I must twist your arm.” Charlie chuckled, taking the bottle and turning away to walk toward the cupboard. “I was wondering if I’d ever see you again.”
“I’m like a bad cough.” Joshua teased. “Just try to get rid of me.”
Charlie laughed out loud at that.
“Have you received any more packages from your friend?”
“Better than that.” Charlie replied as he led Joshua into the kitchen. “He approached me at Liberty Park.”
Joshua started. Charlie turned toward him, surprised by his sudden movement. “You actually saw him?”
“Yes.” He said, not correcting the man over his semantics. “He spoke of a mortal war this time.”
“Which?” Joshua sounded eager.
“Elves.” Charlie muttered, curious with regard to Joshua’s tone. “And the demons who would destroy them.”
Joshua flinched, causing Charlie’s brow to furrow.
“Yes.” Joshua replied, his tone flat. “I am overly familiar with that particular fable.”
“Then I’ll spare you the gruesome details of the ending.”
“I’d . . . prefer that.” Joshua swallowed. Charlie heard the click in his throat as he did so. “How did he seem? Your friend?”
“Fine.” Charlie’s brow furrowed even further. “Are you alright, Josh?”
“Yes.” His tone wrapped around a smile now. “Forgive me. Since you found the lost Tome, I’ve found myself getting wrapped up in history.”
Charlie did not know how to respond to that particular statement.
“Well.” Joshua laughed under his breath. “Legend.” He leaned forward, toward Charlie. The warmth of him—the smell of him—brought Charlie an odd comfort. At the same time, the unguarded intimacy of the gesture intimidated him. “Will he be back? Your friend?”
“I don’t know.” Charlie admitted. Then, remembering the heavy quality of the air that surrounded Azrael before he bid Charlie goodbye, he shivered. “He said he intends to.”
“When he does,” Joshua’s tone had a pleading quality to it, “tell him I’d very much like to speak with him.”
Charlie, tipping the bottle of scotch toward an empty glass that had been sitting in the rack to dry, was unable to utter any such promise.
Lesson One:
Malicious Intent is the
Best Friend of Your Enemy
Lesson Two:
The Cut of the Tongue is Mightier
Than the Sting of the Sword
Author’s Note
Although the core of this story was written as it had been originally drafted, the ending, when it came to me about half way through the novel, took me by complete surprise. As did the moves on the kings’ board being made by the players. Characters, just like friends and lovers, sometimes have the strangest habit of heading off in the direction that best suits them, sometimes leaving those that love them behind.
There are still many loose ends to tie up, but I hope that I have managed to share this round of the game with a successful conclusion.
Regardless, I want to thank you for taking the time to read Ashes to Ashes. As a self-published author, I depend upon word of mouth and recommendation to promote my books. That being said, whether or not you enjoyed the story, I would appreciate an honest review on social media, such as Facebook, Amazon.com and Barnes&noble.com.
If you have a particular question in regard to any one of the installments, do not hesitate to contact me on the series’ Facebook page at:
https://www.facebook.com/#!/TheScribingOfIshitar
or you can contact me at [email protected].
About the Author
Carrie F. Shepherd (1971) was born in Salt Lake City, Utah but currently resides in Highlands Ranch, Colorado. The single mother of one, she enjoys taking advantage of the hiking trails when it’s cool out or curling up with a book next to the pool on warmer days. Twenty years of scribing have brought the personalities of the people who most inspire her to life within the characters in these pages.
The Scribing of Ishitar:
Fall From Grace (Volume I)
Ashes to Ashes (Volume II)
Ashes to Ashes Page 38