by Laury Falter
Then I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cool, refreshing breeze that consistently floated through the hall. It calmed my agitation but only momentarily.
Before I knew it, I was up and my wings were out. They took me off the ground and across the hall, stopping directly next to the P’s.
There I paused and evaluated my feelings. I was calm, rational, and aware. Still I had the burning desire to visit the past lives of the last of Abaddon’s closest followers. I could handle this…
Pulling the scroll from its pocket, I spoke his name, “Achan Aemilius,” and the scroll began to move.
It stopped at his name, the rows of his past lives lining up with the tip of my thumb. He had been to earth nine times, by far the most of any Abaddon follower.
I couldn’t visit each one. There just wasn’t enough time. I was at the end of my time here, instinct telling me that the sun was just about to rise back in the other dimension.
So, I narrowed my selection down to the last lifetime before eternal death, the one he’d lived after falling.
I swiped my finger across his name and found Achan striding through a long, dark, and twisting hallway carved of mortared stone. Torches lit the way, giving just enough light to see the rats that cowered at the sound of his approach. The air was musty with a layer of decomposition.
He was slight crouched, from the low ceiling as well as an attempt to project casual strength. He did this because he wasn’t alone.
When the voice came from behind Achan, my recognition of it made my muscles from inside Achan’s body tighten.
“You live this deep,” said Abaddon in French. It was more of a statement, a speculation, than a question.
“It keeps me hidden from sight,” replied Achan, also in French. A few steps farther and Achan added, “Burials are what bring people down here…and they don’t stay long.”
As he made his comment, his hand swung the torch he carried towards the opening of a room, one filled with bones.
The conversation between Achan and Abaddon was stiff, I noticed, which hinted at one thing. The scroll was showing me when they had first met.
They reached a stone portal, an entryway, with an inscription: Arrête! C'est ici l'empire de la Mort.
Without having to be told, I knew what it meant.
Halt! This is the Empire of Death.
Neither one of them halted.
Achan heaved open the thick, wooden door and entered another hallway, this one lined with intricately arranged bones.
“How many did you slay atop the Bastille?” Abaddon asked casually following behind.
Achan turned quickly and entered a room off the main hallway, one suspiciously void of bones. “Thirty…maybe forty. I don’t count when they’re not messengers.”
For emphasis, Achan swung the bag of arrows from his shoulder and set it down, along with his bow, propping them against the wall near the door. He then unsheathed a dagger and approached a wooden altar, notched with rows of deeply carved lines. He took the blade and carved one more line and then stood back to observe his work.
“How many have you killed in total?” Abaddon asked from behind him.
“Messengers? Count them for yourself,” he said, gesturing to the altar.
My breath caught as I realized what Achan was referring to…for every messenger he’d murdered, he’d made a notch in his altar. In the brief time before Achan turned from it, I counted fifteen notches, fifteen lines, fifteen messengers.
I suddenly felt sick.
Abaddon approached and bent forward for a closer look. “Fourteen messengers,” he stated. “A fine job.”
Achan swung around, smirking. “You’ve miscounted. There are fifteen lines there.”
Abaddon shook his head. “The one you killed tonight doesn’t count. She will return.”
“Return?” Achan laughed. “My arrow found its mark.”
“It did. They all did,” agreed Abaddon. “But she didn’t die by them.”
Achan crossed his arms, testing him. “Then how did she die?”
Abaddon met his challenge head on. “By her guardian, Achan…the man beside her was her guardian.”
Rage swelled in Achan then, causing his lip to curl back, and his fists to clench together, nails digging through his palms. Clearly, it wasn’t often that he was duped.
Slowly, I began to piece together what they were referring to. Achan had been at the Bastille, killing the rebels, only to be pulled away to execute a messenger.
In my past life, I had witnessed the Bastille burn and I had seen Achan’s arrows break through the glass of the estate where I’d lived, landing where they intended, in me.
I was the messenger they were discussing and Eran was the guardian who saved me.
Abaddon strolled from the altar with indifference towards it and across the room where Achan stood. “But I can make sure you get a second chance…” he promised.
Achan’s emotions calmed, but only slightly. “How?”
“Join me…Join me and you will have your chance at Maggie again.”
At the sound of my name, I flinched.
Achan assessed his options before answering and then I felt a smile spread across his face. “What must I offer in return?”
“When she returns, and she will, hunt her. Find her and you may take her life but do not touch her guardian.”
“And why?”
“Her guardian is mine,” Abaddon stated with a finality that sent shivers down my spine.
Achan extended his hand.
“A gentleman’s pact,” said Abaddon, taking Achan’s hand only for a brief shake.
“Are you not a gentleman?” I felt Achan’s eyebrows rise.
“I am,” replied Abaddon insidiously. “The worst of their kind.”
They each responded with laughter and almost as if a wall had been breached, their shoulders fell, their faces relaxed, and they welcomed each other as more than acquaintances.
“Just one more thing,” said Abaddon. “I’m curious…What drives you to kill them? I’ve known others of our kind who would slay messengers when crossing their path but I haven’t known one to hunt them.”
“They can send me to death…eternally,” Achan pointed out. “Thus, I get to them before they get to me.”
Abaddon slowly nodded in concurrence. “That…is good enough for me…”
Now it was my lip that curled up, in disgust, but it didn’t last long.
I was yanked from Achan’s body and back to the other dimension.
When I opened my eyes, Eran was sitting in a chair next to the bed, watching me.
I blinked a few times, clearing the blur from my sight, and found him watching me, a slight frown turning his handsome face downward.
“You visited another scroll,” he stated with frustration. Without waiting for confirmation, he asked, “Was it worth it?”
My answer would have reaffirmed in him that he was right in suggesting I take a break. I had come back with no clues, once again. So, I remained quiet.
Slipping my legs over the bed, I noticed it was dark outside the window.
“The sun hasn’t come up yet,” I commented, trying to take the conversation off me.
It didn’t help.
“It rose,” said Eran stiffly. “And it fell.”
“It’s night again?” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” said Eran flatly.
“Huh…” I muttered. “I must…I guess my body really needed the rest.”
Eran, who had been slouched in the chair, sat up. “Do you want to know how I knew you’d visited another life?”
“Not really,” I said slowly and in all honesty.
“Because I waited for you to wake up…every minute of the twenty four hours you’ve been asleep.”
“Oh, Eran, I’m sorry.” And I truly was.
He stood and moved to the edge of the bed then. “Your body here was writhing while you visited the afterlife,” he paused and corrected himself
, “the scroll. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I think so.” I lifted the shirt I wore and peeked down through the bandage covering my wound.
Eran drew in a deep breath and released it gradually, making me realize that he’d been holding his breath, anxiously waiting to ensure I was fine.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, placing my hand on his.
With my health confirmed, he was back to himself again. I knew this when he grinned.
“You know…” he said, standing, “I would have to live in denial to believe you would listen to me.”
We shared a laugh and then his gaze dropped to my waist.
“Your thrashing was fairly aggressive so I’m going to venture that you’ve healed well enough to make it to the dining hall. I’m told there are a few Alterums who want to make your acquaintance, ones who have been admirers from afar.”
“Really? Who?”
“Oh…all of them,” Eran replied casually, as if it wasn’t meant to have any effect on me.
It did and I was left slightly unnerved.
Eran helped me dress then, taking extra care to veer his eyes when he felt it was prudent. It almost made me chuckle.
I learned, as we headed for the dining hall, that I had built up the energy and tolerance needed to get around without much help. So much that I was already considering training with Eran tomorrow by the time we reached the hall’s door.
Interestingly, it was far different from the cafeteria at school. While nearly as large and filled with bodies that turned to stare at me when I passed through the door, the faces on those watching me now were with admiration.
“Mags,” Felix shouted, haphazardly standing and tipping his chair in his rush to greet me.
Rufus growled at him as Felix’s hip bumped the table and sloshed his milk. “She ain’t runnin’ in the other direction. What’s the rush?”
If Felix heard him, he chose to ignore it, wrapping his arms around me.
“It’s all right, Felix,” I laughed. “I can do this on my own.”
“Oh, I know it,” he replied casually while leaving his hand on my elbow for support.
He guided me to the table, kicking the leg of Rufus’s chair to get him to move. The problem was he had already moved.
“Ya’ll knock it off if ya wanna keep that foot,” Rufus threatened.
“Well,” I said, leveling myself gently in a chair. “Sounds like everything’s back to normal.”
Ezra and Ms. Beedinwigg responded with a grin while Felix and Rufus continued to bicker. Ezra shushed them a moment later.
Eran, who’d left to gather a tray of food, returned and we set about eating. Tonight’s menu consisted of chicken stew and dumplings so I knew Felix hadn’t been let back in the kitchen for a full dinner service yet.
As we ate, the conversation changed topics often until landing on one that seemed to be on the top of everyone’s mind. It was Eran who addressed it, though it was unintentional.
“Felix, how’s your leg?” he asked.
“Fine…why?”
“I saw one of the Alterums you were working with today make contact…and it was a good one.”
Rufus, who’d been quiet most of dinner, opened his mouth and released a barrage of guffaws at Felix.
Felix balked with a roll of his eyes but said nothing, returning to plate of food instead.
“They’re looking better,” Ezra commented.
“Much better,” Ms. Beedinwigg agreed.
Then the table fell silent as the realization landed on us all at once.
The time had come to select the best ones to accompany our hunts.
“Are they ready?” I asked, wanting to be certain, requiring it, in fact.
Eran, Campion, Ms. Beedinwigg – the best fighters of the group – glanced at each other. One began to nod and then another until all came to a consensus.
“They’re ready,” Eran confirmed.
My eyes dropped to the table then, noticing a carving etched in the ancient wood table.
E + J forever
My thoughts turned then, away from those sitting beside me, and towards the person who had carved those initials. It reminded me of the carving Eran had made on the inside of my hut in the tranquility of the afterlife and I wondered if E…or J…whichever had left the carving felt the same passion as Eran and me.
It was my choice to determine who to ask to join our close knit team and I didn’t take it lightly. In reality, I could be asking E or J to leave the other behind, put their life at risk for the sake of a greater good, and threaten the possibility of their love’s longevity. It was an overwhelming request.
Should E or J be chosen and should they accept, he or she would not only be putting themselves in danger they could also put the rest of us in danger, given they’d only recently learned how to fight enemies armed with centuries of training.
A pair of warm, heavy hands on my shoulders jolted me from my thoughts then. Thinking it was Eran, I turned, cautiously so as not to reopen my wound, and smile up at him only to find it was Magnus standing behind me.
“I’d like you to meet a few of the more established in our crowd,” he said, his voice just as hearty as the last time I’d heard it. I knew instantly that by established he meant more experienced and wiser.
Behind him was a line of men and women, some still in their teenage years. As they approached me, I noticed several things about them. They all moved with powerful, assured grace, a confidence that told me that they knew what was coming for them and wouldn’t shy away from it. Looking in their eyes, I saw in each of them something that I hadn’t expected…an audacity that told of a common belief that this was their world and they were going to protect it. Lastly, they were each quick witted, some going so far as to verbally spare with Rufus, knowing him from their time in an Irish orphanage. Their subtle jesting said they had seen a lot and that it wouldn’t stop them from enjoying the life they’d come here to live.
After I thanked each of them for introducing themselves, Eran leaned towards me. “I believe you just met the additions to your team.”
I blinked back at him, astounded. Watching the entourage weaving through the tables and back to their respective seats, I realized he was correct. I hadn’t recognized it at the time but they were right for our team.
Grinning, I finished my dinner, feeling the assurance that only accompanies the finding of a perfect fit. When the plates had been cleared, Rufus introduced me to more of his friends from the orphanage, the same ones who’d been detained in the cells below the assembly room for having sided with Rufus. That didn’t seem to matter to them, however. As Rufus took the time to point to each of his various tattoos and relate how the stocky Irish man or woman sitting in front of me came to conjure such an imprint, their faces were bright and amused. Many of them had endured difficult childhoods only to be met with challenging adulthoods but not a single one of them carried bitterness. They laughed from their bellies, clapping their hands heartily on the wooden table and threatening to leave a crack from its force.
Not to be outdone, Felix sought out his friends and introduced them as well. Being just as quirky as him, they had their own multi-colored hairstyles, unique way of dressing, and funny terms such as “that was double throw down stupid” and “I have no fight in that dogma”. They were nomadic for the most part, travelers who had missed the call for assembly and only recently arrived. Still, they blended in well and gave as good a ribbing as they took from Rufus’s friends.
Well after others had left the dining hall, Eran and I went back to our room where I curled against the side of him, cherishing his warmth, sleeping better for the first time since I could remember.
In the morning I awoke rested and with the feeling I was back to my normal level of strength. This was a good thing because something deep down, an intuition that had been finely honed for centuries, told me that tonight I was going to need it…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: DISTRACTIONS
Eran r
ecognized my discomfort right after I’d stepped out of bed.
“How’s your side?” he asked. “Can I get you anything?”
I responded with a thankful smile but shook my head.
“You look…pale…” he concluded.
“It’s not from the wound.”
“Then what?” he persisted, circling the bed to sit next to me. The mattress dipped heavily from his solid body and mine inadvertently leaned towards him, causing our shoulders to rest against one another.
Neither of us moved, enjoying the contact.
Eran waited patiently for his answer, evaluating my face.
“I…I have a bad feeling, that’s all.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You have a bad feeling and you think that’s all?” He was astounded. “Magdalene, when have any of your bad feelings been wrong?”
I gave him a momentary look accompanied with a shrug.
“It’s been a while since you’ve had one so you may have forgotten but they’ve always been dead on accurate.”
My face must have been blank from an expression because he continued.
“Luxembourg,” he stated. “You had a bad feeling and that evening while taking messages, Fallen Ones invaded that home. France…we ignored your bad feeling only to encounter a slew of arriving Fallen Ones entering Paris to storm the Bastille. Pennsylvania…you had a bad feeling. Believing it to be the coming of the British we discounted it and found ourselves surrounded by our enemies the following day. Magdalene, I’ve since considered your bad feelings to be an extension of your radar.” He paused, thinking. “I’ll put my men on alert and double the number of them on sentry duty.”
He was already on his feet, slipping a shirt over his head. It fell too quickly, teasing me with only a glimpse of his muscles and I immediately felt guilty. Here I was telling him the attack we’d been waiting for might happen sometime today and yet I was preoccupied with his physique.
“Is there something else wrong?” He stopped after noticing my expression.