Thornfalcon (The ARC Legacy Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  “Do you think they have her, Mom?”

  Eva shook her head. “No.” Her voice was adamant. “If there's one thing I know about you girls, it's that you always find a way. If Aeon Fall knew about Nina, they would have paraded her by now.”

  Io moved past Samantha to a closet. “I sense the aura in here. Guarded by your husband?”

  Samantha smiled as she looked over Io's shoulder, seeing countless representations of her father: carvings, drawings, paintings, and one small porcelain figure, all on a series of shallow shelves. “They all look like him, Mom. You haven't missed a thing. They even have that spark of amusement he's always carried. A twinkle in his eye, or the set of his jaw with a grin.”

  Eva softly smiled as she looked over the art, but it was a look or regret, of profound loss. Samantha had seen it many times before. “Let's get to it, Mom.” She wanted to move on, to push back at the hole that gnawed her.

  Eva pressed a hidden button behind the statuette. The whole shelf dropped back with a clunk and slid sideways, revealing what could only be called a shrine. Small, framed photos of hard-looking capable individuals were set in the alcove around a box. Several fat white candles stood atop chunky silver stands, the wicks untainted; they had never been lit. A light dust coated the contents; the alcove hadn't been touched in quite a while. Eva took a box of matches and struck one, lighting the candles.

  “The Shikari,” John said, his voice thick with emotion. “Eva, you remembered them all.”

  “Someone had to,” she replied.

  “Kris Elliot, Emdy Sengupta, Matt Tanzer, Jenn Day, Ellen Covlioni, Jawara Shelton, Porter Rockwell, Wolfgang Stufflebeam, Scope, Rachelle Bishop … Luke Wolverton.” John and Forrest said the names simultaneously. “Those are names never to be forgotten.”

  “One portrait is missing.” Swanson pointed out.

  “Porter Rockwell,” John grumbled. “He was a good man when he was alive. Somewhat obsessed with his outlaw ancestor, but when it came to it, he was as solid as the next man—understandable that you perhaps removed him. His current incarnation is a poor legacy of the man he once was. Something's taken the man who died in Hell and molded a twisted version.”

  “And he's after Nina,” Eva said, no emotion in her voice. “He'll have half the proof Madden ever existed.”

  Nina, hear me, Samantha thought, imagining her thoughts cast far and wide. In the past her sister would have responded. Now there was nothing.

  Swanson shuffled on the spot. “Eva, if there was anything…”

  “Don't give me excuses, Swanson. Give me my daughter. You sent her into the lion's den and now she's disappeared. Do we even know where?” Eva reached into the shrine, retrieving a gold box. Opening it, she handed it to Io. His eyes lit up as he gazed upon the velvet pouch within.

  Samantha felt a strange feeling wash over her, as if the presence of a strong force had suddenly registered—the same sort of sensation she felt when Io showed up in Dubrovnik, and the two times Karael appeared. Io looked up from his contemplation of the box and their eyes connected. He knew. Whatever she was feeling, he knew.

  Eva continued to speak. “We swore an oath to never reveal what happened in Hell beyond the ARC Council. Now you know both what happened and the treasure I have preserved. Is this enough for you to make your door to heaven?”

  “Not quite.” Io removed the bag from the box, handing it back to Eva. “A fallen angel has to perform the opening. That's me. I have to use the ashes of a righteous brother—these ashes of Metatron. The final ingredient is a corrupted source of unspeakable power. Consider this. The Phaethon is nicknamed 'The Icarus Stone' in Heaven.”

  “Because of the obvious reason?” Samantha asked. “Icarus did, after all, fly too close to the sun. Is your source of power nuclear? A radioactive element, perhaps? Plutonium? Uranium?”

  “You said corrupted,” Gila said, walking around as she considered the riddle. Nuclear fuels are elements. They are pure, despite their rate of decay being so dangerous.” She stopped, facing Io. “What exactly do you mean by corrupted? Do you mean altered, say something man-made?”

  Io thought for a moment. “Yes. You have a good point. When we say 'corrupted', the word can be misconstrued. In Heaven everything is pure. Souls come to us pure. Prayers are pure.”

  “Sounds like one giant clean room up there,” Forrest observed.

  “Heaven is no clean room,” Io contradicted him. “There are factions and conflict. Maintaining an angel's mission can often be a matter of perspective. Just ask Karael. Many would argue that the brutal force, which he employs, might be excessive. He sees nothing wrong with the execution of his orders.”

  “I'll bet you're on the other side now that you've had a beating or two,” Swanson commented, his wit as dry as ever.

  “True,” Io conceded. “Yet Forrest Kyle's point stands. Corrupted could mean 'corrupted by man'. You are, after all, a very corrupt species. From the very day Eve gave in to temptation, mankind has been walking a fine line, and in many cases, crossing over it.”

  “I don't believe anybody's totally pure,” Eva said.

  “I've got it,” Gila burst out. “Go with me on this, Ioviel. The source of energy for your Phaethon Stone hasn't always been available, has it?”

  “No, in fact it is only recently that such a source is recognised. We have never seen it because we no longer walk among you. The energy is not available in Heaven because of its impurity. Were it so, every fallen angel would have the source and Heaven would be a battlefield. It wouldn't matter because they would need ashes.” He paused, looking around the room at all of them, his fist tightening on the velvet pouch. “This is a set up indeed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  What had Io come to realise? He stood like a statue in front of her mother's shrine, his face concerned.

  “But why now?” Samantha asked.

  “Because Io isn't the only one trying to get into heaven,” Gila answered. “There's a demon walking the face of the earth, the only one in the last twenty years—the very same demon who threatened nuclear meltdown in a matter of days. Io, what if you're the only one who can reach the power source?”

  “I'm not. Karael is on Earth. He has the power.”

  “But he is not fallen. And he doesn't have any ashes.”

  “What about Porter Rockwell?” John asked. “Is he not a demon by its very definition—fallen?”

  “No. A demon such as he, is different than a fallen angel. I have been in his presence. The evil in him is ancient, filled with malice for my kind and humanity as well. There is nothing in him that would allow him to create a doorway.”

  “He wants you,” Eva said. “He wants you at the forthcoming nuclear incident.” She nodded to Gila. “Now, I understand now. The power source is corium.”

  Samantha thought hard. 'Corium' wasn't a word she recognised. She stepped closer to Io, holding onto his upper arm and leaning into him. His rock-solidness was a reassurance. “Is it from a nuclear reactor? Just what is it?”

  “Corium forms when a nuclear reactor melts down.” Gila's one sentence hit Samantha like a sledgehammer. Suddenly the grand plan made sense.

  “It's a hybrid material,” Gila explained. “Corium only forms in the worst nuclear reactor disasters, when the core goes critical and melts because it can no longer be cooled. You get a mix of everything: nuclear fuel, cooling rods, concrete, oxides formed from the reaction of superheated fuel and water. It looks like a lava and can melt through just about anything. Corrupt is the most appropriate word to use. Nothing of this earth could get close without becoming massively irradiated. There are only a few examples in recent history: the disasters at Chernobyl, Fukushima in Japan, and Three Mile Island all produced corium. To get to any of those, you'd have to punch your way in through dozens of feet of concrete.”

  “Better to have someone immune to most normal forms of damage walk into a fresh disaster and return with a glowing ball of rock.” Swanson said, the tone of his vo
ice flat. “Aeon Fall could leave millions dead and dying to accomplish their goal, if indeed that is their aim. They don't care if God is dead or not. It's all a front.”

  “There's one way to find out,” Io said. “Summon Karael.”

  “He's almost killed you twice,” Samantha warned. “What if this time he decides you're really worth finishing off?”

  Io smiled. “You misunderstand me, Samantha. I don't mean using your method of divination. My memory is now clear. In my realm, we summon each other by means of sigils. Any angel can summon another by the glyph bearing their mark. It enables us to move great distances in an instant, and Heaven, too, as you might expect, is very, very vast. There is no reason to suspect that the same will not work on the mortal plane. However, I have been to the Fearvent. I know a little secret to my brother's glyph. It can be worked inside an angel trap, such as those used in the Fearvent to keep the prisoners in place.”

  “Heaven has a prison?” Swanson shook his head. “Can't believe that.”

  “Pray that you never see it. Fearvent is not a pleasant place. However, I am confident that an angel can be bound within the trap.”

  “For how long?” John Wolverton asked. “I like the idea of trapping the monster whose been doing so much damage, but under the Chateau? In ARC headquarters? May I remind you all what happened the time a creature from another realm arrived in this region?”

  “We have to take the chance. What if this Karael knows about the Phaethon Stone and Io's intent?”

  “I can assure you, he is aware. We all are. My concern is this: Not only does he know, but I also get the feeling he is actively encouraging my rehabilitation. He wants me to make the attempt.”

  “If you believe that,” Eva said, “what makes you in any way certain he will come?”

  “Her.” Io pointed to Samantha.

  Confused, she looked around the room. All eyes were pointed in her direction. “Me? What makes me the center of the plot, all of a sudden?”

  “Karael knows now that I will defend you, even if it means my own demise. All he wishes is to complete his mission. Once I am done for, he will return home.”

  “Except this time when he shows, he will be in a prison of our making.”

  “I know a place we can use,” Samantha said, turning to the door, not waiting to see if anybody aside from Io would follow her.

  * * *

  In the hallway Samantha heard several sets of footsteps as she led the way toward the underbelly of Chateau d'Yvoire. Down numerous sets of uncomfortably narrow, spiral staircases, she entered a hallway where only the furthest reaches of the false light shone. A flashlight was passed forward.

  “Thanks,” she said to Io, who stared at the flashlight for a moment, and then handed it to her. “This should do, don't you think?” She switched it on, illuminating a circular room, which was a few metres inside an outer wall with a dirt floor and a ring of stone columns hewn from bedrock.

  “This chamber was used for torture.” Io's voice was clipped and judgmental. “Karael would probably approve. You might desire more light for yourselves. I shall make the necessary preparations.” He moved into the centre of the room and picked up what looked like a thick stick, but could just have easily been a human bone. Everybody but Samantha's mother took this as a cue to leave.

  Samantha decided not to examine his implement too closely. “So what happens if this goes wrong?”

  “I die, Karael returns to Heaven, and your religion ends.”

  “Is it all that final?” Eva asked.

  “Heaven is a place of absolutes. They believe mankind has abandoned them and pretty soon they won't open the gates to anybody for fear of an impurity. Religion has failed here, almost completely. Souls will continue to travel to Heaven but they will back up. Getting Heaven to listen is the only way to prevent this. I must try.”

  “Madden said something very similar when it became clear Crustallos was on the threshold of breaking through to Hell.”

  “Heaven is different,” Io protested, “almost organic in nature. The angels maintain its purity, as they do the spirits that come from Earth.”

  “They come through Hell,” Eva challenged him. “I was there. I saw what happens. Everything comes through Hell.”

  “Be that as it may, your version of events is not how we understand the source of souls to be. We have belief too. Belief that spirits come from earth. Belief that there is purity and goodness in everyone.”

  “Do you still believe that, even now?” Samantha asked, leaning against one of the stone posts as Io carved an intricate pattern in the dirt.

  “I must admit I have come to reconsider my belief with only a few days in this host. It is clear while everybody is born an innocent, the corruption has spread and infects mortals very early on. I fear this revelation might truly make me fallen.”

  “Opening your eyes to reality is never a bad thing,” Eva said.

  “Others might not see it that way,” Io replied. “The First Sphere, the Cherubim, Seraphim and the Thrones would close the gates permanently on a whim. While my order is steadfast to God, they are far more primal, almost elemental in nature. They surround Him and nurture Him. Their primary concern is to keep Him untainted even by us, his lesser creations. We are His caretakers, and are all about His glory. Some suggest that it is the First Sphere that caused Satan to choose the fall rather than serve under a master who has no mastery. I am sure my Father has no knowledge of Metatron's fall. I have to get back there. I have to try to make them understand.”

  Io finished carving the earth and stood up. “There. The trap is almost sealed. Any more carving and I will not be able to leave it. Samantha, will you finish the pattern for me?”

  Two black-ops ARC operatives appeared at the bottom of the stairway, large spotlights on stands trailing power cables back up the stairs behind them. With a minimum of fuss they set up the spotlights at either end of the room, turning on the beams and focussing them at the pattern.

  Now she could see what Io had carved, Samantha recognised the symbols. “It looks very similar to the pattern used to summon my … to summon the Devil.”

  “What you were doing was trapping his essence within an image projected by your mind,” Io explained. “Anyone who beheld him otherwise would have seen his true form.”

  “That explains all the insane screaming,” Samantha observed. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Carve a circle in the middle. Link it by three lines at any point to the outer pattern. Then draw Karael's glyph in the centre of the circle. He will be compelled to come by this particular trap. Regardless of its potency, the temptation will be too great. A pure angel, a righteous soldier, will be trapped instantly.”

  Samantha did as bidden. Taking the implement from Io and trying her best not to look at what she held, Samantha carved the circle and three wavy lines joining it to the trap. As she finished, she felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. She grunted, taking a deep breath.

  “Sammy, what's wrong? her mother asked.

  “Nothing. I'm all right. Just need to catch my breath. This spell is powerful stuff.” She looked up at Io, who appeared confused. “Just the glyph now? The Thornfalcon.”

  “Yes, do so.”

  His voice was uncertain, but Samantha had no idea why. She gripped the digging tool hard, feeling the sharp edge lacerate her palm where it was broken. Three swift strokes and the Thornfalcon was etched into the angel trap. She stood. “Now what?”

  “Get out of there. The glyph works instantly when I summon Karael.”

  Samantha stepped in between the carvings of the trap, every step becoming more and more difficult as if a force sought to keep her inside. “What's going on?” she said as she pushed at an invisible wall.

  “Unexpected consequences,” Io replied, his voice mysterious. “Keep going.”

  Eva reached forward and tugged on Samantha's outstretched hand. The force was enough for her to move forward across the edge of the trap. Having do
ne so, the oppressive sensation disappeared and she could breathe again. “I felt like the weight of the whole castle was literally on top of me.”

  “That shouldn't have happened,” Io said. He raised his hand toward the glyph. “Let's see you again, brother.” His palm began to glow, warmth pushing back the cold earthy damp of the underground room. In response, the glyph glowed a pale white and began to pulse. Yet nothing more happened. Io gritted his teeth and spread his fingers wide, the tendons sticking out on the back of his hand. After a moment, he let the glow fade. “He is not coming.”

  “How is that possible?” Eva asked. “I thought you said the pattern would compel him?”

  “That pattern would compel any pure and righteous angel. I learned it from the one who created the original trap, which leads me to one of two conclusions. Either the trap never worked in the first place, or Karael is not as pure as he led us to believe.”

  “It felt pretty damned real to me,” Samantha muttered. “Why don't you try standing in there and see for yourself? At least that way you know if I carved the trap correctly.”

  Io nodded. “If you did, you have but to erase any of the outer lines to break the trap and free me.” He stepped across the outer edge of his construction. Once in the centre, he scuffed the glyph meant to call Karael. “No point having him appear now if this trap works.”

  “Does it?” Eva asked.

  Io put his hands out to either side and pushed. An invisible barrier prevented him from stretching his arms straight. He snarled, pushing until the tendons stuck out on his neck, then stopped and dropped his head. “The trap is intact, leaving a single possibility. Karael has been corrupted. He has truly fallen.”

  “But wouldn't Heaven know? I mean surely an angel choosing to fall to earth is a pretty big deal.”

  “Karael has his skills for that exact reason. He is Heaven's enforcer.”

  “Well who enforces the enforcer? Everybody has to answer to someone.” Samantha moved toward the trap. “Aren't you missing the obvious, Io? You're trapped. You said a pure angel would be summoned and held by the design. Granted you weren't the target, but you're in the trap.”