Twixt Heaven And Hell

by Tristan Gregory

  Darius's vision had begun to contract with the effort, going dark at the edges. Soon all he could see was his enemy's face, toothy and gloating, already savoring his victory over the great Darius...

  From the corridor beyond the sorcerer came screams, and a ghostly light began to shine upon the stone. The next thing Darius knew, a gloved hand grasped his foe's neck from behind, pulling him back and interrupting his assault.

  Makaelic lifted the sorcerer, and the Angel's glowing blade plunged into the his chest. The man's mouth snapped open, but no sound came forth. When the Archangel dropped the corpse, there was no wound at all – even the sorcerer's robes were unharmed.

  The Seraph turned to Darius, but did not relax his pose – his wings were still spread high, filling the hall behind and before him with light. As he emerged from the corridor he spoke, and the power of his voice shook Darius's heart within his chest.

  "Darius. You do this? What horrible treachery is this?" the amazement in his voice nearly overpowered the anger.

  "Makaelic, wait," Darius tried to say as the Angel advanced on him, blade in hand. He was given no more chance to speak. Darius was thrown against the wall by the inexorable force of Makaelic's will. Reflexively, Darius tried to fight him with the little strength that remained to him – but his efforts were of even less use again Makaelic than they had been against the Demons he'd faced. There was no greater power in the mortal world than the chief of the Seraphim.

  Makaelic moved closer, and as he did he removed the glove from his left hand, revealing the blinding light of his true self.

  "I will know the reason for this betrayal!" Makaelic said, and raised his hand up to Darius's head. The memory of a madman flashed through Darius's head, and the manner of his death after this exact treatment by this very Angel. Soon his mind would be broken – or, if it were already broken, fixed, and either path may leave him dead.

  "No, Makaelic! Stop!"

  Makaelic paused with his hand barely off of Darius's skin. That close, the Angel's form burned, and though his eyes were tightly closed the light hurt his eyes. Slowly the wizard slid to the floor as the Archangel turned to find Aethel behind him, one hand outstretched in supplication.

  "Aethel?" Makaelic's voice was now full of bewilderment. "You are a part of this?" He looked back to Darius who lay gasping upon the floor. "You gave them the ritual," Makaelic said aloud, and anger poured back into his voice. "How could a mortal corrupt you? How?"

  "You do not understand - " began Aethel, but cut short as Makaelic spoke again.

  "I will cut you from our ranks, treacherous one!"

  Makaelic charged at Aethel, buffeting him with his wings. Aethel raised his arms against the blow, but was thrown from his feet, striking the wall and sinking to his knees.

  "Makaelic, you do not under -" Aethel attempted again, but Makaelic did not listen. His ungloved hand thrust forwards towards Aethel, and the Angel cried in pain – a strange, hollow bellow that shook dust from the ceiling. The light from Makaelic pulsed steadily even as Aethel's was diminished, the Heavenly glow draining from his wings. His cry cut off abruptly – Aethel toppled forward, and was still.

  Makaelic turned back to Darius, who was too stunned to do anything as the Archangel advanced once more. With two steps the Angel had crossed the room again, and thrust his uncovered hand upon Darius's forehead. The wizard's head snapped back, his mouth bursting open in a noiseless gasp.

  The fire that poured through Darius's mind was akin to the warmth of Healing, amplified and intensified to painfulness. It was the fire of Makealic's being, which flooded into him even as his own flooded into the Archangel.

  Darius saw – felt, rather – the Choirs of Heaven, and all their great host spread around him. He felt them as Makaelic did, comfortable and close at all times, knowing the place of each within the profound Whole. The Archangels, leaders and foremost warriors of Heaven. Beyond them were the Scepters, and then the Towers, and then the Flames. On and on went their ranks, and the numbers of each grew beyond counting – but to Darius it seemed that with each step in the hierarchy they became less distinct, fading from individuals like Makaelic and Aethel into a mass that had no names and no characters – only uses, tasks for which they were fit. The lower ranks of Angels were less an army to be commanded than a power to be wielded, as magic itself was to Darius.

  Though strange to Darius, it could not detract from the beauty of the true and perfect harmony of the Choirs. Discord was unknown within their own ranks, conceivable only with observation of the Enemy, who fought each other as eagerly as they fought the Choirs.

  Then there came a strange feeling – new realms had been discovered. In itself this was not unusual. The cosmos were infinite and there always lay strange dimensions just beyond the boundaries of the War. This time, though, it was different – the Angel who had crossed into the strange new place was changed with his discovery. A Flame of the Seraphim, the Angel Aethel grew, somehow. He attained a will on par with the Archangels. He learned self-direction, an awareness reserved for the greatest in Heaven.

  Suddenly this one Angel, alone of all before or after, had the choice of whether to remain in tune with the Harmony, or no – and the Archangels were troubled. The Harmony of Heaven was the source of their strength. Unity was their greatest advantage over the Legions of Hell. Should it be broken, the Great War would forever turn against them...

  But Aethel chose to remain in his place in the ageless order, spreading the fires of Heaven ever-further as was his task. The fear of the Archangels was allayed – and then they were delighted, for Aethel's new-found individuality led him to great feats and mighty triumphs – both amongst the mortals that he had discovered, and elsewhere. Finally, in an act that reverberated throughout the cosmos, Aethel pushed the fires of Heaven into Hell itself, and destroyed a mighty Archdemon utterly.

  No longer could such a being remain a Flame. For the first time, an Angel would be raised through the ranks, and Aethel was made an Archangel, and placed second to Makaelic himself amongst the Seraphim. Now, with authority that matched his character, Aethel was free to choose his own place in the Great War – and he chose the mortal world he had discovered, to lead and to protect the inhabitants against the ire of the Enemy.

  Makaelic, too, came to the world, for the Enemy was paying more and more attention to mortals and Heaven must match them. Through Darius's mind flashed every man and woman whom Makaelic had ever dealt with, and he saw how the Angels could see into the minds of men. For an Angel's form was a mere shroud over their true being, and likewise did they see mortals, as creatures of power shrouded in flesh. In the eyes of an Angel, the strongest thoughts and fears of a man rippled across the surface of his being, in plain view.

  Then Darius saw himself through Makaelic's eyes, and then he was aware of Makaelic's will there with him, studying the wizard's mind even as his own was shared out. All the moments he had been near the Angel played out, every word, every emotion – much of it anger, but anger that was pure in its direction. His anger had always been born out of love.

  Then they came to the present, and Darius saw himself cowering upon the floor as the Archangel reached deeper into his mind, searching for the root of his actions – the source of the betrayal.

  Makaelic found it, then, deep within Darius's mind – the raw, open, bleeding wound of pain and loss, the despair that had nearly consumed him. As Darius had experienced Makaelic's mind, Makaelic was himself forced to share that pain.

  With a cry, the Archangel released the wizard and moved away, nearly stumbling in haste. He sank to his knees before Darius, all his hostility vanished. There was a long pause in which Darius struggled to understand what had just happened. The visions that had flooded his mind had been beautiful and alien beyond compare.

  "No. I understand, now," Makaelic said slowly. "Forgive us, Darius. We did not know."

  Darius did not answer. He trembled from the shock of sharing the Archangel's mind.

  Makael
ic turned to the fallen form of Aethel, and the power that he had ripped from his fellow Archangel flowed from him again. Aethel lifted his cowled head as the Light returned to him, brighter than it had been before.

  "Rise, great and worthy brother," Makaelic said. "Lift your voice proudly amongst the Choirs, for you have seen what no other Angel could."

  "That their world is not just another battleground," Aethel replied.

  "No, it is not," Makaelic agreed, and half turned to the chamber beyond. "Though what this world is, and what it will become, I cannot say."

  Darius became aware of the other wizards again – their song had become a beautiful and vastly complex interweaving of voices. Their chorus thundered through the hallways, heard as much by the spirit as the ear. What little he could see of the chamber beyond the corridor was bathed in a rippling shroud, a fog thrown through with light and fire.

  "The ritual is nearly complete," Makaelic announced. "I will return to the fight. Farewell, Darius. I beg your forgiveness once more – we would have spared your people this, if we could."

  Makaelic strode down the hallway he had come, stepping smoothly over the bodies of the sorcerer and the fallen warriors. Darius noticed, then, that Pollis and several other Gryphons were standing as they had when the Angel had arrived, eyes wide in amazement.

  "Guard the other corridor," Darius said in exhaustion. "We're not through yet."

  Aethel had gone to stand by the side of the wounded, and on their faces was the relief of Healing. One man whose ashen face had announced his imminent doom was now looking hale again, and he rose unsteadily to his feet and took up his blade again.

  The Angel turned to face Darius once more.

  "The Great Enemy will be gone, soon. As will the Choirs," Aethel said. "But the changes we wrought upon you remain. You can never be free of the Conflict, now. Forgive us."

  "There was no choice, Aethel. For you, then, or for us, now," Darius answered, and his eyes had tears in them.

  A piercing, final note rose alike in nine voices – to Darius it seemed that it was full of sorrow. The spell that had spread throughout the fortress – throughout the entire world – took hold and faded all in the same moment, for this was not some mortal spell. Angelic magic did not deny the nature of the cosmos – it changed it, utterly.

  Aethel fell to his knees with a groan, the light bleeding rapidly from him. His form became hazy and indistinct. Darius rushed forward to him, stretching out his hands as if to help. There was, of course, nothing that he could do. This was his victory.

  With trembling hands, Aethel reached up and pushed the cowl back from his head. For the first time, Darius saw an Angel's face. Hair shone like gold around features that were handsome to the point of perfection, even through the haze. Aethel's piercing eyes, shimmering and blue to match the robes he wore, met the wizard's.

  "Please," he said in a strained voice, "Remember us kindly. Goodbye, my friend."

  Losing his battle against the new nature of the world, Aethel faded away to nothing.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The door to the outside opened, letting in a gust of cold air from the corridor. The brazier's flames flickered in the cold wind, then rallied again.

  The wizard did not enter, instead only leaning a bit into the room to impart his news.

  "Pendrick returns," he announced. "Arric is with him."

  As one, the others nodded. Then all faces looked to Darius, who stood.

  "Let us go and receive them, then," he said.

  Darius led the wizards back down the corridor. His military style of dress contrasted with their flowing robes now more than ever, as the wizards wore thicker and heavier cloth in layers to combat the cold. Darius dressed, as ever, like a common soldier, armor and all.

  Following their messenger, the procession of wizards wound their way through the corridors of Nebeth and emerged into the main courtyard in the sun of midday. The high walls to all sides cast little shadow now, leaving the space enclosed by them cheerful and bright despite the cold. Fifty yards away, directly across from where they had emerged from the fortress, men were filing in through a gate that seemed tiny in comparison to the walls that protected it. Several wizards were at their head, and man after man poured into the yard.

  "How many men did he bring?" Darius asked the wizard who had fetched them.

  "Nearly two thousand, I'm told."

  It seemed that Arric had no intentions of letting Nebeth out of their hands, now that it had been returned to Bastion's safekeeping. All those hands would be useful – Nebeth was too large a space for the Gryphons to search alone, and they could not be sure that all of the Enemy had been rooted out. Following the completion of the ritual, the Aeonians had vanished in the middle of their great battle. Rather than sitting tight and under siege, Pollis had suggested they likely had the manpower to escape the Fortress if they moved quickly.

  Escape, though, had turned out to be unnecessary. What few warriors they found were scattered and demoralized, dumbstruck by the events and lacking leadership. Inside of an hour, the Gryphons had seized Fortress Nebeth. The stronghold had suffered during the final battle of the Aeonians – sections of the outer wall were nearly collapsed, towers had fallen, and the landscape beyond the fortress itself was churned to ruin.

  This was the least of the changes. It was good that the Gryphons had come through their ordeal relatively unscathed. Defending the barricades had cost few lives. The wizards, however, were completely spent – and they found that magic itself was different, now.

  Darius, Ethion, Alexander – all powerful and experienced wizards – felt as if they had once again been reduced to acolytes. They were aware of the power within, but they could harness it only poorly and with great effort.

  Darius and the other wizards waited just outside the entrance – Arric was coming to them. The man stalked towards them with a quick, stiff-legged gait that betrayed his agitation. Not that Darius had needed the warning that Arric would be agitated.

  "What have you done?" Arric demanded as soon as he was within hearing. "What madness has brought this about?"

  "Far from madness," Darius replied calmly. "And I think you know, now, what we have done. The Aeonians are gone, Arric. Forever."

  "How could it be anything but madness?" Arric sputtered. "How could you do this to us?"

  Darius sighed. "It had to be done, Arric. Makaelic himself agreed with me, in the end."

  "How can I possibly believe you, after you've deceived us all like this? This was not your decision to make!"

  Ethion stepped forward, breaking his silence. "The decision is made, Arric. It was not him alone."

  The Council Leader stared in disbelief, looking beyond Darius and seeing the other wizards for the first time. Pendrick would no doubt have told him, but it seemed that Arric was determined to ignore the truth for the time being. Darius did not hold it against him. He, and those who had aided him, had at least had weeks to contemplate the change they had wrought. Darius had no doubt that some would soon come face to face with the troubling consequences of their actions. For himself, Darius had accepted them in full.

  "You are returning to Bastion," Arric said. "It is the unanimous decision of the Council that you answer for what you have done to us. Magic itself has been destroyed!"

  "Don't be absurd, Arric," Darius said wearily. He gestured towards the ground at his feet, and a cloud of snow puffed up and whirled about. It was a small thing for the effort Darius had put behind it. "Magic remains. It has changed as well, that is all."

  "The globes no longer work," Arric said. "We cannot communicate with the camps, the forts – the entire border! We have no - "

  Finally tired of Arric's shouting, Darius cut him off with a hint of his old combativeness. "And the same is true for the Enemy, Arric! Whatever we have done, we have done to everybody. The Aeonians are gone – perhaps they could not take their War with them, not in full. But now, just maybe, we have a chance to change things. Don't y
ou see?"

  Arric did not answer right away. His breath misted the air in angry puffs – and behind him now stood Callos, and Lazarus. Darius appealed to his old ally.

  "Lazarus, surely you can see that this will be for the best?"

  Lazarus did not meet his eyes, and responded at first only with the tiniest shake of his head.

  "I do not know, Darius," he said at last. His voice was stunned. "This is too great a change for someone of my age. I simply do not know what to think."

  Arric spoke next. "Callos is now in charge of Nebeth. You will all return with me to Bastion.”

  Disheartened at not having Lazarus's support, Darius merely nodded. He turned to the others and gestured that they, too, should accede to the Council Leader's order.

  "Very well," he said. "Our work here is done."

  It was nearly a month after the events at Nebeth that Darius entered the barracks. He'd sent his Gryphons notice that he wanted them all present, and so he was greeted with salutes from hundreds of men.

  "Gryphons!" he greeted them in return. "It has been too long. It seems that I am always leaving you waiting, recently."

  There were some scattered laughs, but most of them were too preoccupied with his tone of voice to laugh.

  "I never got the chance to thank or congratulate you for your bravery in Nebeth," the wizard continued. "You have been through ordeals the likes of which no man has ever faced, nor will ever face again. You are truly the best of Bastion.

  "You all know that the world is changing – it is we who wrought it. Those of you who still have any doubt, I plead with you to know that our actions were necessary. Though the Choirs brought much good to our lives, the Demons brought just as much evil. We deserved to be more than toy soldiers in their game. Makaelic, greatest of all Angels, acknowledged this, in front of myself and your lieutenant."