The Helio Trilogy: Volumes 1-3

by Valerie Roeseler

  “Is there a reason you’ve become my shadow?” I ask, hugging my knees to my chest.

  “I’m waiting,” he alludes.

  A heaviness settles over me. “For me to screw up again?”

  “Yes. I won’t lie to you. It’s not that I wish for you to make mistakes. I fear the latent Darkness within you, as well as your innate defiant nature, will grow if you’re not able to keep it at bay.”

  “Latent Darkness?” I question. The only Darkness I sense is the pressure of sadness and doubt.

  Remaining behind me, his words float to my ears as a ghost’s forewarning, “You were created through unconventional means. Your mother is from Darkness, your father of Light. You were born with both within you. Darkness will always inhabit a part of your essence. You believe that you defeated the Horseman of Death.” He scoffs, “Nothing short of your annihilation can accomplish that.”

  I view the horizon over my right shoulder, enough to see him in the furthest corner of my vision. “You think I’m still a danger to humanity,” I state as fact.

  “Potentially.”

  “That’s the last thing I want.”

  “No one wishes to die.”

  I clarify, facing forward once more, “I mean to allow the Darkness to consume me again.”

  “Then, I would tread lightly,” he advises before flying back inside The Keep.

  Could things get any more complicated?

  With my moment of peace lost, I meet the Originals in what we’ve deemed the War Room. It’s a chamber past the Throne Room within the left wing of The Keep. Though I should dread such a place, I find comfort in its atmosphere. Adorned much like the Dining Hall, it has an elongated, wooden table with two candelabra chandeliers above it. The left wall holds a large map of the world, which is littered with red tacks and yellow sticky notes to denote locations of portals to Sheol that have been found.

  When I arrive, my father, Azrael, greets me. He shows me to a seat at the head of the table. The other Originals, Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Camael, are settled into their positions around the table. Michael sits to my right with Gabriel and Camael alongside him, respectively. My father takes the chair to my left with Raphael beside him. Merrick enters, seating himself at the table next to Raphael. While Merrick is not an Original, he is ever-present as the eyes and ears of Dominions, monitoring each decision and action made to ensure success in fulfilling my destiny.

  Michael initiates the conversation, “We want you to understand the agenda of your training before we begin tomorrow. As you may have learned, each of us gifted you with our abilities. We will teach you how to use them to your full potential.” I agree with a nod of my head, staying silent. He presents a hand across the table to Raphael, “Raphael is known within Paradise as The Healer; Your ability to heal comes from him. Tomorrow, Raphael will begin training you to heal yourself, as well as others, more swiftly and while under pressure.”

  I fight against the nerves forming a lump in my throat at the thought of putting myself and others through torture just to heal them. My eyes follow Michael’s hand to Gabriel. He declares, “Gabriel is known as The Benevolent. He will train you the following day on using your empathy.” Presenting my father, he claims, “Your father will take you with him for some business. You will learn much from him about the cycle of souls.”

  Camael clears his throat, “Once you return with your father, you will train with me in combat and strategy.”

  I haven’t fought since purging the Darkness from myself in the dungeons below. I’m itching to fight, yet Merrick’s words stay at the forefront of my mind. I’m hesitant to train with Camael, fearful of my aggression allowing the Darkness of my essence to blossom.

  “Ivy.”

  Having been lost in thought, I shake my head as I realize Michael is calling my name. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  He counsels, “Your training will be intense. There is no room for doubt. The Horsemen are coming, and you need to be ready.”

  My eyes flicker to Merrick, then back to Michael. “I understand.” What I understand is, I’ll have no choice but to fight. Going forward, I will battle not only with the Darkness of the world, but the Darkness within.

  “Very well. When I believe you are ready, I will take over the last of your training. You have refused in the past, but you must learn to use your Immortal Pestilence.”

  I bite my tongue. I’ve never seen myself as worthy of judging whether a being deserves a mortal soul. Other than the mortal soul I unknowingly gifted Trey, I’ve only taken the essence of the foulest of the Fallen I’ve come across. I’m not ready.

  To save face, I concur, “I’ll be ready.”

  Merrick pipes in, “You will study with the Reapers when you’re not training. I’ve seen to it that the girl will teach you Enochian History. You will learn the Enochian Hierarchy with the boy. We expect your insubordination to end once you understand your place.”

  My place?

  The disdain I carry for Merrick grows. I’m doing my best to remain respectful to the Originals, but Merrick is not an Original. My fingers entwine tightly beneath the table. “Their names are Alice and Eric.” Merrick raises a cocky brow of superiority; pissing me off more. It’s an inner battle to keep biting my tongue, but that arrogant look in his countenance pushes me over the edge. “I don’t care who you are or where you come from. If you’re going to remain at The Keep, you will show respect for its residents. In return, I will give that same respect to you—along with my compliance.”

  The room falls still. I fear I’ve overstepped my bounds and will be reprimanded, yet I stand strong on my position. I refuse to apologize for sticking up for my family. Merrick’s eyes possess his doubt in my words.

  Small movements from Michael’s form pull my attention to him. His shoulders quiver as he struggles against his laughter. The tight form of his mouth ruptures, a booming mirth pouring from his amusement. The sound becomes contagious around the table, save for Merrick and myself. Even Camael’s delight shines through his rough exterior with a wide smile, reminding me of Jack. I can’t decide if he finds it funny that I tried to warn an elite being or that I put Merrick in his place. I’m betting on the latter from previous engagements between them.

  Once the joviality fades, Michael relishes, “If any of us have doubted your ability to lead, you have certainly proven yourself with your words.”

  I deadpan, “I’m so glad I can put your worries at ease.”

  Raphael enlightens, “Yes. We worry you will rebel against us during your training. Know that we only wish for you to succeed.”

  I reiterate, “I want the same. I know my past isn’t proof, but I assure you, I want nothing more than to end the Horsemen.”

  Gabriel tests, “Enough to pledge your essence on your success?”

  My father’s head snaps to Gabriel, his tone firm, “That is not necessary.”

  I interrupt their staring contest, addressing the quiet table, “Is that what it will take to restore your faith in me?”

  Michael fields their responses, his eyes soft with compassion, “By pledging your essence to your success, it will ensure the Light of your fortitude in fulfilling your destiny. We do not require this of you. If you do so, it will be of your own volition.”

  I behold my father’s eyes. An unspoken question lingers between us. His chin drops as he keeps his gaze upon me, “Do you understand what will happen if you fail?”

  An ache swells in my chest. I swallow the lump in my throat and regard my hands laced together in my lap. “I die.”

  He expounds, “Not only will your body die, but your essence will cease to be.”

  “So will the rest of the world,” I whisper. The enormity of the Apocalypse falls on my shoulders. It causes a mass of sorrow to engulf me. I choke back my tears as I look to Michael. “I’ll do it.”

  Michael stands, “Very well… Rise.”

  What? Now?

  The rest of the Originals, along with Merrick, stand slowly. I
falter in a daze, then rise from my seat at the head of the table. Michael inclines his head to my father. Azrael comes to my side and takes my trembling hands in his. “Are you positive this is what you want?” I can only nod in response. He takes a deep breath. As it’s released through his nose, his eyes illuminate to a bright white. His wings expand behind him. The other Originals release their wings, their eyes remaining illuminated.

  My father’s voice reverberates within the War Room. With everyone’s wings fully unfurled, I’ve never felt so small and insignificant. “I am Azrael, the Angel of Death. I have been given the power by our Creator to guide spirits to their rightful destinations. The end is near, the prophecy unfolding. At the request of Teloch, I am tethering her essence to the future of humanity. Will all witnesses confirm their attention?”

  Starting with Michael and working its way back around to my father, each Angel of Light calls out, “I!”

  Azrael squeezes my hands tighter. “From this day forward, my daughter, Ivy Harris, also known as Teloch to The Creator, is giving her essence to humanity. As long as humanity prospers, so will Teloch. If humanity shall ever cease, Teloch will be no more… As The Creator wills it, it shall be.”

  The light within the eyes of the Originals recedes. I meet my father’s stare, waiting for something more. He kisses the top of my head. I look around the room, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Each of the men bows their head to me in respect.

  “Is that it?” I wonder aloud.

  Michael smiles in kind, “That is it.”

  “I don’t feel any different.”

  Gabriel explains, “Because nothing has changed. Once there is an impact on humanity, you will feel it.”

  Michael adjourns, “You will learn more as we mentor you. Your training begins tomorrow. Eat well and rest.”

  Merrick follows the Originals from the War Room, and my father walks with me leisurely back towards my chambers. I hug myself around my waist. The influence of silence between us is uncomfortable. I prompt, “Are you disappointed with me?”

  His tone is comforting and honest, “I am not. You are old enough to make your own decisions. Though pledging your essence to the fate of humanity is a large burden, I know the strength of your capacity. My own concerns for you are that of any father. We are finally able to come together. I do not wish to give that up.”

  My heart expands with pressure. In my twenty years, I never expected this to happen; I’m a daddy’s girl. “I’ll do my best not to let that happen.”

  “The Supreme is correct in his account of your training,” he adds.

  “The Supreme?”

  “Yes. Michael. Your training will be extreme. We do not know when the Horsemen will come. Exercises will be forceful, rigorous, and exhausting.”

  “How long do you think I’ll be training for?” I inquire.

  He divulges, “It is hard to tell. It may last a few months. It may last a few weeks. It all depends on how each of the Originals feels about your progress.”

  I roll my eyes. “Does Merrick’s opinion count?”

  The corner of his mouth twitches with amusement, a hint of satisfaction in his tone, “Merrick is…a fly on the wall. He will buzz in and out, even attempt to sway us one way or the other, but he is only here to observe.”

  “What if he doesn’t like what he sees?”

  “I imagine the Dominions will hold court in Paradise.” I give him a worried glance. Leaning in with a low voice, he adds, “There is not much they can say or do against Michael. He is the one you should be concerning yourself with most.”

  I nod in silent agreement. “So, I should expect to be confined to The Keep for a while?”

  “It is likely.”

  “Would it be disrespectful to ask Michael for a reprieve?” Azrael’s brows converge, and I explain, “It’s just so crowded here. It’s hard to get a moment of peace to think.”

  We come to a stop at my door. “This is a grave situation, daughter. Michael will give you no reprieve from your training.” I nod, turning for my door. He stops me, “Rest assured, I will be taking you from The Keep when it is my chance to mentor you.”

  I give him a soft smile, “I would like that.”

  “Sleep well, daughter.”

  “Goodnight, Dad.”

  Laying in the bitter stillness of my room, my mind turns over how much things have transformed in half a year. I imagine the changes the walls of The Keep have seen. She was once a second home to a malicious Duke of Sheol, who ruled over his legion as if they were slaves. She witnessed his fall and his legion’s liberation. As I went from being her prisoner to her possessor, she watched the growth of that legion become The Gray Legion. No longer were they slaves, but warriors united in brotherhood. The Keep stood strong against the storm of The Dark Legion alongside us and never trembled in the wake of the Originals gracing her corridors. As cold as her chambers are, I will be forever grateful for the warmth of her acceptance.

  Before I moved to Red Meadow for college, I was blissfully ignorant of the true existence of immortal beings. Now, I am one of them. I wish I could say it was by a twist of fate that I’ve found myself in this position, yet I’m not that lucky. Being created by Divine intervention to fulfill an Enochian prophecy, it’s my destiny. The end is here. They are the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. While I am one of them, the fate of the world depends on me to save them, and they don’t even know it.

  How could the Light believe that one little girl could grow into the warrior they need her to be and put an end to the Four Horsemen on her own? Have I been set up to fail?

  I refuse to be a coward. I refuse to fail. The Light and Darkness together have made me who I am. I am Teloch… I am ready.

  I speak to the darkness surrounding me, envisioning what I would say to the faces of the other Horsemen, “Come get some.”

  Chapter 2

  I can’t sleep.

  My thoughts are deafening. I’m cold. My body itches beneath the skin, starving for more; more movement, more violence, more rage, more contact, more freedom, more pleasure. Like I’m floating in an empty ocean, the water is thickening. I’ll drown if I don’t get out.

  With a groan of indifference, I roll out of bed. Food is the only comfort for me at this point. The corridors are still as I pad to the kitchen, barefoot with my iPod in hand. I push the heavy, wooden door ajar. Peering in, I find it barren as well. I have no idea of the hour, just that it’s late enough The Keep slumbers. Only the Griffin sentries outside are alert.

  I put my headphones in and turn up some music before I prep a frying pan on the stone stovetop against the far wall. If it is one thing The Keep is far from lacking, it’s meat. Well, and testosterone. Before my transformation, I hardly ever ate meat. Now, I crave it.

  Bacon is my weakness. I hum to the music as I bounce from foot to foot. When the bacon is cooked to crispy perfection, I crack two eggs over the pan and let them fry in the bacon grease for added flavor. As they cook, I butter some toast, making my plate as I go. The aroma of my efforts fills the room. My humming turns into soft whispers of the song in my ears while I continue to dance around and wait for my eggs.

  Lost in my momentary diversion, I do a little spin. I stop short as I catch Solas leaning just inside the entrance with his arms crossed over his formidable chest. He has the grin of the Cheshire cat. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Biting my bottom lip, I take my earbuds out. “How long have you been standing there?”

  His deep voice pours over me, “Since “Iko, Iko” began.”

  That was three songs ago.

  I can’t look away from his irises, celestial, ice blue glaciers. “What are you doing up?” I ask to distract from how awkward I feel.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he notes.

  “I was hungry.”

  The silence between us grows, his grin ceasing to falter. A huff of laughter escapes his lips, “Your eggs are burning.”

  “Shit!” I pivot back to the stove, quickl
y sliding the eggs onto my plate. I offer, “Are you hungry? The pan’s still hot.”

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” Solas plucks a plate from the open cabinets for me and makes hot tea for the both of us.

  When the meal is ready, we sit across from each other at the small dining table to eat. I ask, “Do you want some salt or hot sauce? I know you prefer extreme flavors.”

  He smiles up at me, pleased that I remember our short conversation over breakfast burritos and tamales in a small town outside of Jackson. “No. This is perfect,” he approves before biting into a strip of bacon.

  I place a bare foot on my seat, pulling a knee up to my chest as I start eating. I take a sip of the warm tea in my mug, noting the chamomile flavor, and smile inwardly at Solas’ thoughtfulness to help me sleep. Finally having Solas in the same room with me, since I requested space from him and Jack, feels right. I miss them both, but I can’t handle the pressure of needing to make a decision between them right now.

  Solas seems to understand that as he directs our conversation. “How did it go with the Originals?”

  “I behaved myself—if that’s what you’re asking.” My mischievous grin matches his.

  He shakes his head in amusement. “What did you do?”

  Taking another bite of eggs, I mumble, “Nothing.”

  Solas pushes his plate aside, taking his mug of tea, “Why do I have a hard time believing that?”

  I fib playfully, “What? I was nice… for the most part.”

  “What did you say?” he presses.

  I’m swift to defend myself, unable to keep a straight face, “Why do you think I said anything?”

  He chuckles, “I know you all too well to believe you didn’t.”

  I let him simmer a minute in anticipation. “Merrick was an ass. He referred to Alice and Eric by their rank and gender... Pissed me off.”

  “And…” he coaxes.

  I shrug a shoulder, my lips pulled up to the side like a sly fox. “And I put him in his place.” I take a drink to hide my grin.

  Solas’ chest rumbles softly with laughter, “I bet you did.”