Roar of the Lion : Celestra Forever After 7

by Addison Moore

  Marshall lets out a sigh that forces my body to move with his, and those feel-good vibrations—vibratronics—travel though him and straight through me at lightning speeds. Marshall has always had the ability to emit a pleasant hum by way of using his body as a conduit. And it has brought me hours and hours of pleasure—quite literally.

  “I’m afraid Sage is most likely unavailable,” he rumbles. “Your father, however, has been detained by your mother. I suggest we head to the crystal lake to see them both.”

  We begin floating that way at once, and I gasp as I watch my body—my spiritual body, that is—seamlessly glide over the ground.

  “Marshall, I don’t think I can ever get used to this.”

  “Don’t. I’m not all that thrilled to see you here.”

  “Gage—he took my life. So if you’re looking for someone to blame—”

  “I was able to witness the scene after the fact. Suffice it to say, I have words to share with your mother. I take it you weren’t wearing the protective hedge? Thought it clashed with your outfit, did you? Or perhaps you gifted it to one of your ardent enemies as you’re prone to do out of a true and generous heart.”

  “Watch it, Dudley. I am this close to losing it.” I glance behind me, hoping to find a glimpse of my daughter, but I nearly fall over when I spot a giant orb in the sky with a cube within it—the entire monstrosity is somewhat translucent, the size of a small planet. “Oh my… Marshall? What’s happening?”

  And then, as if a veil were lifted, I remember all I had learned, and still I shake my head in disbelief.

  “The New Jerusalem,” I whisper.

  “Yes.” He takes a deep breath, a twinge of pride buried in his tone. “It’s a work in progress, and it will be until it’s time for its use.”

  “Is it almost time?” The words come out lower than a whisper. I’ve read the Word enough to understand that during the millennial reign of the bride of Christ, saints past and present will live inside this seemingly fabled city. “But it’s no fable, is it?” I ask Marshall, knowing full well he can hear my thoughts here.

  “Skyla”—he takes up my hand as we walk a few cautious steps in its direction—“it is certainly not fabled. No one knows the hour or the day.”

  “Not even the Son,” I say.

  “It was true at the time of the writing of the sacred scrolls, but I’m uncertain as to whether He is apprised of that now. Nevertheless, they’ve brought it home to work on it—and to give the people here a glimpse of what’s to come. And by ‘glimpse’, I mean that in the literal sense. No one is allowed inside until after the marriage supper of the lamb. It’s coming. Though it tarries, wait for it. And this”—he motions to the awesome sight before us—“will kick off a new era for the redeemed. Though they will reign on Earth with the King, they will reside in the holy city, coming and going as they please.”

  “No one from Earth will be able to enter.” I marvel at the unique opacity of it. “Marshall, I know that I know the time is near. The Word says we won’t know the hour or the day, but the Son did say to learn a lesson from the fig tree. As soon as its twigs grow tender and its leaves come out, you know that summer is near.” I turn to face him. “The proverbial summer is near, Marshall. I can feel it. I need to get back to Paragon. My people need me more than ever.”

  He glances just past me before his crimson eyes meet with mine once again.

  “You’ll return if it’s decided, Ms. Messenger. I’m afraid it’s not your decision, or mine.”

  “The Master cares about my heart’s desire, Marshall. My body isn’t dead. It was simply dead long enough to evict me. Rory is there keeping it in prime condition. Besides, we both know my work is not through.” I give his hand a quick squeeze. “We’re not through.”

  A guttural laugh comes from him. “You are wise to press on my egotistical standing. I will vie for you—this is common knowledge. But it’s not me you’ll need on your side.”

  “Then let’s go to her, Marshall. And I’ll do my best to persuade her to restore me—to get her on my side.” I glance back at the enormous orb in the sky. “How big is it?”

  “Fourteen hundred miles by fourteen hundred miles. Plenty of room for every one of the redeemed from the beginning to the end.”

  “Have you been inside?” I look up at his face, his countenance shining like the sun.

  “Perhaps.” His cheek flickers as if he were delightfully holding back the truth. “But that’s for me to know. There will be plenty of time for us to relish each moment once we arrive. But first…”

  I nod. “But first—Armageddon.” A heavy sigh expels from me. “Marshall, how I wish we could all be redeemed.”

  “Everyone has been sent an invitation.”

  “I know,” I say it lower than a whisper. I also know that not all accept that invitation, for varying reasons. “How I pray there is a caveat, a great exception. How I hate that souls should suffer.”

  His left brow raises a notch. “Should the guilty suffer? The answer is yes. Should the ignorant perish? Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps.” Something quickens in my spirit. “But the Good Book says they will be judged by what they know. I’m hoping ignorance is a saving grace for a lot of souls. But whatever it may be, I trust Him.”

  “Good.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “The question should now be, do you trust her?”

  We walk past the fellow citizens of paradise, all of them turning their heads to look my way as if they sense that I don’t belong here. An argument I might want to include when presenting my case to my mother. But if my mother, the almighty (small A) Candace Messenger doesn’t release me back into the wild, I plan on taking things up with a higher court.

  I glance up toward the citadel of God and take a deep breath. From His throne room the crystal river of life flows. It fills Ahava’s crystalline lake and every fount in heaven’s sphere.

  We come upon the sandy shores of that very lake—crystal blue, wide as any ocean, and that’s when I see them a stone’s throw away and I run all the way to my mother, my father, and precious baby girl Sage.

  “Sage!” She’s the one I call out to, my arms outstretched as I come upon her quickly. “I love you so much!” I shout as loud as my celestial voice will allow, for two reasons. One, I mean it with everything in me. And two, she typically doesn’t reciprocate the sentiment. In the least I can hear my own echo.

  I lunge forward to wrap my arms around her and she glides to the left, leaving me to hug myself in the process.

  Without hesitating, I move on to my father, and, of course, he reciprocates in a mighty way.

  “Skyla.” He presses heated kisses on my head. “Oh, how I love you. I’m so sorry. Your mother was filling me in on what happened. I knew the day you married Gage Oliver trouble was afoot, but I couldn’t say a word. But what I didn’t expect was that this day would come—not so quickly, not like this.” He pulls back, the agony in his pale blue eyes is palpable.

  My father looks like a youthful version of himself. That patch of rosy flesh just under his left eye is still present, his hair is thick and dark, and his skin smoother, less obstructed by time than I remember. And he’s solid as a brick wall, fit, tall as ever. He is every bit himself. Both my father and my mother (the celestial wonder) were burned alive by the Counts to further their wicked efforts. It bears repeating, it’s the only true way to kill a Celestra—lest someone like Dr. Oliver tries to resurrect one years later, aka Chloe Bishop, and all hell breaks loose on Earth.

  “Skyla”—my mother pulls me to her, and I indulge in an embrace with the woman who bore me—“I’m sorry your sister had deceived so many. I’m afraid I tried to warn you about her agenda.” Candace Messenger is my twin in every way—or more to the point, I am hers. Same long golden curls, eyes the color of the lake beneath our feet—carbon copies of one another and yet nothing alike at all.

  “You did warn me.” And Rory tried to warn me about my mother’s agenda as well. And I do believe th
ey both had one. I just couldn’t decide who it was safer to side with. I suppose I know now. Too late to go back. I’m dead.

  She offers a sullen nod because, of course, she heard my internal ramblings.

  “Mother”—I shake my head at her—“why would you allow her to do this?”

  “Skyla”—she says my name with a touch of disappointment—“with no soul to perpetuate your body, your organs would have shut down, not to mention your brain.”

  “Please. You could have found a way to circumvent that. You allowed Dr. Oliver to bring Chloe back.”

  “Because they never should have killed her in the first place. They were so thirsty to kill Celestra’s savior they didn’t realize what the ramifications could be. And it was your blood that brought her back to life, Skyla.”

  “Logan or Ezrina could have brought me back. That is, if Rory didn’t swoop in and steal my body.”

  “Not true. Logan, though powerful, isn’t powerful enough. Ezrina—yes, she has Chloe’s body—that of a Celestra.” The curve of a smile graces her lips as her eyes bear hard into mine as if she’s telling me something in secret. She offers a slight nod as if to affirm the fact.

  I lean in. “So you’re telling me Ezrina is powerful now—as well as Chloe?” She lifts her brows. “That must mean Ezrina was always powerful.”

  A light laugh strums from her. “And you have powerful powers of deduction.”

  “That’s wonderful news.” I shake my head at her. “Now let’s get me back where I belong.”

  Sage steps forward, her tiny frame coming up about as high as my mother’s thigh. With her long black hair, her bright cobalt eyes, and deep-welled dimples, she is her father’s daughter through and through.

  “Don’t let her live, Your Grace.” She lends a cold smile my way as if vying for my demise, and I have no doubt she is. “It wouldn’t be fair to Rory or to me. And what about Grandpa Nathan? He would rather be alive, no doubt.”

  “Yes, well”—Candace runs her fingers through Sage’s thick, glossy mane—“Grandpa Nathan could no longer utilize nor repair his body. And Rory wasn’t allotted any more time than she had. Much like you, she never made it out of the womb. We are all ordained a number of days by design.”

  “And what about Uncle Logan?” Sage tips her head back and blinks her big blue eyes up at my mother. “Why must you favor him so? He’s just as bad as she is.” She points a slender finger my way. “You can’t tell me that you don’t favor those two. I have a half a mind to take this matter up with the Justice Alliance.”

  “Sage,” I reprimand her lightly, and Marshall shakes his head my way as if to suggest I shouldn’t interfere. He’s right, but I am her mother. Interfering comes with the territory no matter what side of the great divide you’re on.

  She slices a hard glance my way. “Don’t you Sage me. You’re the reason Father is plagued with so many new enemies. You might be doing everything in your power to weasel your way back to the planet, but I’ll do everything in mine to make sure you stay put—dead where you belong. I wish Father never met you.”

  “Sage Oliver”—Dad leans in and snatches up her tiny hand—“I think it’s time we take a walk.”

  “Oh, Grandpa, you always ruin my good time with that nitwit.”

  Dad scoffs with a laugh buried in his throat. “Well, that nitwit is my daughter and she happens to be the very reason you’re in existence at all. You must learn to be grateful, respectful to the one who brought you life.”

  My father leads her off and she glowers at me from over her shoulder as they head toward a field filled with exotic flowers.

  “F-fine,” she stammers. “I’ll respect her for giving me life. But she didn’t really do so great at it, did she? I am dead, you know.”

  Dad sheds a warm laugh. “Dear Sage. You know as well as I do that Christ swallowed up the grave. For the redeemed, there is only life after life.”

  He leads her down a hillside, and soon they’re out of sight.

  Marshall nods to my mother. “I can see you’re rearing her exceptionally, Your Grace.”

  “Marshall,” I snip. “That’s a load of crock, and you know it. Sage is every mother’s nightmare, and it’s all Gage Oliver’s fault. Everything is Gage Oliver’s fault. The fact I’m standing here sans a corporal frame is especially Gage Oliver’s fault. And so help me, if I don’t get back to the land of the living, I’m going to find a way to make him miserable. He will wish he never met me. He will wish he was never born.”

  “Bravo!” My mother gives a riotous applause. “Bravissimo, Skyla! I’ve craved to hear those words from you. How I’ve longed for you to remove the veil from your eyes. He’s been a nuisance since the time of his inception.”

  I squint over at her. “Conception or inception?” There’s a world of difference, and I suck in a quick breath because I’m pretty sure I don’t need her to clear up the meaning.

  “You heard me.”

  My mouth falls open as I look to Marshall. “Holy heck.” The skies rumble and I sag with momentary defeat. “Sorry!” I shout up over the noise before turning back to the woman who conceived and delivered me. “Gage was an idea, a blueprint.” I shake my head. “That’s right. Demetri said he was hopping from my brain to Chloe’s, juxtaposing what our perfect mate might look like.” I cock my head at my glowing twin before me. “Why not Logan?”

  A dark laugh brews from her. “Dear Skyla”—she wraps an arm around my shoulders as we walk through ankle deep water, and those same feel-good vibes that Marshall exudes strum from her—“there are some toys that are simply not meant to be shared.”

  Marshall belts out a laugh. “Do you hear that, Skyla? The Pretty One is merely a toy.”

  “He is not.” I take a moment to swat him, and he catches my hand and takes it up. It’s an amazing feeling, calming and soothing to have both of their vibratornics coursing through me at once. With Marshall it’s always been sexual, but here in Ahava, with my mother in on it, thankfully it’s no such thing. It’s simply heavenly. It feels right. As if all of existence down on Earth is out of tune and this is how things really should be.

  “Logan is special.” I lean my head onto her shoulder a moment. “You never meant for Chloe to have him.”

  “Indeed.” She sighs. “But, of course, the enemy knew that he was the chosen one for you.” She glances to Marshall. “For a season, Sector. I keep my promises.”

  A hard groan comes from me. “One thing at a time.” I glower at the both of them without meaning to. Okay, fine. I meant to. “So Demetri could have created Gage to look like Logan, but I’m guessing Logan Oliver and his good looks were essentially off-limits.”

  “That they were,” she hums. “I shielded your mind from thinking of anyone even close to him. He is unique and wholly yours, Skyla. The enemy couldn’t duplicate him. I wouldn’t allow it.”

  “And thus, Demetri played a game of mix and match until Chloe and I came up with Gage.” That’s exactly what happened. Someone admitted it to me long ago, somewhere—all details I don’t really care to think about right now. “And Gage is beautiful, gorgeous, damningly so.” I wait for the thunder, but it doesn’t come—most likely because damnation is just a sad fact more than it is an expletive. I look to Marshall and take a breath. “Logan is all mine. And because there are so many generations between you and him—you, Marshall Dudley, are all mine as well.” I don’t know whether to smile or frown as I glance to my mother. “Why all the celestial whoring around?” A clap of violent thunder shakes the soil, and it draws a silent chuckle from me. “Please, I’m nothing but a breeding mare. Is that my destiny, Mother? Come on, you could do better than that. You came all the way to Earth to sire me, and for what? So I can pump out kids to each head of the Nephilim delegations? And I’m including you in that equation, Marshall. I’m sorry, Mother, but that’s—sick.

  “If I were to design my own daughter’s destiny, I sure as heck wouldn’t reduce her to a baby-making factory. I’d create in her
a new thing, something so wonderful that future generations would look back and call her blessed. She would be a great leader. I would have her create a lasting dynasty that she could be proud of. One that would accomplish miraculous things for her people. She would build up others and not destroy them. She would be a healing balm, someone who binds up the wounds of her people, and perhaps those that are not her people. I would make her a supreme unifier. She would wage heavy battles—not to weaken her, but to strengthen her. She would walk through the refiner’s fire and come out shimmering, pure as gold. I would mold her into the woman I know she was meant to be. I would never leave her. Never forsake her. Never let her forget whose child she truly is.”

  Marshall starts in on a slow clap. “Very good, Ms. Messenger. Candace, shall I tell her, or would you like to do the honors?”

  “No.” She tips her head back a notch. “Neither of us shall comfort her with the truth. She is so very knowing of what should be done and how”—her voice drips with sarcasm—“she should be able to figure it out for herself.”

  Then it hits me like a ton of celestial bricks, as genuine tears come to my eyes.

  The words I spoke were merely an echo of Candace Messenger’s intentions with me all along. Dear God, she is not a monster. She loves me. With all of her heart. She loves me as much as I love my own baby girl.

  Sage comes to mind with that smirk she wears whenever I’m around, with that beady-eyed glare she gives me oh so often, and my heart breaks on a whole new level.

  “Oh no.” It comes from me low and guttural. In a lot of ways, I’ve treated my mother the exact same way Sage has treated me. It came from ignorance on my part, coupled with confusion and often terror.

  Without hesitating, I collapse my arms around my mother and offer her a hard, lingering embrace.

  “I am so sorry,” I whisper before pulling back. Tears slick my cheeks as I take her in with this newfound knowledge. “You mean, you’ve been thinking all of those things for me all this time?” A part of me still finds it very hard to believe. There have been so many difficult trials—all of them which could have easily done me in on so many levels, and this latest one takes the cake.