A smile crossed his older self’s face. “Thank you for bringing him, Charon.”
Charon pulled the boat in close to the ebony pier. “I thought you would be here.”
Imorean watched his older self nod. “It would be irresponsible of me to miss this. Hello, Imorean.”
Imorean stepped up and out of Charon’s boat as the ferryman moored it. “Sorry, but who are you?”
A small smile crossed his older self’s face. “Someone who has been waiting a long time to meet you, Imorean Frayneson. A lifetime, really. My name is Inmerael.”
Imorean took a few paces toward him. Inmerael. The other half of his Archangel genetics. It was like looking in a mirror. Except the eyes. Inmerael’s eyes were a heterochromatic mix of green and brown. Green in the center. Brown toward the outside.
“Why are you here?” asked Imorean. It was lame, but he couldn’t think of what else to say. Too many nameless questions had erupted in his head.
“For you,” replied Inmerael. “I think there is a lot for us to discuss.”
Imorean paused as Inmerael turned onto a path alongside the dark, stone wall. Their gait wasn’t the same. He stepped off after Inmerael and fell into step at his side.
“You gave your life to preserve those around you. That is admirable,” said Inmerael.
Imorean glanced out at the black water. “It was the right thing to do. The only thing I could have done.”
“I agree. And Michael gave you an hour.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what he meant by it.”
“He gave you time, Imorean. He gave you the only thing he could think of that might help preserve you in the same way you preserved him,” replied Inmerael, that same smile on his face. “Perhaps a ‘stay of execution’ is not always a bad thing.”
“Why me?” asked Imorean. The words had burst from his mouth before he could stop them.
“Because he cares for you.”
“No, why did you …” Imorean’s voice trailed off. He couldn’t finish the question and gestured to himself instead.
“Why did I choose you? Out of all the other human children I could have chosen? Why you?” asked Inmerael.
“Yes.”
Inmerael reached into a deep pocket and withdrew a piece of folded paper. Imorean froze. His plan. The plan of his life. The plans that Michael and the other Archangels had reviewed to choose his friends. The page of life’s book that had been torn away. Hands trembling, Imorean reached for it. Fumbling, he opened it.
Imorean Frayneson. Student, car crash, sixteen. Imorean blinked. He really had been supposed to die. The words shifted. Doctor, heart attack, eighty-seven. Again. Student, brain aneurysm, twenty-two. Shift. Retired lawyer, natural causes, ninety-eight.
“What … I don’t understand,” said Imorean, holding the paper back out to Inmerael. “It keeps changing.”
“Of course, it does. We will never know what your ‘life plan’ would have been. Archangels knock fate sideways. Your right as a human is to self-determine. I chose you for what I knew your human potential could be – limitless. It matters not what you should or could be, but what you are. What you have made yourself. Turn it over.”
Imorean flipped the paper. Imorean Frayneson, Fifth Archangel.
“You were chosen because you believe in your own potential, something I knew before I ever saw you. I believe in your potential, just as I believe in the potential of all humans. I sensed in you, the same qualities I value in myself. Honesty, loyalty, bravery. You happened to be the first human I chose that Michael was able to detect.”
Imorean took a deep breath and gripped the paper tight. “Circumstance, then?”
Inmerael considered. “Perhaps.”
Imorean looked away as Inmerael fell to silence. “What now?”
“I must ask if you can fight one more fight.”
Imorean closed his eyes. He was tired. He glanced toward the great, black gates. Wasn’t death supposed to be a sweet embrace of eternal rest? It wasn’t supposed to be littered with unfinished fights. His stomach churned. He was exhausted.
Inmerael rested a hand on his shoulder. “You are an Archangel. You were chosen by me with great deliberation. To aid my brothers, my family and the entirety of the human race. To properly do this, you need to return to them. Your main goal with them for the last year has been to wipe Vortigern from the world. If we defeat him here, in the supernatural realm, we can destroy his existence and you will be free to return to the world above – to live again. If you want this, I can show you to Vortigern. If not, Charon can show you the way into the Underworld. The afterlife does not yet know you are here. The choice is entirely yours.”
Imorean looked back to Charon and the black sea. “Where are Michael, my friends and the others now?”
Inmerael closed his eyes and canted his head. “They are moving toward Antarctica. They have gathered four of the artifacts that they need to bar one of the major entrances to hell with greater force. Not as effectively as they may have planned, but there is a decent amount of certainty in their ability to perform a blockade. This presents some limit to your time.”
“What …? They’re already … how long have I been gone?”
“Their time, two days or so. Perhaps more. As Charon said, time is different here.”
Imorean swallowed. Could he face Vortigern again? Did he have the strength? He looked up. The carpet of unfamiliar stars glittered above. His friends. Vortigern would return if he wasn’t dealt with down here. What would happen to his friends, to his family, then? No. There was too much left unfinished. Too many loose ends. He needed to finish everything. He needed to bring his family to rights. To bring them home.
“Show me how to take down Vortigern.”
Inmerael paused. “You do realize what you will have to do for this, do you not?”
“What do you mean?”
“Imorean, I am tired. Each time I created a hybrid to try to lead Michael to a new Archangel, I used a bit of my own immortality. I gave you nearly all that I had remaining. I only have a small bit of immortality left in me. Neither of us can continue as we are.”
“What do we do?”
“Would you accept the final part of my immortality in exchange for your mortality? I have been here five thousand years, Imorean. I would like more than anything else to fade from existence. This has become too lonely and too long.”
“I …” Imorean looked away. If he went back, he would be a full-blooded Archangel. He would live forever. A soldier of Michael’s Archangel Company. There would be no going back after this. He would no longer be Imorean Frayneson from Blowing Rock, North Carolina. He would be Imorean Frayneson, Fifth Archangel. He blinked quickly, his eyes prickling. But he had a duty to the people he loved who he had left behind. They weren’t secure. They weren’t safe. Regardless of what Charon said, they needed him. He bit the inside of his cheek. Choice. This was the end. The end of his humanity. And yet in this moment, he had never felt more human. This choice, it was his. The choice, the decision, the autonomy to determine himself – to save his friends, to be the shield between them and the forces that wanted nothing more than to destroy them. Brown eyes raised back to Inmerael’s heterochromatic ones. Humanity was not defined by birth. He knew what it meant to be human. His own humanity was defined by him, his love, his drive, his passion, his ability to withstand all that was thrown at him, his choices, all the elements of himself. It was something he would never lose. He looked back at the paper, now crumpled in his hand. He could still see the words Imorean Frayneson written on it. He took a deep breath, fire racing through his veins. The parchment came alight, white flame devouring it. It burst from paper to ash and filtered away through his fingers.
“I choose my own future. If taking your immortality is what it takes for me to protect my family and the others I love, then give me all you’ve got left.”
Inmerael’s eyes searched him. Imorean raised his chin. A smile crossed Inmerael’s face. There was a
warmth to it and Imorean caught a rush of satisfaction and approval from him. Then Inmerael nodded and stepped off toward Charon. Imorean moved after him. Inmerael’s strides were longer than his own. Imorean fell behind and studied him for a moment. They may have looked similar, but Inmerael moved and behaved much more like Michael – a softer Michael, but Michael nonetheless. Imorean stopped as Inmerael turned to Charon.
Inmerael flipped a coin into Charon’s hand. “For Imorean’s ride. Payment may be late, but it is better than nothing.”
Imorean swallowed. Vortigern was looming on the horizon one final time. This was the chance to destroy him for the rest of eternity.
“Where will Vortigern be?” asked Imorean, stepping up to Inmerael.
“Another gate. You were brought in here by Charon because you are mortal. Vortigern is further downriver.” Inmerael paused and Imorean hesitated for half a step. “Does your birthmark ever give you trouble?”
Imorean coughed and narrowed his eyes. “Only once. First time I ever saw Vortigern face to face. How did you know about my birthmark?”
“A dark mark in the center of your chest. It is the same place where Vortigern stabbed me. I was just wondering if the mark of the wound had carried over to you.”
Imorean looked Inmerael up and down. “What other marks did you leave on me?”
Inmerael laughed and glanced up. “Did you never wonder why your hair turned white? Why your name was so strange? Why you were afraid of heights? They are all elements of myself that manifested in you. I have been watching over you, Imorean. Not as closely as Michael has – that would have been impossible – but I have been watching.”
“My white hair? My name that no one can ever find on a keychain? My ridiculous fear of heights? That was all you?”
Inmerael nodded. “Angels leave marks on people. Inadvertently, but they are there. It is a result of the clash of supernatural and natural forces. You ended up with perhaps more than others.”
“I think ‘more than others’ is an understatement.” Imorean gave a quiet laugh. He could feel no humor in the sound. Words from what felt like a lifetime ago surfaced at the forefront of his mind. Words Vortigern had said to him the first time they had fought. “Inmerael, can I ask you something?”
“Please.”
“The first time Vortigern and I fought, he said something strange. That ‘the eyes are the same. The first is the last’. What did he mean?”
Inmerael smiled. “Vortigern knew me well, Imorean. It is possible that he recognized elements of me in you before even Michael did. The first Archangel to die was the last to rejoin his brothers. As for the eyes … our eyes are not the same, however you and I have similar expressions in our eyes. A similar ‘look’, if you will. Yes, Vortigern knew me well. He still does. Of all the beings in existence, he and Michael knew me best.”
Imorean clicked his tongue. “How did you do that earlier? Track Michael and the others. You haven’t been with them for millennia and you’re, well, kind of dead.”
“I have always been close with my brothers. My bond with them sustains a connection. Death does not separate love, Imorean. It never can.”
Imorean paused as Inmerael flared his massive, white wings. There were no dark scars on them. They were perfect in every way, every feather sculpted to its finest element. Imorean raised his own wings, opening them. They were tatty in comparison to Inmerael’s. Dark shapes blended with the shadowed world around them. Inmerael gave him a small smile. Imorean found himself smiling back.
“They are marks of your individuality,” said Inmerael. “Injury is nothing to be ashamed of. Experience makes you who you are.”
Imorean paused, then nodded. “Thank you.”
Chapter 74
Two pairs of white wings flared fully and Imorean launched into the air after Inmerael. They were the only two colors in a world reserved for darkness and quiet.
“Summon your sword!” shouted Inmerael.
Imorean hesitated. He was separated from his sword by the abyssal chasm of death itself. Would … could summoning it still work? Brown eyes closed. In his mind’s eye, Imorean could picture the glimmering, white metal of his sword, the leather wrapped hilt, the familiar weight of it – lighter than Michael’s – and the confidence he could put in it. Straps crisscrossed his chest. The weight of his sword landed across his back. In front of him, Inmerael laughed loudly and wheeled in the air, his own sword in his hand. Imorean started and snatched his wings up high to catch Inmerael. He recognized that sword! The hilt was familiar, hexagonal rather than circular, and the tree more archaic. He came alongside Inmerael. Yes! He was right. That was the second sword that Michael carried. Inmerael smiled and nodded at him. Imorean raised his gaze and looked further downriver. He hesitated. Before them was a replica of the ruin where he had faced Vortigern in Greece. Darker, more menacing, but still complete with its crumbling pillars and destroyed buildings. Black sand had taken the place of the natural substance. Imorean tilted his wings. The place looked like a nightmare – one of his own nightmares. But this was no nightmare. This was real.
Vortigern stood in the center of the arena where he had been above ground, returned to the body he had had before. Black-haired, black-winged, gray-eyed. His black-bladed sword was already in his hand. Imorean gathered himself. Below, Vortigern spun his weapon. Inmerael angled his wings. Imorean folded his own and landed on the sand, Inmerael beside him. Imorean drew his sword and parted his feet as Vortigern glanced between them. There was an iciness to his aura. One Imorean knew. Fear.
“It has been a long time,” said Inmerael, drawing his weapon.
Vortigern swallowed. “I don’t want to fight you, Inmerael. It was hard enough the first time. Let this go. Protecting humanity, protecting them, is no longer your duty.”
“And yet my brothers are still at war. Protection remains their duty, thus it remains mine. I cannot allow you to return to physical world, which, if I leave you as you are, is inevitable.”
“Have you forgotten me as a brother, Inmerael?” asked Vortigern.
“It is because I remember you as my brother that it comes to this. For one, two, or all of us, this may be the last battle of our existence. I hope you are ready.”
Imorean narrowed his eyes and glanced between them. Vortigern and Inmerael had been close – very close. Inmerael had been Vortigern’s direct older brother. Inmerael was to Vortigern as Michael was to him. A gasp threatened Imorean’s lungs. Inmerael. Inmerael was Vortigern’s weakness. Brown eyes met heterochromatic and Imorean felt a rush of affirmation. As one, three pairs of wings beat, lifting into the air.
Vortigern growled low in his throat and snapped his wings away, lunging. Imorean spun, raising his sword as he corkscrewed. Vortigern howled. Black feathers flittered past Imorean’s face. He banked hard and turned. Vortigern had lost altitude and hovered unsteadily. Inmerael soared up from below, a white haze around him, and vanished into the black ether. Imorean moved, raising his wings above his shoulders. White took over his vision, blocking out the darkness. Dark aura gathered around Vortigern. Imorean centered himself. Air raced past him. His blood turned hot. Vortigern locked eyes with him. Imorean felt a smile cross his face. Ignite.
Dark flame burst the air around Vortigern. Tracks of it sliced the air, fueling the midnight. Imorean cut through it. In his peripherals, he could see his own wings ablaze with white flame. He raised his sword. The metal scorched the air. Vortigern turned in the sky. Fear accompanied fury. Dropping one wing, Imorean banked sharply. A tongue of white flame landed on Vortigern’s black wings. Vortigern batted it out and hissed, baring his long teeth. Imorean spun his sword. He was in a prime defense position. Vortigern dove. White flame lit the clouds above. Imorean corkscrewed hard, his sword shearing away black feathers. A claw of black fire caught him across the neck. Skin seared under flaming heat. Power. Imorean locked his jaw. He needed power. He needed everything he had. Center. Vortigern’s sword raked through his wing. Feathers blackened.<
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Brown eyes darted up as Imorean heard Inmerael’s voice in his head. “Keep your center. Get him out of the air. I will do the rest. Attack on my mark. Be ready.”
Imorean breathed. No pressure down here. To flash out of existence, the fate of the Archangels, the shield of humanity – that was all that was at stake. He banked hard, eyes locking back onto Vortigern in the dark sky. Black wings seemed to meld into the inky air. A flicker. Flame rose to Vortigern’s hands. Imorean landed hard on the black ground. Strength. He needed strength. Inmerael’s order to attack could be coming any moment. Dig deep. But how much deeper could he possibly dig? Hadn’t he exhausted everything he had? Vortigern had driven him to death in Greece. What could he possibly use this time that he hadn’t already? Brown eyes met gray. Vortigern would like nothing more than to wipe him out here – wipe him from the world forever. The memory of Roxy’s eyes danced in front of his mind. His mother falling to the ground in Greece – just as far from home as him. This was for them. Heat rose in Imorean’s veins. Fight fire with fire. Keep fighting. Dig deeper and keep going. There had to be an absolution. Regardless of the outcome. Imorean parted his lips. Steady himself. Do deliberately now what he couldn’t do before. He took a breath and focused. White fell inward. Time slowed.
White. In the corners of his eyes, Imorean could see his wings, searing, flaming. There was no pain. Deeper. A ripple lashed his skin. Imorean glanced at his hands. White flame danced around his fingers, licking their way up his sword and gathering along the blade. In the far reaches of his mind, he heard Inmerael’s voice.
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