Herald

by J Edwards Stone

  “Brothers,” Michael responded, looking up at Uriel and Raphael, and scanning the room to nod at Tristan and the others.

  “Our Herald has spoken. We must go to the Sanctum.”

  The others looked up in surprise, all walking forward and speaking anxiously. Michael stood slowly, smiling. “Larin has seen a great serpent with curved fangs, about to strike. Does this not remind you of something?” he said. The fire lit in Uriel and Raphael’s eyes at once. Tristan shook his head, not understanding.

  “The Alter Stone,” Uriel whispered, and Michael nodded.

  “Yes. The Alter Stone stands before the great Seal,” Michael explained to the others in the room, “It is shaped like the Great Serpent on the hilt of the Sword of Lucifer, the sword Father created with his own hand. The sword meant to be used for dispensing justice,” he said. “It is the symbol and the icon we all carry on our armour. It has been sullied by Lucifer’s blackness, but the hope for justice and goodness prevails over the cloak of darkness we have seen – that we have all known in our long years on this earth. Azrael now carries that sword, waiting for it to be reunited with its master. We have to do whatever we can to ensure that never happens,” he paused as the heads nodded around the room.

  Michael smiled a small smile before continuing. “Despite the events of late, we have continued to have faith in our purpose, and it has been what continues to drive us. It is our hope for the future, for the outcome of good that we continue to fight.”

  Michael walked and stood before each one in the room, staring meaningfully into their faces. “I believe Father has spoken to us today, through Larin. I believe it is a sign. We must take Larin there at once. I believe today. . .I believe today is the day that the seraphim awaken.”

  There was a pause as the others drank in what Michael was suggesting. “Tristan,” he said quickly, the latter turning to look professionally at Michael. “Call together your forces. We may be required to storm the Sanctum. It is highly likely that Azrael has stationed vessels of large numbers in anticipation that we would go back,” he said.

  “But the Guardians are dead. Azrael knows that without the seraphim, the Disc is sealed. They know that Larin is all but...”—he looked at me apologetically. I blinked slowly, continuing to stare ahead—“. . .that she is no longer. . .useful. The Guardians are no longer available for guidance. There is nothing there. . .”

  “But the Alter Stone, yes of course. I see.” Raphael said slowly, and Michael grinned at him. He put a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

  “Larin has a use, yet. She always has, and always will in my eyes, so long as I breathe,” he said, looking at me a moment. A flash of sadness crossed his face. “She has proven her worth again today when she spoke the words that have given us the answer to the question we have all been asking since she arrived.” Michael allowed himself one tender glance in my direction, the sorrow only marginally hidden below the surface. He took a breath, looking forward again.

  “She has told us how to find the seraphim.”

  “But what if Azrael’s forces occupy the sanctum?” Iris asked, “What if he already knows the truth? That there is something within the Alter Stone that Larin may exploit to our advantage?”

  “I would not be surprised if he has come to that conclusion himself,” Michael acknowledged, and Iris frowned, considering. “He has commanded great magics in the past. The awakenings may not be the only evil Leviathan has spawned at his behest. Perhaps he has already been told the truth.”

  Tristan walked forward and met Michael in the eye. “Then we shall meet him where he waits. Our forces are ready to die for our cause.”

  Raphael paused, then spoke. “There is not a great amount of room within the Sanctum for a skirmish. I do not believe Azrael would risk anything that would damage the Sanctum, or the way to the Disc,” he said.

  Uriel nodded in agreement. “It is the one object in existence that can bring about the end of the world and open the gate to the Celestial Kingdom. It is all he and Lucifer. . .and Gabriel,” he added grudgingly, “will seek to achieve. To open the doorway. They will not risk amassing a great army which results in its demise.”

  “No,” Michael said, looking at Uriel. “Their fear of losing the Disc is the one thing we have at our advantage. We must exploit it.”

  “A bomb,” Iris said, and everyone turned to look at her. “We go in with a bomb, and if they take any steps to stop us, we threaten to destroy the Sanctum.”

  Michael looked thoughtfully at Iris for a moment, considering. “No weapon of Man or angel will penetrate the Seal. It was wrought from the Celestial power, and only the Seraph may open the way.”

  “We don’t need to destroy the Seal with a bomb, Lord,” Iris said respectfully, but with a small smile. “We only need Azrael to think we can destroy the Seal and what it contains inside.”

  The archangels looked at each other with raised eyebrows. At this point, there were few other viable options. Even if it gave Azrael pause, it could prove beneficial.

  “Let us not discount the fact that destroying the Sanctum would likely destroy him – and us all,” said Uriel. “The weapons wrought by man may have no means of hurting us directly, but indirectly, through the destruction of the Sanctum, we could certainly perish.”

  Michael turned and addressed the room. “If it means an end to Azrael’s reign, then I would gladly die.” There was silence for a moment, and then the angels stood a little taller, their eyes conveying that they too would sacrifice their lives to end Azrael’s darkness once and for all.

  “It seems the weapons of destruction that man created may have a use to us in our quest to defeat evil after all,” Raphael said slowly, looking at Iris as he considered her idea.

  Chase and Lyric had arrived and had been listening quietly at the door.

  Now, Lyric spoke. “You should speak to Robert,” she said, and all eyes turned to her.

  “Why Robert?” Chase asked his sister, and she held up a hand to silence him, walking forward into the room.

  “Robert can build a bomb. Before his awakening, he was a solider in a militant group in Ireland.”

  You mean he was a terrorist,” Iris said, frowning distastefully at Lyric.

  “Whatever,” Lyric said, waving her away. “That was in another life. He was young and stupid. And reckless. He knows the error of his ways, he used to tell me all the time how much he regrets it. Don’t your beliefs dictate that everyone is capable of goodness? Worthy of forgiveness?” she said, and Iris flushed angrily.

  “But that’s different,” she said, searching for words.

  “How so?” snapped Lyric. “He could have stayed with Azrael. He could have worked to do horrible things. To get revenge on the people who forced him into that life. Instead, he’s come here with the hope that he can change things. That he can redeem himself.”

  Iris looked down, shamefacedly. Raphael looked kindly at her, placing a hand on her arm.

  “We all need reminders at times, Iris. That sometimes “Good” hides in places we would not expect. It is why we protect all life. We believe that man can ascend to a higher purpose, if given the chance to prove himself. Not everything is black and white.” She nodded, looking at Lyric.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry,” she said. Greyson came up beside her, placing a reassuring hand on her back. Tristan watched the exchange silently, but his eyebrow twitched.

  “It’s fine,” Lyric smiled, her good nature shining through. Chase looked proudly at his sister, and they grinned at each other. Lyric turned back to the matter at hand.

  “He knows how to build bombs, he was trained in how to do it. When we were planning our escape from Solomanta, he tried to find a way to make one to cause a great distraction so that we could get away. It was just too risky at the time, so we were really lucky that Larin showed up when she did,” she looked suddenly at Michael, blushing. “Sorry. . .” she said, and he waved at her to indicate she should continue. “We can ma
ke one here instead of going in search of one elsewhere when it’s too dangerous right now. I say we bring him in, let him know what’s going on.”

  Michael had been listening thoughtfully, then nodded.

  “Bring Robert to me,” he said.

  I had listened silently while a plan had been made and decided upon.

  The Sanctum lay hidden for millennia in the innermost depths of the Kalahari Desert. Buried in the earth and surrounded by endless dunes of sand, it lay quietly hiding, undisturbed. Its location and inhospitable climate kept man from stumbling upon it, and despite their mass conquest of the world, it had escaped their knowledge. Even had they found the Sanctum, old magic weaved into its fibres upon its creation ensured that only angels or vessels could pass through its doors. It also had the fortunate benefit of being far enough away for any great battle to escape the notice of the humans. But there were still obstacles to overcome in the approach. The barren landscape around it caused the Council to lose the benefit of surprise, and it was decided that going in force would be the only way to ensure enough confusion and chaos for Michael and the other archangels to slip me into the temple unawares. There would be many casualties, but the ends – finding the seraphim – justified the means. The many lives they could save outweighed the last arguments made in opposition of storming the Sanctum in force.

  Scouting units had been sent ahead to the Sanctum to survey the state of affairs. It appeared Azrael had stationed multiple groups around the grounds near the entrance who lay in wait, anticipating the Council would return in force to recover any artifacts of import or try to obtain the Disc. There had been small skirmishes, with word sent back on both sides for reinforcements. Tristan has been sending updates as matters progressed, but their coordinated efforts and careful planning seemed to give them the advantage. It seemed Azrael had underestimated its importance – that without the Guardians, or a Seraph, the Seal was impenetrable and there remained no other items of use. As such, he had only been half-expecting a siege on the Sanctum and had stationed the majority of his troops around the entrance of Solomanta, having instead expected retribution from the Citadel following Gabriel’s desertion and the maiming of its Herald.

  None knew that Azrael and Gabriel had just heard the prophecy of the Leviathan and that they were en route as Citadel troops descended en masse. As Azrael’s reinforcements arrived, a battle began in earnest. The decision was made to move forward into the Sanctum as another wave of vessels descended upon them, wings of black circling above and blotting out the sun.

  Michael stood holding me in his arms some distance away. I was watching the black dip and dive from the sky without much interest but still focussed on the sight. It was hypnotic, the rhythmic swarming, the way they moved and fell, rising and falling with swords glinting brightly in the harsh sunlight. Waves of heat rose up from the dunes, obstructing and distorting the images as though watching them through thick lenses. I could hear the screams and war cries as they reached us from where we stood.

  Michael shifted my weight easily in his arms, careful not to disturb my bandages. I noticed the pain but a little, keeping my face trained on the sight in the distance. Michael absently kissed the top of my head, and I looked up dully, noting his jaw was tense. Uriel and Raphael stood beside us in full armour. The Council banners flew in the hot wind beside us, the Citadel officers not currently engaged in battle sending back orders and barking instructions, sometimes taking off themselves.

  “Michael!” cried Raphael, pointing at the sky as great, gray wings entered the fray, diving down in synchronized unison towards the battlefield.

  “Armaros,” Uriel snarled, shaking his head in disgust. “Filthy traitors.”

  “This certainly adds another layer to the situation,” Michael frowned as he watched the gray wings descend upon a group of Citadel vessels. The armaros were among the fiercest warriors in existence, and their presence represented a significant threat. Many vessels were still relatively young, their skills not yet completely honed. Michael frowned, worried for many of the wards. “Azrael must have discovered our plan or learned of the secrets of the Alter Stone somehow.” He turned, pausing as he considered handing me off. He looked at me, frowning and considering. “They will not last long without our assistance, brothers, but we risk much by deviating from the plan now,” he noted, looking at Uriel and Raphael, who nodded darkly in response.

  “If we lose the chance of entering the Sanctum, we lose the chance to find the seraphim and make a swift end to this battle, brothers.”

  I could feel Michael’s indecision. At that moment, I was the most important possession on Earth. Leaving me was a great risk, but not leaving me could mean great disaster to the vessels currently alone to fight against epic, angel monsters.

  “We cannot let them die, but you will need at least one of us to help carve a path to the entrance,” Raphael said, looking at Uriel. Michael heaved a great sigh, meeting Raphael’s eyes. There was truth there. Raphael and Uriel may be prepared to sacrifice themselves without question, but it was not a decision any of them took lightly.

  Michael had to be a general at that moment. He was about to command one of his Brothers to his potential death, and I could feel the weight of it seeping outwards and through me. I noted their meaningful stares at one another. Uriel turned and glared angrily forward at the battlefield, drawing his sword in anticipation.

  Just as he was about to speak, Iris arrived back with Greyson, bleeding from a gash in her forehead.

  “Lords! We have cleared a path, but more are on their way. You have to move!” she cried, turning and heading back into the fray without awaiting further instruction. She was experienced enough to know her presence was an absolute necessity at that moment. She, like the others, had committed to whatever fate awaited her that day.

  “You must beware of Ephreim. We haven’t seen him yet and believe he is already inside the Sanctum,” Greyson added, before turning himself. “Be wary.”

  “Michael, the vessels. . .” Raphael said, turning back to Michael. “We cannot abandon them.”

  “We have to be strategic,” Uriel noted, staring ahead. “If Gabriel is with Azrael inside, as we can likely assume at this point, you will require Raphael and me at your side. It is imperative above all else that Larin is taken to the Alter.” Raphael sighed, knowing the reality of the situation. Gabriel was technically the Third under Michael, a signal of his power in addition to his stature. He was very, very strong. With Azrael and the sword, he was at great risk of failure. All of the elite forces would be required to get to the Seal.

  Michael looked at his brothers, his heart heavy. I felt his pain but closed my eyes slowly against it, weary. “This is it, my brothers,” he said, looking forward, “our one chance. Let us not make the vessels’ death be in vain. We must stay the course and see the plan. If we fail today, we fail forever. We must go forward in force.”

  “We must take her now, then,” Uriel agreed as Raphael lowered his head, giving into to momentary sadness as the vessels continued to fall to the might of the armaros as they raged around them with supernatural fury. He took a breath and drew his sword. Iris and Greyson had gone ahead, seeking to ensure our path remained as unencumbered as possible to give us the greatest chance of success.

  Michael looked around, nodding, and we all leapt into the air.

  The archangel wings had been painted with kohl, hoping to hide the white from attention to slip past the front. As we flew, I saw Josef below, fighting back several vessels at once. He looked like a dancer engaged in his art, moving as though his sword were a part of him.

  The temple had been carved out of the red rock in the earth, the dunes held back by massive stone walls with carvings of angels, all standing at attention and holding swords. I recognized all the archangels, and three I didn’t recognize, those I assumed to be the seraphim. Their faces had long been worn away by the sands of time, literally and figuratively. Many had broken appendages, missing arms or swords.
The entrance was crumbling but remarkably grand, two enormous pillars carved into the shape of vessels holding out a single hand in warning. Above the entrance was the symbol of the crescent moon, and I watched it until it fell out of sight as Michael rushed me through the archway leading into the inner Sanctum.

  Tristan had arrived with Chase and Lyric. Chase had a tremendous shiner but seemed otherwise whole. Robert and Iris were already inside with several other vessels, both fighting back several of Azrael’s minions who had been serving as Sentries. Uriel and Raphael fell on them, killing them easily, they being utterly unequipped to defend against centuries of practice and the keen senses of archangels.

  “Move! Move! Move!” Tristan yelled, and we surged forth into the darkness.

  Eons of disuse were apparent here. Sand lay in huge piles against the walls, where ancient runes continued to glow dimly in the darkness, despite the demise of those who had created the enchantments they bore. The path was treacherous, great portions missing, with gaping holes of darkness leading to the unknown below. Torches lined a long hallway, and we followed it quickly along until we came through the other side. A massive dome-shaped room stood, lined with stone benches on risers that surrounded the room to its central point. There, stood a stone alter, carved in the image of a great, coiling serpent ready to lunge forward and devour any who stood before it. The back wall contained a massive, black door of obsidian. The Seal. In its centre stood an image of the crescent moon held up by the hands of men. Above it was an image of a star, the same one behind the sword on the Council banners. Runes glowed hotly throughout the door, scribed by hands in a language long forgotten.

  Michael and the others rushed forward, stopping short.

  Azrael landed heavily in front of the alter. He held his sword – Lucifer’s sword, out in front of him. I heard Raphael cough, and turned to see Gabriel had him in a choke hold, his own sword poised in warning against his face. Ephreim stood in the background with three other vessels, grinning cruelly at me. He derived considerable satisfaction from seeing my current physical state of affairs, and I looked at him with the same air of disinterest as I did everything else. Something poked me in the back of my mind, but I ignored it, feeling as though I should close my eyes and sleep.