by Harley James
“You will find her when she needs you most, and she will know you when you sing to her.”
Impossible. How could he be brought back to life, yet not be fully a man, but something more to fight the dark shades? And by the gods, or by this god of Michael, how would he ever be able to watch Sophie die once, much less who knew how many times? “Can I prevent her death? Will I know when it’s coming?”
“Anything is possible.”
That sounded like something Sophie would say. “How can I fight evil with a spear, sword, and shield?”
“You will have enhancements,” Michael said.
“Such as?”
The archangel drew his sword, and lightning jumped between the clouds. “It is time for your decision, son of Kassandra.”
When the archangel repeated his mother’s name, it struck him. “You were the warrior with my mother that day on the path! You held her. What were you to her?”
Michael’s eyes darkened. “I cannot speak of her.”
Alexios strained to understand what that darkness meant. “She was my mother.” He paused, mind whirring with grief and confusion. “Tell me you loved her at least.”
“We were not created to love, but to serve.”
Rage burned through Alexios as he moved to rip the archangel’s sword from his grasp.
Michael raised his hand, and Alexios froze mid-lunge, his insides churning, tumbling, screaming with impotence.
“You must learn patience, Alexios.” Michael looked skyward. “Archangels were not created to love, but love your mother…I do.” He brought his gaze back to Alexios. “With a strength that can cleave the universe.” His smile was tinged with violence as he released Alexios. “She rules my immortal heart.”
“Can I see her?” Alexios whispered.
“That depends on your choice, Spartan. What will it be? The light beyond or the darkness on Earth with Sophia?”
No choice, really. Alexios looked at the woman who continued to rock back and forth and shed tears over his lifeless body, begging any god who would help her.
“I choose her.”
“So you will become a Guardian in service to humanity?”
“I choose Sophia, whatever that entails.”
“Not good enough. You must know what you are agreeing to.”
With that, he was sucked into a gray, wet mass of shadows, fearsome and nauseating until he was belched onto a canvas of fiery plains, a river of scarlet running through it as far as the eye could see.
Overhead, no sky, not even frescoes. Only boulders, dark with moving shadows. Hideous creatures with skulls for faces and skin melting from their yellowed bones writhed by the river, screaming.
Alexios scrambled to his feet, his hand flying to his baldric to draw his sword, but… Still naked from the flogging.
And unaffected by the fire. Thank the gods.
Or instead, thank the archangel beside him.
I can do many things, but even I could not assure both of our safe passage from this place. You are under the protection of my Maker while we are here.
Alexios turned to Michael. The hard lines of his face were serene, unaffected by the horrific scene.
“And just where are we? Tartarus?” With the fields of fire, it was the most likely explanation.
It goes by many names.
Alexios was grateful Sophia was not here to see this. She would try to save someone. I am here because…?
You need to understand what you are choosing.
He still didn’t understand.
Patience.
“I don’t want you in my head,” Alexios said.
That is a problem then, the archangel replied.
Alexios gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt, his breath scarce in the choking, wet heat. His hands alternately fisted and scraped at his skin which crawled and pricked as though masses of insects were feeding upon him.
And still the creatures—humans?—screamed and gurgled as though their own blood boiled inside them. He’d seen it often in war.
Alexios gagged and spit, the smell of the place bringing a wave of tragic memories… Sifting through the rubble of his maternal grandparent’s home. Their charred hair and flesh. Shards of their wedding pottery embedded in their bodies by young Spartiates with something to prove during the yearly Krypteia.
Alexios blinked away his mother’s grief, focusing on what was right in front of him.
Like in battle.
This is a battle.
Indeed, the archangel concurred.
Alexios spun to Michael. “Desist.” The archangel didn’t reply. The fiery pit seemed to stretch into infinity, no break in the endless expanse of flame and blood.
Except…there.
Tall, vertical, silver bars only as far away as the long shadows cast by Alexios’s kleros at the end of a winter’s day.
It was a cage. From his vantage point, it looked to be only as large as his horse’s stall. Flames shot up like geysers intermittently in front of the bars and on top of the cell.
Maybe it was the way out.
Alexios took a step toward it, feeling the archangel’s fingers begin to crush the muscles in his arms. He tried to jerk himself out of Michael’s grasp.
Suddenly the fountains of fire in front of the cage extinguished. As a shadow drew nearer the inside of the bars, a cold the likes of which he’d never felt stole into his flesh.
“Brother Michael, welcome.”
Goosebumps flashed across Alexios’ skin, the hairs standing upright on the back of his neck. The voice from the cage—smooth, cultured, commanding—seemed to bear a smile. But left an aftertaste of death.
The man in the cage wore strange clothing. Tight leathers around his legs, like greaves that wrapped all the way around, up past his thighs to cover his hips. A flowing white garment tucked into his leathers, wrapped round his arms, and laced across his chest with crimson ribbon.
He was fair of hair, but as swarthy of skin as Alexios. The maidens would surely make fools of themselves over this one. He had a soldier’s build, though not as tall or broad of chest as Michael. Alexios wondered how the warrior could fight in such binding garments.
The man in the cage laughed while the creatures in torment screamed louder.
He’d heard his thoughts? Another archangel then.
The man in the cage clapped and whistled his assent.
Michael turned to pierce Alexios with his searing blue eyes. Warrior, meet Lucifer.
This Lucifer stood as though there were no bars between them. Even with one so powerful as Michael at his side, Alexios wasn’t sure he wanted to approach any closer.
“I don’t advise it, my friend,” Lucifer said and winked cordially. “You may find it hard to resist me.”
His fingers wrapped around the silver bars of his imprisonment, sizzling and smoking like a hare spitted over a fire. His face leached of color, and he spasmed, eyes rolling back with a horrible growl, before his smile and color returned.
Alexios steeled his back as a wave of disquiet swept through him. No flinching. He’d never cowered in battle.
“Oh, stop lying, Spartan. I am the father of deception. I always know when someone’s not being honest. And right now, you’re so scared you’re ready to shit yourself.” He laughed again, then twirled his hands by his head.
Alexios could see harrowing burn marks on his palms from where they’d rested on the cage bars.
“Chiropterrrraaaa!” Lucifer boomed, instigating a screeching louder than the screams emanating from the cave-like ceiling. Dark shadows morphed into solid black wings, diving from the boulders.
Alexios scanned for a weapon, but Michael raised a hand and every bat dropped, incinerating before they even hit the flames.
Lucifer cocked his head and turned down his lips like a child who’d had his toy trampled beneath a chariot’s wheels. “You still know how to ruin all my fun, brother.”
When Michael made no reply, Alexios thought he would make a much b
etter Spartan than Lucifer.
Lucifer turned his gaze to Alexios, his eyes flashing red so briefly Alexios wondered if he’d imagined it. But then, nothing here should surprise him.
He was dead. Anything was possible.
Do not fear your destiny, Alexios. Michael’s voice in his head was like the soothing waters of the Eurotas River.
Lucifer paced back and forth in front of the bars like the caged tiger Alexios had once seen on a trip to Athens. “Have you looked your fill then, bastard son of Davos? If so, I do wish you’d hurry back to your princess. I am longing to use your worry to stir up trouble betwixt you.”
At the mention of Sophia, Alexios’s gut clenched, and he couldn’t help but look to Michael. The archangel stood at attention like one of the kings’ sentries. I am ready to leave this place, Archangel.
We will leave when your actions take us away, Michael pushed back at him.
How was he supposed to do that? He didn’t even know how they got here.
“How do you know my name, wicked one?”
Lucifer brought his hand to his chest as though offended. “Am I so obscure? You, who have slashed and burned your way through life should know who I am. You, who have so often invited me into your vicious world. Tell me, how many souls come to haunt you in your dreams?”
Alexios clenched his jaw, his blood boiling hotter than the roiling river. Lucifer threw his head back as though in ecstasy, sucking air between his teeth. When he brought his gaze back to Alexios, it was like a punch to the solar plexus.
Spartan, everything that happens here is your choice, Michael warned.
“Ah, yes. Bring me your anger, your fear, and your confusion. I know and laud your darkness as well as my own, Alexios. I may be in a cage, but I ssssssee—and feel—all.” Lucifer spun a complex twirl and then bowed low. “And these bars will not contain me forever.”
A more dire threat had never been uttered.
Lucifer tsked. “Oh, I don’t need threats. Threats are for cowards. I speak the truth, and the truth is that you will eventually end up as my slave no matter which of Michael’s melodramatic options you choose.”
Slave. The word grew teeth and sank into Alexios’s soul.
Never.
Never, never, never would he submit to this dark one.
Alexios turned to Michael. It’s my choice?
The archangel nodded. Just know, if you choose Sophia, it will be a struggle. Always.
He’d been born in struggle. It might be all he knew, but…
Will I be able to protect her?
She has to make her own choices, Michael replied.
She wouldn’t have it any other way.
And if Michael—and whomever his Maker was—had confidence that he was a fair addition to their platoon, who was he to doubt?
Alexios stepped toward Lucifer’s cage. “I am no one’s slave. I choose to become a Guardian, and I will lay down my life to keep you behind these bars.”
The moment Lucifer launched himself toward Alexios, the tormented stopped their wailing, the fires flattened out, and the river stopped boiling in a blinding flash of white. Alexios couldn’t see, but a presence built inside that light, so full it seemed to have a heartbeat of its own, a vitality like a thousand tongues he could understand all at once. A thousand rich grapes. A thousand sighs of his beloved as he held her naked body against his.
Held her.
And found home.
Do not forsake your promise, Spartan. Revelations will come. For now, only know that you are First of the Guardians and Defender of the Spinea Corona.
The voice of the archangel made no sense. Spinea Corona. Crown of Thorns? What do you mean? Alexios shouted into the snowy void wrapped around him.
But there was no answer as familiar sounds began to trickle into this world of white. The cooing of doves. The swish of the river.
A gasp. The scent of lemon and lavender.
Sophie.
“His color—look! Call the surgeon back! Oh gods, oh gods, he’s alive!”
Gradually the white faded in his vision, replaced by a muted palate of the sand pit’s colors.
Muted. Until he looked upon the face of his beloved. The face of his future. Then all the color returned to his world.
“Sophie.”
Chapter 17
Sophia’s heart stopped in her chest and then kick-started savagely.
Alexios’s rich copper and gold eyes no longer closed in death.
She brushed strands of wet hair from her eyes. It cannot be. I’m hallucinating. Visions of Alexios’s bloody lashing and brutal murder rained through her confusion, gouging out her soul until she was so hollow she knew she’d never be whole again.
“P-please t-tell me I’m not hallucinating,” she whispered.
Alexios’s hand reached up to stroke her cheek.
A scream burbled up her windpipe as her hands sought to confirm what her eyes were seeing. He looked and felt mostly…alive?
How?
The raw flesh of his back that had hung in bloody, sand-caked strips was now healed. The spear that they’d left protruding from his heart was gone, leaving only a small jagged blemish. The only other imperfection on her beautiful warrior was a sickle-shaped scar from his left temple to the edge of his lips from Theodora’s dagger.
Sophia couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t breathe.
Can’t breathe.
All members of the aristocracy had fled, and the few remaining helots around them seemed to have turned to stone. Frozen like marble statues in an artist’s studio, in whatever motion they’d been about to perform when Alexios opened his eyes.
He rolled over and crouched in front of her, his face wary, his body no longer naked, but clothed in a fresh chiton.
What? She scrambled away from him on all fours like the little crabs that foraged by the river. This was either a cruel trick of the gods, or she was very ill.
Resurrected.
Impossible.
She panted as her gaze winged around the sand pit. Artemis, save me.
Don’t rant. Her lips ached to open and let a terrible madness spew forth. But Alexios had taught her some temperance. “W-what are you? Umbra?”
“No, not a shade, my love. Let me take you home. Then I will tell you what I know.”
It looked like Alexios. Sounded like him, too.
“But I h-held you as you…died.” Her voice cracked and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. Her muscles had begun to shake, her teeth to chatter.
He frowned and stood. She gave a cry and scrabbled to her feet when he approached. “Stay back!”
He stopped immediately.
She hated that she couldn’t stop crying. But she was afraid—so afraid—this was a fever’s phantasm. Or worse, he was a death shadow who would haunt her, ever reminding her of all they’d never have.
She turned to run, but felt warm fingers on her arm. She swung around with a punch that he deflected with his forearm. She yelled and scratched and kicked until, pressed tightly to his chest, soft strains of the lullaby he’d sung to their son broke through her panic.
Stanzas of love and loyalty intermingled with a heartbeat next to her ear.
Steady, strong.
Heartbeat.
Shades wouldn’t have heartbeats, would they?
Her fingernails dug into the wide swath of his back. “Alexi?”
She felt his lips on her hair. “I am here, Sophie. I am truly here. I will always find you.”
What? That didn’t sound quite right.
She leaned away, trying to free herself from his arms.
“Sophie, look.”
Alexios pointed to the riverbank. It was the tall seer, only now she could see his face, his hood pushed back. And he didn’t look like a seer any longer, but rather, a soldier. And a fearsome one at that. The air around him shimmered, waves of light pulsed and danced, a mirage.
I’ve seen him before. At Alexios’s contest of endurance seve
n years ago.
Alexios took her hands. “He brought me back. It was my choice. I am not a shade, but I am no longer entirely mortal.”
Her gaze darted between the two warriors. “Is he a god? Are you a god?”
“He is called Michael the Archangel. I am a Guardian.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I am now a protector of humankind.”
“You are a g-god then.” Her teeth rattled and clacked so hard a shaft of pain radiated up the side of her face.
He bent to swing her into his arms, but she stopped him. “Answer my questions.”
“No, I am not a god, but a new creation.”
“How?”
“I have become the first in a new band of soldiers who seek out and eradicate evil. I have this chance because I found you. You became the light inside me, Sophie. You will always be my redemption.”
Her vision grayed at the edges. She swayed, bolstered by Alexios. She heard his voice, but it seemed so far away. His lips grazed hers, the touch sparking a fire, burning away the fuzzy edges of gray.
She looked in his eyes. Saw his hope. His worry and intensity. That was as before. She looked at the archangel, then back at Alexios. “You cannot die?”
“Only in rare cases.”
“Good.” Her shoulders slumped, and other, more realistic concerns flooded in. “You will grow frustrated with my clumsy, mortal ways.”
Alexios framed her face with his big, callused hands. “Never.”
“You say that now.” He would watch her grow old and die. If she were to live that long. She frowned. “This cannot work.”
“It will. Enough of your pessimism, that is my realm.” Alexios looked over his shoulder at the archangel. “Can you send us to our kleros? I would care for my wife and see our son.”
You have the power to do that yourself now.
Sophia heard the archangel’s words in her head and, in the next moment, found herself tucked in with blankets, seated in an uncharacteristically extravagant velvet chair before a crackling hearth in a bedroom.
Maybe she’d dreamed the whole flogging and murder sequence.
She pushed the blankets aside and was nearly out of her chair when Alexios prowled into the room, a bundle in his arms. Her heart skipped a beat to see his soft smile as he looked upon the sleeping child.