Covenant Page 27

  How much Israfel would give for those innocent days again.

  No—he would see that those innocent days returned. But if he let go of everything here—

  Israfel thought all his strength had vanished. He was wrong. Determination scorched through him in a blazing rush. He pushed with his hands and unfurled his wounded wings. They snapped open, thrusting aside some of the humans who had fallen on him. The priests tumbled back in surprise, some of them screaming in terror.

  Lizbeth turned and looked at Israfel with horror in her eyes.

  Raziel was right. Israfel could be selfish. But there was a time and place for everything, and right now he needed to remember his own pride as a warrior. Israfel had no astral energy left, but now that he’d been losing for so long he knew exactly how to win. Some of the humans advanced on him, shouting exorcisms in the Tongue of Souls.

  The pain of the prayers slammed into him like a boulder. Israfel staggered but spread his bleeding wings wide.

  He caught the first human by the collar and threw him into the wall. The man cracked into the stone and slumped to the floor, unconscious.

  Another human ran at Israfel, swinging wildly at him with a knife.

  Israfel grabbed him by the arm, twisted it, and turned the knife on him.

  The priest screamed, clutching at his arm. He struggled, but Israfel held him firmly with the knife at his throat.

  “Stop,” he said, in the tone he’d used often as Archangel of Heaven.

  No one expected the commanding tone in his voice. Everyone obeyed, staring in terror at Israfel as he held his prisoner close. They knew what he was threatening and were terribly sure he would follow through on it. Perhaps they’d planned for casualties, but they could no longer go through with their cruelty. Father Schrader took the opportunity to break free of his own captors and rush in front of Israfel. He made it clear by his stance that everyone would have to tear him apart before touching Israfel again.

  “There is no need to sacrifice yourself, priest,” Israfel said to him.

  “You’re too weak,” Father Schrader said, shivering with fear anyway. “It’s a miracle you can even stand.”

  Israfel wobbled but held his ground. “In my world, weakness usually means death,” he gasped. “This isn’t anything I haven’t dealt with before.”

  But it was. Israfel had never nearly given into despair.

  He thought of Angela Mathers’s attempts at suicide, and his heart warmed and ached. He knew how she felt, but both of them had to be stronger. Perhaps Mikel’s efforts to force Israfel into feeling compassion had been misguided. He’d always felt compassion. He merely refused to let others know. As the Father’s prisoner, abused night and day, he had learned not to show a single emotion besides sorrow. But the Father was now dead. Israfel had destroyed him, and with Raziel already dead and the bond of the Supernal angels weakened, the universe was falling apart.

  Israfel alone could stop the tragedy. Raziel and Lucifel’s children had been special—the offspring of two Supernals. But the chick within Israfel mixed his blood with the Father’s, and thus went above and beyond any other creature. Once it was born, with Angela’s help unsealing the power within Raziel’s Book, the dying universe could be resurrected and a new angelic trinity could rule. The most horrific period of Israfel’s life had also given the universe its only hope for a brighter future. Nothing could destroy that hope. He wouldn’t allow it.

  “Father Schrader,” Lizbeth shouted. Fearful tears wet her face. “Step aside! You know we don’t have a choice—”

  “There is always a choice,” the old priest thundered.

  Everyone fell silent.

  The old priest stared his companions down, shame and disgust all over his face. “You fools. Look at what you’ve become. This city is a horror. It is falling apart and yet you attack one of the few creatures left to save it. Angel blood?” He glared at a shamefaced Lizbeth and nearly spat at her. “Foolishness! It will only forestall the inevitable. You would rush around as murderers and thieves, the worst kind of sinners, and all because you’re assuming the Archon has decided to let humanity suffer. Why not hope? Why not trust in a brighter dream for Luz and for Earth? Must we all be slaves to that awful prophecy of Ruin?”

  Some of the priests dropped their knives. A few knelt in shame and anguish.

  “Yes,” he continued, “pray. But don’t be surprised if we deserve our fate. You have no one to blame but yourselves for this angel’s judgment. I should have known that some of you would become infected with despair and infect the others along with you. And you, Lizbeth—” Father Schrader shook his head in disbelief. “You should have been Angela Mathers’s friend, not her spy.”

  Lizbeth cried silently. She shivered, unable to look at Israfel, and shut her eyes. “Please, let him go,” she whispered, indicating the priest he held captive.

  There was no sign of the angel Mikel behind her eyes.

  Israfel let go of the priest. His prisoner scampered across the floor, nearly throwing himself into the arms of the others.

  “What will you do now?” Father Schrader said to Israfel.

  Lizbeth knelt down and cried. “How ashamed I am,” she choked out. “God, forgive me . . . what have I done?”

  Israfel stared at her. He looked back to Father Schrader. “I will enter the door.”

  He turned and headed for it, limping slightly. He held his wings high and proud.

  “You—you won’t kill us?” Lizbeth said, looking up at him with a pale face.

  Israfel paused. “No,” he said quietly. His wings shivered. Blood dripped to his toes.

  “But—”

  Israfel pressed against the door, trying to gather his strength. He felt sicker, and the world less stable. His head pounded, nearly blinding him. Of course they deserved to die. But the more he remembered Raziel’s smiling face, the less he felt he could judge as he’d judged before. How could Israfel have forgotten those long-ago words he and Raziel exchanged? Was it always true that it took moments like these to remember more clearly?

  Father Schrader stepped closer. He offered his arm to Israfel to steady him, but Israfel waved him away. “No,” he said. “I will be fine once I leave Earth. Then I’ll quickly regain my strength. You must understand—this is the lowest Realm, and it drains us.”

  “You’re ill, aren’t you?” Father Schrader whispered.

  Israfel looked at him keenly. For a human, the priest was extremely perceptive. “My sister is a virus,” he said in a low tone. “Hopefully, I’ll rid this universe and myself of the infection soon enough.”

  Father Schrader looked confused, but then his eyes widened and he nodded in realization. “Thank you for your mercy,” he said, kneeling down in front of Israfel. “Please find the Archon. She is human, but she represents the best and the worst of what we are, and that is not Her fault. And if you decide to punish us, punish me alone. I am the representative for these children.”

  Israfel looked at the others. “Perhaps it is punishment enough for them to know that they can never be what you are.”

  Lizbeth bowed her head in shame.

  “You are special,” Israfel added.

  Father Schrader nodded and lowered his head. He stole one more glance at Israfel from his low vantage point and sighed softly in surprise. He stared at Israfel as if mesmerized and was about to say something. But another glance from Israfel kept him quiet, and the secret remained between them. No one else needed to know what the priest had realized—Israfel’s beauty reflected ineffable desires.

  “Cover your eyes until I shut the door behind me,” Israfel said firmly.

  Everyone obeyed, and he set his hand on the knob.

  The iron snake came to life but twisted in pain beneath Israfel’s hand, as if his touch burned it. It hissed and spit maniacally.

  Israfel yanked the snake hard, opening the door.

  He took the first few steps and strength flowed through his body in waves. Quickly, he shut the door
behind him.

  The light of Earth disappeared, and the door vanished with a gentle sucking sound. Israfel began to descend the dark stairs carefully. The winding journey to the bottom would be tedious, but every moment that passed, his power would also return stronger and stronger. Soon, he’d be traveling, incredibly fast. He was a Supernal angel after all, and in the loftier Realms, miles were seconds.

  Already, he anticipated the terror in Lucifel’s eyes.

  Thirty-four

  Seeing the demon city made me long for what my own people had cruelly lost. But I carried the name of our glorious home from my birth, and true to my sister’s hopes, I vowed I would live to see that glory again. —TROY

  Troy was as good as dead.

  Flightless and weak, she plummeted from the opening where she’d exited the labyrinth, flipping end over end. Juno streaked down from overhead and flew beside her, grasping desperately for Troy’s rags and remaining wing.

  It was useless.

  Troy smacked the rocks. Pain ricocheted through her bones. The world hazed over, and the light of the demon city pulsed with her heartbeat, seeming to laugh at her. Juno’s face appeared and disappeared. Troy reached out blindly. She spread her single wing more and attempted to glide sideways. Her own blood whipped back into her eyes. The roar of her descent was deafening. Her fingers scrabbled painfully against the rocky cliff side. Acidic air burned her lungs.

  Finally, Troy’s nails caught.

  She grunted as she dug into the stone of the cliff, her feet slipping intermittently. Hot pain shot through her fingers and fanned into her palms.

  Her arms shivered violently from the strain, but Troy held on, taking the time to catch her breath and gather whatever strength she had left. Dizziness plucked at her brain, and she clung tighter to the world. Surely the moment her eyes shut, she would plummet again into death’s jaws.

  Through a fog of agony, Troy glanced out into Babylon. She could barely discern the immense pillars flanking the Styx River as it flowed beneath the city to the Abyss. Lucifel’s Altar lay beyond those pillars. Sophia would certainly be there along with Angela. But the odds of Troy surviving to reach them were now slim to none.

  A large cloud of mist swept over her, hiding the city from view. Even though Troy had fallen so far, she and Juno were still very high up.

  Eerie laughter echoed from above.

  Python was surely coming. They didn’t have much time. Juno soared down to Troy’s level and hitched into the cliff side nearby. Pebbles sprayed back as her little black nails slid into the rocks. Juno couldn’t stop gaping with horror at the wound marking Troy’s severed wing. In return for her pain, Troy had been left with numbness and the wild focus that foreshadowed certain death. “I must climb,” she hissed weakly to her niece. It drained her dangerously just to speak.

  Crawling to the ground wasn’t an option. Babylon’s plain sheltered plenty of Hounds, Kirin, and others creatures eager to destroy or devour a flightless Jinn. The smartest course of action left was to climb and hide in the thicker acidic fog near the cavern ceiling. Juno looked up, her eyes widening at the distance they still needed to travel.

  She nodded and began to move.

  “No. You must escape,” Troy gasped. “The demon will have his revenge on me and let you go. You must survive to lead the Clans.”

  Juno said nothing, but from the way she grasped the rocks, it was obvious she refused to leave Troy’s side. A haunted expression had erased Juno’s usual curiosity and babyish fear. She gripped at the stone, using her wings to propel her higher.

  This wasn’t good at all. The fog would eventually weaken Juno’s wings enough that flight would be impossible.

  Juno heaved for breath, her muscles already shaking.

  A long hiss quivered through the air around them.

  Troy froze and her ears cocked forward. She strained to hear despite the pain threatening to switch off her senses. Python’s whispery voice began to weave its way through the mist.

  Tell me, High Assassin . . . do you enjoy being flightless?

  He laughed sarcastically.

  Juno prepared to move again, but Troy clasped her by the ankle.

  “Don’t move,” Troy whispered heatedly. “Not yet.”

  There was always the possibility the demon couldn’t see them in the fog. He was searching for them, trying to get a reaction out of Troy or her niece that would give them away.

  You know, I have to admire you, Python’s cool voice continued. All of this misery just to kill your half-Jinn cousin. But I’m afraid no matter how much I sympathize, that noble mission of revenge stops here. Didn’t you know, Troy? Without him, Lucifel can’t escape her ancient cage. That doesn’t fit well with my plans, I’m afraid.

  Troy’s eyes widened. She bit back her frustrated scream. In a cruel instant, it socked her like a deadly punch to the chest. Was that why Kim had been adopted by a demon father? Troy thought of the bonds keeping Lucifel imprisoned. Adamant would be the most likely metal the demons had used to shackle her. It was an element impervious to astral energy. But that only applied to creatures like angels, demons, and Jinn.

  Not someone in between the two.

  Your silence suggests you’re surprised? Python’s words echoed from every direction. So was I. Unfortunately for your delusional cousin, you’ve enchanted me into forgetting my promise that you’ll perish miserably. Oh no, I have plans for you, Troy.

  Juno lost her grip. Her foot slipped from beneath her, flipping loose rocks into the air. The noise of her scrabbling rang like thunder.

  Troy stared at her in horror.

  Python’s words seemed to hold a deadly smile of victory. You, High Assassin—and you alone.

  His enormous triangular head broke out of the fog. Fangs snapped at Juno.

  She barely dodged, flapping her wings and screeching in pain. Just as Troy feared the mist had crippled Juno’s ability to fly.

  Juno lost the rest of her grip and fell.

  JUNO! Troy forgot everything else like a dream and dropped with her.

  Not so fast, you clever winged rat. Python’s shadow reared up on Troy, intending to stop her from following. Are you really so eager to die? His huge serpentine body had wrapped itself around a rock jutting from the cliff next to them. Troy would never get around him. His jaws loomed before her, his eyes tormenting her like the nightmare of a hundred Hounds at once, promising only a future without Juno and without dignity.

  There was so little she could do—and then Troy thought of something.

  As she fell, she raked her nails across his eyes.

  Her fingers caught for a second and then her grip ripped away.

  The snake contorted wildly. A dreadful scream tore through the air. Python hadn’t expected Troy to sacrifice her life to save her niece. Now his curses rang out with hideous ferocity over the plain. Juno might die, and Troy would die with her, and whatever torments he’d planned for her could never be.

  His shrieks followed Troy like a nightmare, but she ignored them and heard only her niece’s fearful cries. Juno had slowed her descent by spreading her wings, but it wasn’t enough.

  She was too weak. She continued to fall, and Babylon grew larger beneath her and Troy. Lights appeared again. The cloud cover broke for good. The city looked like a valley of spires and black spikes. Pyramids glittering with light beckoned. Finally, Troy caught up to her. Juno stared up at Troy, her little mouth widened into an “O” of amazement.

  Troy wanted to shut her eyes. These were her last moments. Instead, she kept them open to make sure that Juno saw nothing else besides her aunt looking back at her. Troy used her single good wing to steer herself in Juno’s direction and they collided painfully. Troy dug her nails into the chick, and Juno screamed.

  She tried to direct them both toward a mound to their left. Troy connected with it hard. Juno tore out of her arms with a shuddering sound. Something soft met Troy’s legs and arms, and she tumbled. There was a brief second of more air before
the hard earth and a searing pain hit her.

  And then there was nowhere left to fall.

  Thirty-five

  All my life, I had prepared for this moment. Now, I knew my mistake. —KIM

  Angela didn’t have it in her to say a word as Python pushed her closer to Lucifel. The demon sometimes gave a small smile of victory, or at other times lost himself in some kind of trance, as if he conversed with an invisible person in an invisible world. Or maybe he was talking to someone far away. But Angela’s helplessness was undeniable as Python clutched her hands and dragged her along.

  Her head ached. Her entire body cried for sleep.

  Kim also remained silent. He followed with his head down, unable to look at Angela. Every so often, he sighed deeply. He would squeeze his eyes shut often, fighting off inner turmoil.

  Gradually, the scenery changed. The tunnel they walked through narrowed, and they entered a passage that struck Angela into horrified silence. Bodies had been melded seamlessly into the stone walls. The arms, legs, and wings of countless demons and angels jutted out at her, though most remained frozen for eternity in curled-up positions. Yet some had unblinking eyes that certainly held souls behind them.

  These eyes followed Angela as she passed.

  “They are curious about you,” Python said softly, breaking from his trance. “It’s not every day that Hell might get a new ruler.”

  “Why are they in the walls?” Angela said in a small voice. She could barely find it in herself to keep walking. She shivered and stumbled over a rock. “Are they alive?”

  “They keep the demons of Babylon alive,” Python said, staring ahead without a glance for the prisoners to his right and left as he walked. “They are traitors, prisoners of war, or sinners according to our laws. Here, they will spend the rest of their eternity, giving energy to us and providing as needed for our civilians. Although considering the circumstances, perhaps their usefulness is long since past.”