Archangel's War

43

Raphael had to read Elena’s report twice before it sunk in. The woman Elena was describing was the Hummingbird of old. The one who’d come to tea in his mother’s Refuge stronghold and taken him away for an afternoon of painting. He’d been a small boy with far too much energy and she’d been delighted with him.

She’d let him dip his hands into pots of paint and smear them over canvases. Afterward, she’d helped him color in the white spots, add in more paint and texture, and later, beamed proudly as he presented the art piece to his mother.

That Hummingbird had been a creature of delight and laughter.

She had, however, never played with knives.

Yet Elena assured him the Hummingbird was quite sane, and he wasn’t to worry. She’d ensure Illium’s mother stayed safe while she worked out her anger on various hapless targets of stuffed straw.

I’m also having to hug Bluebell a lot and pat Sparkle on the hand. Sharine’s poor boys are having trouble processing this turn of events.

The tone of her missive would’ve made him smile if the situation in the world hadn’t been so dire.

Less than two days after she’d left for Morocco, he soared in the skies above Neha’s territory, on his way to the agreed meeting point on the China-India border. A portentous weight hung in the air. So many archangels in one place—it was inevitable that it would bleed into the world. The pressure against his skin reminded him of their family home when Nadiel and Caliane had both been in residence. Often, as a child, he’d felt as if his hair was standing on end.

His own power roiled and surged, an instinctive response to the potential threat. Jason had confirmed that Charisemnon had left his territory—at the same time as Titus. The two archangels didn’t trust one another an inch and would not leave their lands while the other was in residence. Raphael had every faith in Titus’s honor. He had none in Charisemnon’s.

Neha was already at the border fort and had been since the fog first descended. The rest of the Cadre as well as the awakened ones were en route. Antonicus had gone half a day ahead of Raphael, wanting more time to take in the situation. Now, Raphael dropped below the cloud layer that hung in the night-dark sky. Stars glittered above the clouds, but below was a leaden gloom through which he spotted wings of bronze.

Michaela, he said in greeting.

The bronze wings angled into a hover, Michaela’s face breaking out in what might’ve been a genuine smile. With skin the color of milk chocolate, a body that held all the curves necessary to bring her targets to their knees, and hair that tumbled down her back in a multitude of brown-gold shades, the Archangel of Budapest had been the muse of artists through the ages. Emperors and kings had worshipped her. Mortals and immortals alike were in awe of her beauty.

Raphael was thankful he’d never felt the allure. The lovers of the former Queen of Constantinople tended to end up dead and buried sooner rather than later. The only significant one to have survived was Astaad’s second Dahariel. Perhaps because Dahariel, too, was a master game-player; he also happened to be a man who never put a woman first—he had other priorities.

It had always been a peculiar coupling: a woman who demanded obsession from her lovers and a man so jaded that he needed ever more extreme acts to feel any pleasure.

Raphael. Michaela’s bronze skinsuit was textured to make it appear as if she were encased in a thin coat of bronze stone. While the neckline was a sedate curve, he’d seen how the back plunged deeply between her wings.

You are well. So soon after giving birth and notwithstanding the exquisite beauty she used to blind others, she had to be exhausted.

It is good to be known as demanding and self-centered. A twist of her lips. Neha didn’t blink an eye when I requested landing clearance for my jet.

Clever. Using the jet would’ve left her with reserves of energy she could use to conceal her weakness. Nothing on the outside gives away your true physical state.

I have worked hard to make it so.

The two of them flew on. Michaela was uncharacteristically quiet.

Raphael thought she must be further conserving her strength, but when she spoke, it had nothing to do with power or the threat in China. I have brought a child into a world where an archangel of death reigns over the biggest territory on the planet. I do not know what awaits my son.

Raphael caught a wind, rode it. We can only live in the time into which we are born. As he’d been born at a time when two archangels, one old, one younger, struggled with the caress of madness.

A hint of a bruised darkness on the horizon, licked with flame. Neha had ordered flaming torches placed along the entire China-India border, as warning to her people not to cross.

Raphael, my friend! Titus’s mental voice was as much a thunderclap of sound as his physical voice.

Raphael looked to the left. Well met, Titus. The three of them flew on without further conversation. All the talk had been done and done again.

Antonicus had made his choice and today, they would see the outcome. Still, after landing atop the roof of the border fort, Raphael made his way to the Ancient and said, “You are resolved to do this even now that you see the darkness of what you face?”

“Yes, pup. I do not know how you do things, but I hold to my convictions.”

Those convictions had been set with little real information, Raphael thought. But all he said was, “So be it.” Antonicus was no youth; he was an Ancient and he was making this call while staring at what awaited.

“I have seen nightmares you can’t comprehend,” Antonicus added. “A jumped-up faux-goddess is no threat to me.”

Raphael gave a nod of acknowledgment before making his way to an angel with wings of pristine white. “Eli, you have beaten me here.” He and the Archangel of South America had planned to fly together, keeping company on the long journey, but then a quake had hit Elijah’s territory, and he’d had to remain behind for half a day to deal with it. When Raphael offered to assist, Elijah had told him to go ahead as Raphael intended to stop in at Amanat to speak to Caliane.

“I was lucky, my friend. My work was done within two hours, not half a day. Then I was able to catch wind currents so strong I feared a cyclone was building. I looked for you in the sky as I flew but you must’ve been far distant.” Eli scanned the rooftop. “Lady Caliane?”

“She broke away to go to Neha’s palace atop the hill.” His mother had wished to have a private conversation with the Archangel of India. “I see her now.”

“Neha flies with her.”

Several others arrived at that instant. Including Aegaeon. “I hear my son is part of your court, Raphael,” he said, his feathers a deep sea green that flowed into blue and his face a harder, craggier version of Illium’s—no one would’ve accused the Hummingbird of deceit had her son been full grown when Aegaeon disappeared into Sleep.

That he was Illium’s progenitor was impossible to miss.

“Illium is one of my Seven.” Raphael forced himself to be civil; if there was to be a confrontation, it belonged to Illium.

“Wild still is he?” Aegaeon’s eyes gleamed with laughing pride. “Always playing tricks, my son.”

“You will excuse me. I must greet my mother.” Raphael had to get away from the angel before he punched him. Not many people aroused such primal anger in Raphael, but Aegaeon stood in first place.

Both for what he’d done to the Hummingbird, and what he’d done to Illium. As if they had no more importance to him than any other angel in his harem. Raphael would never forget finding the Hummingbird’s mischievous, laughing boy curled up in a heap behind a tumble of rocks, crying in heartbroken silence. Aegaeon had left without warning, with no care for the small heart that worshipped him.

He came to a stop near where Caliane and Neha had landed. “Mother. Neha.”

Neha gave a nod of acknowledgment, but her eyes were on the fog. “Do you feel it?”

“Yes.” A heavy sense of oppression, a near-physical touch. “Is it causing weather changes in your territory?”

“My weather scientists say it has to do with how the fog is disrupting the ground to sky flow in Lijuan’s land.” Dressed in the faded leathers of a warrior, she spoke to Raphael without anger, her only focus the dark fog. She didn’t seem aware of the thin snake wrapped around her left wrist, a living bracelet in tones of dark orange and copper.

Caliane was dressed much the same except that her hair was out while Neha had braided her own. The three of them moved to the edge of the fort roof. The others soon joined them.

“Did any of you fly over China on your way here?” Neha asked.

“It was not on our route, but Zanaya and I deliberately detoured there,” Alexander said.

“We have sent mechanical devices that fly and take pictures above the fog,” Neha said, “but they can only go a certain distance before their energy runs out. Did you see anything unusual during your flight?”

“Darker patches in certain sections.”

“It seemed thicker,” Zanaya added, “more viscous.”

“The mechanical devices also sent us such images.” Neha’s face was thinner than Raphael was used to seeing, her bones sharp.

“Has anyone come out of the territory since the fog descended?” Michaela’s voice, her body held with a familiar languidness where she stood next to Titus. “My sentries have reported none on the Mongolian border.”

“I have had no new refugees,” Caliane said.

“Nothing alive has crossed this border,” Neha said. “Not even a bird. The ones on this side are now avoiding it, as if they have heard the death screams of their fallen brethren.” She pointed down. “My people would normally clean that up, but I wanted you to see.”

Raphael’s blood went cold at the sight that awaited: a row of birds, all fallen at the edge of the fog. Tiny corpses that told a story of cold, sudden death.

“How long between contact and death?” Astaad asked, a smear of dust on his sleeveless black tunic.

“As far as we can tell, it is instantaneous.” Neha looked to Caliane.

Raphael’s mother nodded. “The birds touch the fog and they drop, already dead. It is not the fall that kills them, that we have determined. Smaller animals, even snakes, have been found dead with their heads just inside the fog and bodies outside.”

“Enough.” Antonicus stepped back from the group on that single contemptuous word and spread out his wings. “It is time I do what must be done—I am not a child to be scared by ghost stories. I will see you all after I return from speaking to this Lijuan who believes herself a goddess even over immortals.”

The Ancient lifted off. He’d initially intended to fly to the part of the fog over Lijuan’s stronghold before he dropped down, but that would put him far from sight and they needed to know what would happen to an archangel who flew into the fog.

Antonicus had finally agreed to do a short flight into the fog within their line of sight, rise up to show them he was well, then make his way to the coordinates of Lijuan’s former stronghold—in that at least he’d accepted assistance, and was wearing a watch that would help him find the correct location. He also wore a small camera on his left shoulder that would transmit images back to a unit that sat to one side of the roof.

Antonicus crossed the border. No one spoke. Not even when the Ancient reached the test location deep within the fog area but still visible to them.

He lifted an arm, and Neha raised hers to show him they could see him. That hadn’t been guaranteed given the darkness, but enough torchlight leached out that far to make Antonicus a clear silhouette.

The Ancient flew down into the fog.

One.

Two.

Three.

No one looked at the transmitted images; those were being recorded, could be gone over at will.

Four.

Five.

Antonicus should’ve emerged by now.

“He’s dead,” Neha said, not coldly but with the conviction of belief.

An arm erupted out of the fog, the fingers locked into a tight fist. It was followed by a head, then a torso, then wings, and suddenly, Antonicus hovered over the spot where he’d gone in. Raphael’s gut clenched against the hard punch of relief. If the Ancient could survive this, they had a chance against Lijuan if—when—she made war on the world.

Antonicus wobbled, his wings dipping this way then that.

“What is he doing?” Michaela asked, but Raphael was already lifting off.

Stay here, he told the others. He flew on wings of white fire across the short distance.

Antonicus was attempting to fly toward him, but his wings were listing heavily and he was halfway back inside the fog when Raphael reached him. Grabbing his visible arm, Raphael fought to stop Antonicus’s momentum from dragging them both down into the darkness.