The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6) (17 page)

Joya had another sense of dizziness as Macco spoke.
What does that even mean?

“You mean like a rojo?” Angelica asked.

Macco nodded his head slowly. “But one that takes you between worlds.”

“Does it work?” Jovian asked.

Macco shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe that’s where all the angels went.”

“What happened to them?” Angelica asked.

“Yeah, if there were once so many of them, why aren’t they here any longer?” Joya wondered.

Macco pointed to the nimbus in the center of the city. “I know not, but perhaps you can find what you seek within that building.”

“That’s a building?” Joya asked.

“Yes, as the humans have their Evyndelle, so the angels also have their own record of fate.”

“And we are allowed to go in there?” Jovian asked.

“Only those of angel blood,” Macco said.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Joya asked.

But just then Cianna staggered, and Joya could feel a great rebounding of energy through the air around them. Her cousin stumbled and placed a hand to her head.

“What was that?” Joya asked, coming to Cianna’s aid.

“The ghosts, our protection,” she said.

“Darkness grows near,” Macco told them.

“Darkness is already upon you, keeper of the city of angels,” a voice said from behind a building. When the man stepped out Joya wasn’t sure she had ever seen someone as muscled as the bald fallen was. “Hello, necromancer,” he said with a smile playing over his lips. “I’ve waited for this for a long time.”

His hands flew out to his side, and his wings snapped open. Through the air Joya could hear the screams of the dead, echoed in the open mouth of her cousin, Cianna. Like a great vacuum, the wind picked up, whirling around them and being drawn to the fallen angel.

He laughed as a small vortex spun around him, and Joya thought for a moment she could see small tendrils of ghostly light being absorbed into his skin. Then, as suddenly as it started, the wind stopped, and Cianna sagged to the ground.

Joya reached for her cousin, but just then her mind swam sickeningly, and before her a vision of home filled her mind’s eye. She was no longer in Vorustum-Apaleer. She was at the Neferis Plantation.

Macco slid from the point of the fallen angel’s sword, his sightless eyes losing whatever preternatural focus they had retained in life. They were now truly dead to the world.

“This is too easy,” Asfrodium said, and chuckled to himself. But just then it felt like his brain lilted dizzyingly, and he felt more than heard the voice of the verax-acis. It was like bugs burrowing under his scalp, digging at his skull, trying to get into his brain. He knew it was the touch of the verax-acis, but the lesser dalua could never hold sway over something as powerful as an angel.

“What is it, creature?” Asfrodium said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

In the darkening air of Vorustum-Apaleer, Asfrodium saw the verax-acis, swathed in heavy black robes, its head bald and its maw gapping open, dried blood creating scabs on the sinisterly large mouth. It reached out and touched the dark-haired boy, who was lost in the grips of whatever illusion the verax-acis held over him. The boy twitched with the touch, whimpered through the haze of daydreams. It was with the voice of the boy that the verax-acis spoke.

“They are for the Master,” it said.

“Only the two,” Asfrodium said, pointing to the blonds that he knew to be Angelica and Jovian. “The others are expendable, and that one there,” he pointed to the one he knew to be the necromancer. “She holds power over all dead beings, including those that derive their power from death, the rephaim. She must go.”

“Another would only replace her, and she is the daughter of the Master,” the verax-acis said.

Asfrodium narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. Certainly she couldn’t be? But there, he noticed a resemblance to that wretched whore, Pharoh. He scoffed.

“But the others you can have,” the verax-acis said. “Except that one,” he pointed at a dark-haired woman, slight of frame, with black dots on her upturned palms. “That one is mine.”

The verax-acis relinquished his hold on the man, and he sagged to the ground as if he’d fainted.

“Whatever you want,” Asfrodium said. Now that he couldn’t have the necromancer, he wasn’t certain he wanted any of them. But then he laughed, because that very thought was funny. Here was the man Jovian loved. The Master wanted Angelica and Jovian alive, but that didn’t mean they had to be mentally whole when they arrived.

Sara followed Atorva and the other Guardians into the cloistered halls of the High Basilica.

Since arriving in Lytoria, Sara felt the cares and worries she had been carrying with her washed away in a feeling that everything would be okay. There was no need to worry about the outcome, everything was alright. Incredulously, she tried to study this new feeling, wondering how in the Realms everything was going to be okay when they faced so much opposition. She found thinking that her worries didn’t trouble her now, not inside the basilica, and possibly not inside the city itself. This was a holy place, and while she could make plans and think on the problems facing them, she wasn’t troubled by them.

The inside of the basilica opened up on a grand audience chamber, with corridors leading away from the main chamber like spokes on a wheel. The structure was semi-circular, so Sara imagined it would actually be a half-wheel. It was to the right of the entrance that Atorva led them, with nothing more than a hand to guide them. Along the light-brown tunnel, flickering lamps lit pools of honey under their feet, and the red carpet beneath hushed their progression to a mere whisper.

“As you can imagine, I was as startled as you are about to be.” Atorva had stopped before one chamber with a high arching door. He placed his hand on the ring handle and knocked softly. If the person inside made any invitation, Sara didn’t hear it. She glanced up at Annbell, who shrugged.

Atorva opened the door, and ahead of Sara, Aladestra gasped. They were all rushed into the chamber, and the door was latched tight.

Before them, sitting in a chair so high stairs were needed to reach it, sat a man who could have been chiseled out of marble. His very muscle structure didn’t even seem possible to Sara; she had never seen someone so sculpted outside of works of art. His silky black hair was held back from his face by a crown of lilacs, his white toga stationed around him artfully. He leaned forward, one elbow on his knee and his other hand resting on the pommel of a lapis sword.

But most startling to Sara were the pure, radiant wings that rose straight from his back, framing the golden sunlight that filtered through a narrow, high window behind him.

“Hello Guardians,” the man said in a voice so deep Sara thought she could feel it more than hear it. “I’m Laphrael.”

“Atorva, I haven’t seen an angel before, not of the higher order,” Aladestra said, stepping around the elevated chair as if the being setting on it were nothing more than some illusion, of which she would find the source.

“Neither had we,” Atorva said. “We had only heard of the fallen, we hadn’t heard of any of the host making appearances. We were starting to worry.”

“More of my brethren come,” Laphrael said. “We come to defend the seat of our Mother.”

“We have reinforcements of our own coming,” Aladestra said.

Laphrael nodded. “I know. They won’t make it here before the fallen.”

“What are we to do then?” Rowan wondered.

Laphrael sighed, and leaned back in his chair. Sara watched his wings flutter slightly, like any bird settling themselves would, but it seemed strange on a human figure. Soft downy feathers drifted through the air to settle about the stairs that lead up to his throne.

“There’s not much humans
can
do in this fight. There will be enough angels to help, but I’m afraid there will be alarists as well. Already a force is gathering. Do you have sorcerers that can come? Any kind of wyrders that might help?” He studied the assembled Guardians with his green eyes. They all nodded. “Good. Regular soldiers won’t be able to do much against their darklight, but your wyrd can keep them away. You must protect the High Basilica. If the fallen and the alarists are able to gain a foothold here, it would strike a mighty blow at the Goddess, weakening the veil between the Ever After and Saracin, allowing the fallen to slink through the gates of the Kingdom, where they would spread their cancerous power.”

“We’ve faced fallen before,” Annbell spoke up. “We can defeat them.”

Laphrael nodded. “No doubt you can, but you can only hurt them when you call upon the Goddess, when you are working against them in a selfless act. Angels, on the other hand, are always attuned with the Goddess, and therefore are always able to wound the fallen.” No one said anything, but Atorva shifted slightly as if there had been an argument here before, one he had lost. It made sense to Sara. Atorva had no doubt argued that he was always in touch with the Goddess as well, and therefore could be of assistance.

“Already you send some to the Turquoise Tower?” Laphrael said. Sara nodded. “You didn’t send enough, but they should do.”

“You think they will succeed?” Azra asked.

“I never said that.” Laphrael gave a shrug. “If any will succeed, it will be them. Likely it would have done no good to send more people with them. Humans are a weak defense against angels.”

As he spoke Sara felt insignificant, as if her plight didn’t matter. Laphrael didn’t seem to think humans could go up against the fallen, but Sara knew that Aladestra had defeated one. From the look on the other Guardian’s face, she had been thinking the same thing.

“Well, thank you for your time,” Annbell said. “If we are useless in this matter, I have a realm to rebuild.” The auburn-haired Guardian turned to the door, but Atorva rushed forward, placing himself between Annbell and the exit.

“That’s not what he means,” the High Votary interceded. “He isn’t the most tactful,” Sara heard Atorva whisper to her twin, and she smiled.

“Humans aren’t the greatest defense, but they aren’t completely useless. It is just harder for them to defeat a fallen without doing so in tune with the Goddess,” Laphrael explained.

“And how do we do it in tune with the Goddess?” Pyang asked, folding his small hands together before him.

“When I did it,” Aladestra said. “I felt this calm presence of the Goddess wash over me, and it helped me to defeat the fallen.”

“Because you did it in faith, protecting the people of your city. You most likely called on the Goddess when you did it. Angels are always in tune with the Goddess.” Laphrael motioned to himself. Sara rolled her eyes.

“In that case, so are votaries.” Sara motioned to Atorva. A look of vindication came over the High Votary’s face, and he smirked at the angel perched so high above the humans below. Sara didn’t like Laphrael being put on a pedestal. He wasn’t anything like she imagined angels being, and she wondered if maybe
all
angels agreed with Arael, and bowed to mankind begrudgingly.

“In time Atorva will do what he needs to do, but he is the heart of the Goddess in the realms. To lose him would be to lose our conduit to her.” Laphrael didn’t look like he could easily be swayed.

“And that’s why Lytoria is so important?” Azra asked. “Just because of Atorva? Shouldn’t we smuggle him away?”