Standing before the Gate, Sarai reeled under the sudden impact of a wailing scream, followed closely by the chilling hands of death, leaving a sickly taint within her halo.
"Well, the Watch is history," Grace said, slipping out of the shadows like black oil separating from water.
"So I've noticed," Sarai replied, burning out the stain with a powerful blast of her halo.
An emerald light glared from the glossy, black marble walls as Sazzi frantically entered the scene.
"He's done it, hasn't he?" she said, near breathlessness.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," Sarai said, sadly.
"And with considerable flair I might add," Grace said, almost sounding as though she approved of the whole thing.
"I wish I could say I'm surprised to see you here Grace," Sazzi said, dryly, making a token effort to remain civil.
"You wish you could say that you didn't see me at all Anastasia," Grace corrected, knowing, and feeling the truth.
"Stop it, both of you," Sarai interjected sternly. "this isn't the time or place for this. None of this is about either of you, and I'll thank you to take this elsewhere if you must." She was in no mood for the endless bitching that was always so inevitable whenever these two came together. It was centuries old already, and gave no sign of resolution in the near, or distant, future. But she was definitely not interested in listening to it right now.
Sazzi's halo displayed her obvious displeasure at Grace's presence, but she kept her silence. It hadn't taken her long to figure out where Raven had learned the ritual in question, it always seemed to return to the same place.
Grace had no real issues with Sazzi, other than her judgmental attitude. Sazzi was a Virtue by station alone as far as Grace was concerned. Being "virtuous" was another matter, as she had so kindly pointed out on several occasions. Arguments were generally ended with; "We are what we do, denying it only makes us look foolish, and ignorant."
The truth was a weapon there was no defense against, and Grace was a superb tactician when it came to dispatching adversaries.
"Anyway," Grace continued, ignoring Sazzi's attitude, as usual. "there are a few things you both should know about this ritual before he arrives. I can tell you right now, it could get out of hand very quickly." Her voice reflected the seriousness of her words, leaving no doubts as to her concern.
"I really don't know much about it at all," Sazzi admitted, humbly. "but I know it worries me terribly. Maybe if I knew a little more, it might help." Grace looked at her with sincere sympathy, her eyes glistening.
"I wish that were true Sazz, I really do, for the sake of us all. But unfortunately, knowing more isn't going to ease your mind in the least. In fact," she paused, resting supple hand on Sazzi's opalescent shoulder. "just the opposite is probably closer to the truth."
She didn't particularly enjoy watching the Virtue slowly shatter like a fallen Christmas ornament, but she deserved the truth. Sarai attempted to steady her as Grace began her explanation.
"In this case, ignorance is bliss, this is a dark ritual, created for even darker purposes. It seems these things tend to migrate into the light by default, but this is one that should have stayed in the dark. In spite of that, there is a positive aspect of the ritual that bears consideration. As with so many other rites that come to the light by way of the fallen, it's basic nature changed somewhat. And, as usual, this is attributable to the difference in morality and conviction. The fallen construct rituals to destroy, corrupt, and generally, undermine all we of the hierarchy do. This is especially true where humanity is concerned.
"Throwing shades"-- the original name -- was designed to create a viable pawn, an agent if you will, to do the bidding of the caster after the body has been evacuated by the original soul. The pawn continues an animated existence by way of a lifeline, and the caster's will. It's much more useful than a possession, since the caster can't be exorcised, or attacked directly. If the pawn becomes useless, the lifeline is cut, and the body dies."
Sazzi's halo flashed with sudden bursts of red, clearly revealing the way she was feeling. Sarai felt the same sick taint crawling through her own halo like something poisonous as her sister spoke. Stretching out a wing, she wrapped Sazzi up, pulling her closer.
"The original requirement for the ritual was nothing more than that the caster be natural born. The intrinsic life force in a physical body is an absolute necessity for this ritual to succeed. A manifest body loses coherency the moment the soul evacuates, but a natural body can be revived for some time after "clinical" death. It's during this time that the soul and shadow are exchanged."
"A soul can't just evacuate a body if it's natural born though," Sazzi recalled. Grace looked at her with compassion, awaiting her arrival at the inevitable conclusion. Sarai held her tighter as she fought against it.
"I'm sorry Anastasia, most rituals involving a physical body are sanguine rites, and this one is no exception,...temporary death is the only way to release the soul." She was having trouble finding the heart to continue with her explanation --even she was beginning to succumb to it's sickening effect-- but knew it was imperative that they know everything she knew about it. There was still a chance --albeit remote-- that she might be able to stop this.
"It's a fact that almost every ritual that passes from the dark to the light undergoes some changes in it's function and execution. Fortunately, this one follows suit, and this is where I may be able to keep this from happening at all." She held her hand up quickly, before the others attached too much hope to what was an extremely thin possibility. "It's a very slim chance, not to mention being somewhat hazardous to me personally," she said, frowning at the thought that she was about to pit herself against Raven in a no-holds-barred confrontation with the truth.
"You are planning on explaining that comment I hope?" Sarai asked, her eyes flashing from behind her mask.
"Well, as I said, originally there was only one requirement. There were no safeguards against corruption, or taint, since the fallen are all about that anyway. That sort of risk is unacceptable to the light, so the ritual was modified it in order to reduce the possibility of corruption. The revised rite had to be done with nothing less than pure intent. Performed under false, or devious pretenses, the ritual fails,...every time. This is where I come in."
"You're going to question his convictions?" Sazzi asked, from beneath Sarai's dark wing. Grace gave a heavy sigh, and nodded.
"You make it sound simple, but you know getting through his defenses isn't easy."
"I've never thought of you as one for understatement Grace," Sarai said, with the edge of a smile in her voice. Grace lifted her eyebrows, smiling with the corner of her mouth.
"Well, don't start now. I plan on going much farther,...though I can't say I'm thrilled about the possibility of pissing blackbird off, especially now." A look of stern concentration fell across her face, as she turned away, deeply involved with her thoughts.
"What is it that you aren't saying? You seem to be concerned with something beyond the obvious, and whatever it is, I'd like to know," Sazzi wondered, gently pulling away from Sarai.
Grace hovered just above the thick layer of mist that perpetually covered the ground here, tracing the silvery patterns woven into the black marble of the Gate with distant eyes.
"He's in ascendency," she whispered. "he's finally freed himself of quiescence."
The others looked at her, awaiting further explanation. Raven should have overcome quiescence centuries ago, but something had always held him back. None of them had ever been able to tell whether or not it was a real problem, or just him. Apparently, he had solved, or overcome, the situation. Sarai moved up behind her sister. Placing her hands affectionately on her shoulders, she poured a soft light through her touch. Grace turned her head slightly, without taking her eyes from the Gate.
"I've been watching him closely, without his knowledge of course. It would seem that he found something in his past. I couldn't say what that might be, but he was profoundly altered by it. He vanished for a second, and when he returned,...the feeling was almost like,...a veil being lifted. The next thing I knew, the Watch was ushered into oblivion with a single attempt."
"I was wondering about that," Sazzi said. "it felt like one effort, but I couldn't believe that he could eliminate an area that size at once." It had been a source of some consternation for Sarai as well. That Raven was in ascendency made it marginally acceptable --not to mention his state of mind-- still, he shouldn't have been able to channel that much force at once.
Grace gave up on her present line of thinking for the moment with a shake of her head.
"I think it's time to embrace the fact that we're dealing with a different Raven. What he may or may not be capable of now remains to be seen."
"Are there any time constraints on this ritual?" Sazzi inquired, against her better judgement.
"A few," Grace answered, shaking free of her mental fog. "He has one quarter of a lunar phase to place the shadow after it's cast. If he fails, the shadow attempts to link to his soul of it's own accord. It's easy enough to prevent it from succeeding, but it always leads to a permanent taint in the halo,...at the very least. Worst case scenario; inevitable corruption." Sazzi mentally kicked herself for even asking. That isn't what she needed to hear.
"What's the significance in the number of days?" Sarai wondered aloud. Grace pivoted to look at her.
"After seven days, a natural born angel must sleep. The shadow attempts to connect as a dream figure, usually a lover since the dreamer is more likely to give himself without reservation."
"Insidious, but typical of a dark ritual," Sazzi rasped, with a shudder. "what about the length of time a shadow can, or should, be maintained? If it draws it's life from the soul of the caster, it can't be too long,...can it?" At this point, she was going for any hope she could find, almost anything would do. The look of sympathy Grace gave her told her that it was probably wiser to just stop asking questions.
"There are so many variables from one casting to the next, that it's impossible to say for certain where the line should be drawn. It depends on the overall strength of the caster, the amount of autonomy and personality given to the shadow, and a list of other things. But it can be summarized like this: the closer the shadow mirrors the caster, the more the caster has to give during it's creation, and subsequently, to maintain it."
"In other words, the shadow can end up as anything from a mentally defunct puppet, to a near perfect duplicate," Sarai observed, twisting a lock of ink-black hair around an equally dark finger.
"Exactly. I don't know what he plans on using it for, so I don't know much he'll give to it, but I know where he'll set his maximum time limit."
Sazzi looked at her, taking everything into consideration, there were two, maybe three possibilities.
"Seventy-two days from the turn of the century," Sarai said, confidently.
"That would have been my first guess," Sazzi said, understanding the significance of the day, and Raven's predilection for timing.
"I expect you'll want to hang around, which is fine, but he can't know you're here,...so make yourselves scarce, and stay silent, or he may hear you. I need to be alone with him for this. I'll warn you one more time about how rough it could be. If I have my way, and I usually do, he may turn on me at some point."
"I'm still not sure I understand this part of it completely," Sazzi admitted. Grace shrugged.
"On the surface, he believes in what he's doing, but that belief has to go to the core. In order to get there, I have to breach some walls,...and you know how much that takes with him. It could end up getting nasty," Grace explained, with obvious trepidation. It was clear she wasn't looking forward to this in the least.
"We'll be here," Sarai reassured her, offering whatever moral support she could. Grace might not admit to it, but Sarai had the suspicion that her sister was trying to keep them out of this for another reason. It seemed that she was willing to bear the weight of Raven's anger alone rather than have him turn on anyone else. At some point, he was bound to need some support. Designating herself as "ground zero" left the others free to offer that support.
No matter how she felt personally about her sister's choices, she was consistently amazed by the depth of her knowledge, and commitment to her chosen causes. Grace crossed whatever boundaries she pleased in order to learn the how and why of things,...much like Raven, now that she thought of it. Damn him anyway.
"I hesitate to tell you this last bit of info, it seems a foregone conclusion what you'll think. But it's also a foregone conclusion that it means nothing to Raven since it's in direct opposition to his reasons for doing this in the first place. So keep that in mind."
"I think you've made yourself clear Grace; no expectations," Sarai assured her. Grace looked at both of them, sceptical, but what did it matter anyway, she still felt they should know. She shrugged.
"You're both familiar with the physical traits of a natural born spirit: they heal quickly, age slowly, are almost totally immune to infection, eat and sleep very little, and in general, are very resilient. Since these traits are strictly physical, they're retained after the shadow is in place. This, added to the natural healing force present through it's lifeline to the caster, will completely heal the body of any damage initially done to release the soul.
This is problematic, however. The stronger the body becomes, the more it draws away from the caster. If it goes on for too long, the soul weakens and eventually becomes corrupt.
Traditionally, poison was used to free the soul. Many of the stronger poisons remain in the body for some time after ingestion, so they kept the body from becoming too strong, too fast, but never allowed much time. More recently, drugs provide a more controllable method, but they have to be taken in fairly large quantities to do sufficient damage to last more than a few weeks. Fatal physical wounds have always been considered too obvious. Who wants a body with a big bullet hole in the head?"
"For Christ's sake, Grace," Sarai chided. Grace shrugged, cleared he throat, and continued.
"At any rate, once the body is healed, it can be reclaimed by the original soul. More, if it's reclaimed while the shadow is still present, then the soul is repaired as well. This part of the ritual isn't commonly known, since it wasn't intentionally engineered that way, it just turned out to be a logical progression of events."
"Does Raven know about this?" Sarai asked.
"Of course. Everything I know about this ritual, he knows as well."
"No," Sazzi said, shaking her head decisively. "I can't see him taking that route either,...for any reason, it would only make things worse in any number of ways. I've never seen him suffer so over anything. Even,..." Her voice became a knot in her throat as she went silent.
"Don't do that to yourself Anastasia," Grace said, in a subdued voice. "you know how irreplaceable he considers you, but the songbird is a completely different situation."
Sazzi's eyes dropped to the ground as she found herself battling her demons once again.
"If he's planning on several months, then he has his work cut out for him. There are plenty of drugs that will create chronic, degenerative conditions, and I'm guessing that's what he's going for. But I still have my doubts about how long that will hold the shadow at bey." She turned to Sarai. "Especially with the changes you made in him years ago. He's liable to run out of time sooner than he expects."
"That's true," Sarai said, thoughtfully. "drugs will wear off quickly, with minimal side effects."
"The whole thing makes me sick," Sazzi grumbled, seriously disgusted with the entire subject.
"And rightly so, Sazz," Grace agreed. "frankly, it just pisses me off all the way around," she said, clenching her jaw.
"Time to go ladies," Sarai suddenly warned, as she vanished into the darkness.
The fog reached out to greet him as he appeared, swirling around his legs like a litter of enthusiastic puppies.
But the fog went as unnoticed as the absence of his guardians. His attention was fixed on the Gate, and nothing else. He hung motionless 10 meters from the forbidding doors, focusing, and redefining the fields of force within his halo.
~...he's reconfiguring his halo,...defensively?,...~
~...by the light,...he isn't going to attack the Gate?,...~
~...I thought he might try this, that's why I didn't remain to greet him,...~
~..could he actually succeed?...the Gate was strong enough to resist him before,...~
~...we're about to find that out,...I'm beginning to think there isn't much he can't do right now,...but there's something more about the Gate, something he may know,...even I'm not sure what that is, exactly,...but I know it won't go down without a fight,...~
~...first the Watch,...now the Gate,...he's cutting the ties to his life,...~
~...yes,...~
He lifted his right arm away from his side slightly, flexing his fingers rhythmically, until his katana filled his fist. With the appearance of the sword, the Gate responded. The surface of the doors began to flow slowly, like thick water, forming a semi-spherical puddle of black marble. The liquid expanded inexorably across the ground, until it had almost reached him.
Raven remained steadfast, unmoving.
Moments passed, nothing moved. Not a drop, or a breath disturbed the hush. Then an almost imperceptible ripple traveled across the surface of the liquid marble. Raven tightened his grip on his sword.
The viscous pool rapidly withdrew, drawing itself into a central mass, rising like a monolith. Like a wax figure melting in reverse, the liquid formed itself into a dark, humanoid form nearly 3 meters tall.
~...a Sentinel!?...has that been a part of the Gate all this time?...~
~...probably, waiting for this day,...leaving you two to keep blackbird at bey until he was capable of facing it,...~
~...capable?,...Sentinels are ungodly powerful, Grace,...if he prevails in this, then maybe you should reconsider your approach...~
~...if he prevails, I may have to reconsider my entire existence,...~
~...I don't see how he can possibly hope to overcome such an adversary,...~
~...faith, Sazzi,...he isn't the same as when you saw him last,...until his own forces settle, there isn't any telling just how far he'll ascend,...besides, there's another way to approach this, and if he's figured that out, then the battle is already won,...~
The manifestation of the Sentinel was expected. He had never forgotten that first contact with the Gate, and the force that threw him through the air like a bag of laundry. He had come to an understanding about many things since then. Sentinels were warrior spirits set in place to protect something, without being obvious about it. Generally, the armor they wore in some way reflected the object they protected, to display their dedication. They expended only as much effort as was needed to turn away any potential threat, usually resorting to minor enchantments, or subtle influences. Only when a breach was considered imminent, did they reveal themselves. Very few would-be combatants survived to relate any details of the encounter.
They were the original guardians of the celestial realm, long before the hierarchy had assigned that task to the Powers. After that, they split into tribes, though many remained within the realm. They were caste oriented, and their dedication was beyond reproach, but not much else was known about them.
This Sentinel was female in form. Her arms, torso, and lower legs were covered with heavy plating of dark, ethereal gold, and the same silver-black marble as the Gate. The remaining areas were a white metal, with silver-gray and blood-red marbling. Spiritual light glimmered from the seams between the joints of her armor. A frighteningly beautiful visage, with long, spiraling strands of interwoven metals cascading over her shoulders, and down her back. Aquamarine fire burned in eyes of almost infinite age, holding him like a cold, arctic night. Her face was a whitish metal, and her caste markings of red and black gave her the look of a kabuki.
Clenched in her right hand was a massive, double-bladed weapon, also made of dark, ethereal metals. The long, subtly curving, double-edged blades that claimed three quarters of it's total length were of a rare white metal known as myrliss. Centered between the blades, was a short handle with elongated, octagonal guards at either end.
"I am guardian of this portal,...is it your intention to pass?" an unexpectedly melodic voice inquired.
"No," Raven replied, stolidly. "my intention is to destroy this portal."
"I see. Then you must face me as a warrior," she impassively informed him.
Her attack was immediate. She came at him astrally, as a flurry of spinning blades, leaving prismatic afterimages of herself as she moved. Although he was prepared for this type of attack, she moved so fast that he only narrowly escaped. She stopped, turned, and immediately launched herself into him again. Raven gave himself to 1000 years of experience, dodging and parrying strikes as fast as they came,...but only just. Any thought would cause hesitation, and the battle would be over. As a Sentinel, she would have many times his strength and experience, and the surgically precise wielding of her weapon dangerously attested to this fact. She was relentless, her attack patterns changing each time she charged him, giving him no chance of finding weakness in any particular attack.
The clashing blades sparked angelfire explosions in machine-gun rhythms, lighting the area like a hellish electrical storm. Every blow possessing the explosive force of a lightning strike. Their weapons differed widely in their construction and use of power. Raven's katana was formed of his own halo, and utilized that potential in both an offensive and defensive capacity. Her weapon was actually an alloy of metals forged with angelfire. This created a blade that contained it's own source of power, and could also draw from the strength of it's user. Both were extremely formidable.
Like a legion of rabid warriors, she circled him, striking fast and moving away with equal alacrity. Finally, a blade slashed through his halo, catching his right arm just below the shoulder. A flash of red light burst from the wound, pouring into his halo, staining it crimson.
That was enough, it was time to change strategies, Raven decided.
She had kept herself interposed between him and the Gate for the most part, and he knew why. Sentinels fought to the their ultimate destruction if required in order to guard their post. They had no need of rest, and surrender was inconceivable, but if the object they guarded was destroyed, the conflict ended.
It was just a matter of being able to break free of her for long enough to strike the Gate itself. Easier said than done, but he would never defeat her directly.
Each strike came closer to finding it's way through his defenses. Either he made his move now, or this would end with the next melee.
As she hurled herself at him again, he dropped his defenses and bolted straight into her. She instantly dropped beneath him, bringing her weapon overhead to catch him as he passed. Throwing his wings wide to brake, he slammed his feet against her shoulders, rebounding straight up and away, just as the blades slashed upward. The force of his strike unbalanced her for only a heartbeat, but it was enough to gain altitude.
Knowing he would only have a single chance, he altered his katana into a weapon more suited to the task. The reaper's moon was a weapon designed for wide, slashing strokes. A long, wide, crescent shaped blade, 2 meters in length, with a curving handle attached parallel to it's spine. The dual grips of the handle were set at right angles to each other, much like a scythe, and the weapon was held in similar fashion. It was perfect.
Even before the conversion was complete, the Sentinel was nearly upon him. He rolled under her sweeping attack, dropping like a bullet toward the Gate. Pouring himself into the blade, it raged with angelfire, leaving a streak of blue-violet fire like the tail of a comet. The time for considering consequences was over, this would end, here, and now.
The scintillating blade struck the Gate at the upper right corner, flaring with blinding radiance, and a thunderous boom, as it discharged. Raven's path carried him down to the bottom left corner, blasting a wide, diagonal furrow through the doors. The heavy stone spiderwebbed with quickly expanding fractures, shattering like fragile crystal as angelfire coursed through it.
Taking no chances, Raven let his speed carry him all the way to the ground, where he impacted with enough force to drive himself over 1 meter into the stone, forming a crater like a fallen meteor. Miniscule shards of marble rained over the area, glittering in the fading light like a cloud of fairy dust.
It was done, and he felt as though Azriel had gripped his heart. Prying himself out of the crater, he crawled a short distance through the rubble of the Gate. A few meters from where the doors had been, was a small outcropping of earth and stone. A single shaft of light fell over it, filtering down through the branches of a twisted, weeping tree. Lifting himself from the ground, he drifted over to it.
"Another victim," he whispered, looking at the dying tree. It's leaves had fallen, turned to dust. Limbs withered, split, and dropped from the branches. The pale bark peeled away like the decaying skin of a corpse.
He stepped up next to it, and drove his katana into the stone.
"A monument to loss," he said, looking up at the tree. "the promise within the promise,..."
Turning away, he sat down, closed his eyes, and prayed his heart would stop.
In either direction, the walls continued to disintegrate into piles of black sand far into the distance.
The Sentinel approached him with reverence. She set one end of her weapon against the ground, and dropped to one knee, bowing her head slightly.
"You have bested me in fair combat, it would be my honor if you would carry my weapon from this time forth," she said, holding the mystical instrument out to him.
"The honor is mine," he replied, watching the weapon automatically adjust to the size of it's new user, as she layed it in his hands. This was tradition with the Sentinels, to refuse such an offering was to say that the Sentinel had failed. It was a fine line between failure, and being beaten in fair combat, but traditions were frequently ambiguous, and best left unscrutinized.
Still,... "I'm not sure I'd call it fair combat though."
"No?" she said, looking at him strangely, as if he were suggesting that she'd performed with some impropriety.
"Not really. In a truly fair contest, you'd have beaten me easily. It was only because of the Gate that I managed to survive this time," he explained, trying not to step on her warrior's pride. She relaxed her posture.
"I understand, but a true warrior seeks to end conflict as quickly as possible, and by using whatever resources he finds at his disposal. I repeat, you have bested me."
"Fair enough," he said, giving in before he crossed one line too far.
"Your injuries, not severe I trust?" she asked. He looked at his arm, it was nearly healed.
"This is nothing, it's almost gone already," he shrugged. She looked at him quizzically.
"No, the other," she said, pointing to his chest. Pulling his robe open, he found the wound she was referring to. A long, diagonal slash ran from his right collar bone, to his waist, mirroring the damaged he'd inflicted on the Gate.
"Stigmata," he said, feeling horribly sick again.
"Yes, of course. The portal was a personal symbol."
"Yes."
"Then I am further honored to have been it's guardian," she said, standing up. She crossed her arms over her chest, and inclined her head to him. "In peace, and service."
In a dance of sparkling light, her spirit released it's hold on the armor. The pieces dropped to the ground, crumbling into fragments.
Perfect, Raven thought, identifying completely with the armor, as it reduced itself to nothingness. It was almost over, he kept telling himself, almost over. If only he could stop feeling like it would never end. The wound branded across his chest burned insistently, with every beat of his heart. Putting some distance between himself and the tree, he selected one of the larger remnants of the ruined Gate, and took a seat.
Gripping the weapon tightly, he closed his eyes, and dropped back into the flow of time.
Between the wind, the rain, and the 28 degree temperature, he was chilled to the core. That he hadn't eaten or slept in days, only served to lower his resistance further. It was dark, just after 2am, and he wasn't even sure where he was. He was on a country road somewhere, but there were no lights, signs, or activity to be found, other than the wind and rain.
His head started spinning, and the simple act of standing upright was quickly becoming a real issue. Startled by a blast of lightning, he dropped to his knees, falling forward onto his hands. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to blind himself to the vortex forming in his mind. Lightning flashed again, driving a wave of thunder across the forbidding sky, that echoed raucously in his head.
For a moment, he lost the sound of his heart beat, which had been pounding so urgently in his ears. Then, every muscle in his body locked up like someone had hit the switch on the electric chair. His stomach heaved emptiness, his fingers dug deep into the mud, as spasms ran riot through him, beating the breath from his lungs. He felt certain that his bones would begin to snap like dry wood at any second, as his body twisted itself into knots.
The mud was cold, gritty. He worked his fingers methodically through it, feeling every tiny stone and grain of sand, every root, every detail. Turning his eyes to the inky, watercolor storm, his vision shifted in and out, catching every cloud layer, every drop of rain, the flow of even the slightest breeze. He watched as the cold intensified, changing the characteristics of the moisture in the air. He could see the crystals of ice forming, the intricate patterns of each one of billions of snowflakes growing in the cold womb of the clouds.
He had been born in this town, leaving at the age of 3; the year of the last snowfall. Now, for the first time in 36 years, the snow began to fall over the town again.
"Sazzi," he whispered. A soft rumble high in the atmosphere replied.
He could hear the percussive music of the dripping water everywhere. He could even hear the passage of the snowflakes through the air.
And the smells. Millions of differing aromas,...the wet vegetation, the rich soil of the surrounding farmland, the rain and snow, even the smell of distant cities carried on the winter winds.
Pulling himself up, out of the mud, he found the cold no longer bothered him. Crystalline kaleidoscopes lightly kissed his skin, quickly melting into tiny droplets that meandered, almost affectionately across is face. Brushing his matted, rain-soaked hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand, he walked out to the center of the road, and headed home.
For several days he spoke as seldom as the situation allowed, keeping to himself as much as possible. He spent his time making arrangements, trying to account for as many variables as he could foresee, and dealing with an emotional nightmare.
Plagued by his own humanity, he frequently found himself in the midst of an internal struggle the likes of which made the Sentinel seem timid by comparison. It was a constant hit-and-run battle for control, and too often, he lost himself to the conflict, falling into despair.
But it was only for a few more days, and then it would end,...finally.
He left home with very little. A duffle with a few items of clothing, and a bag with everything the one had given him. He intended to return them personally, but this, in itself, created something of a problem.
He couldn't allow a meeting face to face, there was no way he would be able to keep himself from influencing her if he should see her. He even had to refrain from sleep to keep from being invoked by the constant calling of her heart, which only gave him a couple of days to get everything ready.
But he was certain that he could count on her to avoid him. Fearing her own lack of control, she would surely abstain from any contact if at all possible. All he had to do was see to it that it was not only possible, but a fact. A simple manipulation of probabilities is all it would take, that much was second nature.
The distance was less than 300 miles, and the rain followed him the entire way. He had no problem with transportation. In spite of his somewhat gothic appearance, people were quick to offer assistance, and the trip took only one day. The most difficult part had been of his own making. The closer his destination became, the worse his "humanity attacks" became, to the point of being vicious and cruel. "It doesn't matter," he kept telling himself, "this is for her." It was the only reasoning that kept him in one piece,...battered and bleeding, but one piece.
He was tired when he finally walked into her town, feeling like an uninvited stranger. It was a Friday night, and the streets were busy with people moving in and out of the bars and restaurants, oblivious to the light, off and on rainfall.
Tucked beneath a refrigeration unit under the stairwell at the back of the one's apartment building, he found a small package he'd arranged for. Examining the contents gave him a cold chill. All he had to do now was return her things, and make it until morning. He didn't have to like it, he just had to do it.
A storm spread it's wings over the dark, western sky,...it would be staying awhile.
Behind him, the darkness gave up one of it's hidden secrets.
"How's my "preying" angel?" he whispered.
"I'll be fine as soon as you are, blackbird."
"Then you have some waiting to do."
"No matter," Grace said, moving around in front of him. "it's nothing but time."
He sighed, knowing he would eventually have to look at her. Best to get it over with, he figured.
"Damn Grace," he said, feeling his stomach suddenly drop 10 floors. "you really wear that dress."
"You think?" she said, nonchalantly looking herself over. He tried to shake it off, but it was like swatting at a cloud of starving mosquitoes; pointless. She was every bit as ravishing as her sister, without the debilitating effects, which, in a way, made her even more dangerous. The dress only helped pound that into his senses.
It was floor-length, made of a silky, black material, with a 10 centimeter gap up the entire length of the right side, held together by a thin, gold thread starting high on the hip. About mid torso, it cut dramatically across her bust, up to her left shoulder. The left side was completely enclosed, including the arm, and hand, which was covered with a black, elbow length glove, stitched with the same gold thread. It was a simple design, with an unmistakable presence.
"I don't remember designing that dress as a weapon," he remarked, with a failing, artificial calm. She shrugged a smooth, perfect shoulder, dislodging a thick coil of silky, black hair.
"It's all in the presentation, dear," she said, simply, her green eyes sparkling dangerously "speaking of weapons,..."
He looked down at the Sentinel's weapon balanced across his lap. "A gift," he said. "...as if you hadn't seen the whole thing for yourself."
Ignoring his comment, she slipped a delicate foot between his knees, slowly rolling the weapon onto her instep. With a quick flip, the weapon jumped up into her hand.
"Exquisite," she remarked, carefully examining it. "myrliss blades,...black gold grip,...and some powerful sigils here on the guards."
"I'd like to know who set her to this particular task."
Grace looked down at him, smoothly spinning the weapon through her fingers.
"I really don't know, blackbird. She was not a typical Sentinel,...I'd like to know who thought one such as she was necessary." In fact, she was terribly curious about it. The Sentinel had worn the traditional facial markings of her caste, as most did to identify themselves, but there was something familiar about them that Grace couldn't identify. They were also repeated as one of the 16 enchantment sigils on the guard inlays on the weapon itself. Something for another time.
"All I know is that she should have had me with the second pass,...if not the first. But "taking it easy" goes against their own code, so I really don't know what to think."
"Give yourself a little credit."
"I do," he said, without much conviction.
"Yeah,...very little." She snapped the weapon vertical, and drove the blade into the ground, the enchanted metal making no sound as it slid easily into the stone. With a well practiced motion, she hopped into his lap, throwing her arms around his neck, and crossing her legs, making sure the silky, black material fell just so across her thighs. "now about this shadow business."
"Nothing like a velvet hammer," he choked. "ever considered subtlety as a hobby, Grace?"
"No time for being subtle, and I have plenty of hobbies," she said, licking the end of his nose. "I told you I had to be here if you ever decided to use this ritual,...and you are, so I am."
"Time to question my motives is it?"
"Something like that," she said, dropping the playful attitude with some difficulty. "so, just to clarify things here, tell me again why you're doing this." Reluctantly, she adandoned her seat.
"A promise."
"A promise,...nothing more?"
"A promise," he repeated.
"I see,...and it doesn't bother you in the least that the songbird had no trouble dismissing her promises when they became inconvenient, correct?"
"What promises? She never made any promises," he stated, gruffly.
"No? Hmm,...well then I must have misinterpreted; "I meant what I said before...no matter what happens with us, I will always be grateful for you. I will always be a friend. I will always be here for you. And I will always love you. No matter what", as a sort of promise," she said, quoting the one, word for word. "sorry,...my mistake."
It was obvious that she was going for the throat, and she was just getting started, but he had no intention of playing along,...not this time. He was well acquainted with her tactics, and knew she'd go to whatever lengths she had to in order to uncover the truth. He also knew that the truth was already in the open, he was holding nothing back.
"Words,...nothing but words. I never took them as promises of any sort, because I didn't believe they were meant that way. I know her words, every single one of them, and I die a little more each time I remember, but they were words, not promises."
Grace looked at him with a juxtaposition of anger and pity. He continued.
"Even if they were promises, they were mortal promises, and you know those aren't worth the breath it takes to speak the words. Life changes things, and promises are invariably broken, leading to hard feelings and blame."
"My, my, aren't we being logical about all this," she snapped. "so it's up to us to make the real promises, and leave the lies to humanity?"
"Maybe it's time someone was logical about it," he retorted, ignoring the rest of her comment.
"Oh, someone is alright, but it certainly isn't you," she growled.
"Take another look then, you're seeing this in the wrong light."
"Like hell I am," she hissed. "I'm not the one out in the middle of nowhere right now, dying alone because of some promise I made!"
His expression went flat, totally devoid of emotion. He knew what was happening on the other side, and as far as he was concerned, it was just as it should be.
"Grace, you can do or say anything you feel appropriate. You can quote, threaten, use whatever truths you have at your disposal to provoke me with,...but it's over, and this is what I'm doing. Not only am I finished with this life, I'm finished with life completely." His voice was as free of inflection as his mein, and what he had just suggested hit her from a totally unexpected angle.
She shifted her jaw back and forth, analyzing him carefully. She couldn't afford to make any mistakes, he had just raised the stakes much farther than she was ready for.
"Could you possibly define that a bit?" she asked, carefully.
"I'm staying on my own side of the fence from now on, I don't belong there,...in that world. I'm not saying that I don't care, I'm saying that I can't do it anymore. There are plenty of angels. One, more or less, isn't going to change anything of any importance. I'm useless like this anyway."
She looked at him incredulously, he couldn't possibly mean that, it wasn't even close to the truth and he knew it.
"Blackbird, you've touched people throughout your entire life. Do you have any clue as to the changes you've actually made in the lives and perceptions of those people? Or are you just overlooking all of that because it's easier?"
"Either way, it doesn't change anything. It's my decision, and I'm sticking with it. I can't keep doing this, I've never been in this much pain,...ever." He looked into her eyes. "here, the one is mine, and I'm hers, no problems, confusion, or indecision. As far as this life goes, she can hate me, ignore me, regret me, or celebrate my death if she so chooses,..." he shrugged. " the point being,...here, she knows to listen to her heart, not her fears. She sees the truth, not the lies, or the walls. I can't go through this anymore, not even for her."
Although he was being dismissive, his halo was ablaze with the truth of every word. Pain erupted like solar flares, conviction and determination formed an impenetrable nebula around him. He was clearly unshakable, any attempt to dissuade him would be nothing more than a useless gesture from this point on.
Laying a hand alongside his cheek, she looked at him, helpless and teary-eyed.
"Blackbird," she whispered. "don't give up like I did. I know what you feel, I can see it all over you, but please don't let it poison you like this." Her voice wavered as she spoke, she knew painfully well what he was heading for, and the thought of it stabbed at the empty space in her soul. "There are nearly six billion souls who live in desperate need of love, compassion, or even the smallest measure of understanding. The last time I checked, there weren't that many angels. How many will go without because there's one less angel to give it?"
"Grace," he said, with a patient smile. "I can't go through this, or any other life, knowing she's there, on earth somewhere, away from me." His eyes lost focus, as he was drawn away into memories. "When I sleep, I can feel her against me, smell her hair, hear her breathing. The beat of her heart pounds endlessly in my head. When I drive anywhere, I'm driving to see her. She's a part of every thought that goes through my mind. Even before the veil was lifted, her heart was constantly invoking me,...and I was there,...constantly. She's never apart from me and she knows it, but she doesn't understand it for what it is. She's been a part of my soul for over four hundred years, and she will be forever."
And there it was. She had almost prayed for him to take this route, seeing it as her only remaining chance of appeal.
"Do you know why? Have you ever found the reason her prayer reached out to you, and you alone?"
"No, I've always wondered, and assumed that one day I'd know. But so far, I have no answer," he admitted.
"For the same reason that you've been a part of my soul for nearly one thousand years,..." She stopped, awaiting the click. He frowned, and looked up at her shaking his head.
"You can't be saying,...I'm just,..." he stuttered.
"Did Tavin not tell you centuries ago that there were reasons for prayers to reach out to the ears of an individual angel?"
"Yes,...but,..."
"Yes, and no buts. Face it, and accept it blackbird," she said, poking him in the chest with a slender finger. "you are her guardian. You took responsibility for the care of her soul all those years ago, and in doing so, took on that role. How do you think we became your guardians? Or have you never considered it? This makes her an even larger part of your soul than love alone would have, don't think I don't know what that's like."
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised,...it's just putting a label on what I've been doing, and feeling all along," he said, settling into the truth.
"You've been breaking rules and crossing lines for her from the very beginning," she said, looking at him with a sudden smile of admiration. "and somehow, you've always been able to catch her before the law performs it's balancing act."
"Forward thinking," he shrugged. She smirked, there was a time to be humble, and a time to claim your due. He needed to make a few claims.
"Well, it's time you thought forward now. Do you understand the consequences to the songbird if you go through with this? The balance will be tipped so far in your direction that the entire cost will come from her side. I know you don't want that."
"True, but I've been working through the lines of probability looking for some way to reduce it, or possibly change the flow."
"Take a closer look, every line leads back to you, and the moment you cast that damnable shadow." She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "You're making her pay for this act Raven, face it!"
"I'm not, and you didn't let me finish," he said, grasping her wrists gently. "I found a way." Her shoulders slumped, she should have expected those words.
Raven worked probabilities, and random occurrences, the way Van Gogh worked oils. Being in the right place at the right time came without effort to him, even if it didn't appear that way at first glance. She, and several others, had always believed that it was due to his initial contact with Qua~et'tiem, and resultant 93 year trance. He seemed to have developed what she had always called, "predetermined serendipity". Whatever the reason, if he claimed to have found a way, he found a way,...period. She knew beyond any doubt that he would never take chances where the songbird was concerned.
"So,..."
"So?" she echoed.
"Do I pass?"
"Don't be such a smartass, this is no time for such a flippant attitude," she scolded, half-heartedly.
He looked at her affectionately as she pulled her hands free of his grip, and moved away. Looking at him, sensing his disenchantment with everything, awakened memories she had spent centuries trying to forget. It had taken her nearly four thousand years to reach the point Raven was facing now, maybe he just learned faster.
"Your intentions are true,..." she reluctantly admitted. "I see no fraudulence in your heart." She hung her head, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments,...
She never saw him move, never heard the blade of the Sentinel weapon come free of the ground, but she would never be able to forget the sound as the blade passed through his mid-section, severing his soul from the source.
Agonizing howls surrounded her, tearing at her like millions of desperate, tortured voices screaming for redemption. As though hell itself had vomited the suffering cries of all of it's victims.
The light pouring from the wound was harsh, glaring, and painful to look into. It illuminated the area many times brighter than the angelfire blast that had destroyed the Watch. But this was not angelfire, this was the light of the source itself, at the point where it joined the soul matrix like an electric arc of almost infinite intensity.
Then it began to form.
A dark stain,...something malignant, unnatural,...corrupting the raw purity of that light. It's only definition was in the absence of light, which refused to touch it. It was a level of blackness even Sarai couldn't approach.
It was growing slowly, feeding itself from Raven's soul,...a black, amorphous leech.
~...careful blackbird, not too much,...not too much!...~ she shouted through the blaze.
A dull, rhythmic thumping echoed through the air like a series of explosions. It was taking too much.
~...enough blackbird!,...STOP!...~
Below him, he watched a body convulse several times, slump against a tree, and fall lifeless to the earth. From a timeless place he observed impassively. The rain began to fall harder, the wind swirled around the fallen form, as if trying to revive it.
He watched for several minutes, without thought, without emotion,...and a shadow fell across the body.