Faith Hunter - Host

Ignoring the snake, ignoring the seraph, I studied my twin. Twin, not just littermate. We shared the same genetic structure. The same blood. She looked at me, her face gaunt, smeared with filth and blood, her eyes fearful and guilty. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

My voice rasping, impassive, I said, “Death mages always are.” Rose flinched in the silence that followed my words. “The spur?” I asked, not knowing why, except that I couldn’t ask the harder questions.

Fingers fumbling, she pulled a thong from beneath the frayed dress she wore. On it dangled two amulets, one the spur, black-light motes dancing through it. She touched the spur. “I bound it to me,” she said. “I took it as my prime.”

I hadn’t known that was possible, but I didn’t quibble. The other amulet was a seraph stone. I had no reaction to that either. I wasn’t certain I’d have an emotional reaction ever again. Finally, I looked at the Raven. It was Raven One. I wondered if he had a name.

In lieu of greeting, I said to him, “Stone and fire, water and air, blood and kin prevail.”

The Raven answered back, his voice like bells chiming in a high tower. “Wings and shield, dagger and sword, blood and kin prevail.” He snapped his wings open and closed, the sound like a hand clap. “The Most High is pleased with you.”

“Well, isn’t that just ducky,” I said, hearing my vicious undertone.

Rock and debris scattered and shifted and I felt Audric join me, his body heat like a furnace at my frozen back. He said, “If the omega mage has earned the pleasure of the Most High, then offer her a boon.” There was something formal about Audric’s voice, the tones of a mage’s legal counsel. I wanted to glance around, but suddenly this had become something other than a chance for me to be spiteful to a seraph who had survived, when the most important one in my life was dead. I kept my eyes front and center.

The Raven closed his eyes a moment, turning his beautiful face to the night sky. When he reopened them, he said, “A blessing is acceptable. Raziel comes.”

The night sky brightened and my seraph circled the church, scarlet wings outspread, shining the clear ruby light of seraphic energies. With a dip and curl of wings, he dropped down and landed, toes pointing. He was wearing a white tunic and a crimson robe, the exact shade of his plumage. His ruby eyes reminded me of the gold and ruby aura that hovered over Barak. Lolo? Another one I lost.

Raziel looked at me, took in the stances of my champards, and something in his expression flickered. “What would she have?” he asked Audric, his voice beautiful and serene.

“Bless her by bringing back Rupert,” he said.

Hope, which I had thought buried and dead, shot through me.

“That is forbidden,” Raziel said, flicking his eyes to me and away. The hope died, settling like ash in my heart.

“His sacrifice was a gift of great power in the heavens,” Raziel said. “But I will save the lives of the mortals my mage cares for, and restore them, heal them. I will bring her additional seraph stones that she may share and use as she will, that others of her choosing may be part of us. And we will fight together, my mage and I and the wheels.” Turning to me, he said, “You are blessed. A boon you may ask at a time of your choosing. Blessed, blessed indeed.”

Blessed. The thought was a curse in my heart. Tears, long cried out, gathered in my eyes, making the seraphs waver. Making Rose look soft and innocent, her matted hair and tattered dress fluttering. She glowed with mage energies, and I noted the conjure she used to keep warm. Noted it and hated it because it was torn from Rupert’s life.

A third unarmored seraph touched down behind Raziel, his approach not noted until he landed. It was Barak, but a changed Barak. Shock scudded through me, my heart thumping painfully. They’ll bring one of their own back, but not one of mine? A spike of fury stabbed deep. The snake tightened on my leg in commiseration or warning. If I let go of the anger I held in check, I would bring down destruction, boon or no boon.

Barak stepped around Raziel, toward me, pale green robes flowing, his wings tightly furled, hands empty as he knelt at my feet. The seraph was glowing with white light, his hair falling shimmering over his shoulder. Dark green feathers were bright with radiance, an iridescence that came from within more than reflected from without. His silver-flecked gray eyes lit on mine, his face smiling and peaceful.

“He fell among the Watchers,” Raziel said. “He was punished. He suffered in the prison of the Dark.”

Barak lifted his face. “You set me free,” he said, “you and Daria, who gave her life for mine.” I felt my heart crack at the words. Mages always gave too much when seraphs were involved. Gave the ultimate.

“Now, you must judge him,” Raziel said, ruby irises sparkling like gems.

“Me?” my voice broke, ugly against the backdrop of seraphic tones.

“Child of man. Omega mage,” Barak said. At the titles, the seraphs stood.

“You saved us from temptation. You judged the Dragon,” Raziel said, “a Prince of the Fallen. You must also judge the Watcher.”

I remembered Jasper’s prophecy: The children of men are gathered. The dragon breaks free. All the old things have passed away. I licked my lips. I couldn’t bring Rupert back. I couldn’t exact revenge for his death by killing my twin. My hands clenched, reaching for swords I no longer carried. I took a breath of the frigid air and blinked away the useless tears. There was so much I couldn’t do. But I could help the Watcher.

I cleared my throat, wishing for water that was long gone. “Barak gave up his life to destroy the Dragon. He gave his bones to be burned,” I said. That sounded like scripture, but I couldn’t have said which one. “He gave himself in the fight against Darkness. Against”—I tested the word before I spoke it—“against chaos.” That felt right. The snake turned away from me and stared at the seraphs.

I drew on the visa for advice and considered the scripture it gave me, Genesis 1. God, in the original creation story, was always plural, the singular names for him appearing only later, as he began to interact with humans—and after the Fall. So I quoted the scripture, using the plural Hebrew word for God that was in the creation texts. And I did so to let the holy ones know that I understood about the Stars of the Morning and the group effort it had taken for creation. A group effort that may have included Azazel…“‘At the creation of the universe, the Elohim said, “Let there be light”: and there was light.’”

The seraphs didn’t look away, expressionless faces seemingly patient. Raziel finished the quote, “‘And Elohim saw the light, that it was good: and Elohim divided the Light from the Darkness.’” He nodded once, as if in agreement.

“Barak stood in the balance, between Light and Dark,” I said. “He chose Light and order. He gave his body to be burned. I say let him be restored to the Host.”

Wordless, Barak fell to the ground at my feet. At first, I wasn’t certain that I had said the right thing, but when he opened his eyes, he was crying and smiling, ecstasy so strong on his face that I closed my eyes.

Raziel knelt beside him and said, “Welcome, brother. You are home.”

The seraphs threw their arms around one another, clasping one another close, wings lifting and flight feathers intermingling. Barak and Raziel stood together, the ruby and the…the emerald.

Oh no. No.

“Damn. He used you,” Eli muttered.

It was clear, clearer than the moon on a cloudless night. Raziel and Barak were more than brother warriors, they were brothers indeed.

“Yeah. He did,” I said. Raziel had pushed and herded me toward Barak. From the very beginning, as had Daria, my Lolo. A seraph of the Light can’t help a Fallen, not even a Watcher. But he could make sure someone else did.