Michael Griffo - Unafraid

“Damn you, Zachariel!!” he shouted as the last feather fell from his wings, and then he too plummeted to the earth. Falling, falling, falling, David cursed his duplicitous lord, he cursed his vengeful daughter, he cursed every one of his subjects who he felt were unworthy of his leadership. He even cursed the fates as he became acutely aware that immortality like life itself was fleeting.

Conscious when he hit the surface of the water, he imagined it was like crashing into concrete. But then his mind went blank as he continued to fall deeper into the ocean, and, when he floated into his sister’s waiting arms, he had no idea if he was alive or dead. It didn’t matter to Rhoswen. “I knew you’d come back to me, Dahey,” she said, instinctively knowing it was her brother she was holding even though all she could see was darkness. “Now you can read to me for all eternity, the way you used to.”

After more than three centuries, Rhoswen had finally gotten her revenge.

And after years of prayer, Ronan had finally gotten his wish. “Dad?” He didn’t know where he was, in the past, the present, earth, heaven, he didn’t care. He was looking at his father again, and it didn’t matter if it was a dream or real or a gift from The Well.

“Hello, son,” Saxon said.

His voice was exactly the same as Ronan remembered. It was strong and gentle and loving.

Trembling, Ronan had so many questions. There were so many things he wanted to ask him, so many things that he wanted to know about his father, but his heart was so filled with emotion he couldn’t speak a word. “I am so proud of the man you’ve become,” his father said.

Tears came first and, finally, words followed. “Oh Dad ... I’ve missed you so much,” Ronan cried.

“But how is this possible? Where am I?”

Smiling the same way he had when Ronan last saw him as he was engulfed by flames, Saxon explained, “You’re on the other side of The Well. It’s where our race began and where it will end.”

Ronan had no idea what Saxon was saying; he couldn’t comprehend a word. He just wanted to stare at his father’s strong, kind face. He wanted to relish every moment because he knew that it wasn’t going to last. This wasn’t supposed to happen; he had just gotten lucky. As lucky as he had always been. “Michael is a wonderful partner and a noble Guardian,” Saxon said. “The Well could not be in better hands.”

“And neither could I,” Ronan added.

Smiling, Saxon could feel the love his son shared for his soul mate, a love that should no longer be apart. “You should go now,” Saxon said. “Your Michael’s waiting for you.”

Before Ronan could respond, before he could tell Saxon how much he loved him, how wonderful it was to see him again, how he hated being separated from him, he opened his eyes and he was staring at Michael’s beautiful face. So everything he wanted to tell his father, he would just tell his boyfriend.

“Hello, love.”

Embracing Ronan and holding him tightly to his chest, Michael kissed his neck, his forehead, his mouth. Gratitude wasn’t the emotion he was feeling at the moment; it was bigger than that. After everything that had happened, after everything that could have happened, Ronan was fine. And Michael was humbled because he knew that it was only partly due to divine intervention; it was mainly because he had trusted his instincts. Whatever the reason, the best part was that Ronan was still forever beautiful and still forever his.

When Michael looked up to offer proper thanks he saw that The Wall was gone and the sky had returned to normal. No matter. As The Well’s newest Guardian such formal communication was unnecessary. The Well knew, as it always had, the truth that lay in Michael’s heart. In many ways, so did Brania.

“I am your leader now,” she telepathically told her people. “David has succumbed to hubris, to his own foolish quest. From here on in we shall live in peace with the water vampires. This war is over.”

Turning to Michael and Ronan she informed them that she had called a truce. “This is a new beginning for all of us,” Brania declared. “I can’t wait to see what the future brings.”

Michael saw his image reflected in Ronan’s beautiful, blue eyes, and he knew their connection had never been stronger. “Neither can we.”

Three Months Later Archangel Academy was resilient. So were her students.

Only a few indications that carnage had ripped through the school during the Tri-Centennial Celebration remained. There was a small memorial site near the entrance to The Forest made up of a cross that was spray-painted in Talisa’s favorite bright shade of pink and surrounded by notes from her heartbroken classmates, along with the most incredibly robust white roses that usually only grew outside St. Joshua’s. The window that Morgandy had crashed through, near the front door of one of the smaller buildings next to the cathedral, had been replaced with a colorful stained glass rendering of an olive branch. And right above the entrance to the locker rooms was a portrait of Coach Peter Blakeley.

Depicted wearing his navy blue and gold Double A tracksuit, he had his whistle draped around his neck, and his expression was more smirk than smile. But he looked as strong and as valiant as he had the moment he died.

The gym was alive and noisy as always. The windows had been cranked open, and the space was filled with a warm breeze that floated in from the outside bringing with it the smell of lavender mixed with pine. The pool was full of students splashing, dunking one another, and simply enjoying an impromptu end-of-summer party. Despite everything that had happened, despite the loss of life and the shift in power, Double A had survived. And probably would for another three hundred years.

“So I hear McLaren is going to be the new headmaster,” Nakano said, sitting on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the cool water.

“Really?” Saoirse replied, holding onto Kano’s ankles and treading water. “I was hoping they were going to give it to Sister Mary, show some girl power for once.”

Cocking his head to the side, Kano thought for a moment. “Would’ve been a right fine choice,” he remarked, then added a bit shyly, “But not nearly as hot a choice as Professor Brit Lit.”

Splashing Nakano with a huge wave of water, Saoirse shouted, “Why do you have to be so gay all the time?!”

“Why do you have to be so loud all the time?” Nakano shouted back, jumping into the pool. Just before dunking Saoirse under water, he smiled very happily and whispered, “How else could I be your GBFF?”

When she popped back up, Ciaran and Ruby had joined them. “Have you heard from the other Ms.

Glynn-Rowley?” Ciaran asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Mum’s still on safari with Michael’s dad and probably terrorizing natives as we speak.”

“I can’t believe they lasted this long,” Ciaran said, more to Ruby than to anyone else. “I thought they would’ve killed each other by now.”

Ruby gazed at Ciaran’s sweet face. Now that her sight had returned, spontaneously and, some rightfully declared, miraculously, she loved spending hours just looking at him. “Maybe true love prevails after all.”

Before anyone could snicker, Fritz cannonballed into the pool and splattered his friends with a man-made tidal wave. When he broke the surface he was right in the center of their group, a bit too close to the girlfriend he wasn’t completely ready to give up on, and asked, “So when’s Nebraska getting back from Nebraska?”

“In a few days,” Saoirse advised as she started to crawl on top of Nakano’s shoulders. “How long can a tour of Weeping Water actually take?”