Archon(123)

The sphere that was her past, and possibly the essence of her parents’ souls, had disappeared. Their brief moment of revenge was over.

“Are you all right . . .”

Angela waved her away, holding her head. “Give me another second. God.” She found her voice again. “They almost—”

“Killed you,” Mikel said. “You’re right. You were lucky to escape.”

Maybe. All Angela knew was that her family deserved an even harsher judgment than this hell, and she’d given it to them. Somehow.

It seemed so long ago when Nina had asked her if she mourned her parents’ passing. Now, any leftover grief felt like a sin. With her own wounds healed by time and circumstance, Angela had forgotten the horror of her past for what it really was, repressing the worst and sugarcoating the rest. And that made her next question sound sadder than anything else.

“What did you do with them?” she said, unable to keep from asking. “Are their souls still here?”

Mikel looked at the ground, her expression vague. “To explain now would take too much time. We must keep going, Angela. Once you’ve reached the pinnacle, it will all be over.”

“But—”

“Please.”

She was right. It hurt—but she was completely right. There was no time, either for Tileaf, or Brendan, or anyone else. Besides, it was blindingly clear that Angela’s parents no longer deserved her consideration. The past was now the past—and only that—forever.

The moment had arrived to let go for good.

“All right,” Angela whispered, but more to herself than to Mikel. “Let’s keep going.”

Her first steps, though, felt weighted with lead.

She followed silently, making certain to stick closer to the angel this time, trying not to look over her shoulder when she heard more footsteps or whispers in the dark. Their breaths escaped together, and Angela began to stare at the back of Mikel’s head, afraid she might lose her mind if she got lost and had to wander around in this abyss by herself. Time passed them by, just how much it was impossible to say, and the scenery—that raw and heavy darkness—still never changed. The terrible truth loomed before her: no living human could stay here long and emerge whole, sane. She wanted to scream, if only to hear the sound of her own voice again, and then, right when she couldn’t bear it anymore, they ascended, climbing up a hill thick with invisible bracken. It was beyond her how any plant could survive in a place like this, no matter how hellish and unearthly.

Clank.

Angela slowed down, trying to listen above the sound of branches creaking aside.

Clank.

“What is that?” she whispered to Mikel.

They would have been shoulder to shoulder, but the angel was petite, her head barely reaching Angela’s neck. Mikel nodded knowingly. “Your brother. He’s up ahead.”

Angela stopped. A sharp breeze sifted through the length of her hair, tickling the newly bare skin of her arms and legs. “You never met Brendan. How would you even know that this is him?”

Mikel said nothing.

A bluish light broke over the horizon. Angela shaded her eyes, watching a strange sun peek over what looked like hills, their silhouettes smooth with gradual curves.

Clank.

The pitch blackness lightened to a deep shade of gray. Much like her parents, Brendan stepped out of that grayness. But he showed no signs of recognizing Angela at all. Unseeing and insensible, his skin was a terrible bluish color like the Netherworld’s sun, his upper throat bloody and gaping. He was still dressed like a priest, but a collar of light much like Tileaf’s wrapped above his collarbone, its leash clanking behind him while he walked. On his forehead, a crimson triangle blazed amid the mess of his bangs. “Israfel,” he said, groaning softly.

“What happened?” Angela said, panicked, crushed inside by the sight of him.

Despite all that had taken place, the memories of her brother’s few kindnesses lingered, newly resurrected by their parents’ attempt to drive her mad.

“Why does he look like that? The triangle—”

“Israfel’s symbol. The sign of the Creator Supernal.” Mikel’s voice was thick with disgust. “Your brother sold his soul. Now, he exists solely and eternally as Israfel’s property.”

Eternally.

That’s right, Brendan has a long way to go. This is only the beginning.

But of what, Angela didn’t dare imagine. Already those brief moments in their past were escaping her, and she saw him in the cathedral: the twisted expression of his face and the twisted ugliness in his soul, permanently blotting out whatever kindness remained. Israfel said Brendan’s enchantment had revealed all his hidden flaws and sins, and then made them a hundred times worse. But was Brendan the first person to suffer because of the angel? Perhaps, much like staring into the Grail or opening the Book, obsessing over Israfel had been the cause of countless suicides, deaths, damnations, and sins.