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The elders of the angels, mostly Cherubim but also including a few Seraphim, were gathering together far from the center of the city, on the westernmost edge, where the terraces and towers looked out over the sea.
Rose, Charles, and Edmund followed Samaranth back to his Library, where he remained only long enough to retrieve a few items. It appeared to Rose that the objects he chose were more out of sentimental value than practicality—but then again, it was hard to imagine an angel being sentimental, so she assumed the things he gathered together had some sort of meaningful purpose.
“There is no stopping it now,” Samaranth said, addressing those who had assembled at one of the towers. “The waters will come, and they will all but destroy this world. But they will also cleanse it and restore it to the state it was in before it was severed from the Un-Made World. But now,” he continued, his face a mask of incredible sadness, “we must do what the Nephilim and the principalities had wanted all along, and separate the worlds as definitively as we can. If we can preserve as much from this world there as possible, then both may be rebuilt. And perhaps,” he added, briefly glancing back at Rose, “someday both may be reconnected, and restored, as the Word intended from the beginning.”
He turned to the angels. “Seven are needed for this. Seven, and the world will be divided—and protected.”
There was no hesitation. Seven Seraphim—four female and three male—stepped forward and bowed their heads to Samaranth. He moved to each of them in turn, whispering words meant only for them, then embracing them. All the Seraphim appeared older than Samaranth, so it was an unusual sight to see grown men and women being comforted by a youth—but then again, Rose especially understood how appearances were not necessarily reality.
Samaranth stood back from the Seraphim and raised his hands. “I release you from your covenants,” he said, voice cracking, “but not from this life. Go forth, and guard the Un-Made World, as your brethren guarded the Garden, and guard it still.”
The Seraphim drew swords of flame and raised them to their lips. Then they began to expand. Swiftly the angels became giants, and as they grew they changed: They became less corporeal and more intangible, and they took on the appearance of massive thunderheads. The flaming swords became lightning; and the cries of the Seraphim as they left the life they knew became the thunder.
In moments the seven angels had become a dark wall of storms, which moved past the city and out over the water.
“The Frontier,” Charles breathed.
“As good a name as any,” Samaranth said. His face was red from the angst and great strain he was feeling, but his expression was once again resolute. “None will pass, save they are given the Mandate of Heaven. A vessel touched by divinity may cross, but none other. And no Fallen may cross over, unless given passage by one of us here. And that,” he said with finality, “is never going to occur.”
In the distance, more crashing and explosions could be heard, and the Corinthian Giants loomed over the eastern horizon like a counterpoint to the Frontier the angels had created. “They may survive,” Samaranth said, “but their parents will not. Nor will any of the principalities who sided with the Nephilim. Fortunately, some have proven wiser than others.”
He gestured at the assembly, and the companions realized he was correct—a number of the younger gods were present, and appeared to have sided with Samaranth. Odin was there, and young Zeus, and the god Prometheus, who still carried the staff of fire.
“The Nephilim have gone,” said Odin, “along with the star Rao, to do battle with the Jade Empress.”
“I know where her power comes from,” said Samaranth. “It will be a terrible battle, which she may lose. But it will give us the time we need. . . . Just enough, I think.”
“There is one Nephilim still in the city,” Prometheus said, “although he seems to be allied with at least one Seraphim and some members of an unknown principality. He is not flying himself, but is traveling in a flying vessel being drawn by goats.”
A huge smile spread over Rose’s face. “Does that sound like a Caretaker operation to you?” she asked, beaming.
“It certainly does,” said Charles. “Look!”
The Indigo Dragon had just rounded one of the towers, avoiding flying directly through the smoke now billowing up from the giants’ path. A shrill cheer sounded from Laura Glue as she spotted her long-missing friends.
Rose had expected some sort of rescue party and was not surprised to see Uncas, Fred, Laura Glue, and Quixote—but she was completely taken aback when the airship landed and her father stepped to the ground.