Broken (6 page)

‘OK.’ She selects a digit on her phone and lifts it to her ear. ‘Hey, moron, don’t ask, too complicated to explain on the phone but she needs to go home – now.’

He says one word. I hear it clearly. ‘Where?’

‘Out front of the Science Block.’

I hear his footsteps bounding down the corridor before Amber puts her phone away. Running straight over without breaking his stride, he gets down on his haunches in front of me. ‘What happened?’

Amber fills him in. ‘We had a substitute teacher in Physics. Ebony recognised him and she didn’t feel like going in.’

He swings his eyes back to me with a furrowed brow. ‘Who is this dude?’

I take a deep breath. ‘He says he’s my uncle. As in my
real
, flesh-and-blood uncle.’

‘You’re adopted. How’s that possible? How much does he know about your origins? Does he know you’re an angel?’

Amber shrugs. ‘That depends on whether he’s been lying to Ebony, or not.’

‘Lying about what?’

‘My birth,’ I tell Jordan. ‘Amber and I checked his house out during our last semester break for proof that I was born there – like he’d told me.’

‘So you’ve met him before?’ Jordan asks, looking confused.

‘He came to my house after the fire,’ I explain. ‘It was the first time I could walk through the remains.’

‘I didn’t see him there,’ Amber says.

‘He didn’t stay long. By the time you came back from checking the barn, he was gone.’

I pluck at an invisible thread on Amber’s blazer sleeve as memories of the day of the fire fill my head, how I went searching room by blazing room for Mum and Dad without finding a sign of them.

‘You OK?’ Amber asks, noticing my sudden withdrawal, and my watery eyes.

I nod and remember what I was about to say: ‘I think Mr Zavier might work for Prince Luca.’

Jordan’s eyes open wide. ‘Then he
would
know your origins. He would know whether you’re human or angel.’

Amber scolds him, ‘But we already know Ebony is an angel. Why would you doubt that?’

‘I only meant for certain – that’s all.’ He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders with a sheepish grin. ‘I’m just saying, you know?’

‘Well, I suppose you’re right, if anyone knows the truth, it would be Mr Zavier,’ I tell him.

‘How sure are you that he’s working for Prince Luca?’

‘I have no tangible evidence, but when we met at my house he said some weird things.’

‘Like what?’ Jordan frowns.

‘He wanted to know which one of my parents “cracked” first. He said it was important that he know whether it was Mum or Dad who admitted they had lied about my birth.’

‘Oh my God,’ Amber exclaims.

‘And he wouldn’t give me a straight answer to any of
my
questions. But there is something that proves . . .’ I glance at Amber. ‘Well, that I lived in his house when I was little.’

Jordan looks from me to her. ‘What?’

She says, ‘Ever since Ebony was a kid she dreamed of a big white house with shiny floors, fancy paintings, a polished timber staircase, a beautiful piano, that sort of thing. And when she saw Mr Zavier’s mansion, she recognised it as the house from her dreams.’

‘
What?
’

‘There was one room in particular I remembered more than the others,’ I explain. ‘It had a distinctive mural hand-painted across the ceiling. It was always so vivid in my dreams.’

Amber says, ‘I saw the mural too. It was exactly like Ebony described to me loads of times since we were kids.’

Jordan frowns. ‘It looks like you did live in his house once, but that doesn’t prove he works for Prince Luca.’

‘On the night before the fire, my parents told me that sixteen years ago a man named Zavier offered them a baby to raise. He told them his young sister was my biological mother and had died in childbirth two days earlier.’

Jordan gasps, ‘Shit.’

‘Mr Zavier told me he would willingly submit to a blood test to prove he’s telling the truth, and that he would answer my questions when I was ready to know who I am.’

Jordan leans forward and says gently, ‘Ebony, if he’s willing to give DNA, it’s unlikely he’s an angel or working for Prince Luca. In fact, he could be the real thing.’

I nod. ‘I know. If this man is telling the truth, and he is
my biological uncle, he’s living proof that I’m
not
an angel. It would mean Nathaneal has made a mistake. But if Zavier works for Prince Luca he could be lying about everything. Now he’s my teacher and I don’t know what to believe. I can’t go into his class with my head full of so many conflicting images and ideas.’

‘Fair enough,’ Jordan says, then peers at me with an intuitive look. ‘You don’t want him to be your real uncle, do you?’

Once I would have been thrilled to be able to prove that I’m not an angel, but now? ‘No. I wouldn’t like that at all.’

8

Nathaneal

As always, standing before the northern gates of Avena quickens my heart. Majestic and wondrous in height and width, and created by the hand of the High King himself, they are a kaleidoscope of colour, an infinitesimal number of constantly moving atoms too small for the eye to see.

But even in beauty there is danger, for to touch any part of these gates can prove as devastating as a thousand bolts of lightning straight to one’s heart.

It’s this beauty that reignites my love for my homeland, knowing that once the gates open all the natural wonders of Avena will unfold before my eyes.

Michael commands the Gatekeepers, and, even though I know what comes next, my breath still catches at the sight of the gates opening inwards and revealing a thousand glistening stairs spiralling downwards in a spectacular arc.

Stepping through the gates, I inhale deeply, the air thinner but purer than Earth’s atmosphere, and as I make my way across the arc each step allows my lungs time to adjust to the variance.

Arriving at the lower platform, which is still high above the land, Michael sends three Thrones on ahead to secure the road. They release their metallic blue wings, and plunge feet first off the platform.

I never tire of watching them. Such uniform precision is an impressive trait of this revered order. They land in soundless synchronisation, remarkable for their size, and immediately begin striding across the paved roads that lead to the city centre, checking buildings and side streets, their presence alerting the city of my return.

I take a deep breath as memories storm my senses. It’s always,
always
the memories that break me at this point, memories of a moonless night, deep in the Lavender Forest, and the unanswered cry of an infant’s first contact with the living world.

My parents were right to blame me. Even though I was only seven at the time, I knew better. Ebony’s kidnapping occurred because, excited by what she had just showed me through a mind-link before her birth, and eager to tell my father, the captain of security, who had not wanted me to be there, I rushed.

The birthing chamber was a temporary, dome-shaped structure, purposefully created to protect the imminent birth of a future princess. The chamber walls consisted of hundreds of layers of pure silk, intricately woven to keep light from showing through it and inadvertently revealing the chamber’s position. Security was high that night because the infant was already promised in marriage to a high-ranking prince, a future king.

But I foolishly allowed a splinter of light to escape the birthing chamber when I exited. That single glint revealed our secret location. And I will never forget the injured soldiers’ screams as they lay writhing in agony when the enemy’s fiery explosions bore down on us, burning their skin and melting flesh off their bones.

Michael doesn’t rush me as I prepare to reacquaint myself with my homeland. He sees my memories flooding in and out at staggering speeds, and slaps his hand down on my shoulder. ‘Easy now, cousin, remember who you are.’

But . . . Michael, who am I?

Placing his hands down on my shoulders, he turns me to face him. ‘You are Nathaneal, Seraphim Order’s highest-ranking prince, a future king.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’

He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The legend told about me . . . is there any truth to it?’

‘Oh, that thing written in hope and stardust before the Earth was born.’

‘Are you saying it’s nonsense, because I would be thrilled to know there is nothing in it and I can be free to live my life with my beloved Ebony.’

His gold eyes lose their playful light. ‘The legend says hope and stardust, our king says blood on a wall of stone.’

I stare at him a moment. I haven’t heard this before. ‘Are you saying my name is written on a stone wall in blood?’

He nods slowly. ‘As the
One
who will lead us in battle, defeat our enemy, and bring peace and unity to all the worlds.’

‘That’s
all
?’

He laughs, until I ask, ‘Whose blood?’

‘The blood of those who died in the great revolt.’

‘The first angelic war.’

‘Is it any wonder Prince Luca wants to eliminate you?’ he says.

‘But I’ve done nothing to justify being named this leader of angels who will unite the worlds in peace. That would be you, Michael. You’ve commanded Avena’s armies for three thousand years. What experience have I had?’

He gives me a sympathetic look. ‘You’re still young, Nathaneal. Give yourself time.’

‘What if I can’t be this
defender
,
this
champion of the people
? So far I have only been a burden to Avena. What if I don’t have what it takes to be a king?’

He studies my face, golden eyes unblinking. A smile starts slowly and quickly grows. ‘You will. You just have to trust me on this. Can you do that?’

I look to the horizon where the Lavender Forest merges into the sky. When I think of home my thoughts turn to Ebony. In those fleeting moments before her birth, Ebony understood how destiny had entwined our lives. She shared those visions with me in a mind-link from her mother’s womb. But today she can’t remember the images or their importance. I’m asking her to trust me, just as Michael is now asking me to trust him.

I take a deep breath and nod at him. ‘I can do that.’

He thumps my shoulder. ‘Good.’

‘And you will be with me, cousin? Whatever happens?’

‘Always. Don’t ever doubt it. Just look to your left and I will be there.’

‘Why my left?’

‘Finally, an easy question,’ he jokes. And grinning, he says, ‘It’s your weaker side.’

‘What? I don’t have a weaker side.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘No I don’t. Both sides are equal.’

‘Spoken like a future king.’

9

Ebony

Jordan concentrates on the road as he drives us home. He hasn’t spoken since we left school. He’s gloomier than usual and I feel his sadness pulling hard on my heart, almost as if his pain were mine. Nathaneal would say this is the way the Guardian bond works, experienced more acutely when Guardian and Charge live in close proximity to one another. But if Mr Zavier is my real biological uncle, then I’m not an angel. In that case, could my feelings for Jordan be a form of human love?

I glance out the window. All this paranormal stuff is challenging my scientific way of thinking. Maybe I’m an average human girl who happens to be in touch with her supernatural side, triggered from having contact with real angels.

What am I thinking? There are signs I can’t ignore. It’s just that my entire life has been one lie after another. Sure, I want to be like Nathaneal so one day I can live in Avena with him, but I have to be certain before I take that mammoth step. Nathaneal is not lying, however, and he says my heart knows. But what exactly is my heart telling me?

Jordan slides his eyes from the road to me for a moment. ‘Do you think your experience with angels could have unleashed some unknown psychic talent?’

This bond must work both ways!
‘What are you saying?’

He switches his glance from the road to me again. ‘Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind.’

I shrug. ‘I suppose – fleetingly.’

‘It’s a theory that could explain a lot about you . . . should Mr Zee prove to be your biological uncle.’

I feel my forehead pucker into taut frown lines. ‘I was hoping you
wouldn’t
think so.’

‘You know,’ he says, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he manoeuvres through Cedar Oakes Valley’s main roundabout, ‘not long ago you would have been relieved to meet your biological uncle. But then Nathaneal came into your life. And now you want to be immortal.’

‘You make me sound superficial. This isn’t about being immortal. I haven’t even thought about that part. It’s just that practically all my life I’ve felt as if I don’t fit in.’