Eternity (12 page)

He didn’t slow his pace at all. I thought that maybe he didn’t reduce his speed because he couldn’t hear my cry. Without warning, he pivoted toward me. A scowl loomed upon his face.

“You always have to be the Elect One, don’t you?” he shouted back at me.

“What do you mean?” I had suspected that Michael felt that way, but it hurt hearing the words spoken. And his remark was totally unwarranted. I had never lorded over him the pronouncement about the Elect One. How could I, when I found it hard to believe myself? When I relied on Michael as my equal partner in all things? When I thought of him as my love and soul mate? When I didn’t even want to be the Elect One?

“The sword of fire, Ellie. You summoned up the ‘purest weapon’ perfectly, didn’t you?” Michael answered my question literally, although we both knew there was much, much more to his comment.

“You are being completely unfair, Michael. It’s not like I even want to be the Elect One. You’d be a million times better for the job. You’re a better fighter; you’re faster and more agile than me. And you’re a heck of a lot braver. I’d love to hand over the role to you, but I can’t. Anyway, about this ridiculous sword of fire you’re so mad about, you are better at a hundred things, Michael. I happen to be able to do this one thing. I thought you’d be happy that I could help out for once, instead of being a clumsy liability.”

“How could the Elect One ever be a clumsy liability?” He didn’t say the “Elect One” nicely. He said it like a curse.

“Look, Michael, they may call me the Elect One, but you and I both know that I’m just a girl who’s trying to figure it out. And I thought I was figuring it out with you.”

His expression softened, and he reached for me. “I know, Ellie. I’m sorry. It’s hard sometimes to play the knight to your Elect One.”

Chapter Twenty-five

The next morning, the end-days clock began to tick within me. I don’t know what caused this shift, yet with every minute and hour that passed, I sensed the end of time growing closer. I realized that I couldn’t waste a second of what remained.

I didn’t know when the fallen would come for us again. Every moment needed to be dedicated to our preparation. We needed to be armed and ready—physically and mentally—so that we could annihilate them before they unleashed the six remaining signs. Or God knows what would follow. Rafe hadn’t yet divulged to us what failure would look like.

Yet we couldn’t spend every moment practicing with Rafe. He had insisted that we maintain our facades to buy us this tiny window for training, and to protect our parents as best we could. That day, I rushed through my classes and homework, knowing they were pointless if Michael and I didn’t succeed. I hurried through my after-school coffee with Ruth. I even hastened through my limited time alone with Michael, no great sacrifice given our tiff and his ongoing self-absorption and continued focus on football.

I told myself there would be time enough to deal with Michael “after”—should there be an “after.” I awoke from my nap feeling more and more confident in my role as the Elect One, and found it easier to stave off the roller coaster of emotions that Michael’s inconsistent behavior yielded. And focus on the battle coming.

The only moments that day I tried to decelerate were those with my parents. For once, I cherished my mom’s relentless chatter over breakfast. For maybe the first time, I appreciated my dad’s dated jokes at dinnertime, laughing heartily, much to his surprise and delight. Who knew when—or if—those moments would come again?

I waited until I reached the sky over our protected field to truly come alive. Rafe began with a lesson in reading the stars, so that we could always keep our bearings as we fought in a vertical terrain. As he finished, however, Rafe must have sensed the divide between Michael and me. Rather than address the rift head-on, Rafe separated us for the training. Maybe he thought we’d learn better, and like each other more, with some distance.

Rafe taught Michael some advanced flying techniques and sword skills—talents way beyond me—while I watched patiently. I was amazed by Michael’s performance. Even though it had only been five days since we started training with Rafe, Michael’s abilities had grown exponentially under Rafe’s tutelage, so much that he matched Rafe move for move. It was like he’d been waiting for the training to bloom.

After Rafe set up Michael with a few sequences to practice, he flew over to me. “Ready?”

“What tricks do you have up your sleeve for me today?” I was ready and willing for whatever torture Rafe dished out, all the while praying that the evening’s fare was more of the mental variety than the physical. I performed much better with a conjured sword than a steel one.

He humored me with a half smile, and then he was down to business. Apparently, there wasn’t enough time left even for lame jokes. “Ellspeth, I’ve told you before that the fallen will try to use their considerable powers of persuasion on you.”

“Yeah, they’re desperate to have me adopt their slanted worldview. That it’s all right to create their own race in defiance of Him. I get it.”

“We can’t let that happen. If it does, we’ve lost the war. No matter how fast Michael can fly or how well he can fight.”

“I need to learn how to prevent the fallen from influencing my thoughts.” It wasn’t a question. “I can’t let happen what almost happened with Kael.”

“Exactly.” Rafe paused for a moment, and then said, “I think you intuitively know how to stop their efforts. We need only to hone the skill.”

“I’m not sure what ‘skill’ you’re talking about.”

“Did you notice that you were able to exercise your own will with Ezekiel, while others were more susceptible to Ezekiel’s call?”

Rafe didn’t need to spell it out. By “others,” he meant Michael. “Yes.”

“Do you remember how you did it?”

Shutting my eyes, I conjured up the unpleasant memories of Ezekiel trying to bend my will that awful night on Ransom Beach. I recalled that—instinctively and immediately—I had fashioned a mental shield of sorts against him. It had staved him off.

“I think so,” I answered hesitantly.

“Let’s try it again here. Use all your mental and physical might to fly toward Michael. I’ll try to hold you back, through your thoughts.”

I nodded my assent, and located Michael’s position in the skies. Streamlining my body and broadening my shoulders as Rafe had taught me, I hurled myself into the clouds. Through the vaporous cover, Michael grew more distinct as I neared him. As I was about to make contact, I felt myself jerked back as if someone had grabbed my shoulders with all his strength.

I feigned compliance, the same way I had with Ezekiel, and stopped my attempt to reach Michael. In that split second, I sensed Rafe slacken his efforts ever so slightly. That provided me with the tiny opening to build what felt like a fortress around my mind. Now defended against Rafe, I reasserted my own will and bashed right into Michael’s arms.

Arms wrapped around me, Michael stared at me with his pale green eyes. Spontaneously, we smiled at each other as if nothing had happened—not his betrayal with Ezekiel, not the travails in Boston, not the fights and misunderstandings upon our return to Tillinghast, and not the momentous weight of learning who and what we were. We smiled at each other as we had that first day in the hallways of Tillinghast Upper School, when we were just Ellie and Michael. It was these moments that reminded me of what we really meant to each other.

Rafe appeared.

“I don’t think we need to practice that maneuver again, Ellspeth. You have it down.”

“Maneuver?” Michael asked. He looked confused, not to mention crestfallen.

“Ellspeth proved that she can hold her own against the fallen’s formidable persuasive powers. Mentally, anyway.”

Michael thought that I’d flown over simply to be with him. His arms suddenly slackened, and I started to plummet through the skies. Rafe’s sturdy hand grabbed me before I spiraled out of control.

“I think you and Michael are ready,” Rafe announced, once I’d steadied myself and caught my breath.

“Ready for what?” Michael asked, his voice gruff.

“Ready to learn a skill that only a few angels possess.”

“I thought we were already doing that. You know, killing the fallen.”

Rafe ignored him. “We’re going to channel our internal energies so that we can fly a great distance in a mere instant.”

“How do we do that?” Michael asked, incredulous at the possibility of this new power. And eager.

“First, close your eyes. You imagine your destination. The way it looks, the way it sounds, even the way it smells. Every brick in the building’s walls, every waft of cooking in the air, every conversation you overheard, every little nuance that you can remember about the place.”

“What if you’ve never been to the place before?” I interrupted.

Rafe smiled. Sometimes my endless questions amused him. “You conjure up the details as best you can. Invent them if necessary. It helps if you’re accurate. It’s not absolutely critical, though. As long as your intention is true.”

“Then what?”

“You focus your entire being on this place. Each and every cell in your body. Then you breathe and let go.”

“And you’re there? Just like that?” Michael asked. He couldn’t believe that something so amazing could be so easy.

“Projection only sounds simple. The description is deceptive. It actually requires lots of concentration.” Rafe stretched out his hands. “Shall we try? Don’t worry about the destination this first time. I’ll take the lead.”

Leave the safety of the field? Wouldn’t that be like broadcasting our powers to the fallen? Why was Rafe suggesting we take such a dangerous risk? “Aren’t you worried about what might happen if we exercise our powers outside the field?”

Rafe looked over at me, and I thought I saw sadness in his dark eyes. “Not anymore, Ellspeth.”

Before I had a chance to ask him what he meant, we linked hands.

Chapter Twenty-six

A vortex engulfed me. It felt like a tornado of light instead of wind. It was so blinding I shut my eyes, and clung to Rafe’s and Michael’s hands.

When the light finally ceased and I dared to look, I stared at a chorus of angels. They soared through an azure sky dotted with vibrant white clouds. These angels were not of the cherubic, Valentine-card variety. They were muscular and fierce. Some carried trumpets, while others bore items of a more peculiar nature, like a ladder or a wheel. All moved with distinct purpose.

Had I died and gone to heaven?

I allowed my vision to focus in the otherwise dim light. No, this place was familiar. I’d been here before, with my parents. The angels and the clouds and the creatures among them were not real. In fact, they were exquisite paintings—masterpieces—that decorated every single surface of a structure that resembled the interior of a treasure chest.

Suddenly it dawned on me. It was the Sistine Chapel.

Michael asked, “Where the hell are we, Rafe?”

“Doesn’t it look familiar to you, Michael?”

He loosened his grip on my hand and strolled around. “It looks like we’ve stepped into a page of an art history textbook.”

“That isn’t too far off the mark. You are in Rome, at the Vatican. This is the—”

“Sistine Chapel.” Michael got it. “Wow, you were able to transport us here by channeling your energy.”

“Yes.”

“Can you teach us to do this projection thing?” Michael wasn’t awed by the locale. He didn’t even seem interested in why Rafe had selected this place. It was all about the new skill for him.

“Yes. I’ll show you how to do it on our return home to Tillinghast.”

Maybe Michael didn’t care, but I needed to know why this place, of all the places in the world. For Rafe did nothing without a very clear purpose. “Why did you bring us here, Rafe?”

“Why the Sistine Chapel?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it reason enough that it is one of the most sacred places in the world, famous for its architecture and the paintings by Michelangelo?”

“No, Rafe. I don’t think of you as a tour guide or an art history buff.”

He laughed. Not a celestial sound but a very human laugh. “You’ve gotten to know me well, Ellspeth. I have my reasons.”

“Given that the clock is ticking, do you think you might share them with us?” For once, I didn’t care if I sounded acerbic or challenging. The time was at hand, and it demanded answers.

Rafe pulled us to the very center of the Sistine Chapel. He directed our gaze to the ceiling this time, pointing to the iconic image of God creating Adam through a single touch of His hand. We rose to see it up close. The painting was so powerful—so real—that I could almost feel the current of life passing from God to Adam.

“This is the God I know well. A loving God. One who can be quick to judge, yet one who is quick to forgive. A God who gives second chances. This is the force that courses through you both. This is the force that should guide the end.”

Taking me and Michael firmly by the hands, Rafe led us downward. We swooped behind an iron grate guarding an altar in one corner of the room, so we could better see the enormous painting behind the altar.

“This is Michelangelo’s masterpiece,
The Last Judgment
. I think it’s the most accurate rendering of the end days by the hand of a human. It shows the souls of humanity rising and descending to their fates—after the end days already happened—as judged by the Elect One, here depicted as Christ.”

He pulled us closer to the painting. “This painting also contains a hidden message. Michelangelo encoded
The Last Judgment
with a message explicitly for you, Ellspeth.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Michelangelo hid a message in
The Last Judgment
for Ellspeth Faneuil? Centuries ago? Come on, Rafe.”

“
The Last Judgment
is inspired by visions God sent to Michelangelo. Images that He wanted the Elect One to see, when the time was right. You’re the Elect One. This is the time. Yes, Ellspeth, as impossible as it may seem, Michelangelo hid a message in
The Last Judgment
for you.”

I shuddered. Somehow, the notion that the legendary Michelangelo painted an image for me—one imbedded with meaning, no less—made my mission all too overwhelmingly real.

“What is the message?”

“The message is for you, Ellspeth. Not me. Only the Elect One can decipher it. Why don’t you see if you can figure it out?”

“I’m no art historian, Rafe.”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of message, Ellspeth.”

Rafe released our hands, and flew off alone to a far corner of the chapel. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, even a bit sad. Or perhaps he simply wanted to leave me to my project, with Michael as my helpmate. Who could discern the thought process of an angel? I was tired of trying.

With that, Michael and I were left alone. For a long few minutes, we hovered in front of the vast, immensely tall painting, taking in the vivid portraits of angels and demons and everything in between.

“Amazing, huh?” Michael commented.

I appreciated his attempt at small talk. It’d been a while since he’d made the effort. “I’ll say. It’s incredible being so close.”

“Without all the crowds,” Michael added.

I nodded. Suddenly, a figure toward the bottom of the painting caught my attention. It was the cowering figure of a man, enfolded by three snakelike demons. His face writhed in pain and terror as the demons dragged him downward. The image sent shivers up my spine.

For some reason, I was seized by an undeniable urge to touch the figure. I flew toward it, with my hand outstretched.

“What are you doing? You can’t touch that,” Michael nearly shrieked.

“Why not?” I asked, not bothering to stop.

“Don’t you think alarms might go off?”

“If they do, we’ll project away. Michael, please, I
have
to touch it.”

My fingers grazed the surprisingly grainy surface of the painting. Without warning, I started to experience a flash, as if my fingers had touched someone’s skin instead of a wall. Something told me that the flash came directly from Michelangelo’s mind. For me.

After it passed and I regained control of myself, I whispered, “I know what the message is, Michael.”

“How?”

“By touching this figure. This is the place where Michelangelo received his vision from God.”

“Michelangelo imbedded a flash in a painting? And it survived all these centuries? After all the restoration it’s been subjected to?”

“I know it sounds incredible. But it’s true.”

“What’s the message?” He still sounded skeptical.

“This is what the end days will look like if an Elect One controlled by the Dark Fallen judges the end. This is what the end days will look like if we don’t succeed. If we fail, humankind will not be given room for second chances. There will be no forgiveness, no redemption, except for those who agree to serve the Dark Fallen. They are determined to reign here on earth forever, since they know they will never rule in heaven. To do so, they must control the end. By controlling me.”

Together, we stared at the figure. The man’s agony was so real, so painful, I could almost feel the hellfire upon me. I’d been so focused on me—finding out who I was, developing my skills, figuring out where I stood with the recently mercurial Michael—that I hadn’t stepped back and reflected on the why, the big picture. Michelangelo’s message made the stakes very tangible. Very personal.

I looked over at Michael. “Michael, we can’t let that happen. We can’t let our parents and Ruth and everyone we have ever loved end up like this poor figure. Given how hard our parents have worked for grace, don’t they deserve a chance at redemption? Don’t we all?”

Michael stared back at me, his eyes brimming with emotion. For humankind and for me. “Yes, Ellie, they do. So do we.”

I reached out for his hand, and squeezed it tight. Maybe I wouldn’t have to wait until “after” for us to stand together as the soul mates we were meant to be. “Together, we’ll protect them.”