Michael (50 page)

Kreios squeezed powerfully against the wrist bones of the man’s firing hand, first breaking them, then crushing them.

The man cried out in agony but the bullet was now on course; he smiled.

But the angel knew. He turned at the last minute, placing Mr. Emmanuel’s head directly into the bullet’s new line of trajectory. The last thing Mr. Emmanuel saw was the face of El’s most terrible angel, in most terrible aspect: victory.

Nwaba was hanged. He struggled viciously for a few seconds, his eyes shut tight. When the visions that appeared before him became too terrible to bear, he opened them wide and beheld nothing but blackness. The host had expired, he had nowhere to hide.

CHAPTER XIII

KREIOS TOUCHED DOWN ON the rooftop of the tower to find Michael Alexander not only alive, but well.

“Michael,” he said, “I should kill you.” Kreios did not know what to think about the boy Airel loved. He had harbored so much unbridled hatred toward him since that day on the cliff top that looking at him now…he wondered where it had all gone.

“Would you like to kill me now? Because I also wrecked your truck…”

He was in earnest, which impressed Kreios. He could sense a sea of change within the boy. He responded to him in deadpan, “No. I will not kill you right now. But the truck… perhaps we will talk about that later.” He looked up into the tree as the demon Nwaba broke apart into ash and floated away in the breeze. “I will say, however, that I am now an admirer of your work.” Words were so much cheaper than actions, Kreios mused. He would see, but perhaps the boy deserved a chance after all.

“Thanks.” Michael shifted his feet, looking away. The awkwardness between them thickened.

Kreios looked at him. “You are well. How is this so?”

Michael showed him his chest, which was clear of any sign of the work of the Bloodstone. “Ellie healed me.”

“Ellie? Who is Ellie?”

“She’s a half breed, an Immortal. We met her while we were trying to catch up with you. You know, along your trail of destruction. But—”

Kreios was grim. “Yes.” He thought for a moment. “I suppose I should apologize.”

Michael said nothing.

“Michael—”

“—Look, this half-breed girl, Ellie. We don’t have time to talk. She needs help. When she healed me…something happened. And I’m afraid the only one who knows what we might be able to do…is you.”

“Where is she?”

CHAPTER XIV

KREIOS AND MICHAEL LANDED in the little boulder clearing. He saw John lying in a patch of rough grass off to one side, still heavily drugged. Michael strode quickly over to Airel, who was kneeling before the prostrate form of a girl.
This must be the half-breed Ellie,
Kreios thought as he too approached them.

“Airel!”

Airel leaped to her feet and threw her arms around the boy, embracing him. “Michael, you’re… okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at the girl with eyes drenched in outsized responsibility and regret.

Kreios remained off to one side, looking at Michael’s expression.

“She saved me,” he managed, choking up. “Now she’s…”

“We have to do something,” Airel said, tears streaming down her face.

Michael pulled her closer to him.

Airel looked from Michael to Kreios with a spark of fear in her eyes. “Where’s Kim?”

“She…” Michael began. But he could not finish.

Airel’s face became white. She shook her head in disbelief, her eyes wide. She then fell into his arms sobbing. “No!”

Michael held her in his arms like a man would hold his bride of many years, consoling her, comforting her for some great loss; the grief of which he would be there to help her bear for years to come. Kreios was struck by the power of that image then, and the stock of the boy rose in his estimation once more.

So much pain and loss, and Kreios knew the taste of it well. Very well. Today one life had been snuffed. Kim was gone. Perhaps that was for the best, especially given how she had chosen…but it still didn’t reduce the sting, especially for Airel, he knew. But he could do something for this Ellie; maybe she could yet be saved.

He gently touched Michael’s shoulder. Their eyes met and Michael moved with Airel to one side.

As they moved away, Kreios looked down on the form of the half-breed girl, this Ellie.

He caught his breath, felt his legs go weak. He rushed forward and fell to his knees at her side, choking out his daughter’s name:
“Eriel?”

Coming Soon ... 

URIEL

BOOK THREE IN THE AIREL SAGA

CHAPTER I

Cape Town, South Africa, present day

KREIOS FELL TO HIS knees in the dirt beside her. His eyes were beyond tender. “Dad,” was all she said.

“Eriel,” he whispered.

She smiled, weak. “Dad, I’ve told you a thousand times. It’s Uriel.” She coughed up blood. “I’ve missed you.”

Kreios broke into heavy wild sobs, weeping bitterly over his daughter. Thousands of years had passed since she had disappeared. He thought she had died! And now…just when he found her again…she was as good as dead. The pain of these thoughts racked him into more despair, and he wept. After a few more moments he recovered enough to ask, “What happened?”

“Easy,” she replied, “I took the mark upon myself.”

Kreios was stunned, pained, confused. “But that’s my fault,” was all he could manage. He crouched back on his knees and looked up, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Michael and Airel are…” Uriel began, “…more important. They’re crucial, dad.”

He looked at her with blazing eyes and said, “But you are crucial to me! I cannot allow this.” He stood. Pure love radiated from his countenance; it was unrestrained.

It was dangerous.

He closed his eyes for a long time, remaining motionless.

Finally he broke the silence. “Airel…Airel, take Michael and your father and get off this mountain.”

“What?” she said.

He turned to her and said gently, “It will not be safe for you here, child. Not for anyone. You must go.”

He turned back to his daughter, to his Eriel—his Uriel. More tears crept up on him and escaped from his eyes. “If we…if what I am about to do makes an end of my daughter, you must go and find what is next for you. I may not be able to continue on.” His tone was flat, resigned. He knew what he would do. There was only one choice remaining; there was no sense delaying anything.

“You are ready now, Airel.” He turned and looked straight into her. “If I do not continue, you
shall.
Listen carefully for El.”

He turned back to Uriel’s sick and dying body. “I must now do what I can for her, and I am afraid…I am afraid there is only one way to do that.”

“But, Kreios, we just—”

“Please, Airel, do not force me to ask you once again. The pain is too great. You must go; you must take them away from here if you do not wish to die. All of you. It is not safe.”

Airel turned to go, reluctance written on her every feature.

Uriel looked into her father’s eyes with surprise, having no idea what he was talking about. “Dad?”

“Hush, daughter. And be still.”

Cape Town, South Africa, present day

Frank Wiseman watched the sun beginning to burst upon the predawn sky over False Bay from the verandah of his posh villa in Simon’s Town. He just hated it, he just hated all of it. His harpy of a wife was scratching and clucking like a yard-bound hen again, nagging him into getting a bit of exercise when it was the last thing he wanted.

“But you’ll live longer!” she always said. He hated that too. She only wanted him to live longer so she would have someone to nag. If she didn’t have that she wouldn’t have a single reason to live, he ventured.

Nevertheless he was up at sunrise. Why? Because he was hopelessly stranded in the rut of his life. The truth was, if he didn’t have her around to attempt to make him miserable, he wouldn’t have anything either. He had come to enjoy the fight, the constant scrap, after all these years. Sick, but it was endearing.

But he never let that show. It would ruin the game for both of them. They had an unspoken understanding that any kind of truce would be impossible. It would fundamentally change the relationship and then where would they be?
Square one,
he thought.

That made him suffer an incredible split second of anxiety and exhaustion.

“Well, Frank, let’s get a move on,” she said, her voice strident and grating.

“After you, princess.” He used her pet name like an insult.

They walked down the steps together to the beach. She was talking again, and he tuned her out. There was some mention of, “…you’ve got to get some exercise…” and a little more of, “…at your age, you know…” He rolled his eyes and kept up with her.

The sun was going to peek over the mountains across the bay at any moment. It would be blinding and she would say how magnificent it was and “Oh, Frank, isn’t it just lovely to be up and out before the dawn so we can behold all this,” but it would be blinding anyway and all it would mean was just the start of another wretched day, with heat, sun, misery, and dear wife Kimberley, in increasing order of irritation.

He kicked at a stone embedded in the sand, but his foot caught on it and he took a tumble, soaking his nice new short pants in the wet sand. “Ow! Dash it all!”

“Frank! Oh, dear! Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just help me up, will you?”

She reached to help him. “Are you sure? No broken bones?”

“No, Kimberley, no broken anything. Lucky for you.” He tried his best to dust the sand from his bottom, but the wet was still there and it made him uncomfortable, if only just. Yes, it was rather like Kimberley.

He looked down at the offending rock, more than a little bemused at the effect it had taken on his morning exercise.

But it was not a rock.

It was something bright pink.

“Well, now, what is that, do you suppose?” He wasn’t asking and she didn’t answer. “Princess, will you help me with this?” He kneeled in the sand to dig around the edges of the object.

The more his hands scraped away the wet sand, the more intrigued he became. He did not know where the impulse was coming from, but it seemed…it seemed…it seemed like an adventure.

Frank dug while Kimberley stood with her arms crossed, ticking her tongue in disgust.

Finally, the earth gave up its buried treasure. It had been embedded in the sand by the tides. “Some child’s bookbag,” Frank exclaimed, beginning to fumble for the zipper.

“Well, don’t open it!” she scolded, but he did anyway. “Really. I just don’t see how it’s any of your business, Frank, I really—”

“Kimberley,” Frank said, a different tone in his voice now, “shut up.”

She did, though only from shock. Those were not words that were allowed; that was out of bounds.

The zipper fell back to reveal a bright red jewel. As the sun threw open the day, the first rays fell upon the stone and lit it with an unreal light. It reflected off Frank’s face, making him appear malevolent, causing Kimberley to shrink back in momentary fear.

But hold,
Frank thought, quite unlike himself,
what’s this?
The stone was the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. Still, he wondered what else might be in the knapsack. Perhaps more treasures?

He opened the bag and looked inside it. “It’s a book,” he said absentmindedly. “A right nice looking one, too.” He reached in to pull it out, and as he did so, his fingers brushed against its hidebound cover. Like a shot in the dark, one word rang out in his head:

AIREL.

FAN FICTION by Kyle Pinkston, writing as
Redstone:

(American Fork Junior High, American Fork, Utah)

Sawtooth mountains of Idaho, present day

ROARS AND CLASHES RANG out on the mountain as the battle of angel and demon raged on. Above the fight was Kim. Long red hair flowed around her as she floated upon the air with her beautiful Bloodstone in her hand. She stared at it, the demon inside no longer commanding her. The demon had died, now she was the master. All the black luscious power of the stone glowing in her hand was now hers. She contorted her body into a crooked position in the air and laughed, letting her hair flow out of her face as she subsided to a chuckle. The redness of her hair grew a deeper blood color when she committed herself to the stone—it had wanted her to look her best and she liked it—that way when she killed it wouldn’t stain. After all… blood does take hours to get out of the hair.