The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6) (15 page)

He reached for Angelica’s hand and grasped it in his own. He didn’t like the feeling of uncertainty that came through him. Russel understood and accepted what he was, but even then, even though he had far more knowledge of the angel he would become than the LaFayes did, feeling his other half basking in the light slithering across the snowy planes toward them quelled his spirit. He worried that when his human half was burned away at the Turquoise Tower, there would be little left of Russel.

His gaze flickered to Angelica, and he wondered if he would feel the same for her, when his wings unfurled from his back and he was remade in the image of the Goddess. Would he have such human emotions as love? He shook his head. Better not think of that.

Jovian saw the light peeking through the frozen fog and tried to cover his eyes. Maeven grabbed his hand, refusing to let him.

“This is too grand a moment to shy away from,” Maeven said, as if he knew what he was looking at, what they were about to see. Indeed there was a look of rapture in Maeven’s eyes that spoke volumes to Jovian, and so he looked back.

“What is it?” Jovian whispered, tightening his grip in Maeven’s. Though they wore gloves, he could almost feel the soft embrace of the other man’s callused hands, chasing away his worry. But Jovian really didn’t need Maeven to tell him what they were looking at. He could feel the holy power radiating from the light, just as he could feel it inside of him every time he touched his wyrd. But this was different.

A shiver ran through his back, part pain and part pleasure, and he gasped at the feeling. Maeven looked to him, worry etched in the lines of his forehead.

“It’s nothing,” Jovian told him. Each night Maeven would chase away nightmares, holding Jovian until he fell asleep, safe in the embrace of the other man. He worried what he would become, he worried what his other side, his angel side, would do to him. More than that, though, he worried that he and Angelica weren’t strong enough to face Arael, and the will of the fallen would wash them aside, dashing their bones to dust along the battlefield before the Turquoise Tower, and there would be nothing left of Jovian and Angelica once that happened.

But this light was much like those dreams. It conjured in him the same fear, the fear that whatever he would eventually become would be so far removed from what he was now that he would have no space left in his life for Maeven. Would he even mourn that?

It was an alien light, something that Jovian could almost understand, but just when he thought he was catching the meaning of the sound the light invoked, the melody in his head would change, and he would lose whatever tenuous grip he had on its meaning.

But he was drawn to it, even though he feared it. He was just as captivated by the light as Maeven was, but he knew better than his lover did. He knew there was reason to fear what they were looking at.

As the light touched his face with wistful fingers, Jovian had the feeling of another place and time. Not just one other place and time, but several. He felt that this one place, the space the light came from, was a place that existed in several worlds, in several forms. Impossibly he thought maybe this was a way to go between places, to go between lands.

He took a step forward, and Maeven didn’t stop him. Instead, he followed Jovian.

“Where are you going?” Angelica asked, her voice soft, subdued by the calming, terrible energy of the light.

And then a name came to his mind; in fact, Jovian was sure it came to all of their minds. “I’m going into the light. I’m going to Vorustum-Apaleer.”

And like that, the frozen mist parted before them like a curtain. They gazed upon a sight so far advanced from their normal, clunky buildings that Jovian’s mind almost flipped in his head. He staggered, held his ground, and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. His heart thundered in his chest, like a prisoner trying to bust its way out of the ribs which held it captive.

When he opened his eyes again, Jovian looked upon the city without trying to make any sense of it. It was an edifice like none he had ever seen before. It seemed to be made of glass or ice. But as he watched, and the music of the light changed, a metallic quality came over the spires and minarets, making what was once translucent opaque.

Even as he watched, runes blossomed on the surface of the buildings, like a story was being written on the walls. Inside he felt his awareness being pulled to the words. Somehow he could understand them, even if he didn’t know what they were saying. The runes seemed familiar to him in a way the common tongue was familiar to him.

But maybe it was because he was relying on his human senses. Jovian closed his eyes, and with his other side he felt drawn to the city. In his very soul he could feel the music that seemed to swell and bank as the words drifted over the polished buildings.

Welcome to Vorustum-Apaleer, those of angelic blood.

“It’s a welcome,” Jovian said. Maeven frowned, but the others that had angel blood in them nodded as if they were finally understanding what the music was saying.

“Should we go inside?” Joya asked.

Jovian tried to follow some of the towers up to their full height and found himself stumbling backward as a wave of dizziness took him. He couldn’t fathom the size of this city, and how it had remained secret from them. In all his life he had thought some of the cities around the Great Realms were amazing, but to look on these buildings made Jovian feel like everything he had ever seen before was clunky, amateur.

“Yes,” Angelica said, and she pushed past all of them, still holding tight to Russel’s hand.

They followed the two of them deeper into the snow and away from their path. But soon enough their feet found a new path, tended to through the recent squalls and drifts. The snow had been cleared away, almost as if this place was expecting them.

As they drew closer, the power of Vorustum-Apaleer washed over them, carrying away their worries and cares. But as they progressed, Maeven began to look more and more distressed.

“What is it?” Jovian asked, glancing from the opalescent buildings they were drawing near, then to Maeven.

“I don’t know. I feel something inside of me, like something is trying to read my mind. That’s crazy.”

“The verax-acis?” Cianna asked.

“No, this feels different. This is like whatever I’m feeling is trying to figure out what I am.”

“I don’t feel anything,” Jovian said.

“There’s also a weight, like something is pressing in on my head,” Maeven said.

“Are you okay? Do you want to wait out here?” Jovian asked.

“No,” Maeven said, frowning. “I think the feeling is starting to go away.”

“I felt it too,” Shelara said, scouting around them.

“As did I,” Caldamron reported.

“And you guys didn’t?” Maeven asked Jovian.

Jovian shook his head, as did Angelica. Cianna and Joya reported that they didn’t feel anything either.

“I suspect it’s because they are angels, and we are not,” Caldamron said.

“Only part,” Jovian corrected. But then he felt ashamed. Walking along the path, leading to this shining city, it almost felt wrong to deny what he was.

The path opened up into a square. The buildings stood like silent sentries around a central clearing that had been cleaned of all snow so that the blue ice of the ground refracted the silvery light of the city back at them, creating a nimbus of light in the center. Between the buildings, leading further back into the dazzling city, were paths. Some were only hinted at, while others gaped wide enough for several carts to trundle through. High up on the buildings Jovian could see doorways and balconies, even if there was no visible way of reaching their heights.

“It’s massive,” Angelica said. Jovian agreed. If he had to say how large he thought it was, he would guess it was nearly the same size as the Ivory City, which was the largest, most populated city in all the realms.

“What do you think that light is?” Joya asked, stepping forward.

But behind the light a figure unfolded itself and stood to its full, enormous height. Jovian recognized the elegant figure from the war in the Realm of Earth. It was a giant, standing a good five times higher than Jovian, and impossibly thin in a way that made him wonder how the creature didn’t break in half. The giant was also old, and wore long, sweeping light gray robes.

“My name is Macco,” the giant said. Though his eyes were white with blindness, it didn’t seem like he had any issue seeing them. “Welcome to Vorustum-Apaleer.”

Devenstar felt the rojo pull him through, ejecting him in a gut-wrenching way on the other side, in Lytoria. He stumbled through the other side, catching himself before he fell into Pi, who turned to him and laughed, punching him in the shoulder.

“First day on your new feet?” she asked.

“I hate these portals.” He rubbed his stomach, which felt like half of it had been left behind in the Ivory City.

“I know how you feel,” she said, steadying him as he got his bearings.

He was the last one to arrive. The rest of the group, including the Guardians and a load of people he didn’t recognize, stood all around him. The rojo was sat up in the courtyard of Lytoria, or rather, the courtyard to the basilica where the High Votary lived: the Holy See. Devenstar was certain there were many more courtyards throughout the sprawling city than just this one. The portal, once he could stomach turning to look at it, was made of ivory and decorated like nothing more than a regular archway where rose vines clung. It was winter now, a soft snow falling all around them, so the roses were dead. He kind of wondered what the rest of this garden would look like once spring came and the bushes and vines shook off winter’s cold.

“Aladestra,” an old man in voluptuous white robes said, drawing Devenstar’s attention away from his inspection of the garden. “I received your letter. Do you really think we are in danger?”

Aladestra nodded, her golden curls bouncing around her head. Even in the face of overwhelming adversity, Deven was astounded at the lengths Aladestra went to make herself presentable, unlike the other Guardians, who looked every bit as harried as the current situation demanded.

“It is true, Atorva,” Aladestra said. “I see we’ve arrived in time.”

“We haven’t seen any evidence of the fallen,” Atorva told her, clasping her gold-gloved hands tight in his own.

“That is promising. I just hope they hold off long enough for our armies to arrive,” Aladestra told him.

“Yes, but I have something else to show you.” Atorva looked around to the rest of the people gathered. “I’m very sorry,” he apologized, “I think it is best only the Guardians see what I have to show them. The rest of you will be led to your rooms.”

Atorva motioned with a careworn hand to the Guardians, and together they climbed the mountain of steps to the High Basilica.

Deven was happy, given his still shaky legs, that they wouldn’t be staying in the basilica itself, but instead a sprawling, one-story house behind the temple. It was the house of the High Votary, whoever that was at the time, and their guests. Naturally they were kept separate — only those people who were most important were allowed to stay closer to the rooms of the High Votary — but the small, whitewashed rooms they were led to were good enough for Devenstar, who had spent many uncomfortable nights of late bunked in some hovel or under the stars.

It wasn’t a large room, nor was it decorated grandiosely. The only furniture was a bookshelf with a few religious texts on it, and a bed large enough for one person. Devenstar got the feeling that this was the type of room a votary-in-training would reside in when taking their vows. A sense of calm and peace came over him as he settled into his room.