He scooped her up and carried her toward the bed, which was a work of art in and of itself. Intricate carvings decorated the massive wooden structure, which was raised from the floor by several feet. Designed to accommodate its owner, even Flynn had to use a series of steps to access his resting space.
He climbed the steps with her in his arms, as Abigail once again bid her wings away, for now. He laid her out on the bed and for a moment, she had the enjoyment of looking into his beautiful face.
Flynn was a reflection of the forest itself. His hair was a deep mahogany, falling to and beyond his shoulders. Even now, she reached up to wrap her hands in it. His eyes were a pure emerald and when he looked at her, Abigail was always taken aback at her own vulnerability. No one else had ever made her feel this way.
He reached down for a kiss as she finally mustered the resolve to tell him why she’d come. He was inches away when she interrupted their reunion with her words.
“I need your help.”
He smiled, mistaking her words for lover’s play.
“And I offer my help, Senior Chancellor, in any and all ways at my disposal.”
He moved even closer. His breath fell against her mouth, his eyes locked with hers.
“I’m sorry, dear Flynn, but it’s another kind of help I need.”
He saw the seriousness in her eyes and she the disappointment in his. He moved slightly to the side and rested an elbow against the bed. After all, delays increased the anticipation.
“What is it?”
“Has word reached the castle of the coming ascension?”
“Well, we’re always among the last to receive news. Has there been an announcement?”
“No, not officially. The announcement is usually a formality anyway. Most know it’s coming long before they’re told.”
“Okay. So why your need for help?”
“Grace was the last of the souls.”
Flynn instantly had a sense of the problem just by this information alone.
“She’s refused her assessment,” she added.
Abigail turned to rest her head on her elbow too, so that she could look him in the face.
“So, what’s the problem? She can’t stay in receiving forever.”
“Gabe has allowed her to return to Earth in host form several times. And he intends to allow her another turn.”
The urgency of the situation was not immediately obvious to Flynn. He hadn’t much interest in matters of the Council, except where Abigail was concerned.
“Word is spreading quickly,” she continued. I’m sure many members of the Order already know. Gabriel’s willingness to delay the ascension of Castellans for the sake of Grace’s wishes comes with a price.”
Flynn was listening more intently now.
“What price?”
“Regression.”
“So what’s new? He’s been paying that price since the day we were born.”
“Not like this. It’s been easy to accommodate his prior regressions. This is different. Where in the past, he might have offended against a single soul or two, this is a direct offense of the million souls on Castellans. And not just for some pittance of a desire, Flynn, but of their supreme right of ascension.”
“He’s crazy. Talk some sense into him, Abigail.”
“I’ve tried.”
Flynn rolled to his back.
“Why would he do it?”
“You know why.”
“I pity him.”
“Why?”
“To be a twin flame soul, to be at the mercy of that circumstance. I pity him.”
“He doesn’t want your pity, Flynn.”
“No, just my help.”
“He didn’t ask for your help.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I am asking for your help.”
He turned his head to face her again.
“What is it? What do you need?”
“Gabriel’s regression will begin with his next transference. He’s going with her.”
“He’s crazy. You realize he’s crazy, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes. Crazy. I agree. But all the more reason to help him, I think.”
“The roaches will smell him from worlds away. He’ll be easy prey.”
A solemn nod was her only response this time.
“When?” he asked.
Abigail closed her eyes in concentration. It was easier to get a better sense of Gabe’s intentions that way.
“Before the moon rises over Castle Recchia.”
Flynn’s eyes widened. “You’re crazy, too, Abigail. What you should have asked is that the Order retrieve the two of them and drag them through the assessment hall doors.”
“And ask you to invite regression yourself?”
“The lesser of two evils.”
“I’m not sure about that. And anyways, it’s impossible. A soul dragged into their assessment will not be given one. The laws won’t allow it. Each must go willingly. You know that.”
She knew that his irritation was a flash, and perhaps an exaggerated one. Flynn was never more alive than in times past, when he stood to protect the citizens of Castellans against roach attacks. She knew that beneath his words of disapproval, was a warrior eager to fight again.
“Will the Order help? Will you help?”
Before she could resist, he bounded from his resting position and pinned her to the bed. This time he did not allow her speaking to interrupt, as he bent to kiss her. Then he drew his face a few inches from hers.
“You owe me, Abigail,” he said with a smile.
* * * * *
Grace had kept her eyes closed the entire time. She didn’t want to see the white space around her. She wanted to see the green of trees, the blue of the sky. She wanted to see the colors of Earth. She’d been alone for a while and she did not expect that Gabe would return until after Luke had moved on. He knew she would not go willingly to her assessment until then.
She had once felt some comfort in this place. There had been a feeling of safety and acceptance. But now she was experiencing it as a cold sterility, an absence of warmth. She didn’t know if it was just her own perception, or whether it was intentional and designed to make her feel uncomfortable. Didn’t matter. She wasn’t moving.
There was no way to measure time and no way to know if time even mattered on Castellans. What seemed like minutes in this world could be years on Earth. It was only one of many maddening thoughts she’d dwelled on as she sat at the transference room door.
Without the full knowledge that would come with her assessment, it was impossible to make sense of all that she’d been told. Why the decisions of one seventeen year-old girl could have any significant impact on Castellans was perplexing. She continued to counsel herself that it wasn’t her problem. She was not a citizen of Castellans.
Although she did not feel that anyone here had been intentionally dishonest, she continued to resist the proposition that she and Luke had no history, that they were not destined to be together. She knew him. Not just from her time on Earth. It was more than that. It went so much further. She knew him.
When frustration and hopelessness threatened to defeat her, she let her imagination free. She had lengthy conversations with Luke in her mind. She pictured him, reconstructed his voice, let herself absorb every word. And then she lost all thoughts of hopelessness. It was only the two of them. Nothing else existed as she used every ounce of concentration to visualize their reunion.
Gabe stood in the doorway of his office. With a mix of emotions, he felt the intensity of Grace’s efforts to manifest her desires. She was a gifted artisan, even here in limbo.
They were eternally bound. There had been many times when Grace was on Earth for education while he remained on Castellans. During those times he’d felt utterly helpless as she was experiencing lifetimes of human existence. He’d wept for her pain and for his own powerlessness to provide her relief as she lived through war, famine and all manner of atrocit
ies. And in every one those times, he would have gladly taken her place. He would have gladly assumed the burden if it meant a reprieve for Grace.
Never before had her suffering been placed upon his very doorstep. Never before had he been given such a choice as the one he faced now. For the first time, he had the power to relieve her suffering. No agony he’d experienced in the past was equal in comparison to bearing witness in person.
And for all the times he’d never been able to save her, never been allowed to intervene, he stepped into the corridor and walked toward her.
Grace was oblivious at first, as his footsteps approached. So immersed was she in her concentration that she was literally immune to her surroundings. His coming footsteps began to rouse her slowly. When she was alert enough to open her eyes, she did so. And there he was standing only inches away. She did not look up. She could not.
A silence lingered between them. But then the tiniest sound was in the air, as the tinkling music of an unfolding metal chain was lowered before Grace’s eyes. And there, swinging before her, a key.
It couldn’t be real. It was not real. She looked up at him, her eyes spilling over. The lump in her throat rendered her unable to speak. And still she thought, it could not be real. Gabe stooped to retrieve her hand. Then gently turning it to face up, he placed the key in her palm.
He moved in close and spoke softly in her ear.
“Grace, you can go.”
She looked at the key in her hand, that manifestation of an utter miracle. She closed her hand around it.
“But Grace, this time, this room will be for transference only. No illusions. It’s the best I could do.”
Her spine stiffened at the thought. So be it. So be it. Her mind was tough enough to take it, but her heart was victim to a gripping panic. For just that blink, for that second, she hesitated. Transference was terrifying.
Gabe reached out once more. This time, he wrapped his hand tightly around hers and helped her to her feet. She understood immediately that she would not be going alone.
And in that fraction of time, Grace made yet another decision. Gabe did not have to come with her. It was not a fair expectation that he would make such a sacrifice. Life on Earth was no picnic. And if they were going back together as dogs, there was no way to predict their fate.
She could have refused his offer, could have begged him to stay behind. It was the right thing to do. And yet, her fear of walking through that door alone overrode all else. She knew that as long as his hand was locked with hers, she would be okay.
Without a word, Gabe gently took the key from her hand and unlocked the door. Complete darkness filled the space inside. There was no air of reassurance. Her hand tightened around his as they stepped through. The door sealed behind them and total darkness surrounded. Gabe guided Grace toward the center of the room. From the distance, a whooshing sound approached. He pulled her to him tightly.
“Grace, I want to tell you something.”
Around them, the air was vibrating and a wind blowing, as though a prelude to a coming hurricane.
She could barely hear him above the storm. And in that moment, his closeness, the contact with him brought her a comfort that was equal in contrast to what was occurring all around them. He wrapped his arms tighter around her.
He was speaking, but she could not catch all the words. Her hair was flying. She tucked her head into his chest. He had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other now around her head, protecting her as much as his arms would allow.
“Grace, I have loved you since the beginning and I’ll love you till the end.”
And then the pummeling began. The storm in the room began to compress and refine them, change them, materialize them. The floor beneath opened up to release them to the sky. They began to fall slowly, having transformed into the tiny fireflies Grace had seen when she’d last returned to Castellans. They floated downward softly toward their destination on Earth.
Above them, a solitary roach scout scanned the skies. Victims here were hard to come by, but every legion assigned at least one lookout to each advanced world. The prospect of thwarting the advancement of an entire world was a particular obsession.
Roaches were dark souls. They too were subject to the laws of transference. They had little experience with ascensions, as they had no interest in progressing. They did, however, have a keen understanding of the patterns of advancing worlds. It was clear that Castellans was approaching its next ascension. A single chink in the armor of Castellans’ defenses was more tantalizing to a roach than an entire world of defenseless souls.
They were not known as roaches without good cause. These souls built around themselves a black armor not unlike the spiny shell of the Oriental cockroach. Their expansive wings were not the birdlike feathered wings found on Castellans, but were tough as steel and sharp enough at the ends to wound an enemy in battle.
You always knew they were coming. And the fact that they made it obvious was at first perplexing to unsuspecting victims. They announced themselves with a high pitched hissing. That sound was a terrifying prelude to battle.
Once you understood them, you realized that instilling terror was their ultimate satisfaction. Their worlds were so profoundly regressed that none retained the slightest hope or inclination for anything better. Instead, they delighted in setting back the progress of other worlds.
All souls are immortal. A roach could never kill a soul making its way to Earth. They could, however, inflict wounds that the soul would carry with them. The nature and severity would vary.
The roach soldier, Blatta, was patrolling the skies along the borders of Castellans. Below him two tiny dots of light emerged from the protective sphere of the world. One had the full protection of an advanced soul. A waste of time. He honed in the other, while simultaneously doubting what he saw before him. The second soul bore the telltale signs of pronounced regression. Where the light of the advanced soul cut through the sky with its brilliant beam, the other was faint, dimmed.
Blatta did not care why it was so. He didn’t need to understand the strange events which had produced this weakened soul from Castellans. All he knew was that the soul was vulnerable.
Blatta was alone, his battalion far away. They would not likely arrive in time to be of assistance. It was just as well. It meant he’d be allowed the pleasure all to himself. He bellowed out the war cry from deep in his gut as he launched himself toward the two tiny lights below him.
* * * * *
Grace was solidly encased in an impenetrable shield, like a tiny unbreakable egg. And as she slowly descended toward Earth, the final elements of transference were taking place. She was aware that Gabe was nearby, but as she grasped at memories of him and of herself, they began to fade into the black sky. She knew that she was going again to Earth, but all the reasons for the journey were escaping her. The veil of forgetfulness was returning.
She became aware of a wretched sound racing toward her from above. And though it was filtered and muted by the protective shield around her, it brought forth a shiver of fear.
Blatta was hurtling toward them, announcing his arrival with a screeching hiss that had not been heard on this world for generations of ascensions.
Gabriel heard it as well, instinctively sensing his own vulnerability. He too was losing memories. All he’d ever been, all past lives were disappearing. Shadows of memories were vaporizing as he traveled downward. All but one. Grace was still there. Grace was not forgotten. And he knew she would be safe.
In times past, his safe transference was assured by the protection of an impenetrable armor. It was no so now. The ramifications of his regression were already manifesting. His protective shield was flimsy. And as the hissing intensified, he braced himself for the impact of the terrible beast bearing down upon him.
The first attack was an experiment of sorts. Blatta raced toward Gabe, tucking his head under his armor, so that the full force of impact could take its toll. He wanted to know, wanted to s
ee for himself, to confirm that this pitiful soul from Castellans had been taken down a few notches, punished.
As he made contact, his suspicions were immediately confirmed. The initial attack was enough to send Gabe to Earth with battle wounds, as cracks in his armor exposed him to injury. Such a thing was a rare treat and Blatta was happy to be enjoying it alone. He circled around and back above the pair to take another dive.
Grace was no longer self-aware. It was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because she did not understand what was happening around her and could not be frightened by it. A curse for the same reasons.
Gabe was bleeding light. That’s what they called it when a transferring soul was suffering from a roach attack. His armor splintered, a trail of light was leaking from his shield as he continued to descend.
Tragic as it was, that trail of light was his salvation. The Obsidian Order was able to spot him easily from their vantage point above the scene. They flew in a V formation, Flynn at the head. Below them the roach was maneuvering for attack.
The Obsidians arrived without the fanfare of hissing or battle cries and their expansive black wings were a perfect camouflage against the darkness of the sky. Their enemies would never be afforded warning before an attack.
Thousands of years of practice had made them more adept than any roach. A roach was certainly dangerous, certainly formidable. But in their foolishness, they could not have known that a world’s ascensions made its citizens better fighters. Lifetimes of experience on Earth provided excellent schooling in war. Obsidian warriors had lifetimes on Earth as soldiers. They had fought in all the great wars, where in contrast, a roach was a stunted, uneducated excuse for a soul.
And as Blatta barreled toward Gabe, members of the Order swooped toward him with all the technique and fury of their shared expertise. Flynn had made the call and it had been answered. Twelve members of the Order had come to fight.