1.16-1.21

-16-

            Zadkiel let out a tired, angry laugh upon finding Metatron standing on the other side of his door.  “What do you want?”

            Metatron, frowning at him, held out a bottle of ointment.  “To . . . help.”

            “You had your opportunity to help last night.”  Zadkiel replied to that.  “You didn’t have to be the one to hold the whip.”

            “He gave me a direct order.”  Metatron sighed, lowering his gaze.  “I had no choice—“

            “No.”  Zadkiel turned away from the door, returning to the sanctuary of his cottage.  If Metatron truly wanted to help him, he would have to break the rules of Zadkiel’s exile and come inside.  Zadkiel doubted that he would.  “Just like you had no choice in dragging me to this cottage and locking me away for the sheer bad luck of having been at the center of the courtyard when Lord Lucias threw one of his pretty bombs that way.”

            “It was for the sake of the child.”  Metatron’s tone was pleading.  “Lord Noliminan was afraid that you’d become a target.  Your exile was never meant to—“

            Zadkiel rounded on him with surprising dexterity given his ailments.  “If I were a target, this would be the first place my enemies would strike.”

            Metatron, unable to respond to that, raised the ointment again.  “I just want to take some of your pain away.”

            “Ishitar already saw to my pain.”  Zadkiel felt his eyes narrow.  He wasn’t about to tell Metatron how Ishitar had been able to take the pain.  Ishitar, who was sobbing as he had applied salves to Zadkiel’s back, had simply told Zadkiel that he wished that he could take the pain away and it was, at his command, simply gone.  This wasn’t the first time that Zadkiel had borne witness to such an event.  Whenever Ishitar really wanted something, it came to be.  Zadkiel didn’t believe that the boy knew that he held this power.  Wanting the boy to simply be a boy, Zadkiel had never enlightened Ishitar to the miracles that Zadkiel had seen him perform.   “It’s the infection that I’m afraid of at this point.”

            Metatron’s lips danced at that.  He finally said, “This will help with that too.”

            Zadkiel snorted at him and turned away.  When he was almost to the kitchen he heard the door close behind him.  Curious he looked over his shoulder.  To Zadkiel’s surprise, Metatron had followed him in. 

            His anger toward Metatron softened slightly.  “Do you want a drink?”

            “I do.”  Metatron replied, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.  “I’ll pour while you take off your shirt.”

            Zadkiel sighed and nodded.  He stepped into the kitchen and found a chair at the table.  He turned it around so that the back was against the table and straddled it, pulling his shirt off as he did so.  Some of the cloth had stuck to the wounds on his back.  The pain of the clots of blood and scabbing ripping away from his flesh was excruciating, but it dissipated almost immediately.  His back, it would seem, intended to obey Ishtiar’s command.

            He laced his arm over the top of the back of his chair and rested his forehead upon it. Closing his eyes to gain his composure, he listened to Metatron as he began tinkling glasses and stomping around his kitchen.  Tired from the long night and with little to no sleep, he found himself drifting away. 

            The soft dance of flames on his shoulder startled Zadkiel awake.  He lifted his head and, exhausted, met Metatron’s flaming eyes.  Metatron gave him a gentle smile and handed him his glass.  He took it and swallowed the contents in one big gulp then handed the glass back to Metatron.

            Metatron took the glass and let out a long, tired sigh.  “You look done in.”

            “It’s been a trying day.”  Zadkiel tried to keep the snark out of his response but it was near to impossible for him to do so.

            Metatron nodded and pushed Zadkiel’s shoulder with his hand.  “Then let’s get this over with so that you can go to bed.”

            Zadkiel, grateful for his brother’s care despite himself, sighed his agreement. 

           

-17-

Iykva had waited thirteen days for an audience with Lord Jamiason.  This didn’t trouble him, however.  Audiences with the King were hard to come by in the most peaceful of times.  These days he was lucky to have been granted an audience at all.

            The demons had been uprising for over a thousand years.  Jamiason had seen it coming and had been able to quell it thus far.  But Iykva knew that the time for quelling had passed and the time for war had come.  It was time to overtake the angels now that their earthen children were close to reaching their adolescence so that the demons and their descendants could utilize their strengths and farm them for their food.

             The doors to the great throne room opened and two childlike, dark haired vampires stood to either side.  Iykva knew these two well; they were the first ever made.  The twins, they were called more often than by their actual names, who, had they been singletons, would have been in line to be the next reigning King.  Because they were not, however, it was the third that Jamiason had made that would take that honor. 

Iykva had never seen or met Prince Paul.  Though gossip of Paul’s character had reached his ears.  By all accounts Paul was a laughing fool who was less than adequately qualified to rule.

            He rose from the chair upon which he had been waiting and swallowed back his discord.  Though he, too, was a demon and not a vampire, he had heard rumors of the favor that Lord Evenbourough had bestowed upon Jamiason and his lineage.  To displease Jamiason was to displease the God himself.  And to displease the God could bring about the punishment of the rising sun.

            As his eyes fell upon Jamiason for the first time since their turning, he was stricken by the cold beauty of him.  His blue eyes were cool and appraising.  And his expression was that of stone.  When he spoke, his voice overwhelmed Iykva, though if this was the trick of the echo of the room or his actual voice, Iykva could not say.

            “Come forward.”  He commanded in a strange, otherworldly manner. 

            Iykva did come forward, looking to the left of Jamiason’s throne as he did so.  There was the other, the carrot top that he had heard about.  How very human he looked with his cropped copper hair and trimmed bearded face.  And, though pale, how easily he would go unnoticed amongst his kind.

            When Iykva stood before the throne he bowed low, his left foot back and his black wings spread wide.  “My Lord.”

            Jamiason didn’t respond, merely watched.  His cold blue eyes and unmoving expression was unsettling.  It was the other who asked, “What gift have you brought your Lord for his audience?”

            Prepared for this eventuality, Iykva reached into the folds of his robes and brought out a rolled tapestry that had been woven by the mischief fairies in the Grove to the far East.  He had heard from someone that Jamiason had a fondness for that race and, as such, had bartered much to obtain this bit of artistry.

            The other stood and stepped forward, taking the roll from Iykva’s hand.  He stepped toward Jamiason and unrolled it.  It was larger than it appeared as a scroll and so Iykva was unable to see his Lord’s face or expression behind it.  He was able to see Jamiason’s hand rise, however, and wave his companion to the side.  The other nodded to Iykva and bowed.

            “It pleases him.”  Prince Paul said.  “You may speak your mind.”

            Behind him he heard the light footsteps of the twins and the heavy clanking of the doors as the throne room was sealed shut.

            Iykva bowed to the other and then returned his attention to Lord Jamiason.  He bowed to him again for good measure and began. 

            “I have been selected to speak to you on behalf of our race.”  He said.  “Not those made, but we true demons.”  Jamiason said nothing.  Nor did his eyes—or any other part of him for that matter—move.  But he was watching Iykva so the demon knew that he was listening, and, more importantly, that he was hearing.  “We believe the time for striking the angels has come.”

            Silence.  No movement.  Still just watching.

            “Our army has trained and is ready at your will, my Lord.”  Iykva advised him.  “We are strong and we can and will overtake them.”

            Jamiason turned his head, his eyes now upon his companion.  It was that worthy who, once again, spoke.  “Do your people not think it wise to first meet with Lord Wisterian to discuss your demands?  And then strike if they are not met?”

            “Our demands are that they freely hand over their children, my Lord.”  He replied to Jamiason, not the other. 

            This was a nearly fatal mistake.

            Jamiason’s face snapped swiftly forward and he bared his teeth in a growl.  Before Iykva had a chance to even mark his anger Jamiason advanced upon him and held him high above him with his hand clinched around Iykva’s neck, choking him.  Iykva felt his feet dangling beneath him as his hands grasped desperately for the one around his neck, but he was helpless against the strength of his Master, who, rumor had it, had drank from the very neck of their God.

            He felt the grip release from his neck and he fell to the floor in a slump. Before he had time to even raise his head, Lord Jamiason had returned to his seat, and returned his gaze to his companion.

 It was as though he hadn’t even ever moved!

            “You will speak to me, if you please.”  Paul counseled him in a cool, somewhat amused tone.

            “Yes.”  Iykva swallowed as he found his feet. “Forgive me, my Prince.”  He bowed to Jamiason’s companion.  “I meant you no disrespect.”

            The vampire nodded and replied.  “Regardless of what your demands are, Wisterian deserves the opportunity to meet them of his free will before we attack and kill his people.  He would grant us the same courtesies were our situations reversed.”

            “Begging your pardon, my Prince,” Iykva bowed to him.  “But he will not meet that particular demand with his free will.”

            “Which is when you may gather your army and strike.”  The vampire said with his head cocked slightly to the side.  Iykva realized that he was listening to something.  Yet when he turned his gaze toward Lord Jamiason his lips were not moving.  “Not before.  If you mean to attack Wisterian and his people then my Lord Jamiason first bids that you arrange a meeting between the two.  Lord Jamiason will present your demands with a deadline.  Should that deadline not be met, then you have his permission to proceed.”  His head straightened.  “But not a minute before.  Do you understand?”

            “Yes, my Prince.”  Iykva replied, bowing.  He had gotten what he wanted, though it would be delayed.  But perhaps the delay was wise.  Nothing good could come out of an attack made on their white brethren for which they had not been made aware.

            “You are dismissed.”  The vampire said, raising his hand and waving it at Iykva to excuse him.

            Almost offended by the rudeness of the gesture, Iykva bowed to him.  He then turned to Jamiason, realized he was now watching him again, and bowed even lower to him.  He didn’t like the darkness in those cold blue eyes.  He didn’t like it even one little bit.

            “My Lords.”  He said and, as swiftly as possible, turned to walk toward the closed doors.  The twins stepped to the center where they met, turned the knobs and pushed the doors open. 

            Iykva had never been so grateful to leave a room in the full of his unnaturally immortal life.

-18-

Na’amah had watched the comings and goings of the demons from the gates of the Hells for hours.  When she was certain that she had found one that wouldn’t be returning for some time, she immediately formed herself to look like him and darted through the gates, apologizing to the guards for having forgotten to bring with her the bauble that her Lord and Master had begged that she gift to Peter in the hopes of bribing him to allow her God free passage into the Heavens without first making an appointment to do so.  The demon at the gate had given her a very quizzical look before shrugging her shoulders and letting her through. 

            She had overheard the archangel Michal and Lord Lucias through the window of Lord Lucias’ cottage.  And she knew that Lords Lucias and Noliminan’s son had been given to the care of Lord Lucias’ other servant; the one who had not been exiled. 

            She knew that Lord Lucias’ other servant lived in Lord Lucias’ home.  And she knew where that home was because her father had taken her there on several occasions when he knew that Lord Lucias would be away for one or more days.  That being said, it was easy enough for her to make her way through the halls of the Hells to Lucias’ apartment.

            In fact, she marveled, as she made her way down the halls, no one even bothered to ask who she was or what she was doing at that end of the castle!  They didn’t even look at one another—let alone at her.

            She reached the door to Lord Lucias’ apartment in short order and let herself within.  The apartment was dark and quiet.  That was good.  It meant that nobody was home.

            Smiling, Na’amah changed her form to that of a dog.  She gave herself black and white fur and two different eyes, one brown and one blue. 

            She thought, as she made her way to the room that she was certain would belong to Lord Lucias’ boy, that this form would be perfect for her task. 

            Her task being, of course, to destroy this son so that Lord Lucias would once again love her father best.

-19-

            Azrael watched the dathanorna play her games with quiet amusement.  He understood where her misconception that Sappharon might feel threatened by Lord Ishitar had come from.  What she failed to realize is how utterly incorrect her assumption truly was.

            Sappharon loved Ishitar as if he were his own child.  He had been present throughout the majority of Lord Lucias’ pregnancy and he had assisted Zamyael in the care of the child from the day of his birth until the day that he was given over to Zadkiel.  When Sappharon learned that Na’amah intended to harm Ishitar, he would be very, very angry.

            But Azrael didn’t intend to let Na’amah’s plans extend quite that far.  Rather, he meant to use a branch of his magic that he rarely, relied upon.  His intent was to insert his own thoughts into Na’amah’s mind.  And, where appropriate, the minds of those who laid eyes upon her.  She would think the thoughts were her own.  And, eventually, she would realize that she was in the ideal position to protect, rather than harm, Lord Lucias’ favored son.

            In the end, Azrael reasoned, his interference with her intention would save rather than harm her.  Should something happen to Lord Ishitar and Lord Noliminan find out that it had been at the hand of a shape shifter, he wouldn’t think twice of having her destroyed.  But if he were to learn that she was protecting him . . . The possibilities for her future—and the future of her entire race—would become endless.

-20-

            After having retrieved Ishitar from Lord Raziel’s company, Loki stepped into his bedchamber and smiled.  Aiken was sprawled as gracelessly as possible across his bed, apparently hours into his sleep.  Chuckling, he shook his head and walked to his chair by the fire.  He was just ready to settle himself down to resume his attempts to translate the ancient text that he had found under his bed when he had first moved in with Lord Lucias when he heard Lord Ishitar squeal with what sounded like delight.

            Uncertain if that was the case, he threw the book aside and began running in that direction.  He noticed, as he did so, that Aiken had been snapped out of his sleep and had now raised himself onto his hands.

            “Ishitar?”  Loki called as he made his way down the hall.

            Lord Ishitar stepped out of his room with a wide grin.  At his feet stood what was probably the most beautiful dog that Loki had ever seen.  Loki stopped short and blinked at the pair.

            A dog?  In the Hells?  And in my apartment?

            Loki didn’t quite trust this turn of events.

            “Is he mine?”  Lord Ishitar asked grinning.  “May I have him?”

            Loki felt his mouth open to tell the young man no, but then snapped it shut as the dog looked up at Lord Ishitar and began wagging the entire back half of his wolfishly beautiful body.  Uncertain what he should say, he looked over his shoulder to Aiken, who was looking at both Lord Ishtar and the dog with amused interest.

            After a moment, Aiken stepped forward and lowered himself to his hunkers in front of the dog.  He grabbed its head and looked deep into its eyes.  When he was satisfied that he saw whatever it was that he was looking for, Aiken stood and turned to face Loki.  “I don’t see why he can’t keep him.”

            “I don’t know . . .” Loki muttered. 

            Aiken leaned toward him and pressed his lips against Loki’s ear.  When he spoke his voice was so low that, even with Aiken’s mouth this close, Loki could barely make out his words.  “No harm can come for having an extra set of eyes and ears upon Lord Ishitar to protect him.”  He sighed.  “Besides.  Lord Ishitar obviously wants him.  Let’s just keep an eye on him for the next few days and see what we see.”

            Loki didn’t like it, but he had to admit that Aiken was right.  He had sensed a deep loneliness in Lord Ishitar that perhaps the dog could cure.  He sighed and then nodded.  Forcing himself to smile, he stepped forward and held his hand out to the dog.  “Hello, boy.”

            The dog sniffed at his hand, almost curiously, and then licked it.  To Loki’s amazement, Lord Ishitar actually giggled at that—yes, that’s right, the third most powerful God in all of creation just let loose an all out giggle—and lowered himself at Loki’s side.  “Isn’t he beautiful?”

            “He is.”  Loki replied, looking over his shoulder at Aiken and shaking his head.  “Aiken, do you have any meat in my kitchen that you can give him to eat?”

            Aiken chuckled.  “I do, but I’m not sure that you’re going to want me to give it to him.”

            “Why not?”  Lord Ishitar asked, raising his gaze to meet Aiken’s, still wearing that young, joyful grin. 

            “Because it’s a leg.”  Aiken muttered under his breath.

            “Whose leg?”  Loki asked, standing to meet Aiken’s gaze. He crossed his arms over his chest as he did so.  He supposed that he’d have to get used to Aiken’s manners if Aiken was going to move in with him but finding a person’s leg in the cooling cupboards in the middle of the night whilst looking for a snack hadn’t really been at the top of Loki’s agenda.

            “No one you know.”  Aiken shrugged.  “I had to execute one of my fairies last week.  I didn’t see any sense in letting the meat spoil.”

            Loki’s stomach churned at that.  Lord Ishitar, who had been petting the dog, suddenly froze.  His expression was one of outright horror.   

            “Really, Loki.”  Aiken snapped, rather irritably.  “It isn’t like my eating habits are a great surprise to you.”

            “Please tell me that you at least chopped it up so it doesn’t still look like a leg?”

            “Of course I did.”  Aiken grumbled.  “Other than the foot.  I meant to make a bone in stew with—“

            “Please . . .” Lord Ishitar said, his face very pale.  “I truly wish not to know.”

            “Well, I wasn’t going to feed the stew to either of you, for Heavens’ sake.”  Aiken grumbled. 

            Loki took in a deep breath and shook his head.  “Just go get a piece of it for the damn dog.”

            Aiken snapped his wings in irritation then turned to walk away.  When he was gone, Lord Ishitar asked, “He really wouldn’t have made me eat that without telling me what was in it, would he have?”

            “No.”  Loki shook his head.  “He once promised me that he would never feed me anything that I would not, myself, put on my table.  And I trust him very much in that regard.”

            “Okay.”  Lord Ishitar said, turning his gaze to the dog.  “I guess you don’t care.  Do you boy?  Meat is meat.”

            The dog let out a whiny howl, almost as if in answer.  As it did so, it’s back half began wagging side to side again.  Loki was helpless but to laugh at him.  “What are you going to name him?”

            Lord Ishitar’s brow furrowed at that.  For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.  Then, almost as if by divine inspiration, his brow smoothed and his face split into a grin.  “I think Ansibrius!” 

            Loki started at that.  He had seen that word—or something that was spelled how that word had sounded—very, very recently.  In Raziel’s Tomb, no less.  Which meant that it was not at all a common word.

            He swallowed and asked, “Where did you hear that word?”

            “I read it in the book that you left in the kitchen.”  He shrugged.

            Loki felt himself pale.  He swallowed and asked, “Do you know what it means?”

            “My son’s protector.”  Lord Ishitar replied, as if Loki were being simple.  “Given that you didn’t seem to know that he was here, he must have been sent by my father.  Or mother.  So it seems to suit him.”

            Loki, frowning, nodded.  He supposed that it made sense that either Lord Noliminan or Lucias had sent the dog to befriend their son.  As for the word and Ishitar’s ability to translate it, Ishitar had been raised by the Quorum.  Everyone knew that Mihr, who had been raised solely by Lord Raziel, generally spoke the ancient tongue. “Ansibrius it is, then.”

            “Ansibrius?”  Aiken snorted as he threw a piece of leg at the dog.  The dog pounced on it and began growling over it, warning the three Gods not to take it from him.  “Is that something you plant your ass on when you desire to take roving shit?”

            Loki burst out laughing.  “Not anus bus, you freak.”

            Lord Ishitar, who was obviously taken by surprise at their open toilet humor, burst into laughter.  He threw his hand to his mouth and looked around with wide eyes.  This made Aiken and Loki laugh all the harder.  It was almost as though he thought he would get into trouble for finding the humor in Loki and Aiken’s less than clean minded quips.

            As for the dog, as he finished with the meat, his mismatched eyes danced between the three of them, almost as if wondering how he had managed to miss out on the joke.

           

-21-

            Corline buried her hands in the dirt and grinned.  She found deep satisfaction in digging up the soil and planting the vegetables that she knew her dear husband would crave in his stew.

            Distracted by her task to please Lucias, she failed to feel the presence of danger. 

            She felt the sting of a bugs bite.  Not knowing, of course, that this was no bugs bite at all, but the tranquilizing dart of the bronzies who had sought to claim her.

            As the world spun around her, Corline shook her head, trying desperately to clear her mind.

            Unable to, she fell forward.

            No longer a threat to them, the bronzies took her for the sole purpose of adding her to the attractions of their circus so that they could breed her.