Armageddon (Angelbound) (13 page)

Faustina shakes her head. “See? The boy at play comes-a easily.” She gestures across her Looking Glass. “Now, show me what seals Connor’s tongue.”

The interior of the Looking Glass turns into a dripping sheet of blood. My stomach twists as the grisly sight. “I always see this,” says Faustina. “Blood.” She hobbles closer to Connor. “Speak!”

“I…It…” Connor’s face turns the same odd purple hue that happened when Lincoln interrogated him before. He’s clearly struggling to breathe.

“I know who worships blood.” Faustina steps closer, glaring into Connor’s eyes. “Black magic, right?”

“What is it?” I ask breathlessly. “Do you know who’s behind this?”

“Yes.” Faustina’s wrinkled mouth twists into a sneer. “Sakura.”

“That’s right,” says Lincoln. “Myla heard the name Sakura in the Amber Cathedral.”

Faustina waves her hand, and Connor starts to breathe again. “Sakura,” says Faustina. “From the House of Taizo.” Her heavy-lidded eyes narrow. “Do you know her?”

“I can’t say,” replies Connor quickly.

“Maybe you know of a geisha witch, then?” asks Faustina. “She wears a white kimono. It drip-a with blood.”

Connor tries to speak, but his words catch in his throat again.

“I thought as much,” says Faustina. She grins, showing a mouth of missing and cockeyed teeth.

My heart slams against my chest. Faustina’s making some progress here, but I don’t understand a damned thing she’s saying. I force myself to bow low at the waist. “With all respect, Elder Faustina, what does this mean?”

“It means-a this.” Faustina points to Lucifer’s crown. “Striga magic comes from Heaven. For House of Taizo, it comes from blood. Death.” She circles Connor like a wolf stalking its prey. “They were a powerful House once, Taizo. But they find the best blood magic come-a from killing each other. First a hundred Taizo, then fifty, then ten, then one. The geisha with the kimono that drips with blood. She became the most powerful of all. Sakura. She cast this spell. She seals your tongue. We are old enemies, her and I. You speak now?”

Connor shakes his head. “I can’t.”

Faustina points to the Looking Glass, which is still filled with blood. “I see this most of the time. But not all the time.” She touches the surface of the conjured mirror, and it turns into a swath of jungle. Long vines hang in the Looking Glass, blocking out anything else. “You know this spot?”

All the color drains from Connor’s face.

Faustina nods slowly. “So this is where it happened. I thought as much.” She hobbles to stand before Connor, and then raises her withered hand to his mouth. His lips glow with a violet light as Faustina casts a spell in a language I’ve never heard. From the other corners of the odd-shaped room, the remaining Elders join in her chanting. A violet light encircles Connor’s body, growing more intense by the second.

Once the brightness becomes almost blinding, Faustina barks out one word. “Speak!”

Connor sets wrings his hands at his waist. “I can’t. I’m weak.” With every word, the purple light around him dims. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

The magical brightness around Connor withers and fades. The other Elders cease their chanting. The chamber falls oddly silent.

“It is done.” Faustina shakes her head. “There is nothing more I can-a do.”

Connor looks up to me and Lincoln, his face streaming with tears. “You can handle this. You can help Maxon. He has Hildy now. I don’t have it in me.”

Lincoln steps closer to his father. “But you had it in you to make some bargain with a blood witch? Create a pact sealed with black magic?”

“I found Hildy!” barks Connor. “It took me years, but it’s all done now. Maxon will be fine!”

“No!” Lincoln’s voice bellows through the chamber. “Maxon’s not fine. He’s in Hell, Father.”

Connor’s face falls slack with shock. “That’s not true.”

“It happened at the Anointing,” I say, my voice breaking. “Aldred and Armageddon showed up. Aldred said he gave over the rights of Sakura to Armageddon. Magic filled the air and Armageddon took Maxon from my arms. There was nothing I could do.”

“No!” Connor rushes over to the crown. For a long moment, he stares as Lucifer’s crown hovers inside the pulsing orb of violet light.

“Father, what are you doing?”

“If you put that on-a your head,” Faustina says slowly. “It will kill you.”

“Will it loosen my tongue?” asks Connor.

“Sakura’s power is nothing compared to Lucifer,” explains Faustina. “Yes, it will work.”

Connor grabs the crown, his withered hands visibly trembling.

I share a worried look with Lincoln. This is where one of us could scream ‘stop.’ But we don’t. If Connor makes this choice to help us free Maxon, I’m taking him up on it.

“I should have done this years ago.” Connor grips the crown and sets it directly on his head. A sizzling noise fills the air along with the scent of burned flesh. A burst of purple light surrounds Connor as he screams in agony. His body visibly withers before us, turning into little more than a skeleton covered in skin. His eyes turn bulbous in their sockets.

“That’s enough.” Lincoln races toward Connor. “Father, stop!”

Faustina flicks her fingers in Lincoln’s direction, and he’s frozen mid-step. “No, you wait-a now,” she says in her thick, gravelly voice. “I tell you when he’s had enough.”

Connor crumples over with a long howl, collapsing onto his side. The crown tumbles from his head, rolling across the black marble floor. Blood spills from his mouth, nose and ears, pooling on the polished stone.

“Now, you can go,” says Faustina.

Lincoln is released from his freezing spell. He rushes to Connor’s side and kneels beside his father, as do I. Connor’s eyes are large grey orbs in a papery face. His thin, pink tongue runs over his wrinkled lips as he tries to speak. “Max…Maxon.”

“Oh, Father,” says Lincoln in a low voice. Tears roll down his cheeks and drip off his jawline. “Speak to us. Please.”

Connor’s voice comes out as barely a whisper. “Blood oath…With Aldred.” His skeletal chest heaves with every breath. “Blood witch…Sealed it.”

Lincoln gently takes his father’s withered hand within his own. “And then what happened?”

“A trade…Body and soul…Of my first born grandchild…I gave it for…” His breaths come ragged and short. “Octavia…must never know.”

Disbelief washes over Lincoln’s features. “You traded Maxon’s body and soul?”

Connor tries to speak, but he can’t seem to suck enough air into his lungs. “Octavia.”

I stare at Connor for a minute that lasts a thousand years. After all this, Connor’s last words won’t be about Maxon, but Octavia. Part of me feels touched that his final thoughts are of his beloved wife. Another part is freaking enraged that he cares more about her than anything else.

Connor’s eyes flutter closed. “Octavia.” His chest stops heaving.

A long minute passes before Lincoln sets down his father’s bony hand. “He’s dead.”

I turn to Faustina, my heart beating double-time in my chest. “Please, tell me that helped you.”

The Elder witch nods slowly. “A blood oath means that you must kill Armageddon.”

My brain rushes through the implications of this. “My father’s been saying that we can invade Hell and get Maxon back.”

“Not until Armageddon is-a dead. Maxon will never cross the gates.”

“And what about the blood witch?” asks Lincoln. “Don’t we have to do anything about her?”

“Not in order to free your boy. But I think-a she find you, now that you know the truth. Your blood would add to her power.” Faustina snaps her fingers and the Pulpitum platform lights up once again. “Now, you go. I must rest.” She starts to hobble back to her point in the star-shaped room.

“Thank you, Faustina.”

“We owe you a great debt,” adds Lincoln. “What can we do to repay you?”

Faustina pauses for a long moment, and then turns around to face us. Her eyes glow with a purple light as she replies. “I tell you what you do,” she says in a low growl. “Kill that son of a bitch Armageddon.”

I stand on the main stage of the Spires, the most beautiful complex of buildings in all the Dark Lands, aka ghoul central. Everything in the ghoul’s realm looks either like a Goth graveyard or a Brutalist concrete lump. Not the Spires. This complex of buildings is lovely with winding white towers that reach into the dark, lightning-filled skies like so many delicate fingers.

And I don’t say that simply because my favorite ghoul engineer and architect designed them, either. I’d adore this place even if Walker didn’t mastermind it all.

I lean into Lincoln’s body, feeling his warmth beside me. We spend about half our time standing on some stage or other. Somehow, this comforting routine almost makes me forget why we’re here.

Almost.

The image of Maxon’s screaming face appears in my mind. I shudder and glance at my wrist. My Looking Glass still shows Maxon awake, sitting upright and white-eyed. Still safe. “I wonder how Hildy’s doing.”

“I’m certain she’s fine.” Lincoln loops his hand around my waist. “Have you ever seen this chamber before?” That’s what he says, but I know him well enough to know what he really means.
Don’t think about Maxon, Myla. Try to stay focused on the now.

“No, tell me about it.” I force a smile, which is my way of saying,
I’ll try.

“We’re in Meeting Hall J-29. Walker just finished it six months ago.” He gestures above my head to the great sheets of gray concrete, each one several yards wide. They drip down the towering back wall like so many May pole ribbons. The different streams roll together by the floor, weaving themselves into the flattened stage where Lincoln and I now stand.

“Notice anything different?” Lincoln asks.

I glance around the hall. “Not in particular. Seems like a lot of Walker’s other stuff.”

“Look closely at the concrete beneath our feet.”

I focus on the floor. “I don’t see anything.”

“Sometimes it takes a minute for the magic to kick in. Be patient.”

Suddenly, a constant stream of scrolling text appears across the strips of billowing concrete. Ghoul minds are all connected in Group Think, and the concrete shows a live feed of what they’re saying. Right now, it’s a lot of talk about the Fealty Ceremony that’s due to start any second.

KLX-2849: Just portalled in the last visitors from Antrum.

WKR-7: Bring them to the Meeting Hall J-29 immediately. The ceremony will soon start.

OWB-0275: The Furor want to land in the main square of the Spires.

KLX-2849: What? Tell me they aren’t in dragon form.

OWB-0275: They couldn’t exactly land if they were in their human state.

KLX-2849: It’s against regulation to allow dragons to land in the main square.

WKR-7: Screw regulations. The Furor Emperor sees Maxon as his Heir. We don’t want him any angrier than he is right now. Let them land anywhere they want and please, stay out of their way, at least until they return to humanoid form.

“It’s amazing,” I whisper.

“It’s Walker.”

A hiss sounds from behind us. I don’t need to turn around to know the source of the noise. It’s the Oligarchy, the four craggy old ghouls in red robes who rule the Dark Lands. They march off the stage and down the center aisle, which is an undulating ribbon of concrete covered in scrolling text. The words streaming down it all read various versions of ‘the ceremony is starting.’

The four skeletal ghouls make their way to the back doors of the hall, their long red robes dragging behind them. A sickly sense of unease crawls up my throat. Yesterday, we were in a different chamber, on a different aisle, and with a different set of doors, but the event ended in Maxon’s abduction. I straighten my shoulders and try to stay positive. With any luck, today’s ceremony will close with a solid plan for his rescue.

The Oligarchy reach the back wall, where they stand in pairs, one set on either side of the aisle.

That’s the signal. Time to start.

I raise my arms, and the crowd quiets to a hush. My voice carries loud and strong through the hall. “The King and Queen of Antrum greet you. The Houses of Antrum are bound by vows of loyalty to our throne.” I lower my arms and turn to Lincoln.

“Tonight, we call upon those vows to help our son, Maxon,” he says. “Come forward and show your fealty.”

The concrete doors swing open, and a parade of faces march down the center aisle. One by one, the Earls and Duchesses of each house approach the stage, offering us soldiers and weaponry. As the leaders make their pledges, some have tears in their eyes over Maxon. A handful recall the terrors of the last war with Hell that was started by King Aethelwulf. Many share some story of how Armageddon murdered a loved one. Most want one thing: revenge.

More dignitaries march up to address us. Mom, Dad and Cissy arrive next, pledging Purgatory’s army to our cause. After that, the Furor Emperor approaches us in his handsome human form. He offers the unlimited use of his entire dragon horde. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Dad smiling his face off. In the Battle of the Gates, the Furor fought against Heaven and that sucked with a capital S. To say the Furor are badass in battle is a crazy understatement.

After that, seven archangels step through the opened doors. I outright gasp. This represents the entire archangel population in the after-realms, if you don’t count Lucifer. And since he’s been imprisoned for eternity, no one’s counted Lucifer for a very long time.

They step forward, different faces and skin tones, but all of them serene and beautiful. They pledge their armies and power to us. Dad steps up to join them. He announced that he’ll lead them all in the greatest army in the history of the after-realms. Together, they’ll finally destroy Armageddon.

The crowd goes nuts, but a sense of unease seeps into my bones. I turn to Lincoln, and I see the same questioning look in his eyes.

Once the archangels process out, another angel takes appears at the back of the hall; one with exotic, almond-shaped eyes and long straight black hair.

It’s Verus, the oracle. She steps silently down the main aisle, her white robes and wings glowing with their own light. She pauses before our stage.