Chapter Fifty Nine
"Penryn!" Audiat yells and bowls into me, shoving me backwards like a little battering ram.
We both stumble back, watching the fall of the shadow from the ceiling and drawing our blades in a vain attempt to soothe the rapid beating of our hearts. Like a spider beneath a cloak descending on a thin, silvery string, he drifts down, unlatching his claws from the ceiling and falling with a summersault. Audiat gasps in indignation at the holes piercing through her rooftop mural, clearly indicating where he'd crept over the room like an insect.
Bryon lands lightly upon the floor, not making the slightest of sounds. His cloak ripples down regally behind him. Beneath the ridges of his horns, his glowing eyes open, burning in the dark pits of his sockets. It seems like something out of a nightmare – like a cartoon of the devil, with his spired horns and the lizard tail wrapping around his feet, almost my uncle, almost the man I know, but not… not quite. My heart aches for it.
He rises to his full height and watches us for a few moments – I can nearly sense the sun dipping lower and lower in the sky, and I get the strangest inclination that so can it. The darkness so gradually floods the room as the sun slips behind the mountains and Audiat and I lose the favor of the day. Still, the creature that once was my uncle watches us.
It's the most unnerving thing ever. I know this sort of stare-off. I've seen it before. It's a vicious stand-down between two predators. The first to look away is destined to be the loser of the battle, and neither Audiat nor Theobella seems willing to sacrifice their victory.
My skin crawls, and Raffe's sword screams at me to attack now, while he stands still, an easy target. Those uncanny bright eyes cause my skin to chill. Bryon's last pleas for me to flee and Josiah's screams from around the bend in the hall echo in my ears.
Bryon's lips peel back with the relaxed tranquility of a man with a beast hopelessly ensnared in his trap, knowing that his triumph is soon at hand.
Surely, these shining ivory teeth can't be my uncle's. Surely, his smile is not so wide, surely it is not so immaculately white, surely his fangs do not glisten as if coated in silvery saliva.
But they do – his face is shadowed, leaving only his eyes and the smile to linger in my mind, with two horns towering overhead.
"Bryon," Audiat whispers softly, as if encouraged by his grin. "Bryon, it's me. It's me, Audiat. Don't you remember me?"
Through gritted teeth, he laughs, eyes impossibly widening. "He remembers you. He shall remember you die."
Calmly, Bryon takes the first step forward, the talons on his fingers glinting cruelly in the orange sun, and Pooky Bear adjusts herself in my hands.
With complete silence, Audiat leaps forward, her dagger held in both hands. Nimbly, she dances over the ground towards him, her feet flying over the floor, and jumps clean over his head.
Bryon coolly watches her do so, not even flinching as she takes a slice out of his shoulder. Blood gushes and oozes, flowing down over his chest.
Audiat lands with relative grace in a crouch, spreading out her wings to give her a better sense of balance. She watches Bryon's every move with a cold sense of detachment.
Surround him.
It isn't Theobella's voice or Audiat's in my mind. I resist the urge to grin with giddy relief at the sound of Black Wolf, our patron and, apparently, one of the only ones able to defeat this thing, speaking to me once again. The warm thunder of his voice wraps around me like a warm blanket, and a sense of calm forcibly dispels my shaking muscles, refreshing any aches and giving me a burst of caffeine equivalent to several cups of coffee.
I follow Audiat's example and slowly begin to circle him, getting closer and closer, holding the sword ready. Trying to think of a way that I could dispatch him but not permanently dispatch him, I hold back, waiting for a cue from Audiat.
Bryon stands still, not attempting to swivel around nervously, to watch us, as many might. He sighs, watching us as if we're performing quite tediously. Unlatching his cloak, he lifts it and allows it to flutter off, as if riding on a nonexistent breeze.
Audiat eyes it, biting at her lip.
I try to mouth at her that it's not worth it.
She dives forward and grabs the soft fabric anyway, pulling back quickly, but not quick enough. Moving like a panther, Bryon accosts in less time than it takes me to blink. There's no way she has the time to move. A brutal kick knocks Audiat's legs out from under her. With a yelp, the miniscule she-angel falls, getting all tangled up in his cloak.
Blind rage fuels my movements, screaming in my veins. The sound of my feet over the floor echo around. It certainly helps that Pooky Bear – or Fuzzleboop, as I've renamed her – sings with my fury, practically howling a descant.
A surge of hatred throbs through me and I slice her downwards. Flesh cleaves like butter beneath my blade. Fuzzleboop roars inside me with fury, urging another blow, for me to stab him through the heart.
I dance back tantalizingly, hoping to distract him so that Audiat has an opportunity to escape. Bryon, caught in a ray of sunlight, gives me ample time to admire my handiwork – scarlet gushes in a diagonal line down his back, and the pearly white of his shoulder bone shines momentarily before being hidden beneath the welling of blood.
Despite my efforts and the obvious depth and danger of the wound, he doesn't seem to do more than pause to evaluate his injuries. My heartbeat spikes as he reaches forward, as if to grab a fistful of Audiat's hair.
Audiat growls savagely. Before I can react, she shoots upwards and slams her jaws down on Bryon's outreaching hand like a rabid Chihuahua.
Bryon releases a sharp bark of delight, lifting his hand and shaking it about. His amusement turns into annoyance as both he and I marvel that she simply won't let go. Like a dog with a toy, she growls and adamantly refuses to release him, even though blood wells around her teeth and over her lips. Her growls and his fuse in the air. He whips her brutally back and forth, dragging her body over the floor, but she holds onto him all the same. Beady anger gleams in her eyes.
Snarling, Bryon reaches forward with his other hand. Again, I prepare to leap forward, but Audiat is dancing backwards before I can do anything. Her eyes glitter fiercely, and her lips are ringed with blood. Bryon watches her go, smiling with a creepy expression of great pleasure that I just don't understand.
He feels pain. She does not. It is like a human playing a video game character. You can rip and hack and slice into him, but you still won't change anything. Aim for his heels. Cut the tendons. Make him a puppet without strings.
He wants me to cut his Achilles tendon. To make him helpless on the floor, unable to run.
Revolted by the thought of crippling my uncle, I hesitate, and return to cycling around him. It's a missed opportunity. Bryon's gaze turns to me, and I realize that I won't be having the luxury of deciding petty things like who I chop up anymore.
He lowers his horns and charges, bulleting forwards. All he is a streak through the room; I have no time to dodge. Terror coils in my stomach.
Hastily, I try to lift Fuzzleboop into position.
One of his muscled arms knocks the sword aside, and he plows into me with the force of a raging bull.
I scream silently as he knocks the breath out of me. The force slamming against my ribcage dispels all the air in my lungs – I gape and gasp for oxygen that just doesn't come. I can't breathe, I realize in a storm of panic.
My horror doubles and becomes nausea as his charge doesn't stop. In a whirl of motion and sickness, I feel myself being shoved backwards, riding up on his horns like a matador caught between the charging bull's spears. The crushing strength at my torso only grows mightier.
A true scream leaves my mouth as I slam against the wall. The sound of breaking glass and crunching plaster barely register above the sound. My shriek breaks off with a gasp as I feel something buckle inside of me, cracking beneath the massive pressure.
Shooting pain flares through my midriff and along the planes of my back where they'd collided with the wall.
I silently scream, breathing in great, sucking gasps. A single tear traces down my cheek. My hair falls into my eyes. He shoves only harder against me, trying to suffocate me, to keep the air from flooding my lungs. Each breath is a battle of its own, and each one is weaker than the last.
Clawing frantically at his head and his horns, I try to drag him away from me, slapping at his back with my sword and tugging at his horns. My attempts grow more panicky as warm, sticky liquid slides down my back.
I gape at the air, feeling my vision growing fuzzy. Another tear slips down my cheek.
With a furious shriek, Audiat attacks him from behind, her silver sword flashing like a mirror in the low light. Bryon grunts, the pain lessening. She repeatedly cuts into his back, his legs, his shoulders, his arms.
Snarling in annoyance, he pivots to face her. I slide to the ground, glass shards raining down around me.
I groan, trying to prop myself up, realizing that I'm resting upon a bed of glass. He must've shoved me into one of Audiat's framed paintings. I attempt to stand, but my legs fail me. My breathing grows only more ragged, and pain splinters through my vision.
I watch helplessly, trying to get air back into my lungs, as Bryon and Audiat dance together like the two star-crossed lovers they are. They seem equal, as neither seems able to land a blow, but because of Audiat's unwillingness to harm him, she's constantly on the retreat.
Theobella has no problem with Audiat's blood on her hands.
That thought reignites my spark of fury. Baring my teeth, grinding them to endure my pain, I drag myself to my feet, ignoring the sick plinking of glass falling from my skin and onto the floor. Fuzzleboop encourages me as I do so. Almost as if I receive help from the last droplet of sunlight quivering in the air, my lungs reinflate as if he'd never knocked the air out of them at all.
I'm still not strong enough to fight him. Not quite. But Fuzzleboop? She is. She's been fighting Bryon for centuries.
"Do your thing," I whisper down to the sword.
Power surges through me.
Half a second later, Audiat's only sword clatters to the ground at her feet, and I realize that maybe, just maybe, I should've given her more specific instructions.
"Raphael!" Thea calls, striding towards the shadow at the end of the hall. "Good to see you're not sitting on your ass somewhere. What do you know of what's going on?"
"Not a whole lot more than you, I don't think." He shakes hands briefly with Sariel, turning the slightest of cold shoulders upon her husband, just as he has been since the two were reunited. "Your son's possessed and after all those he loves. Audiat and Penryn are camping out in her penthouse. All the he-angels are locked in their bedrooms. I figured it might serve as a temporary confinement."
"Good." Sariel grins. "Last thing we need is a bunch of them running around and slicing my boy up. Poor Bryon. This must be hell for him. Not gonna be happy when he snaps out of it, is he?"
Thea raps him softly on the wrist. "Bryon is in pain, Sariel. We have no idea how long this has been going on. He has no control of his actions. We must exercise caution."
"Right, right," Sariel soothes, his eyes flashing like coins. "When he's not touchy about it, you can bet I'll tease him to death about it. You will, too, don't deny it. He's going to go through hell twice with us two!"
"Sariel," Thea hisses in embarrassment, displeased to have him behaving like this in such a moment. "Bryon is not himself right now! He's dangerous! Stop treating this with such… flippancy!"
Sariel waves a hand. "Oh, please, Thea, you know our son. He'd never hurt either one of us. He'd bend heaven and earth and beyond that. I'm only –"
Shock cuts through his words. The sword held in his hand nosedives and hits the ground, clattering loudly against the floor. It owns the floor, and all hold their breath, surprised by the sword's sudden, uncalled for reaction.
Dread thickens the archangel's voice into a throaty growl. "What just happened, Sariel? I left my sword with Penryn."
He scratches at his head, looking stumped. "Well, it sounded like the command of an archangel sword to me. She was ordered to stand down by Fuzzleboop."
"Fuzzleboop?" Thea repeats, snorting. "Fuzzleboop? Fuzzleboop. Raphael, do you know any dandy archangel sword named – hey, where are you going?"
His face as white as a sheet, Raphael wheels around and streaks back down the hallway. Reaching the staircase, he jumps out over the empty space and spreads his wings, cutting sharply upwards, leaving Thea with no doubt as to whom Fuzzleboop rests in the hands of. Heart hammering, Thea climbs into her husband's arms, and points him after Wrath of God.
"We've got to go help Bryon, alright?" she whispers against him as he runs forward, gaining momentum. "We can't hurt him because it's not him. This isn't his fault. Still, be wary! He's dangerous, alright?"
"Whatever you say, my love, but he's still our son. One doesn't just forget that. You'll see."
Audiat doesn't waste time scampering back the moment her sword clatters to the ground. The panicky sparkle in her eyes as she regards it at Bryon's feet makes me feel slightly guilty – that hadn't been my desired effect, leaving her weaponless against him. However, my main goal is reached as Bryon turns slowly from her, his awful eyes fixed not on me, but on Fuzzleboop.
"Recognize her?" I choke out. Shaking my head and clearing my throat, I start again. "Recognize this sword, Theobella? She was the one that hacked your head from your shoulders. She can do it again, too, you know."
"She could," Bryon agrees neutrally. My skin prickles at the lack of any sort of respect, never mind fear, in his voice. "You have every means to lop my head from my shoulders again. But it won't be my head, will it? So you're not going to."
"What makes you so sure?" I challenge, managing to lift Fuzzleboop up slightly.
Bryon studies me as if I'd just said something utterly pathetic. "Go on. Attack me. Here I stand, your uncle, utterly defenseless before you, unwilling to lift a finger. Live up to your talk."
I hesitate – even if I were to attempt a true attack on the possessed Bryon, doing so when he stands so alert would be a terrible idea, like a person throwing themselves into a bear trap. Besides, there is a great chance that she'd stand there and not do a thing, letting me cut off Bryon's head. With the way she's acting now, I don't think she'd be above that behavior.
"I can hear you thinking." His lips peel back over his pearly white fangs. "It's delicious. I might just let you live, if only to preserve that spirit for a little longer, until it grows seasoned with misery. Just like his has."
"Stay the fuck back." I reposition Fuzzleboop, alarmed at his sudden approach. "Stay! The fuck! Back!"
"Or what?" Bryon accosts calmly, the slits in his eyes narrowing, becoming even thinner and thinner until they become nearly invisible. Tiny streaks of black slice the color in half. Footsteps echo closer, and his great, clawed hands begin to curl and uncurl by his sides. He bows his head slightly, shadowing his eyes, baring the sharp curves of his horns towards me in a silent threat.
"Or I'll –" I begin to lift Fuzzleboop, aiming to hold her over my shoulder like a baseball bat. The flash of motion does not quickly enough catch my eye. He streaks forward, no more than a dash of brown, and tries to knock Fuzzleboop from my hand again.
Frantically, I tighten my grip around her hilt, even as Bryon's hand slams again into my wrist, causing my fingers to spasm and weaken around her. With a feral growl that rumbles through me like an earthquake, like a lion's growl, his hand clamps around my wrist with an iron grip, yanking it up and unbalancing me.
Primal instinct pops into place and plays its due roll. I slam my toe into Bryon's knee. His balance shudders for a moment but snaps back into place before I can truly call it a victory. I bare my teeth at him and switch the hand holding Fuzzleboop, distracting him by opening my mouth as if I were about to speak.
With every last bit of strength I have left in my arm, I hurl Fuzzleboop downwards. She strikes down, downwards, slicing through flesh and bone and burying her tip into the wood. Bryon howls with pain, like a dog. He stares down at the foot I'd impaled without response, watching as blood pools over his battered shoes.
Suddenly, his grip tightens excruciatingly around my wrist. I cry out, reaching down for Fuzzleboop, but held up by him. Something in my wrist cracks.
Before I can cry out for a second time, Bryon's grip is ripped from me.
As if somehow beckoned by my call, a dark shape swoops through the room, its only abnormality from the shadowy blackness wrapped around it the glorious, snowy-white wings that arch in the air like the scythes of the Grim Reaper.
Quivering with rage, Raffe unfolds from the terrible punch he'd dealt, forcibly placing his balled fist back by his side. He watches his prey with a petrifying mask of that heavenly wrath he's most famous for. Though every sane particle in my mind rejoices, something primitive puts a prickle down my spine at the unholy scowl upon Raffe's face.
His face is that of a demon's. His blue eyes seem to glow with hatred in the inky night, lightening with anger rather than darkening, standing out like neon against the shadows around him.
In a fashion I would've called calm had he not been trembling with fury, he holds out his hand, asking silently for his sword. And who am I to deny him of that right? As the pain shafting through my back reaches a new agonizing climax I'd never imagined, I pry it from the floorboard, ignoring the flesh left behind. Panting, I slip it into his hand with a soft moan, falling backwards onto my butt.
Though my vision is fuzzy and my senses nearly overwhelmed, I hear Raffe's words, clear as day, cutting through the buzz as if he were God himself.
"I am Raphael, the Great Archangel, Wrath of God!" he bellows thunderously. "Get on your knees and beg for mercy."
Bryon's melodious chuckle almost sounds as if it's mocking him. "Look at that. My body is paralyzed in fear. You scare him so much. Perhaps more than I do. It's fascinating... and amusing. Very amusing."
"What are you?" Thea's whisper echoes around the room. She creeps around the exterior of the room, more quiet than a dormouse, the only indication of her passing the gleam of her oiled swords in the sunlight. Leaning forward, she whispers with a crack in her voice, "What have you done with my son?"
"I am God." A pearly smile, dead and eerie, spreads over his face, but nothing else moves, not even his eyes – they remain locked on Raffe's face, unquavering, a test of dominance between two predators.
"No, you're actually not." Sariel appears in the doorway as well – he first steps up to Audiat and gives her a quick checkup. Clutching at one of her hands, he says softly, "Get out of harm's way, find Ariel, and send her this way. Don't come back."
"I'm going to," Audiat warns. She glances hesitantly towards me, then flees into the darkness, the flutter of her white skirt vanishing through the doorway.
Sariel watches her go, straightening from his crouch, before unfolding and walking towards his son with a furious look about him. "Raffe, you said you've faced him before. What do we do to get him back?"
"You don't do anything," Raffe growls, sounding adamant. "Get Penryn and your family out of here. Let me take care of this."
"Hell, no!" Thea exclaims hotly.
"As if I'm letting you have your way with my son." Sariel glares furiously at Raffe, as if enraged that he'd even suggest such a thing. "I don't trust you further than I can spit. Besides, break eye contact with that bitch and she'll sink his teeth into your shoulder, and that'll be the end of you. He won't attack me, so I can get the closest. Tell me what to do."
"Let me handle this!" Raffe snarls, evidently getting pissed. "You don't have very long until one of us breaks, and then hell will break loose too."
"And then you'll wreck this place, right?" The golden angel's laugh is cruel. "Not likely! I won't let you destroy this aerie because of stubbornness and pride! Or my daughter-in-law's flat!"
"So I'll take it outside!" An angry twitch shakes through Raffe.
"Then he'll rip you from limb to limb!" Sariel roars. "Tell me what to do while you've got him locked into place!"
"Stop…" I croak, but neither of them listen.
"You don't know he'll leave you alone!" Raffe bellows. "Actually, he'd probably be more likely to break eye contact! Then you'll be the one ripped from limb to limb, you idiot!"
Like a raging toddler, Sariel stamps his foot, his nostrils flaring. "He is my son! My son! Do those words mean nothing to you? You stupid archangel, you don't even know what it's like to love and be loved! He wouldn't hurt me even if I stabbed him through the heart thrice!"
"Sariel!" Thea snaps as the two burst into argument. "We discussed this! That is not our son, and it will snap your neck!"
Halting Sariel's approach, she hits him hard in the heel with the flat of her blade, dropping him to a knee. Dancing backwards with her eyes on Raffe and her husband, my grandmother stands halfway between Sariel and her son, forming a barricade between the two. Determination gleams in her eyes, a determination to keep her family together in one piece.
"See, even your whore is agreeing with me." Raffe sounds smug, and I know that, despite Thea's calming effect on Sariel, it'll only whip up trouble.
"What did you call her?!" Sariel yells, sounding more furious than ever. "My whore? My whore?! Take it back, you shit-faced bastard!"
I watch, helpless, prickles of horror creeping up my spine, as Raffe does not attempt at all to diffuse the situation, instead responding with even more spite than before.
"Get the fuck out of here, Sariel," Raffe says coldly. "Go back and curl up with your little angel armada and your woman and get out of my way."
Sariel jerks forward, his hands fisting around Raffe's shirt. With a sharp roar of anger, he lifts the archangel from his feet, dragging Raffe's gaze to his. The fury in those golden eyes knows no bounds, and, had I been Raffe, I would've melted into the ground with fear in that exact moment. I shrink back, frightened for Raffe, yet lacking the strength to be anything more than a bother.
Before Sariel can say a single word, however, a sickening crunch fills my ears, and a cold stone thunks to the bottom of my stomach upon realization.
Raffe isn't staring at Bryon.
Thea's lifeless body crashes to the ground, her neck kinked at an unnatural angle.
A bronze streak first races over the ground, passing me with a breeze reeking of internal organs, and takes off into the sky in the last second of daylight before the sun disappears. Theobella escapes into the night, vanishing like a shadow in noonday sun.
Sariel drops Raffe wordlessly. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe. He merely stares. Nothing shines in those golden eyes – nothing at all. It's as he'd become a statue, standing frozen with such an awful expression across his face.
Bryon groans, his nasty retches breaking the numbed silence that'd blanketed the room. He stumbles backwards, his hands flying to massage his neck. He clears his throat, eyes still closed. Like a man composing himself to walk in on a tense business meeting, he straightens his back and cracks his neck twice. And then those bronze eyes open, just as they're supposed to be, calm and happy and content and my uncle.
"What…?"
They blow wide with horror that's frozen all of us.
"…Mom?"
Bryon's tone is frightened, like a little kid's. I've never heard his voice sound so small, so vulnerable.
"Mom?!"
The first to move of all of us, he staggers forward wildly. It's as if he has no control over his body, no method to maneuver his flailing limbs, no way to aim his scrambling footsteps. He crashes to his knees only halfway there, stumbling only partially to his feet before crashing again by his mother's side.
"Mom!"
My skin chills at the horrible noise. It's a cross between a child's plea and a terrified scream. His shoulders begin to shake, and his breathing becomes thick and heavy, shuddering as horrified tears fill his eyes. He shakes his head in disbelief, a single hand moving to cup her cheek.
"Mom!"
He screams at her desperately now, his hands clawing at her face, shoving hair back, looking deep into her eyes. Something inside of him doesn't compute. It's as if I'm looking a broken and beaten dog nudging the corpse of its dead master.
"No, no, no…" I shiver at his emotion as the first tear overspills his eyes, his voice becoming soft and panicky. "Mom. Mom… Mom! Mom, please. Mama. Mom!"
Raking his hand through her hair and curling his fingers into a fist, he breaks into tears, face pulling back with the first stage of ugly weeping. "Don't be dead. You can't be dead. You… you can't be. Mom!"
His desperate shriek hangs in the air as he breaks into thick, rough sobs. My throat forms a lump as he lowers his forehead to hers, weeping without caring who sees him, crying out in anguish.
"Mom," he whispers every now and then. "Please, Mom, no…"
I clasp a hand over my mouth to block any exclamations of tears. Raffe slowly backs away, shocked.
"Mom!" Bryon trumpets out one final time. It's almost like I'm seeing a fearful little boy.
A tear flows over my cheek and trickles down the ridges of my fingers. Each rock of a sob in my chest causing my back to throb agonizingly, but they're unable to be stopped.
Sariel moves for the first time, taking half a step back, slowly shaking his head. His face is utterly unreadable – the only thing I can truly discern is horror, shock, and some twisted form of grief pulling at his lips. I look away, unable to look into the supernova of emotion that erupts in the exact moment a heart breaks.
Bryon looks up, his face still contorted with tears. Silent sobs shake his chest, sending cascades more tears down his cheeks. Like that little boy, he extends a hand towards Sariel, looking like he needs a big hug. He gapes at the air silently a few times before at last stuttering out, "D-Dad…"
"Get away from her." Sariel blinks, shaking his head more firmly. "Get away from my wife."
Shock momentarily blanks Bryon's expression. His quivering hand freezes, still lifted out towards his father, yet no longer waiting for an embrace.
"You were right." Sariel's voice is throaty with emotion. "My God, Raphael, I hate to say it, but all these years… you were right." His eyes, though overflowing with tears, don't have a speck of emotion in them. "They're monsters."
Bryon's voice cracks with disbelief. "Dad, what are you…?"
"Get away from her." Drunken on grief, Sariel storms forward, his fists quivering furiously by his sides. "Get away from us! Get back!"
In shock, Bryon recoils, scared to death.
He reaches out a hand as his father collapses by Thea's side only to have it slapped viciously away. It's like a drowning man trying to clutch to a last floe of debris, not able to understand that it can't carry his weight, not understanding why he dips beneath the waters anyway.
Bryon watches, broken on the floor with his mouth open, tears flowing silently, as Sariel hooks his arms around Thea bridal style and lifts her from Bryon. He attempts to clutch onto her hand, shoving through stiff fingers and holding tight. As Sariel turns away, it jerks the angel back, yanking at Bryon's stubborn arm.
"Dad," he says.
Sariel slams the toe of his boot into Bryon's arm.
Releasing his mother's hand and allowing his father to leave, Bryon looks a thousand times more injured emotionally than physically, despite the blood gushing from the wound in his bicep. He stares open-mouthed at Sariel as the angel turns his back on him.
"All along," Sariel mumbles, his voice rich and teary, "you were right. I was right. I should've killed you. I should've killed you all."
"What's the matter with you?" Raffe whispers, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You killed her." Sariel buries his face in his wife's hair, walking blindly towards the door, his steps slow and even. "I was a fool." He sobs once. "Stay away from my wife! From my family!"
Bryon's mouth falls open, but no words leave his mouth.
"Stop!" I shout, using the last bit of my strength. "Stop it! Can't you see you're hurting him?"
Sariel's eyes are just as dead as they look up at me. "You're one of them. Stay away from her!"
"What's going on –"
In the doorway, dressed in a warrior's garb, Ariel freezes, her eyes widening. Her gaze lingers over the dumbstruck Raffe, the grief-riddled Sariel, the lifeless Thea, and the broken Dragon. The sword in her hands quavers uncertainly, as if unsure whether attack or calm would be the best method of approaching the situation. Thankfully, her eyes land on me, and a curse appears at her lips.
"We need a medic in here, quickly as possible!" she urges, her warrior's kilt clashing metallically against her legs as she moves forward, an odd change to the usual billowing gown. "She's lost too much blood. Sariel, get a medic."
"Let her die," he monotones, continuing towards the door. "Let her bleed out slowly… Kill him, too, while you're at it."
"Oh, God, oh, God," calls Audiat's squeak as I feel myself slipping, everything becoming fainter and fainter. She surges forward, stroking at the head of hair in Sariel's arms. "No, no, no, no, no… Thea?! Thea?!"
Bryon's head snaps up from its position of utmost misery.
"Oh, God, no…" Audiat nudges her forehead against Thea's, keeping pace with Sariel as he moves towards the door, issuing what seem to be final farewells. "You didn't deserve this. No, no, no, this is going to destroy Bryon, no… Oh, Thea, I'm so sorry."
"Ah-ch'at!" Bryon bugles, staggering brokenly to his feet. His head hangs and his shoulders slump, but the fierce glimmer of persistent hope, I recognize, even with my fuzzy vision.
Another gasp is released from Audiat's lips. Sidestepping Sariel's funeral trudge, she gazes out across the room at him, her face a mask of prayer. "Bree-aw'?"
Bryon's shoulders shake. "It's me. It's me. Ah-ch'at, oh, Ah-ch'at…"
And there they are, I realize with my tired, fading mind, the two lovers reunited after centuries of separation and strife. Now, in a time when he needs it more than ever before, the Dragon's Wishing Star has returned to him. My heart buoys with the love in Audiat's face steps hesitantly forward, her bare feet whispering over the floor. Perhaps the first he's ever shed in a long, long time, tears of joy streak down Bryon's face, a relieved sob huffing up from somewhere deep inside.
I almost shutter my eyes completely, watching as Bryon trips over his feet, stumbling forward for Audiat. I almost shut them, almost allow myself to fade away into the unconsciousness Ariel attempts to keep me roused from, staring at the two with a stupidly giddy grin pulling at my lips.
But then Sariel moves again, and all illusions of this being a somewhat merciful world are shattered. Cradling his wife with one arm, clutching her tightly to his chest, he throws out an arm to block Audiat's procession. She squeaks with alarm as his strides double in speed. Sariel drags her to the door with him, despite any protests she gives, despite even the knife she buries in his bicep.
"Stop it!" she cries, shoving up against him, twisting the knife as if to keep him in pain. "What are you doing? What's wrong with you? Put me down!"
"Stay away from him!" Sariel snarls, his voice choking up with emotion. "Stay away from my son!"
My vision is fading. I'm vaguely aware of Ariel shouting for Raffe, of her hands holding cloth to my back, and of the warm puddle of sticky blood I kneel in, but all that I can manage to see is Bryon's hope smashing to the ground and breaking into a thousand pieces.
The light vanishes from his eyes, and he quivers, stretching a single hand after Audiat. But he doesn't go after her, doesn't fight, doesn't give her any incentive of his silent pleas – maybe the harsh words of his father truly pierce the last membrane protecting him from utter despair, maybe that strong, loving heart of his finally breaks.
As everything goes black, I look up at Raffe as he hurries to my side, listening to Sariel's imparting words:
"I can't let him take you from me too, Audiat! Stay away from him! That is not my son! That is not my granddaughter! Let it bleed out, Ariel, leave it be! They are not mine!"
Thea is dead, I realize. The Young family has been crippled.
Happy holidays.
Ciao,
~wolfluvermh