|
The Nephilim War:
Resurrection
By
Adrienne Kama
© copyright by Adrienne Kama, April 2007
Cover art by Jenny Dixon, April 2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Chapter One
Raven paced. He knew his behavior would be a clear indicator to his interrogator of his mental state, but he didn't care. The last thing he wanted to do was mess this up. Too much time had passed and he had suffered too much to let this summons go to waste. So much was at stake; his sanity, his happiness, his very existence hung in the balance. He couldn't sit quietly while so much was set against him.
He dragged his fingers through his hair, knowing it was far too wild and bedraggled for his current surroundings. What he didn't know was why he had been sent for. Whatever the reason, he would use the opportunity to finally free himself.
"You'll find your wait more pleasant if you relax, Raven. Sit. Enjoy the music. I find there's nothing a good song can't remedy." The receptionist stared up at him, tapping one silver clog to the beat and bobbing her head back and forth. Her glasses were perched precariously at the tip of her nose and her voice was a perverse mix of Ethel Merman and Grandma Moses. "Oh, I just love Wagner. He's my guilty pleasure. Ride of the Valkyries is my favorite of all his compositions."
He glanced again at the tiny sentry behind the desk. "So the music artist was a rebel." Raven could respect a rebel, someone who strayed from the norm. An individual like he was. Though if things went his way today, his days of individuality were history. "What did he do?"
"If you weren't German, he didn't much like you. He was a little too patriotic, and as it would turn out, he became a major inspiration for Adolph Hitler."
Now that was a name Raven recognized and loathed. He paused to listen. The melodic refrain dropped to a somber melody and teased. Slowly, exquisitely, it built, gradually becoming louder. The notes fell faster, until finally it rose again in triumphant exultation. It was a masterful composition. It made him feel like finding an old Viking ship, hiring some Vikings, and riding out to pillage and ravish. "Sounds like a battle song."
"I guess it does."
"Raven."
Raven turned to face the man filling the open doorway. He looked precisely as Raven remembered, tall, with close-cropped black hair. His cherubic mouth and rounded cheeks had always made him look serene, but today that serenity was marred by the deep creases around his eyes.
It was like stepping back in time. "Michael."
"Please," Michael said, motioning Raven in. "Time is of the essence."
Raven walked to the door, stepped into the sterile space behind his host, crossed to the lone piece of furniture in the room--an unadorned oak desk--and stood opposite Michael, who had stationed himself behind the desk to wait.
Michael waved his hand absently. "Have a seat, Raven."
Raven nearly emitted a gasp of surprise when he felt the pressure of solid wood against the back of his leg. Twisting half way around, he saw an overstuffed armchair now sat in what had been empty space a moment ago.
"Slick," Raven muttered, as he settled his weight into the thick cushions.
Michael had created a similar chair for himself, and now sat facing Raven, fingers entwined and resting on the desk before him.
Raven decided to let Michael speak before he threw himself on Michael's mercy. He might as well maintain whatever dignity he could for as long as possible.
"I trust your journey here was comfortable?"
Raven folded his hands in his lap and focused all of his energy on maintaining a calm façade. "I have no complaints in that regard."
"I will be to the point, Raven. Azriel has escaped."
Raven shook his head, thinking for a moment that he hadn't heard correctly. "What do you mean he escaped?"
"I don't know how he did it. He was bound in the outer darkness of Dudael. Escape in any manner should have been impossible."
"I know well the skill of your binding men." Raven lifted his wrists to display the healing red welts marring his skin. "And I know the difficulties inherent in existing far below the earth in a place so old even time has forgotten it. If you have brought me here to heap new accusations on me …." He swallowed the next words and forced his fists into his lap. This was his one chance at freedom. He didn't want to be sent back to his prison. Arguing with Michael would be the quickest way to see his plans ruined. "I don't know how he escaped. He's the only who has managed it. The rest of the Watchers remain captive."
"I didn't bring you here to accuse you. I know you didn't have anything to do with the escape. I brought you here because I need your help."
Loud, raucous laughter echoed off the cream-white walls of the office. Raven couldn't help himself. "You come to me for help?" He threw his head back and laughed again. "How very rich of you, old friend. You want me to come to your aid when you refused to lift a finger to come to mine?"
"You made your own choices, Raven."
"You want me to round the rogue up and take him back to Dudael with me? You forget, his prison was kept a secret from us. I wouldn't know where within Dudael to take him. I suppose I could take him to be bound with the rest of us, but Azriel always thought he was above us."
Lips drawn down into a scowl, Michael edged closer to the desk. "Things are more serious than you think, Raven. The future of man …."
"And what do I care for the future of man, our Father's chosen few? Why do you care what happens to man? They've never done anything for you." He rose from his seat and paced. He'd been ready to throw himself on Michael's mercy. He would have done anything to free himself from his unfair imprisonment, but he would not lower himself so far as to become a patron of men.
"Hear me out, Raven. Are you so ready to return to your pit and your chains?"
"I am not playing the patsy for men. Or for you. What, do you propose, I help them so you can pat me on the head then send me back to Dudael?"
"Hear me out. Please."
It was the please that got him. That one word told Raven more than anything else Michael could have said. Against his better judgment, Raven settled back into his chair.
Michael rose and went to a water cooler that had appeared sometime when Raven wasn't looking. Michael poured a cup of cold water for himself and one for Raven. Returning, he handed Raven a cup and sat on the corner of his desk. "Azriel flies with the wind. If he succeeds with his plans, a war unlike any you have ever seen will rage. Unlike the first war that ripped the heavens into two factions. All manner of creatures will walk the earth. Already the ghouls have come out of hiding. If Azriel has his way, evil will reign. Blood will flow like water, and fire will pour from the heavens. Life as we know it will come to an end, and the future of good will hang in the balance."
"Haven't lost your touch for the melodramatic, I see. Anyway, I've read the book. Hell, I watched John write the book. Fire and brimstone and all the rest of it."
"This isn't revelation, Raven, and it's not Armageddon. As you know, that book has been written, the end decided. What faces us now is the unknown. If Azriel succeeds, anything is possible. Do you understand that? Anything."
"Even if such a thing were to happen, why should I care? It would mean my freedom."
Michael set his cup down and stared levelly at Raven. "Come on, Raven, I know you. I know you wouldn't want this any more than I would."
Raven turned from Michael and got to his feet again, pacing. "If it meant my freedom, I wouldn't care. You don't know what it's been like for me. Millennia after millennia pass, and I remain bound in that pit. You cannot know what it's like, you in your lofty office. I have the stench of foul bodies as my air, and the heat of the earth around me. I have my own desires to keep me company and no woman to ever fill them. This human body I left the heavens to have has become a prison for me. Lust, Michael, and want and need, that is what I've become. I want my freedom. If Azriel's little act of treason sets me free, I won't stop it. No matter the cost."
"Raven."
He stopped pacing to face Michael. "What Michael?"
"Help us and you shall have your freedom. You have my word."
Raven stared, unconvinced. "And what does The Other say?"
"It was on His word that I sent for you."
Raven collapsed into his chair. "But why me? Why not you?"
"You know nobody from the heavenly realm can interfere."
"And men? Why can't they help their own?"
"No man can stand up to the power of Azriel. You know that. And he must be destroyed."
There was the laughter again. Raven couldn't help himself. "Do you forget the rules so easily? I can't kill Azriel. An angel cannot kill another, fallen or not."
"Of course you can't kill Azriel. Nevertheless, he must be stopped."
"You have your nerve."
"We've tried to contact him ourselves. He refuses to answer our calls. We've sent many to seek him, to convince him of the ramifications of what he's doing."
"Oh, I see." Raven folded his arms over his chest and glared. "Now you want me to step in."
"Raven, please. You have to understand."
"If Azriel hadn't escaped, you would have left me in Dudael to rot. What else is there for me to understand?"
Michael rose and met Raven's stare. When he spoke, his voice was steel. "Understand that three decades ago, a Nephilim male journeyed from the Nephilim realm of Hir na Gog to the earthly dominion."
"What do I care of the Nephilim?" he asked with a shrug.
"They can't survive in the human realm, but this one was alive long enough to copulate with a human female and fill her with his seed. Thirty years ago, that infant was born."
Raven sank further into his chair as the ramifications became clear.
He didn't want to think about this. He wanted to be angry. He had a right to be angry. "I don't care, Michael."
"Tell me you understand."
"The offspring is a danger. Damn you, I understand. What I don't understand is how you, in your great wisdom, allowed this to happen."
"I don't know." Michael sprang to his feet and pulled fingers through his hair. He was showing emotion for the first time. "The Nephilim aren't human, Raven, so don't look at me that way. Since their exile, we have no reign over them. Why should we keep tabs on the Nephilim?"
"Because they are a threat. For the love of God, Michael, there was a time when all of the eastern lands worshipped them as gods. When vampires and beastmen served them as slaves. You don't think they resent their fall from grace? They're too damned powerful for you not to keep tabs on, and they've had a long time to think about their defeat and plan their revenge. Believe me, Michael, I know." Raven eased forward on the chair and stared, dumbfounded, as realization dawned. "Azriel is looking for the infant, isn't he?"
"As we speak, Azriel seeks her. If he finds her, Raven .... I want you to find her first and tell her who she is."
"She has no idea?"
Michael lifted the water to his mouth and took a slow swallow. As he did, the calm returned to his face. "Today is her wedding day. She's a data entry clerk at her local bank." He paused. "She's quite good. Types about ninety words per minute."
"The future rests in the hands of a hack? And you want me to tell her who she is? It's up to me to prepare her to stand against Azriel? Oh, you don't ask much of me, do you?"
"There is one more small detail."
"Dare I ask?"
Michael smiled benevolently. "You cannot consort with her, Raven, she's half Nephilim. If you have sex with her, you know what will happen. Such a thing would be too dangerous."
"You've gone mad if you think I won't. I've gone too long without the touch of woman. If you put me with one now…."
"Time grows short, Raven, you must make your decision." When Raven didn't respond, Michael went on. "You must rescue the girl, Charity, from Azriel and take her to Prague where Alaric the vampire lives in the winter months. Send Alaric to find Figlio. Figlio trusts Alaric as he trusts no other. With Figlio and Alaric comes the might of The Alliance. In the event of war, we'll need them. Do these things, and all is forgiven. You will be welcomed home with open arms. It's a promise from Him."
If Michael was to be believed--which obviously was the case, since lying was an art beyond any angel--Raven was being offered an opportunity to free himself from his millennia of bondage. It was what he had been prepared to beg for, now freedom was being offered to him. Until his summons on this very day he had never, not once, allowed himself to consider such a thing would actually happen. "When do I go?"
|
