11 The Seraphim Council

THE GUARDIAN SHOVED the heavy door open. It creaked, as did the floorboards beneath his feet, threatening to give way as Desool stepped inside. The old house was silent as he walked to the end of the corridor. The Council always chose such gloomy locations to meet. The ways of angels were beyond him no matter if he had diluted angelic blood.

At the end, there was a door on either side. On instinct, he chose the one to the right and entered a large chamber. There was massive hearth, which remained cold and smothered in cobwebs. A lone window let in a little light. The house was situated on the corner of Raven Square, in the Prole Quarter of Icarthya. It had been the den of opium addicts until perhaps a few hours ago. He wondered absently what the Council had done with them. Like all Nephilim, he knew that angels were not as the human churches portrayed them; benevolent, interested in human affairs, fighting on the side of righteousness. No, they did everything for their own reasons and those weren’t always good ones. Although, in the Seraphim Council there were those who tried to fulfil the Imperial Church’s image of them.

‘You come alone,’ noted one of the figures before the cold hearth. ‘Did you misunderstand our instructions?’

Desool got down on one knee and bowed his head. A part of him resented the necessity, which not long ago he wouldn’t have thought twice about. ‘I submit myself to the Seraphim Council.’ He paused, and added, ‘He refused your invitation.’ He thought it best not to repeat Ralan’s exact words.

There was a long silence. He glanced up at the three remaining council members. Adal, Fakir, and Etruria. Names dripping with history and significance, not just in Nephilim lore but throughout the world in various guises. To face these Ancients of the Al Diron was perhaps the most dangerous thing he had ever done. They were not evil or he would not have served them, but they could be unpredictable. Above all, they were powerful.

Adal, his master until recently, was a different person when alone. As a member of the council, he was duty-bound to fulfil the council’s wishes. Whatever those might be. Linuncia was absent, which was a pity. She was the most reasonable.

Adal was the one who had first spoken. He revealed himself in the form of a muscular man with a square jaw, scarred and unshaven. He had taken on many faces, including that of a fat prime and an even fatter conclavist. It was such a man he had served for decades, not knowing his true identity for years.

‘He was judged,’ said Adal, ‘and the verdict was not favourable. It was death. We postponed the sentence. Why does he now spit in our faces?’

‘He does not trust you. He remains suspicious of angelic agendas.’

Adal looked furious. ‘The son of Grim and a Torment of Hell’s Teeth decides we are untrustworthy. I don’t like being insulted. Do you like being insulted?’ He asked this of his companions.

‘Don’t be so harsh,’ said Etruria. She was in the guise of a dark-skinned woman, her body voluptuous and strong. Her hair was black and long, braided to her waist in an eastern fashion. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say. Events move rapidly. The situation has become unpredictable. We cannot remain entrenched in old views with old allies.’

Desool chose to rise and looked Adal in the eyes. Not long ago, such a thing would have been unthinkable. ‘I stand with the son of Grim, whether you do or not.’

Adal’s eyes widened.

‘He is not his father,’ the Rephaim prince continued, ‘and he is not his mother. He has conducted himself with honour and love fills his heart, not hate. Should we then condemn him? I will not. If you choose to do so then I am your enemy too.’

Adal’s expression softened, enough to show the fondness and warmth with which Desool remembered his former master. ‘You stand here, a mortal son of angels and rebuke us. And you are right to do so. These are stressful times for us all. The Darkness descends and there may yet be no dawn.’ He looked back at Desool, his eyes penetrating flesh, bone, and spirit. ‘I understand you have taken a new name?’

Desool nodded and said nothing. He knew his old master’s mind and Adal never did or said anything without reason, even if those reasons were unknowable.

‘The Fallen Ones gather, the Rifts uniting for the first time,’ said Fakir. A small, diminutive man, he was in the guise of an opium addict, clothing filthy with grime, brown hair in disarray. ‘The Sorceress is reborn and will attain her full power, but she is not the threat. The real danger is what lurks within her. And the Shathra Stone remains unsecured, while the shraeds of Tartaros are thumping at the door. All this and you come here to speak of love? Nephilim, son of angels, we are at war and you are a foot-soldier. You will do as we command.’

‘No,’ said Etruria, glancing at Fakir, before offering Desool a smile. ‘He is more than a soldier. This one is a king and perhaps most importantly, a Guardian King.’

Desool stared at the three, confused. Adal decided to enlighten him saying, ‘Gog is about to attain the throne. Your brothers all stand above you ready to succeed him or overthrow him if the opportunity arises. Etruria is correct. You must become the Nephilim king, and may your reign be a long one, Guardian.’

Desool had to school his face and think before speaking. The silence might have lasted several minutes, his thoughts awhirl. At last, he said in a whisper, ‘You task me with the murder of my brothers? This is what it will take for me to become king? ‘If I do as you bid, I will not then deserve to rule. No, I refuse.’

‘Infighting and the death of brothers,’ said Fakir before Adal could explode, ‘has been the mainstay of Nephilim rule for a thousand years. It is not as though we have remained incognisant of Nephilim politics.’

‘No,’ said Desool.

‘Orthrus,’ Adal growled, ‘that two-headed monstrosity, is here. It is in a form we have been unable to pin down let alone destroy. It seeks the Shathra Stone. The Sorceress seeks it and above all, Tartaros seeks it, not to mention the other artifacts. You are the Stone’s guardian. You know it in your bones. You feel it. It is not just the Seraphim Council who has chosen you, but the Spectrum itself. My boy, you cannot refuse. You cannot turn your back on existence.’

Desool straightened, flexing his muscles to force himself to relax, rather than display his physical power. Not that such would impress these three. ‘No.’

‘The king of the Nephilim is the one true Guardian of the Stone,’ said Etruria taking a step out of line while placing a hand on Adal’s arm. ‘Not the Keeper nor the Horite priests. Desool, your very name ... it means you must become king. You don’t see it now, but you will. The death of your brothers is inconsequential.’

Desool examined the trio for a moment, looking in each of their eyes. Until now, he had feared angels in a healthy way with respect for their power and majesty. Now, he felt angry with them and had no desire to hide it. ‘I will not murder my brothers for the throne. You Ancient Ones are stronger than I. Why don’t you take the Stone? Why do you need me at all?’

Adal sighed. ‘The strength of angels is weakening. Myriads of our kind flock to the edge of existence battling the shraeds of Tartaros. Myriads overcome and destroyed. We are losing the war. Do you like losing wars, Guardian? I don’t. Especially this one. We cannot win. All we can do is force a stalemate. If the Shathra Stone can be kept out of their clutches.’

‘The Fallen grow in number,’ Fakir added, ‘and many angels become disillusioned, frightened, or angry. The Shathra Stone is not safe with us. It has not been for some time. The king of the Nephilim is granted angelic protection and power to help safeguard the Stone. Your brother Gog abandoned his vow and attempted to use it. In so doing, he let a Fallen One get a hold of it and in turn he was possessed. He forgot the eyes of Tartaros are always watching for an opportunity. Your brother almost destroyed existence. Do you believe any of your siblings to be better?’

‘There is one final chance,’ said Etruria, ‘to retrieve the Stone and safeguard it. One last opportunity to save existence. For this task, the Council has chosen both you and the son of Grim.’

‘Why,’ asked Desool, trying to digest the seriousness of the situation, the implications, ‘have you asked a Torment for help?’

‘Because,’ said Adal, ‘he is everything you said. I spoke harshly before. We know Ralan is a good man, full of love, compassion, and honour. He rejected his father’s ways and his mother’s, against all odds. He has become a force in his own right and we need him. In fact, I do not think we can succeed in this without him.’

Desool sighed, feeling weary. He had vowed his service to the council and it was not a vow he could go back on, and yet he would not commit murder. ‘You wish us to retrieve the Shathra Stone.’

‘Yes,’ said Adal. ‘It is in the possession of one we’ve known of for centuries. She is hiding within the Necropolis on the Aidaril Islands, fighting her own war. However, we cannot get close enough. Her wards are too strong and her magic corrosive to us. Believe me, we’ve tried. She possesses it for now, but she is losing her war, and when it is done, the Stone will be in the possession of the Sorceress and ultimately, Tartaros. You must leave, today.’

‘Who is she?’ asked Desool, wondering who could possibly inhabit the Necropolis, which had lain abandoned for two hundred years and what power might repel one such as Adal?

Etruria grimaced. ‘It is why you must bring the son of Grim with you. He will prove vital in retrieving it.’

‘She is his mother,’ said Adal, ‘at least, in a manner of speaking. Rade Wyn is a fragment of Astra Dar’s soul, who was his actual mother as you are aware. Soon, the Sorceress will absorb this final fragment and she will be whole. If she does this while Rade retains the Stone then she will prove unstoppable. We will try to stop Astra ourselves, but with the power of Tartaros working through her, I doubt we will be successful. It has taken a form within her and it will soon reveal itself.’

‘There is also Ralan’s father, the Grim, to deal with,’ said Fakir. ‘We have our hands full, Nephilim. You must do this for all our sakes.’

‘Oh,’ said Adal, ‘there is just one little thing I forgot to mention.’

Desool groaned, knowing when his former master said that, it wasn’t little but monumental.

‘Ralan will attempt to save Rade Wyn, but you must not allow this. Instead, you must kill her. Oh, and you’ll need a ship to reach the Aidaril Islands. Your brother Anak has one. His clan remains stranded, but they have been repairing a ship damaged in a storm. You’ll have to convince him to give it to you. Or steal it.’

Desool stared at his former master. Angelborn never asked the possible for they could do that themselves. No, for the impossible they always looked to mortals.

Just murder my companion’s mother, while he watches, he thought, and likely tries to kill me instead, all while retrieving the Stone with his help of course. Not to mention, to get there I need a ship, a ship my selfish brother Anak – a brother who has no fondness for family or blood – is just going to give me for no reason at all.

Yes, agree to serve the Seraphim Council, and expect to do the impossible.