10 Homecoming

FLAMES LEAPT TO consume the king of the Nephilim. The spawn of Og of Bashan gathered around the pyre at a safe distance, as hungry tongues devoured their patriarch.

There was a distant grumbling in the sky above, but no rain, no lightning. Some glanced upwards, perhaps taking it as an omen, the last grumbles of a tyrant king, an imperious father.

Desool stood far at the rear of the gathering, with the hood of his white cloak hiding his face, observing his brothers’ glares at one another. Their hatred blinded them to his presence, which suited him fine. Some of them were subtle about observing their siblings, others with the open challenge of a full stare. With Og dead, it would not be long before blood was spilled.

Tradition had to be observed after all, and Nephilim were nothing without their traditions. However, Desool saw such customs as iron weights holding down his people, preventing them from becoming who they were meant to be.

He spotted Volar, Anak’s right hand man, prowling the perimeter with Anakim guards. On the opposite side were guards of the Rephaim clan. As matters stood, blood would flow freely within hours, but first alliances would be made. The betrayals would come later. It was how things were done in Raddhon. Death, destruction, civil war. All to decide who would sit their hairy ass on father’s throne.

Gog, the eldest, had presided over the funeral, but the second-born, Anak, had made sure to have his say and a long-winded one too. The clans would gather to one or the other, vowing allegiance to their new king, and civil war would erupt. The younger brothers stood no chance of gaining power, but one or two were likely to gather their own followers and give it a try nonetheless.

‘Thought you’d just slip in unnoticed, huh?’ said a voice at Desool’s side, startling him. ‘If I can find you this easily, you’d better be careful.’

With a slight turn of his head, Desool noted a figure cloaked and hooded beside him, a head shorter at seven feet. He’d experienced another growth spurt in the past few months. Soon, he would be a rival to Gog. Despite his many years away from home, there was no mistaking her voice or tone.

‘You took a great risk coming back here,’ his sister Nanel continued. ‘What if our brothers notice you? Are you going to fight them all at once or just challenge Gog?’

‘Maybe both,’ he replied. He kept his eyes ahead on the proceedings as he spoke. ‘You are not welcome here either.’

‘Nice to see you again too.’

‘You know what I mean. I imagine things haven’t changed since we last spoke. Our brothers will kill you on sight. You know this well. You need to go, now.’ He heard a huff of impatience escape her and almost smiled. It wouldn’t do in present circumstances to be seen smiling, but his sister had that effect on him. A part of him feared for her, but another part was glad she was there. Friendly faces, or voices for that matter, were in short supply these days. It was a fine thing to converse in his native Raddhon tongue again.

‘I just got here,’ she insisted, ‘and besides, if you’re risking your neck, then why can’t I? It’s that male pride thing again, isn’t it?’ His sister lowered her hood slightly, and he saw her brown eyes as she glanced up at him. ‘It is good to see you.’ Then her gaze snapped to something else behind him.

He half turned, and was aware of someone approaching. Several guards and all armed.

‘Volar,’ she hissed, and he felt her hand grip his as she tugged him after her into the growing throng. There were many still arriving from the city to see the pyre. They blended into the gathering, trying to weave their way through it without drawing attention, which proved difficult.

After several minutes, she brought him back out onto a road, which led back to the city of Bashan, a quarter of a mile distant. Thankfully, due to the funeral, the road was packed and vanishing into the heaving crowd proved easy. Once they reached the city gates, and with no further sign of Volar, Desool followed his sister at a distance, keeping a wary eye on anyone who might be watching.

They made their way through the winding streets until they reached a small flat-roofed house. Small for a Nephilim at least. He had grown used to the impish dwellings of humans, and strangely found he missed them. Being home again didn’t bring the warm feelings he’d expected, dangers aside. He followed her inside, and Nanel shut and barred the door, then turned and lowered her hood.

She had the same hazel-coloured eyes and brown hair, much less like a Rephaim and more like a Horite, her face gentler, although her temper was all Rephaim. He had gotten on the wrong end of it too many times when they were imps. Button nose, which was incongruous on a Nephilim female, and yet she looked cute. Not that he’d ever have said such a terrible thing to her face. He wasn’t stupid.

Hands on hips, she examined him as he took off his cloak. ‘What are you doing back here, Thor? You’ve been banished, remember?’

Desool winced on hearing his old name as he dragged out a heavy oak chair from the table and sat. In truth he felt weary having spent months at sea, followed by a long journey overland from Pethram, before traversing the high mountains which bordered Raddhon on three sides. He had decided against arriving into a Nephilim port in case he was recognised. Better to arrive a vagrant over the mountains, unwanted, unnoticed. ‘I don’t go by that name now, Nel. It’s Desool, these days.’

She laughed. ‘An ancient name from an ancient dialect. You don’t think it arrogant, Guardian? Taking a name like that is blasphemous. They’ll execute you for certain.’

He didn’t rise to her bait. As imps, she had baited him constantly, and he had mostly resisted unlike her other half-brothers. Still, as an imp and a female, she’d had the luxury of her mother’s protection. Not anymore.

She was grinning at him as though all was as it used to be. ‘By the way, no one calls me, Nel, anymore either. Not since we were young.’

‘I’ve returned home with good reason, one which involves the Seraphim Council.’

Her smile vanished, and she turned away to tend to the small fire and the blackened iron pot above it. Dinner, he hoped. As she worked with her back to him, she said, ‘Stay away from them, Thor. You know those lot are as treacherous as the night. You know what they did to our father.’

Desool thumped the table with his fist, but instead of jumping, she turned and eyed him. ‘Stop using that name, sister. This is no joke.’

‘It is the one you were born with, and a perfectly decent Nephilim name. Your mother chose it after the archangel Thor, remember?’

‘The angelic council bestowed upon me a new name. One I now cherish. My life is not as it was and never will be again. A new life, and thus a new name. Accept it, Nel, and please do not mention it again.’

‘Huh, well I suppose I can empathise with that. My life’s changed a lot too since you vanished. Sometimes I wish I could change my name too, and just disappear for years on end. Must’ve been nice.’ She ladled soup into deep wooden bowls, slapping the ladle back into the pot, slopping soup over the edge. She brought the bowls to the table, slapping one down in front of Desool, spattering him with the hot liquid.

He looked up at her and grinned. ‘Just like your mother. She never did like me, you know.’

‘Well,’ she said, sitting down with her own bowl, ‘she was a good judge of character.’

‘She married our father.’ Though she was in truth, his half-sister, she was the closest family he had now, considering his brothers would want him dead if they knew he was back.

‘I can’t argue with that,’ she replied, ‘but then so did yours.’ Reaching across the tabletop, she took his hand in hers and held it firm. ‘I know you.’ She looked deep and long into his eyes. ‘What are you not telling me? What is this all about? You did not come back just to see me.’

He tried to pull his hand away, but she held fast. He also tried avoiding her piercing gaze, but it was like trying to avoid the sun in the desert. Not impossible but difficult, and it could burn about as much. ‘The Council have insisted on a new king, but one they’ve chosen themselves this time.’

Nanel frowned, let go of his hand and drew back. She lifted her bowl and slurped some of the warm soup. There was bread on the table though it looked a little stale. She took some, dipped it in her bowl and ate. Chewing, she asked, ‘Who is it they’ve chosen?’

Desool didn’t have much of an appetite anymore, as he stared miserably at his supper. ‘Who do you think?’

Her eyes widened. ‘The line of succession; it is written in stone and blood. They cannot ask this. They mustn’t!’

Desool felt like crying. Wouldn’t that have been a sight, the future king of the Nephilim weeping over a bowl of his sister’s soup. ‘They have, and they didn’t ask so much as command me. They are angels, sister. They command and we obey. I must become king and fast. There is more at stake than the clans.’

She resumed eating, watching him with a frown furrowing her brow. ‘And is this what you want?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It should.’

He sighed. ‘At first, no, it was not, but I’ve had a lot of time to think things through. I do want to become king, but I want to be a different ruler to father, to the type Gog would become.’

She showed no emotion, her gaze locked on him. ‘How quickly are we talking about?’

‘Let’s just say, we don’t have time for a civil war.’

She mopped up the last of her soup with some bread. ‘I don’t think we have a choice. One has begun. It started as soon as father died. Miserable old bastard.

‘You know,’ she went on, ‘it’s been over fifteen years since he even left that bloody bed? Idiot became famous for it. Gog’s been king in all but name ever since. He won’t just give it up because a bunch of glowing feathered know-it-alls have gone and stuck their noses in.’

‘You shouldn’t be so irreverent, Nel. It’s bad luck.’

She snorted. ‘I assume this means you must murder our brothers, and do it as soon as possible? I might know someone who could help. You’ll never manage all of them alone, and Gog most of all.’ Her fingers were tapping the table as she thought. ‘You’ll need a small army at least. Gog’s too well protected.’

Desool was bunching his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms until there was blood. ‘I will not kill anyone, not if I can help it. They can insist all they wish. I will not do it. This must happen on my terms.’

‘Then Gog or Anak will become king,’ she hissed. ‘You will have defied the Seraphim Council, and they will exact punishment from us all. I may not be a male, educated in all our histories, but I know enough. There is always a price, and the angels are not known for forgiveness. Like you said, they command and we obey.’

He thought about all he’d learned these past years. ‘The humans speak differently of angels, you know. Like we once used to. They revere them in a way I’ve never seen. I had not expected that.’

‘The little people are fools.’

He sighed. ‘It’s worse than that; if I don’t become king, this world may end.’ That caught her attention alright. ‘The Darkness has risen, and it now has a prince. His name is Lucifer, and he stands at the threshold ready to cross over. The Shathra Stone must be protected at all costs. Neither Gog nor Anak are suitable guardians. We both know it to be true.’

‘But the Stone was stolen,’ said Nanel sounding a bit short of breath. She did not question his claims, trusting his word. It was nice to be home. ‘Although there are many rumours across Raddhon that Gog got drunk and lost it on a bet.’

‘Both versions are correct, except for the part about a bet, but none of it matters now. I have the Stone, Nel. I have it here. I’m keeping it somewhere safe until I can fix this.’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Then you truly are the Guardian. We must let the people know. We must—’

‘No! Listen to me, please. I beg you, tell no one. To find it, I tricked Anak into giving me his ship. I told him he could return home with the Stone and claim glory, and topple Gog off his rock. He was sort of drunk at the time. Anyway, I broke our agreement and left him stranded instead. I then spent two years preparing for this day.’

Her face paled. ‘Then, he may know you’ve returned. He arrived back a few months ago and it wasn’t pretty. I’ve never seen him so worked up.’

‘He will be hunting for me. Our brother does not take such slights well, but I could not bring myself to give the Stone to him. He would have destroyed us all.’

‘Then you should know something,’ said Nanel. ‘There is a credible rumour that both he and Gog have agreed to a short truce. Once the mourning time is done in five days, war begins. It may be easier to deal with this once they are occupied with killing each other.’

‘Yes, except I don’t think we can afford to wait five days.’ Desool lifted the bowl, giving into hunger, and slurped up its contents in seconds. He dropped it onto the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Not much like a king, but then he’d never felt like one. He doubted he ever would.

‘You want a second helping?’

‘Nel, I brought someone with me; a human female. Her name is Zane. I’m glad you found me because I wanted to ask you to take care of her for me. While I do what I need to.’

Nanel laughed. ‘You are an idiot... Desool.’ She seemed to struggle with his new name. ‘Don’t you know I am not about to let you attempt this alone? Besides you have no plan. I can see it in your face. You’re figuring this out as you go along.’

‘I’ve left Zane somewhere safe, but she cannot stay there long.’

‘Well, I guess I know someone who might take her in. You should not have brought her. What possessed you to take such a risk?’

He gave her a rueful smile. ‘The same which possessed me to return in the first place. Besides, human women, Nephilim, you’re all the same. She would not be left behind, and doubtless would have followed me here.’

‘Is she your ... um, wife?’ The fact she could ask that question told him she’d already accepted Zane was a part of his life. A Nephilim married to a human was unheard of, however.

‘For the past couple of years, it certainly has felt like it. She’s like you, headstrong and bright of spirit.’

‘Well then, I think I like her already.’ Nanel grinned, but he could see it in her face; she was worried. ‘You still don’t have a plan to steal our father’s throne from under our brothers’ noses without killing any of them. An impossible task.’

‘Actually, I think I do have a plan, but I’m going to need you to take me to see someone first.’

‘Oh, and who might that be?’

‘Our uncle.’

‘I’m not sure he’ll be glad to see you. You know how much of a traditionalist he is, and well you ...’

‘Whether he likes it or not, I must see him. You will tell him I am coming to see the Keeper of the Stone.’