31 The True Guardian

GOG REACHED WITH both hands for Desool’s neck, but froze. He snarled and spat but couldn’t move. Neither could Anak, whose bared blade might have been meant for Gog or Desool, or both.

‘Release him!’ ordered Volo in a booming voice, belying his ancient form. The guards obeyed and stepped away from Desool.

Zane was also released and she came to his side, a murderous look on her face. ‘What is going on?’ she demanded.

It was Volo who answered. ‘The power of the Shathra Stone is mine to wield until a new Guardian is chosen. Then the power passes to him ... or her.’ The Keeper smiled at Nanel, who grinned back.

Gog could move again, and stumbled while snatching at air, for Desool had moved by this time to place his hand on the Shathra Stone.

‘Now, Gog, Anak, both of you do as you are bid,’ ordered the Keeper. ‘There must be a Guardian king. If you each think you are worthy, then what is stopping you? Place your hands on the Stone.’

Reluctantly, at least on Anak’s part as he sheathed his scarap, both stepped forwards and touched their fingers to the ancient artefact. Nanel joined them.

‘She is not a Rephaim,’ Gog spat, ‘and not one of Og’s offspring. She has no claim here.’ He also spared a glare for his brother, Anak, who now dared lay his claim too.

The Keeper smiled. ‘Perhaps, but it is not for you to decide.’ He began to chant in a sonorous tone, the words meaningless, but then perhaps the words weren’t important. Maybe it was the sound itself, for the Shathra Stone began to vibrate in cadence with the Keeper’s voice.

The light of the artefact grew brighter, as a mist began to lift from its surface, growing until it surrounded them in a haze. Desool was aware of the guards stumbling back, as ethereal figures formed within the mist. Only the Horites and the viral mages held their position. He couldn’t see where Zane was, but he imagined she was keeping out of the way. She’d better be, he thought.

Divine winged figures, bodies glistening silver in the light; Desool squinted at them, but couldn’t discern any faces. That they were angels was clear to everyone, but these were in their pure form.

One of the ethereal visitors stepped closer, and laid a hand on Gog’s shoulder. Desool’s heart lurched at the thought of Gog being chosen. For his part, the eldest of the brothers grinned in triumph. He began to laugh, eyes wild, but the laughter faltered. His skin blackened as his eyes turned molten. Flames erupted from his nostrils, mouth, and ears. Fire scoured him from the inside out. What remained, hand still on the Stone, was a body shaped of ash. It disintegrated seconds later.

Next the angel turned to Anak. It was clear he sought to free himself before the angel reached him, tugging at his hand. The Stone refused to let him go. The angel touched him too and he screeched in agony as he turned to ice, cold vapour escaping his lips one last time, and then he shattered into a thousand pieces.

When the angel stopped by Nanel, Desool cried out, trying to free himself to reach out and strangle the ethereal assassin. He could not budge a muscle.

The angel paused as though confused by her, uncertain. Then, he touched her on the forehead with a finger, appearing to draw some sort of symbol. It blazed bright like white fire, before fading to nothing. Nanel blinked and withdrew her hand, apparently unharmed.

Then the being turned to Desool, and bowed its head. He felt as though a hand reached inside of him and took something. A part of him. There was a feeling of ... something missing. He realised the Shathra Stone must have taken a piece of his soul. When he tried to move his hand, this time it let him go, and he stepped back.

‘Well, what do I do now?’ he demanded, trying not to look at what was left of his brothers. As he spoke, the angels vanished within the mist.

‘They have chosen you,’ said Volo. ‘But you knew this. The Seraphim Council had already spoken. You are our new king. However, your link to the Stone was a necessary step, that and dealing with your brothers.’

Desool glanced down at himself and then back up. ‘I don’t feel different, and ...’ Something had begun to change in him, however. He’d never produced his wings, something which should have already happened to a Rephaim his age. He’d begun to wonder if they’d ever appear.

Now they did.

Punctures in his shoulders caused him to buckle, to go down on one knee, fists to the floor. He roared as the pain seared through him like a lightning strike. He felt them now, like extra limbs. He heard them flap, saw them in his peripheral vision.

Moments later, he rose reborn.

They all stared at him, and it was Zane who spoke first in a whisper. ‘They’re ... beautiful.’

Folding them around him like a cloak, he examined them, heart beating like a drum. They were not what he’d expected. The usual Rephaim wings were flightless expanses of hide, hideous at best, mere shadows of the glory of their ancient forefathers.

Desool’s, however, were feathered wings the colour of fresh snow. Feeling confused and somewhat afraid, he turned to the Keeper.

‘Feel any different now?’ asked Volo dryly. The Horites had begun to gather close, chanting, the imperial viral envoys standing in respect with cowled heads bowed. The Keeper approached Desool and held out the Shathra Stone. ‘The Guardian King does not need a crown nor a throne. This is all he needs. Rule well, Desool, and make this old man proud.’

He accepted the artefact, whose glow had returned to normal, as it began to quieten. Desool glanced up at his uncle. ‘I don’t know how to be a king, let alone a guardian of anything. What do I do?’

‘Well,’ said Volo, ‘with me beside you, you shall learn quickly.’

‘And me,’ said Nanel, joining them.

‘Ah yes,’ said Volo. ‘My apologies my dearest, I nearly forgot. It appears you have been chosen also, as the new Horite priestess. You shall oversee the Shathra Stone’s care while your brother rules.’ Desool’s sister grinned, eyes twinkling with delight, before she winked at her brother.

Zane approached and gripped his arm, looking up at him. ‘And you have me too. I know a thing or two about leadership. Besides a king needs a queen.’ She paused, noting the pregnant silence which greeted her words. ‘What? Did I say something wrong?’

Desool glanced at his uncle, noting the disapproval, but instead Volo said, ‘You are the king now, my boy. What I think about anything no longer matters. I will advise you, but on marital matters you’ll have to find your own way.’

Then he knelt as did the Horites, the guards, and even Zane, which surprised him the most as she was so headstrong. It was rather embarrassing. He didn’t know what to do or how to act.

He stared about the acropolis, his new home, his people. A darkness was coming that would threaten to destroy them. The angels had chosen a new guardian, not just for the Stone, but for his people and the world. No longer could the Nephilim hide away from the outside. No longer could they assume they were special or above the events of human kind.

A new king, and a new Nephilim would arise. Desool smiled as he realised, he had finally found his place and his home.