Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
P urification involved a long process of meditating on holy scrip, interrupted by bathing. It wasn’t the nice kind of bath, soaking in a tub until you’re pruny. No, it involved having your skin scrubbed until your whole body was raw. In ice water.
I must have gotten soft as a musician, because that cold water was a shock, and Charity and Faith were incredibly thorough about removing a few layers of skin while I visualized memorized scripture. I wasn’t allowed to say it out loud, because I’d always start singing it, and then it would become about the music instead of the meaning, and I’d get electrocuted or burned, or cut by whatever holy relic I was trying to make friends with.
I’d always been obsessed with Hero, but who wasn’t? She was a holy sword that could cut through anything and also allowed her bearer the strength to wield her like Hero wasn’t six feet long and four inches wide.
I bathed in a small curtained area of the kitchen that the sword bearers had prepared, while Rook sang and his ogres drummed. When Rich’s voice joined Rook’s, I sat up and lost my train of thought. His voice with Rook’s was the most interesting, complicated thing. Rich made the monotonous chanting into something truly magical.
Charity thumped me on the head. “Focus.”
I nodded and got back to lambs lying down with lions. Eventually, I felt the strength flow into me while my mind settled into the calm paths of peace and acceptance. Everything would go according to God’s will. There was purpose in my mission, and I would accomplish my purpose.
Once I achieved the right state of mind, the water wasn’t cold, and I didn’t have any fear or doubt, just calm reassurance. I’d missed this part of being in HOST’s.
When I was dressed in the while padded underlayer, I wasn’t surprised when Charity opened the bottom drawer in the cask and pulled out my old armor. It was simply as it should be, and I would accept it with gratitude. I’d be surprised later when I wasn’t focusing my mind and will.
The singing cut off as Faith began strapping on my greaves. The absence of Rook’s voice, strength, and will, was a shock, but he’d been singing for ages. Finally, my armor was on, and then Charity secured her visor and opened the lid, revealing the most terrifying sword I’d ever wanted to wield.
My heart rate increased for a few beats before I refocused my mind on the task at hand. I had duty and purpose. Great evil must be defeated. I placed my hand over the handle and slowly spread my fingers, readying myself to touch the glittering jewel.
It hit my palm, knocking me back, and sending my arm swinging in an arc that would have decapitated some angels if they didn’t duck. I stared at the sword in my hand, at its tip so high above me, and the long, gleaming length of the beautiful work of death.
“We will defeat her,” I said.
A burst of light ran down its edge from tip to grip, warmth from the blade spreading through me while the heavenly gold rippled its agreement.
There wasn’t anything better than going into battle armed with a heavenly sword, unless it’s a heavenly sword and a battle harp that literally took my breath away. I’d been behind the curtain with the sword bearers all night and almost all day when they pulled it open and I was faced with the most glorious battle harp that I’d ever seen. I just stared at it, then glanced at Hero, who seemed to wink at me.
Rook wasn’t there, of course not, because I couldn’t get distracted from my duty and resolve. This harp was made for duty and resolve, but she was also ridiculously beautiful. And enormous. Could I even lift the thing?
When I walked towards the harp, I saw my own reflection in the window behind the harp, looking like a serious lion. It was disconcerting. Well, I wasn’t ever officially discharged. I hadn’t worn this armor since the last time I fought for the HARPs, when I killed so many to save my squad. It had been meant to be nothing more than a drill on challenging terrain, so the rest of the army wasn’t anywhere close when the opposition rose up literally out of nothing, and would have killed everyone…
“Hero allowed you to hold her, so you’re worthy,” Faith said in her quiet voice at my elbow. She had excellent tone. I’d tried to recruit her to sing with me and her sister, who had been a harp back when I’d been in them.
“I know.”
She laughed even as Hero got alarmingly hot in my hand. It didn’t approve of lies, even when you weren’t aware that’s what they were until after you said them. “Then why are you looking at yourself like that? I never got the chance to thank you for what you did that day. We would have lost Virtue if you hadn’t?—”
“No need to thank me.” I took a steady breath and held onto the peace and resolve. I hated remembering that day. I’d saved them, but no one looked at me the same afterwards. “I did my duty.”
“You did more than your duty. Whatever magic you used, it hurt you almost as much as the other?—”
“It wasn’t the magic as much as their souls. I relived their death, their pain, their suffering until my dad put them to rest.”
“Their souls?” Her eyes widened behind her helmet, so I got a good look at the whites in them. “How…”
“Focus,” Charity said, stepping between us. “Time for war.”
I nodded at her because I was ready. One way or another, I was going to seize the day.
They carried the harp for me, leading the way to the enormous white assault vehicle driven by Rich. Gavriel opened the back door so we could all climb inside. We stood in the back without speaking, Hero safely sheathed on my back, her weight and warmth a great comfort to me.
Gavriel offered me some heavenly bread, and I took it, eating quickly while Rich drove like a crazy person. It didn’t matter. We all held our ground, standing in the back like we were real angels.
“It will be a battle of endurance,” Gavriel said eventually.
I nodded, but I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t be distracted by anything right now, and I still had feelings about the whole thing with him.
“Let’s go,” Charity said the second Rich stopped the truck.
She jumped out the back and then turned to take one end of the harp as Hope took the other. I followed them out, and Gavriel and Richard fell in behind me, giving it the feel of a parade.
As we walked towards the stadium, the crowd parted for us, their stares and hushed whispers bringing back old times. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to be so separate from everyone else as I walked with the angels.
Nothing would be the same after this. I’d go from being the mad music master with some angel blood to a soldier of the HOSTs. Hopefully it didn’t come out who my dad was, or I’d never hear the end of it. Of course, that wouldn’t be a problem if I died.
Hero, the sword grew hot on my back. I couldn’t let my mind wander, couldn’t let doubt weaken my resolve. Evil would be defeated, therefore, I could not lose. I breathed evenly, blocking out the crowd, the musicians who didn’t recognize me beneath my helmet and the strangers who had come to see the blood, even though only an idiot would go so close to somewhere there were trolls, their curiosity was stronger than their sense.
Like that elven fellow with his little son. He wasn’t a purebred, of course not. They’d have better things to do, except for the emperor. My grandfather. What was he doing here if it wasn’t to assassinate me? It was very strange that an emperor of elves who lived somewhere in Europe, or in some magical pocket world, would come here. Very strange.
I took a deep breath and focused on the weight of Hero on my back, of the pounding in my heart, of the strength and anticipation building with every step. I hadn’t had a real duel for years. This would challenge me, stretch my muscles, and give me the opportunity to fight openly against evil. Being music master, I had to manipulate, persuade, and above all not kill anyone. Today, I was the sword of justice and truth. I would fall on the corrupt troll that had fed on the holy souls of her opponents.
I walked into the field, toward the group of trolls in the center, the sword-bearers carrying my harp. Was it mine to keep? When I got closer, I frowned, because while the trolls were all enormous and terrifying, there was no enormous troll in the group. No, there wasn’t a fifteen foot monster, but there was a chick in a fur bikini who was probably six feet tall, with all kinds of excessive curves. Was she their mascot? Her skin was ashy green, and her hair was inky green, in a high ponytail, so it swirled around when she spun around to look at me.
She smiled when she saw me, the harp, and the surrounding angels.
“I don’t like it,” Gavriel murmured, still walking behind me. “Shapeshifting shouldn’t be allowed.”
I almost turned to look at him. Was he serious? That furry chick was Garnagth? Impossible. And yet Rook was Magr. If he could figure out that kind of magic, why couldn’t she? The thought of Rook along with the shocking sight of her fur bikini almost shook me from my focus, but the weight of Hero centered me. Evil could not truly disguise itself. It would always be revealed. And when it was, I would defeat it. Even if I got fur between my teeth.
The sword bearers set down my harp and then took two paces back and to the side so I could stand between them, facing off against the troll while Gavriel had my back. I stood there, hands relaxed at my sides while the weight of my old armor settled into my skin. I’d waited for battle so many times in this armor.
The troll woman shifter came forward, flaring her green nostrils in a truly attractive way. Just kidding. Only Rook had attractive nostrils.
“You smell of death,” she rumbled, voice scraping against my musicality like she wanted to corrupt my taste forever.
I smiled. She probably couldn’t see my smile beneath my helmet. “Your death.” My voice cut across the field, like Hero, sharp and primed for battle.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed slightly as she continued sniffing. “Where is the pretty prize? We must be certain he’s here for claiming once I’ve defeated you. He will hear your screams and feel your pain as I crush your ribs and smash your brains.”
Wow. She was a poet. Too bad her voice was so phenomenally awful, or I’d try to recruit her. Who was I kidding? I’d recruit anyone, no matter how awful the voice. There was a place for every sound. She just needed lessons from Tiago.
I settled into my breathing exercises, the same as Charity and Faith were doing, but Gavriel’s breathing wasn’t as stable, calm, centered as it should be. He didn’t like this situation. He smelled like he wanted to be the one to face the troll instead of me. Protective of me. He smelled protective of me? How could someone smell protective? It was like how ogres could communicate through scent. Only he wasn’t an ogre, but if he was part goblin…I had no idea. I focused on my breathing and trying to smell confident and at peace, to communicate that with him. His breathing eventually steadied, and we became one whole, uniting in will and purpose.
And then Rook came out, flanked by ogres, so many ogres. It felt like we were about to engage in a three-way war: four angels, two dozen trolls, and at least a hundred ogres. In spite of our few numbers, I had complete confidence. Maybe I was a delusional angel, but it was better to lead with confidence than fear.
Rook stood there, in his pretty luthier face, that I refused to let distract me. I was in battle. I could smell him, his concern for me, and something else. When he looked at me in my angel armor, he didn’t recognize me, and worse, didn’t think I recognized him. I centered myself. I was here to battle evil, not wax eloquent about my love. My mate. My fiancé if he’d actually gone to my father to get me a sword, and ask permission to marry me.
My heart ached with a sudden raging happiness. Rook the Luthier, and Luthiel Slandriil the composer had asked my dad for his consent. Rook was serious about marrying me, even though I was a delusional angel. He must be completely insane. He was so perfect for me.
“I’m here,” Rook growled, low, but so very sweet. Was he hoarse from singing to me all night? Yes. He needed a nice lemon tea to soothe his throat.
“You will wed the winner of this duel,” Garnagth said in her perfectly awful voice. “Swear it!”
He didn’t look away from me. It’s like he didn’t even notice his lifelong betrothed. “That harp wants to win. I trust you would never disappoint an instrument made by your favorite luthier.” Finally, he glanced at the troll. “Your end has come.”
She snarled at him, and a vapor rose up around her, like pale ashes before it vanished. “You are mine. You and your people will beg me for mercy after I slaughter her like a dog.”
Who slaughters dogs? The vapor was familiar, like the field after battle, when the dead settle, when the souls drift away. Someone had said something about her holding onto souls. How would you do that? She had a black curved tooth on a thong around her neck, framed by her bikini top. At some point, she would explode into her other shape and crush me like a gnat. She would try.
“It’s time,” I said, and nodded at Faith and Charity. They turned as one unit and marched away with Gavriel, leaving me on the field to face my foe.
She said some more things. Was that ogre? What a well-educated troll. Her escorts turned and jogged off the field, leaving only Rook and his hundreds of ogres lined up behind him.
“You will win,” he said to me in a low growl before he turned and stalked off, hating every step he took away from me. He would kill her if she hurt me.
I stood there, still, calm, centered until the clock struck the hour and she moved, leaping towards me while pulling out a large axe to hack me to pieces. I drew my fingers over the harp I’d never played, drawing a shield around me in a six-foot perimeter. It bloomed from the glorious instrument like a flower in midsummer, as fat and waxy as love.
I played another round of notes that wrapped around her like cords, strangling her. She gasped, jerked, and then pulled out a flute. It looked like it had been carved out of a massive leg bone. There was no way it would have a good sound.
It struck me like tiny darts that wounded my musician soul. It was death, corruption, decay, and despair. It ate at my resolve, my peace, my will. That was her greatest weapon, to defeat the soul first. That’s how she’d feed on me, with that horrible music.
I smiled as I bent over my harp and actually played the love song, not a spell, not an attack, not a defense, but the song on the scroll that had wanted me to learn it. It wasn’t particularly deep or complex, but it matched the flute’s range perfectly. I was the music master of Singsong City. This was my turf, and that flute would play for me.
I twisted her sound until it was on key, and then wove my harp around it, drawing it into my song with the single-minded devotion I’d always had for beautiful sound.
Somewhere, I could hear Rich singing, whether it was in my head or if he really had decided to break into song, I couldn’t tell. I drew that sound in as well, using it to push the flute where it needed to be. While I played, I wove a subtle spell beneath it, an undoing, a loosening, so subtle and vague, unlike the spell she was trying to weave around me. She was spelling me with more despair, weakness, and fear, but I was playing music, and as long as that lasted, nothing else mattered.
In a music competition, well, it wasn’t really a competition, but it was pretty optimistic of her to try.
Finally she screeched, breaking my ears, and then she snapped her flute in two and then the world went completely silent.
My fingers fumbled, and the shield failed.
In a second, she was on me, once more with the enormous axe, aiming at my neck.
I rolled away from the harp, pulling Hero as I came to my feet. I took the axe blow on my blade, turning it to the side so I didn’t break my arm. Hero couldn’t be broken so easily, but I wasn’t made out of anything quite so stern.
My footwork came back to me easily, thanks to years I spent drilling, ignited by Hero’s magic. It all came back to me, and I hadn’t been terrible when I’d worked so hard to find a place with my brother amidst the lions. I blocked every swing, every hack, showing the perfect technique that my father had drilled into me.
When she exploded into her fifteen-foot tall version, she threw away the axe and grabbed for me. I parried her hand, but she kicked my blade away, sending me tumbling back. I kept rolling and came up on my feet in time to block another blow, but she clapped my blade between her palms and twisted it, wrenching my shoulder when I wouldn’t let go of the blade. When the blade was down, the handle awkwardly up, she kicked me, sending me flying a good twenty feet before I finally hit the ground, holding Hero above my head so I wouldn’t chop myself apart. Actually, Hero seemed to do that, like she didn’t want to be the one who killed me.
It took me slightly longer to get to my feet that time. The big troll was a much more difficult opponent. She’d been toying with me, seeing what I could do, before she brought out the guns, like she was auditioning me to see if I was worthy of being fed on.
Flickers of sound were starting to come back. The crowd was roaring, my ears ringing, and her muttering spells in a guttural tongue I’d never heard before, but it might have been demonic. She was getting ready to feed on my soul.
I missed my dad. I missed talking to him while he made some weird new salad recipe, about the state of the soul, and the theory of angel blood. How could she possibly feed on someone’s soul? I yanked on the spell I’d been weaving so subtly for so long, and the thong around her neck came undone, falling to the grass between us. Did she notice? No. Did she stop her spell? No. Was I wrong? Was it something else, like a tooth filling or something?
Hero burned in my hand her refusal to doubt her convictions. I gripped Hero with two hands, bracing myself for the attack on my soul that was sure to come.
The troll lunged towards me, hand outstretched before she yanked it back, like she was pulling a noose around my neck, tugging my soul away from me.
I used her open stance to thrust deep into her belly, as fast and deep as I could go. Hero shone brightly as she burned through the thick troll hide, while Garnagth roared in surprise, pain, and rage before she whirled away from my blade, now dripping troll blood.
She brought her hand up to touch her chest. When she realized that her necklace was gone, she didn’t go looking for it. Instead, she bared her enormous teeth and with a roar that was destined to cause permanent hearing damage, she came at me, smashing, kicking, her whole body a variety of differently sized battering rams.
I did my best to dodge, but I had to stay close enough to cut her apart. Like Gavriel said, it was down to endurance. Without all the spells my grandfather had helped me weave, I wouldn’t have lasted two minutes, but with that, and my armor, as well as Rook’s strength, I didn’t die immediately.
It wasn’t a neat battle, not when it took so much effort to cut her, even with Hero’s fierce determination. I leapt away from her blows and then back in range to cut her, but she was ready to smash my ribs with a fist, sending me flying away after barely pricking her neck. Still, I rolled to my feet and prepared again, breathing slightly more shallowly with my now at least cracked ribs.
That small cut on her neck was my target. I needed to sever enough nerves and arteries to stop her, and that was the smallest point. The next time I managed to slash two inches into her neck before she slammed me back with her foot, sending me flying, and that time, not rolling to my feet. Nope. I was stunned for a second too long and barely rolled away from her foot when she stomped down where my chest had been. I kept rolling until I reached a knee, then my feet, coming up and around with a swing that caught the wrong side of her neck, but she dodged back anyway.
Hero reversed easily as she moved back, so the troll helped me cut into her neck a little deeper before the troll recoiled again, and that time back-fisted me.
I dodged back, but she swept my legs, bringing me down on my back. I brought my sword up, so when she stomped on me, she skewered her foot. Large drops of blood spattered my chest plate, and the swirling vapor of smoke from it made my eyes burn.
I didn’t inhale as I yanked Hero up through the troll’s toes, then rolled over my shoulder and onto my feet before I swung again at her neck, six inches deep.
I needed to get the blood off. It was convenient that she grabbed me and threw me down against the ground, so my chest plate was ground into the dirt, rubbing off the blood and snapping my collarbone.
How long could I keep this up? She picked me up and slammed me down again, this time helmet-first, like an excellent wrestler’s throw. Somehow I managed to scramble out of the way before she came down on top of me. I twisted at the last second and got another slash into her neck before something happened that was blurry and unclear. How long did that go on? Me, getting in a few centimeters, while she battered me until I was basically a bundle of internal bleeding encased in heavenly gold. The armor held up beautifully, and so did my spells, but still, I wasn’t going to be pretty when they peeled off my armor.
Still, little by little, her head was coming undone. Not fast enough, because I was moving too slow, and I’d inhaled too much of her poisonous vapor, and she had all these souls standing around, feeding her their energy like sad little balloon people.
One of the souls looked down sadly, where a tiny dark thing was sticking out of the grass. From my position on the grass, I could only see that one thing sticking up, a dark spike out of the green with a sea of blurry people in the stands beyond.
I rolled and brought up my sword, dodging a foot, but getting grabbed and thrown in the opposite direction of the horn. Just as well. It might corrupt me or steal my soul if I touched it. I rolled to my feet kind of on accident that time. It just worked out like that, so I was ready to chop deeply before I twisted away from her, barely getting the brush of her knuckles along my side.
If I could release those souls, then she’d have less strength and maybe finally start slowing down. How had my dad done that for me when I’d had that fever? He’d sung me some lullabies about heaven and angels singing you to sleep, to rest in the clouds.
Most of her souls weren’t angels, but that’s the only idea I had. I started singing while I was getting the tar beat out of me, hacking at that neck like a giant oak tree with a dull butter-knife. I focused on the closest soul, more visible as I sang, willing her to the light. With a snap, she exploded into white ashes, and then souls gathered closer to me while I sang and fought, and tried not to pass out.
The next one erupted into vaporous ash so close to me, I got some of it in my mouth. It tasted better than Garnagth smelled, but not by much. I sang and fought, fought and sang, until I noticed that the troll was moving slower, and her hits weren’t quite as hard. Excellent. I only had a hundred more souls to put to rest, along with most of her enormous neck to still get through. I could barely move.
That’s when the strings began to play the opening notes to Singsong City’s theme. It was different from the usual in that it started in a slight minor key that shifted rapidly through to another minor on the other side of the major. It was exactly the kind of thing Luthiel Slandriil would have done to the majestic if slightly dull theme.
Had Rook done an adaptation of the city’s theme? Trumpets came in, sweet and pure then twisted into a tangle of notes that clashed perfectly with the pulsing cellos. Those were elves playing those cellos. Angels on the horns. Where had he gotten so many musicians? Not that Singsong City didn’t have some musicians, but not like this. This was the best in the world playing a song by the best composer, and if I wasn’t wrong, he was conducting.
Strength and energy went through me as the music built. I moved with the music, force, power, complexity, dodging her blows much more effectively before moving in with slashes at that massive neck. She couldn’t touch me while I moved with the orchestra. And then I tripped on her forgotten battle axe and fell flat on my back, knocking the wind out of me.
She picked me up with a roar and bashed me down against the ground, right next to the ghost who was still staring at the horn. I snagged it up, and then when I got the chance to bring up my sword and hack into her neck, I twisted around instead and leapt up, shoving that horn deep into her eye while the music crescendoed, giving me strength and will as I buried the horn deeper through those tough tissues.
The shock on her face was priceless as she jerked to a stop, then fell to her knees, staring at me while blood and vapour welled out of her eye socket.
“Crazy angel. You beat so bad to fake chop neck?” Blood welled out of her mouth. She reached up to pull the horn out, and I chopped off the hand with a scream that came from my belly, an ogre battle cry. She reached with the other hand, and I chopped it off too. Then my blade ignited with heavenly fire and in a crackling blaze of righteous wrath. I swung Hero around and cut the last foot through her neck.
The heavenly fire consumed the ogre blood, heat and flame so bright and hot, it singed my lashes and baked the air in my lungs. Apparently, I’d had air in my lungs.
But not for long, because I’d unleashed heavenly fire on the earth and had no idea how to stop it.