Resting one another by taking turns with the sling so they had no need to stop, the eleven archangels made a direct trek to an ice island that Alexander and Charisemnon flew ahead to scout.
Conscious of her vulnerable physical state, Raphael had checked in with Michaela multiple times during the trek. I can ask for a break if you need it, he’d said. I will blame it on the output of wildfire.
A little pale under the smooth richness of her skin, she’d nonetheless demurred. We must do this if my son is to be safe. I cannot stand any delay.
So they flew on. He noticed that Caliane stayed close to Michaela, not enough for it to be remarked on, yet enough to render assistance should it be necessary. But Michaela managed to stay airborne until they landed at their destination: a small, rocky island encased in clear ice.
Together, Zanaya and Elijah created the deep hole needed for the burial, then all eleven of them joined to lower Antonicus into it using the ropes. They took it slow, none of them wishing to simply dump him. Once the sling touched the frozen soil that was his resting ground, they dropped the ropes into the hole with him.
Caliane stepped forward to the edge of the grave. “Antonicus is gone from this world, perhaps forever, but before he went, he gave us a great gift. He showed us the enemy we must be ready to fight, the evil that may defeat us all if we are not ready. For that, he will be remembered forever in our histories. I will ensure the Historian knows of this, so she can share it with angelkind when the time is right.”
Right now, Raphael understood, the knowledge of Antonicus’s passing would only spread fear and terror. Archangels were not vulnerable. That was their legend and what kept the world in balance.
“To Antonicus.” Caliane lifted a handful of shattered ice-rock.
“To Antonicus.” Together, they threw the handfuls into the grave, then Raphael, Titus, and Astaad collapsed the grave inward before filling it with the material excavated during its creation. It left a depression over which they built a cairn using rocks taken from another small and distant island.
Then, while Michaela and Caliane kept watch, the rest of them flew toward a trawler anchored about two hours from the island. Each of them had contacted their seconds while yet in India, gotten details of any ships that’d be passing through the wider Antarctic area at the correct time.
Their target flew the flag of Elijah’s land.
On it were the timbers, sheets of metal, wires, and other materials necessary to build a research station in a different area of this remote continent. Distant as the trawler was, there was no danger the crew would realize the archangels’ flight path or final destination. That crew watched goggle-eyed as archangel after archangel flew down, before flying off with materials to build a crypt that would act as a cage for the infection.
I shall destroy the ship and its crew, Aegaeon said after the last pickup.
There’s no need, Neha replied. I wiped their memories. They know only that they have been ordered by their archangel to return to base and renew their supplies. Better to leave no ripple here, not even the small one caused by the loss of a trawler.
Raphael knew his hunter would be horrified by Neha’s unilateral choice, but those mortals could now live out their lives in safety. This secret was too huge, too deadly.
It had been decided they would embargo the entire area of the grave for fifty miles in every direction. No ships or flyers. As a final act, they would brand the crypt with each of their sigils.
No one in the world was suicidal enough to take on the entire Cadre.
Elijah, whose territory was nearest the ice island, would have his most trusted squadron fly regular patrols over that area, ensure Antonicus stayed undisturbed. Titus was farther, but he would also send out irregular patrols to make certain no one became complacent and decided to encroach on the graveyard.
With so many of them, the crypt was built by nightfall. They burned their sigils into the metal walls in silence. After his ascension, Raphael had chosen a simple marker for his name in the angelic tongue as his sigil, but he’d altered that to include Elena in the months after they fell, while he waited for her to wake.
The marker for his name now twined around a dagger.
Aegaeon sneered. “You broadcast your heart’s weakness.”
“The world knows well what I feel for my Elena, and I would not hide it.” His words held cold judgment, but Aegaeon was too drunk on his own belief in himself to sense it.
Caliane was the last one to burn in her sigil. “It is done.”
Eleven archangels rose up in silence from a grave that should not exist.
Cassandra’s voice rang in Raphael’s head, an echo from the final moments before he’d released the power that had shattered the chrysalis.
The future aligns. Paths are chosen. Death comes.
Such death, child of flames.
Goddess of Nightmare. Wraith without a shadow. Rising into her Reign of Death.
Wings of silver. Wings of blue.
Mortal heart. Broken dreams.
Shatter. Shatter. Shatter.
A sundering.
A grave.
I see the end. I see . . .
Was this the grave Cassandra had foretold? Or would there be more? How many of the Cadre and the awakened ones would be alive by the time this ended?
45
Elena hugged the Hummingbird, inhaling the gentle love that was her scent. “Are you sure you want us to go?” she asked after drawing back. “We can stay longer.”
“Ah, child.” The Hummingbird smiled. “I feel you missing my boy who did not come from my womb. I am quite capable of being left to my own devices.” She glanced at Illium, who stood on the far edge of the roof having a low-voiced conversation with Aodhan.
He didn’t look happy but he didn’t shrug off Aodhan’s touch when the other angel closed his hand over Illium’s nape. His wings opened and closed restlessly, his jaw set in a rigid line.
“Care for him.” The Hummingbird’s voice was a melody of sorrow that tangled Elena’s heart in melancholy chains. “My boy’s heart loves too much and it hurts too much when it is broken.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. Raphael’s ordered Aodhan home, too.” She returned her attention to the Hummingbird. “I never realized how strong you were, Lady Sharine, and I’m sorry for that. This week has taught me to never again underestimate you.”
“You are flattering me, but I will accept it.” A sparkle infiltrating the sadness, she dusted something off Elena’s shoulder. “Thank you for indulging my need to get my anger out with knives. I know I am no warrior. I am also not who I once was . . . and my son, he has had a ghost for a mother for too long. It is enough.”
The Hummingbird’s beautiful pale eyes, champagne held up to moonlight, yet had an ethereal quality, as if she saw beyond the veil, but in her voice was determination. “I never thought I would thank Aegaeon for anything, but I will thank him for the roar of rage that woke me up from my own long Sleep.”
While the Hummingbird went to speak to Illium and Aodhan, Elena looked out over the village and thought of how different it felt from when she’d last been here—people still flinched when they spotted wings, but they recovered quickly and many offered hesitant smiles.
If she walked with the Hummingbird, there was no flinch, only joy and adoration. Children ran to Lady Sharine with flowers clutched in their tiny, pudgy hands, while adults bowed down low when she passed, though she was not an angel to demand such things. She would take the children’s sticky hands in hers and walk with them as she spoke to their parents. At times, she would touch the shoulder of a villager who had bowed, and ask them about their day.