Chapter 1
Michael Caelum, the Archangel of Protection, stood at the edge of what used to be a vibrant, bustling village. He maintained his stoic visage, impassive as per the norm. For the moment, Michael chose to ignore the admittedly numerous times his temper rose beyond its breaking point. As difficult as it was to push down the urge to allow one of his infamous fits of rage loose, Michael held tight and swallowed it down. He refused cause a scene. Not in the midst of so much pointless carnage, death spread out like a gruesome buffet.
The sharp scent of decomposing bodies made Michael’s nostrils flare and whilst he took extreme care to ensure he projected the picture of control over his quite irritating human emotions—an unfortunate side-effect of an immortal taking an Earthly form—by burying them deep, behind his mask of impassiveness, Michael felt anything but controlled.
Aye, he was enraged. Beyond enraged. In truth, Michael found himself so bloody furious, he viewed the destruction laid out in front of him through a red-tinged haze.
“Pestilence,” Michael snarled. The facade slipped and his lips peeled back to expose his gleaming white teeth. He spoke with his jaw clenched to maintain an even tone lest he give away the truth of his emotional state.
“It appears so,” Michael’s companion agreed. “Luke deems it to be the Black Death, though the affliction has not been seen in over a century.” His fellow immortal paused to stare at the gruesome number of bodies before continuing. “The word is that all are dead. Including the Manor Lord.”
Michael shifted his attention from the rotting, bloated corpses of hundreds upon hundreds of once vibrant humans to face St. Anthony of Padua, or Tony, the Patron Saint of Lost Items. Tony appeared as angry, if not angrier, than Michael—well, what little anger bled through Michael’s tightly orchestrated expression. In truth, the saint looked downright murderous. In time, Tony must needs learn to hide his emotions. Michael would say nothing today, as Tony was still young for an immortal and did not yet possess the skills necessary to control his feelings. Though, Tony was passionate, and Michael couldn’t be certain Tony would ever learn, nor care to hide how he felt.
Michael ignored his thoughts of young Anthony and spoke. “In truth, this behavior can no longer be ignored. Death alone razed three mid-sized villages in the past six months. Famine has destroyed enough crops and livestock in the eastern fields to rival the Great Wheat Famine. Based on this most current discovery,” Michael grimaced and gestured toward the field of corpses. “Courtesy of Pestilence, I am certain War is responsible for the current strife and infighting in the south.” Fingernails dug deep crescents in Michael’s palms. Fates, his Earthly form was so tense his jaw ached. “We must needs put a stop to the Horsemen’s rampage.”
“How?” Tony’s handsome features twisted with indignation. “Together, they are far too powerful. Every attempt the Guard has made to banish the bastards has thus far failed.”
“I’m still sorting it out,” Michael snapped, then bit his tongue. He must needs rein in the pressure in his chest. The rising urge to lash out in violence. “What I do know is that we cannot continue to allow the Horsemen to destroy the Earthly plane.” He narrowed his gaze as he took in the diseased corpses. “I am the Archangel of Protection, therefore my sworn duty to maintain balance between humans and immortals whilst preserving both species. It is clear the Horsemen cannot, nor will not, peacefully coexist with either.”
A burning flush prickled across Michael’s skin. A knot of red hot fury expanded in his gut and his voice rose as Michael clung to the last fraying threads which held him back. Tony was staring at him, yet Michael ignored the gaze which burned into the side of his face and continued his rant.
“They care for nothing but their own selfish needs and desires!” Michael vibrated with fury. Shaking, he closed his eyes and inhaled deep through his nose, a last ditch attempt to quell the fiery rage that burned in his gut.
“Do you suppose they have a larger goal?” Tony pointed at the decimated village. “One event of this magnitude every decade or so is customary for a Horseman. But this? So many horrific incidents in such a short span of time? It is unusual, even for those soulless bastards.”
“Mayhap.” Michael squinted and tilted his head toward Tony. The young male served as Michael’s most trusted companion and despite his youth, Tony was second in command of the Guard of the Righteous, a coalition of angelen and sancten. The Guard was tasked by the Fates to interfere in instances of the abuse of immortal power and thus, deal with the perpetrators. Tony’s suggestion clicked in place and Michael frowned.
“Are you suggesting the Horsemen mean to bring about the Apocalypse?”
Tony answered with only a sharp nod. Without a single twitch of his stony façade—an impressive feat considering—Michael glanced away to stare at the diseased bodies which littered the muddy ground. His angelen were busy collecting the dead, the gruesome pile now tall enough to surpass Michael’s own six-foot-six stature. The bodies were to be burned to prevent illness spreading to nearby villages. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin.
“I admit, it appears the Horsemen are traveling the path toward Judgment Day, though I cannot confirm it to be truth.” A torch touched the bonfire and brilliant orange flames, many over twenty feet high, licked at the stars overhead. “But I intend to find out.”
It wasn’t until the ashes were buried and the final dwelling reduced to rubble that Michael moved from his spot. The weight of a long, heavy sword carried in a worn leather sheath which Michael wore strapped to his back served to lend him comfort. The hilt sat positioned between Michael’s wide shoulder blades in such a way that all he must needs do was reach back and pull it free. He closed his eyes and a low hum began to emanate from the sword, the sound growing in intensity until the weapon vibrated with power. The energy crackled in Michael’s ear as the consecrated blade spoke to him. It was eager for battle, hungry to fight the evil that surrounded them.
“Soon,” Michael whispered to his beloved weapon. He reached over his shoulder and caressed the well-worn hilt. “Soon.”
The Guard dematerialized back to their private meeting chambers, a modest but large stacked stone dwelling far from human settlement, though Michael had a sorcerer cast a spell upon the structure. One that kept humans away. When any non immortal happened by, they would immediately feel the need to head in a different direction. It served them well over time.
Lit sconces lent a soft glow and a roaring fire in the large open hearth ensured plenty of light permeated the room. As one of the seven Archangels created to serve the Fates of the Hereafter, Michael was the chosen leader of the Guard of the Righteous, a battalion of angelen and sancten tasked by the Fates to protect and defend the innocent with Michael at the helm.
As the Protector, Michael was also burdened with maintaining the delicate balance between humans and immortals, whilst simultaneously keeping the immortal world hidden. Preventing immortal discovery by humans proved simple, what with humans’ constant infighting and pitiful communication amongst their own kind. Humankind’s desire to remain ignorant allowed Michael and his brethren to walk and live alongside humans undetected. The resulting freedom gave them unlimited access to Eastlake Falls, the kingdom whose borders contained densest population of immortals on the Earthly plane.
Unfortunately for the unwitting mortals, they constructed their beautiful, thriving township directly above the largest Earthly portal to the Underworld—the very gateway for everything evil to cross planes. The Underworld is a place where the most wretched of immortals were created. Rare as it was, there were times which a daemon or what have you managed to break free of the portal, or were illegally summoned forth by shady immortals. Those escaped from the Underworld usually did so with a single intention—to wreak havoc upon the Earthly plane whilst using humans to fuel their vile needs.
Because of this gateway, the Fates sent Michael and his angelen and sancten from the Hereafter to Eastlake Falls. Their most important task to ensure the portal remained sealed. For centuries… millennia even, Michael and his Guard engaged in the never-ending battle to protect the doorway, from constant attempts by cunning daemons and unscrupulous practitioners to open it.
With all of the Guard present and accounted for, Michael cleared his throat. The chamber fell silent and every head turned in his direction. He loved his immortals and never failed to be awed by the loyalty in their eyes. Michael knew he struck an intimidating figure. Startlingly tall and as wide as two humans, when Michael crossed his thick arms over his broad chest and flexed his thick biceps, there were few who would dare to challenge him. Today Michael tied his blond, shoulder-length hair back with a leather strip to display his stern and unyielding countenance. His only outward tell was the rhythmic ticking of his cheek as he ground his teeth. In truth, if Tony’s theory were correct and the Horsemen were working to bringing about the Apocalypse, it put the entire Earthly plane at risk, and by the bloody Fates, Michael would ensure his Guard damn well knew the seriousness of the situation.
“It appears that despite our best efforts, the Horsemen have increased the frequency of their savage attacks.” Michael’s stern voice commanded attention, as did his steady gaze, stern jaw, and spine held as straight as a well-forged blade. “It has come to my notice,” he tipped his chin toward Tony, who sat at his right hand, “That mayhap the Horsemen are on the path to bringing forth the Apocalypse. In truth, if this is their ultimate goal, at the current rate and the number of seals opened thus far, should we fail to stop them, Judgment Day shall arrive… and soon.” Frightened murmurs rippled through the gathering of immortals. Loath to be interrupted, Michael raised his voice. “We, however…” He paused for effect and waited until every set of eyes returned to the front. “Will. Not. Let. That. Happen. We cannot let that happen.”
“You’re talking about war.”
Michael scanned the room until he found the one who spoke. Inwardly smiling, his serious stare landed on a petite female. The only female member of the Guard. As with every immortal from the Hereafter, she was undoubtedly beautiful, if a bit unusual. The female kept her platinum blonde locks chopped short like a male, which he should think would appear odd, except the severe style only served to enhance her large doe-eyes and full red lips. Joan’s beauty couldn’t even be marred by the grim expression on her youthful face. Somber was the norm for the feisty saint.
Due to her gender and small stature, St. Joan of Arc was one of the Guard’s greatest assets. Oft dismissed by enemies as non-threatening, Joan could get close where others failed. Michael and the male members of the Guard knew better than to make any assumptions, especially when it concerned Joan. Timid and helpless she was not. Joan was a fierce warrior. As the Patron Saint of the Military, she harbored no fear and willingly—aye, eagerly—leapt into battle. Joan thought nothing of taking down immortals twice her size in hand-to-hand, close quarters combat. Michael himself witnessed the damage Joan inflicted without the female breaking a sweat. He had nothing but respect for the fierce warrior.
Michael nodded in response to her question.
“Mayhap it shall come to that. But I would much rather dispose of the Horsemen discreetly. It would not serve us well to alarm the immortal community by alerting them of the Horsemen’s activities. Such knowledge could cause a full panic in Eastlake Falls.”
“You think to hunt them down one by one,” a muscular angel named Donovan said.
“I do,” Michael replied.
Donovan rested his elbows on the table and stroked his short, ginger beard as he contemplated Michael’s words. Donovan was one of Michael’s best fighters and strategists. As an Angel of Protection, Donovan Byrne possessed brute strength, a warrior’s build, and a shrewd and calculating military mind.
After a moment, Donovan shrugged his powerful shoulders. “I’m in.”
Despite his preference to appear stoic and unaffected, Michael couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up. Others quickly followed Donovan’s lead and reaffirmed their dedication to Michael and commitment to defeating the Horsemen.
“We cannot stop until they are banished to the Underworld,” Joan insisted, punctuating her words with a slam of her fist on the table.
Michael watched as the others bobbed their heads in agreement. He knew his Guard would come through, and it pleased him to never need doubt their allegiance to their mission.
“In truth then, we are in agreement.” Michael met the gazes of each of his angelen and sancten. “It shall be necessary to remove each Horseman from the Earthly plane. If left to their own devices, they shall continue to open seals until the Apocalypse is upon us. As of this moment, this task takes precedence.” He stabbed his forefinger down into the dark wood table. “Above all else, it is our sworn duty to stop the Horsemen from bringing Judgment Day. At any cost.” Michael waited for what he didn’t say to sink in—that mayhap one or more could very well lose their life—before dismissing the Guard. “I shall meet with the other Archangels and inform them of our plans. Once that is done, we shall reconvene and ready ourselves to hunt down the Horsemen.”
The males and female—a mix of angels and saints—rose and exited the chamber whilst talking amongst themselves. Some were excited to at last strike against the Horsemen after centuries of standing idly by whilst the four evil brothers carved a destructive path across the land. Others were nervous, unsure it wise to willingly enter battle with such powerful foes.
After exchanging a few final words with Tony and watching the saint dematerialize, Michael stood alone in the empty hall of the Guard. He required a moment or two to convince himself he was steering his immortals down the correct path. Endangering the very existence of his beloved Guard was daunting, but in the end, in truth, it was the very reason the Fates sent them to this plane. To fight and destroy evil. To protect humans and immortals alike from the depravity and suffering brought by malicious beings like the Horsemen.
Without question, as usual, Michael would carry out his duties and hope for no casualties on his side, though he knew the chance nearly non-existent. Though immortal, there were ways to end their existence, though few and far between. Mayhap some of his Guard shall perish, but most would live. Others would suffer injuries both serious and minor. It was the price they, as protectors of the innocent, were expected to pay.
The Fates sent them—sent Michael—to defend the righteous and uphold immortal law, and that was exactly what Michael was going to do, no matter the cost.
* * *
Honor Ward blinked, or attempted to, but found her eyelids too heavy, as though weighted down with great stone blocks. Confused, Honor waited only the span of a few deep breaths before a second attempt. This time, Honor found success, though she immediately wished she hadn’t bothered. Honor no sooner cracked open her eyes than she silently cursed the saints above. Intense white light flooded her vision and assaulted her sensitive eyes. Squinting, it took several moments to adjust to the invasion of light, but eventually Honor saw well enough to take in her surroundings and gasped.
By the Fates.
White.
Everything was white. White upon white upon white, trimmed by more white. The ceiling, walls, fixtures, even the bed and sheets upon which she laid. All white.
“Mercy, I must needs be dreaming.” There could be no other explanation. In Honor’s experience, nothing remained this pristine and unmarred. The dirt and dust of everyday life eventually coated any and all surfaces, and never stayed away, no matter how hard one scrubbed or how often one swept.
“Worry not. You are not dreaming, young one.”
Honor flinched and her pulse raced, as she hadn’t realized anyone was nearby. Turning her head, she found an ethereal female—for reasons unbeknownst to Honor, the word female came to mind, not woman—beautiful beyond words, stepped into view. Besides her obvious beauty, something about the female soothed Honor’s tense muscles. Something… intangible.
As with everything else, the female’s robes were a shimmery, silken white. Honor wanted answers, but knew not what inquiries to make and struggled to collect her scattered thoughts.
“Who… what… where am I?” This place was unlike anything Honor had ever seen. In her experience, dwellings were made of stick or stone or mud. Even castles constructed from the finest cultured marble never achieved this perfect, blemish-free shade of white.
The female smiled, and as with the rest of her, even that was perfect. Two rows of straight, white teeth shone whilst not a wrinkle appeared on her smooth skin. Honor sat up—and silently took note that her own movements proved effortless, almost fluid in nature—and glanced around. To her shock, on both Honor’s left and right sides, identical beds stood like soldiers in a single endless row, one after the other until the line disappeared beyond her sight. Upon most beds lie a lone figure, either sleeping or, as with Honor, recently woken. Angelic visitors, similar to Honor’s, flitted around roughly half of the beds.
“Soon, all shall be made known,” the female said. Honor scrunched her forehead, displeased with such a vague answer, but didn’t argue when the female instructed, “Come.” She waved Honor forward, urging her out of bed.
Frustrated, yet infused with warmth that somehow made Honor feel inexplicably safe, she did as told. Honor’s bare feet hit the smooth, white surface and she braced for the harsh sting of an icy floor, as happened with the uneven cobbled stones of the modest dwelling she shared with her parents and younger siblings.
Momentarily shocked, Honor near tripped. She felt nothing. Neither warm nor cool, rough nor smooth. In truth, the ground didn’t register beneath her feet at all. Unnerved, she assessed each part of her body, and to Honor’s horror, she came to the realization that she felt nothing of her physical form. Soft flesh and hard bone were replaced with a detached, floaty sensation as Honor’s numb limbs moved and shifted at her command, yet she failed to detect a thing.
“How—?”
The female glanced over her shoulder and once again smiled, repeating her previous words as she walked away. “Soon, all shall be made known. Come.”
Irritation flashed through Honor along with the desire to cross her numb arms and stomp her anesthetized foot, but Honor’s default setting was, as always, to be unobtrusive and obedient, thus she followed the white-clad female to a closed door. A door Honor wouldn’t have noticed if not for the female leading the way. The slick, inset rectangle was as equally white as the wall surrounding it and possessed a smooth, polished surface Honor thought impossible.
They passed through the opening and by happenstance, Honor glanced down, startled to note she donned a robe, one identical to the female’s, and, predictably, as white as everything in this odd place.
With so many questions ricocheting around in her impulsive mind, Honor pushed the clothing issue to the side and focused once more on her surroundings. She frowned at what she discovered. The hall the female led her into was—no surprise there—also white. In truth, it appeared no different than the room they just left, minus the beds, the sleeping figures, and the ethereal males and females that bustled around in white robes.
Flustered, her sense of direction twisted around, Honor opened her mouth to insist upon answers, when her tour guide lightly rapped on another, larger door, more obvious than the previous one.
“Enter.”
The female turned the handle and held the door for Honor. “You may go,” she said with a dip of her head, her smile encouraging Honor to pass through. Honor stepped over the threshold and the female did not follow. For the first time since she woke, panic hit like a bucket of cold water to the face. Honor didn’t want to be left alone, but her sudden anxiety wasn’t out of fear.
Not exactly.
As she gave it further thought, Honor realized her anxiety was simply the discomfort of losing the only familiar face in this bizarre dream/not a dream state of consciousness.
With a pleading look on her face, Honor turned to the female. “Prithee, you can’t come with me?”
The female shook her head. “This is where we part.” Before Honor could protest, the door closed and the single person she knew—if only a few precious minutes—in this strange white world, disappeared.
“Welcome, Honor Ward.”
With a tiny yelp, Honor spun to discover another impossibly beautiful figure, this one seated behind a pure white desk. Her jaw dropped at the stunning sight. He was male—as with the female, Honor’s mind deemed the word man ill fitting. The male’s dark hair and eyes were striking against so much white. Bright and nearly blinding in its purity, the walls and furniture were white. Even the male’s pale, flawless skin lacked any sign of sun exposure.
“H-how do y-you know my name?” Honor believed her knees too weak to hold her up. If she could detect them, that was. Only her determination to not appear overly fragile kept her upright.
“Prithee, have a seat,” the male said in a comforting tone that warmed her insides. So taken with the male when she first entered the room, it was only then that Honor noticed a bench positioned opposite the desk. Gingerly, she lowered onto the seat. There was no sensation when her backside made contact and Honor frowned, unused to the disconnect with her own body. “You have many questions. I am here to answer them.”
“Okay.” She chewed on her lip, then released it, annoyed she didn’t feel the sharp pinch of flesh between her teeth.
“My name is Aaron. This…” He spread his hands wide. “Is part of the Hereafter.”
“H-hereafter?” That doesn’t sound like a good thing. Unlike Honor’s unfeeling body, she most definitely noticed the burn of anxiety growing within.
“Aye. You have passed on.”
“P-passed? I’m… dead?” she croaked. What? Honor wobbled and put a numb hand to her numb head.
Aaron smiled and dipped his chin in confirmation. “Your Earthly form died. Now you, specifically, your soul, is here. The body is merely an illusion on this plane. That is why you cannot sense your physical being.”
The male’s tranquility, which Honor appreciated only a moment ago, suddenly seemed impersonal, as if the news of her death meant nothing. A mere fact to recite. An unimportant footnote in the annals of history.
“B-but… how? I mean, I d-don’t remember anything.” Despite what her guide said when she woke, Honor knew this must needs be a dream. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her mind to snap out of it so she could wake in her own bed in her tiny home in Eastlake Falls. Honor would even be happy to see her horrid elder sister if it meant escaping this fantasy world.
“I’m afraid that shan’t work, Honor Ward.”
Honor swallowed, opened her eyes, and stared at Aaron, her earlier bravado and annoyance gone. “Then prithee, tell me what is happening. I-I don’t understand.”
“It’s quite simple, really. You died and were chosen to come here,” Aaron said as if that clarified everything, when in truth, it explained nothing. Irritation rose at the lack of an actual answer that made any sense whatsoever. “Now, I shall give you a choice.”
“C-choice? Of what?” Mayhap there was a chance to go back. To her parents, her sister, her suitor. Oh no! “Henry…” Honor blurted out her betrothed’s name, though Honor felt no grief for the man chosen by her father for her to marry. Nor did she feel the grief she expected from losing her family, only empathy for those left behind. “My father shall be devastated. Henry, a man from the village father arranged for me, was to ask for my hand on the morrow.”
If anything good came of this, not having to marry the creepy older man was it.
Aaron continued to smile and Honor was taken aback when the desire to grab Aaron’s shoulders and shake some sense into the enigmatic male arose. Mother always told Honor she was too quiet. Too passive. Too plain. Too common looking.
She almost snorted.
If only Mother could see her now. Impulsive and impatient were far from Honor’s most prominent qualities, yet now they surged forth. The foot stomping her sister favored even came to mind, and if Honor’s foot had any sensation, she would do it.
“Everything works out how it should,” Aaron said, another riddle Honor couldn’t solve. “It is time for you to make your choice.” Aaron stood and circled the desk to stand before Honor. Predictably, he donned the same white robe as she.
Is there no color here? Do red and blue and green not exist?
Aaron placed a gentle hand on Honor’s shoulder and she gasped at the warmth of his touch. It was the first, the only, physical sensation she noticed since waking in this alternate world. This… Hereafter.
“You have been selected, Honor Ward.”
“Selected? For what?” Honor ignored the growing sense of dread. But even as it spread, a sense of utter rightness seemed to flow directly to her very soul. A rightness which somehow confirmed Honor was exactly where she was supposed to be.
“Why, to go back, of course.”
Honor leapt to her unfeeling feet with that odd fluidity. “I can go back?”
“Not as human, I’m afraid.”
“Not h-human? What else is there?”
Aaron shifted to put both hands on her shoulders, and Honor was ashamed at how she wished for the warmth from his unfeeling touch. Something to grab onto and ground her floundering emotions.
“You, Honor Ward, have been chosen to become a Watcher. Believe me when I say ’tis a great privilege to serve the Archangel Gabriel. Few are given this honor.”
“Archangel,” Honor repeated slowly. Riiiight. Okay, clearly this Aaron long ago descended into madness and was no longer right in the head, but Honor played along. “Where do I go should I refuse?”
Confusion crossed Aaron’s gorgeous features. “But… no one refuses.”
“Mayhap, but if you may… what if I were to refuse.”
“Well, then I suppose you would go on to the Hereafter. The rest of it, anyway. What you see here is merely a stopping point for the chosen. Along with the chambers of the Archangels and rooms where the chosen are taught all they must needs know to return to the Earthly plane.”
Honor knew not what to do. She was terrible at making decisions, always had been, waffling back and forth on the smallest of issues for hours, days even. Now she was faced with what was likely the biggest decision of her life—or death, she supposed—and she hadn’t a clue what to do.
Honor inhaled deeply and met Aaron’s dark eyes. “Tell me more about these Watchers.”
* * *
Meeting of this nature never went well. Michael should have anticipated the dissent, but in his fierce desire to hunt down the Horsemen, he failed to consider the opinions of his contentious brothers and, at times, their downright petty behavior.
“I wager they must be banished, but that decision is yours alone, I’m afraid,” Raguel said. Michael held back a scowl. He knew Raguel wouldn’t be so considerate as to leave it at that. Naturally, Michael was correct. Raguel went on and on his typical self-righteous rant. “If we have definitive proof of their guilt. But it sounds as if we cannot confirm anything, brother. Have I not told you more than once? It is a blight on our very integrity to sentence the innocent.”
“Proof? Innocent?” Azrael barked out, his tone incredulous. “Have you gone mad? What sort of proof do you need, Raguel? You know as well as I, the Horsemen are far from innocent. Pray tell who else would, or could, wipe out acres of crops and bring back the Black Plague, which we have not seen in over a century, to decimate an entire village?”
Michael sighed as the two Archangels argued. The seven sat around a white, circular table in the Hereafter whilst they attempted to reach a consensus as to how to deal with the Horsemen, once captured. Their brother Raguel, the Archangel of Justice, never failed to push for a ridiculous amount of fair treatment. Even when dealing with evil so great it earned no such consideration, along with overwhelming evidence of culpability, Raguel sought to be absolutely certain before sentencing… even the Four Horsemen.
Azrael, ever the passionate one, is the Archangel of Death. Though Azrael’s job wasn’t to bring about the death of humans. Rather he ensured all deserving human souls crossed peacefully to the Hereafter. In Azrael’s opinion, the Horsemen were slaughtering far too many humans, sending their souls to the Hereafter before their appointed time, and it was this single fact that infuriated his brother. Azrael was quite protective of his deceased humans and their souls.
Raphael, the Healer, sighed as the familiar squabble continued, whilst Gabriel sat in silence opposite Michael. Barachiel, the Guardian, appeared bored as always and let out a spectacular yawn.
“Brothers, mayhap we should focus upon the issue at hand?” Uriel asked.
Michael could have kissed Uriel for interrupting his brothers’ petty quarrel. The Archangel of Peace would no sooner tolerate bickering amongst his brethren than he would invite Death to pull up a chair and join him at supper.
Raguel shifted his glower from Azrael to turn it on Uriel, gaze narrowed. “Pray tell, which issue might that be, brother? Unjustly banishing immortals to the Underworld without benefit of a fair trial?”
“Please,” Azrael scoffed loudly, drawing everyone’s attention once more. “Nothing is unjust or undeserved when it pertains to the Horsemen. They are nothing more than tyrants and murderers. Ones who wield too much power on the Earthly plane.” Azrael rose from his seat and emphatically drilled a single finger down on the pure white tabletop. “They deserve the same mercy they showed their victims… none.”
“Sit, my brother.” Michael placed a steady hand on Azrael’s arm. The Archangel’s frown creased his face, but he did as asked and lowered into his seat.
“Apologies, Michael,” Azrael said as his dark eyes flashed at Raguel. Azrael’s russet skin flushed with repressed anger.
Michael nodded. “None required. Now…” He turned to another furious brother, Raguel. “I understand your concerns and your dedication to justice is admirable…”
“But…?” Raguel snarled from between clenched teeth.
“But, Azrael is correct. There is no question who or what is the cause of the streak of death and destruction that thunders across the lands of the Earthly plane. A plane whose citizens I vowed to protect. With my very life if necessary.” Michael stood and faced the six other Archangels. “I shall be going after the Horsemen, and shall banish them once apprehended. There is no changing my mind and receiving your approval is not why I called this meeting.” Michael leaned forward and placed his palms on the table. “What I require from each of you is your vow. The vow to uphold my decision and if it comes to it, assist me in banishing the Horsemen from the Earthly plane, lest the Apocalypse be upon us.”
Michael straightened to his full warrior’s height and met each of his brothers’ eyes.
“In truth. Which of my brothers can I count on to pledge their commitment?”
* * *
“We shall hunt them down singly. Any attempt to capture all four at once spreads our forces too thin,” Michael announced to the collected members of his Guard. “I obtained pledges from my fellow Archangels.” Though it took three hours of exhaustive arguing to finally break Raguel. “They vowed to provide us with aid, within the boundaries of their powers, in our quest.”
His angels and saints nodded and murmured words of approval.
“How is it we shall go about finding the Horsemen?” Joan asked.
Michael gave Joan a small, but serious, smile. “We shall consult with a Divinator and see if mayhap he or she see can pick up any trace of the Horsemen.”
“Aye, good idea,” Donovan said, a wide grin on his face. “I approve, Protector.”
“Pray tell how you believe this possible? There is no guarantee a Divinator will see anything.” Michael and the others turned toward the angel who spoke, a young male named Alwin. Alwin was a somewhat recent addition to the Guard, sent to the Earthly plane a mere decade ago.
“This is truth,” Michael responded with a dip of his chin. “You are correct to have doubts, Alwin.” Michael shifted his attention from the inexperienced angel to gaze upon the entire Guard. “Promises cannot be made when it comes to the mystery of divination.”
“Apologies, Protector, but I fail to understand,” Alwin said. “How are we to find a Divinator to provide such specific knowledge of the future? My understanding is that divination is not an ability that can be focused on a single event.”
Of course, Alwin spoke the truth. Divinators are immortals, part of the faction known as practitioners. Born human to at least one practitioner parent, their youths don’t come into their abilities and gain immortality until their twenty-third year. Divination, a specific branch of practitioners, is the gift of sight, specifically foresight of future events. Unfortunately, one could make a request for a Divinator to seek visions of a particular incident or persons, but their abilities are unpredictable at best, and for the most part, wholly random.
Michael wasn’t about to allow that tiny fact to keep him from trying. Or from seeking other ways. And, as always, he came to the gathering prepared.
“To our great fortune,” Michael continued, a rare grin splitting his stoic façade. “There exists a rumor of an immortal. One who possesses the abilities of all practitioners.” Michael paused as the collected angels and saints gasped and exchanged low whispers, clearly shocked to hear Michael speak of such an impossibility. “As of yet,” he said, “I have neither met nor confirmed the existence of this… master of practitioners. But, if in truth, there is one with the ability to tell us when and where a Horseman shall strike, it lies with this Master Practitioner.”
“His name?” Tony asked.
“I have been told he is called Dionysus Albericus.”
As the Guard discussed and argued the merits of using or not using the so-called Master Practitioner, Michael sat, folded his arms across his chest, and waited for his faithful followers to arrive at the inevitable conclusion… find the Master, find the Horsemen, or lose the Earthly plane to the four evil brothers.
Then prepare for the Apocalypse.