Airel - Aaron Patterson [118]
It was difficult when I got to the point in the story where Michael’s total betrayal was realized. She had trouble believing that part. “Airel, for what it’s worth, I think he really did have feelings for you. Otherwise, why would he leave you that note? If you were just a job, a mission… then he would have just gone, without a second look.”
“Yeah, well… I don’t know how to trust anymore.” The truth was that I was vulnerable, and it wouldn’t take much either way.
“I just want to hate him, to forget I ever met him. Is this pain worth the love I have for him, to know it was all a lie?” My heart was so broken and with each memory I felt like it was just breaking all over again.
Why couldn’t I get past this? All I wanted was to move on and be done—it hurt far too much, and I couldn’t make sense of it. I wanted him to disappear completely, as completely as he had betrayed me.
“I don’t know Airel, it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Why did he do it, Kim?” I was having trouble seeing the road. “Why did he try so hard? Why did he let me fall in love with him, knowing the whole time that he was baiting me into a trap? Why not at least just be a friend, and get close that way; why lead me on like this? Does he hate me that much?”
Kim didn’t have any answers, and neither did I.
Chapter III
1250 B.C. Arabia
“Hold until I make contact.” Kreios stood alone, the Shadowers’ gift cutting a divot around his position, leaving him exposed and fully visible to the enemy on the moonlit little hill. “I want them to believe they are fighting only one.”
The clanking ripping sounds of the demonic army came through the night to the angels much clearer now as the horde began to emerge from the forest in a swarm, torches held high.
This was the kind of day for which he had been made. Kreios felt the leeching pull of the horde begin to try to attack him, but the Sword deflected it, even adding to his reserve. “Stand ready the trumpet…”
The army ascended the hill, weapons and teeth bared.
Kreios stood still, resolute.
Like the point of a spear, the first wave of the horde attack converged on Kreios, assuming he was ready to martyr himself, and that the fight would be over before it had started. Wicked men and demons ran on top of each other and killed one another in order to be the first to reach Kreios and snuff his life.
“Trumpeter, sound the attack.” Kreios held up the Sword, and Glory sprang forth from it in long spiraling webs of light. The enemy army threw up their hands to cover their eyes but it was too late. Blindness overcame them and they fell, crying out in agony, crashing to the earth, clawing at their eyes. Their coming damnation was revealed to them by the light of the Sword; the trumpet resounded, and the Shadowers covered Kreios. The first angelic wave charged immediately, killing two or three of the cowering horde with each strike of the blade, axe, mace.
Kreios moved lightly, wading through the horde, parrying, stabbing, cutting. The thirteen at Kreios’s side were unmatched. One of them, Veridon, at least a head above the rest, wielded the mace and took three or four of the enemy with each swing. The demons attacked each other in panic as they tried to meet with their invisible enemy.
A monstrous man worked his way toward Kreios, keying on the body parts that were being thrown outward from where he stood. A massive club was in his hands, dripping with blood. Spikes protruded from its working surface. Kreios leaped into the air, Sword held high, and brought it down squarely on the man’s crown, splitting his massive head in two. A fountain of black blood rushed forth from the man’s wound as he fell to the earth, flopping like a headless fish. Kreios saw that this hordesman was still unmanifest, his Brother still hiding within him. “Some have not yet divided their forms!” The message was received, and the angelic army engaged the deception.
The Seer hovered above the trees, robes billowing wickedly, chanting in ancient tongue a powerful