Alan Price and the Statue of Zeus (The Nephilim Chronicles Book 3) (17 page)

“And you see now why our work is so important?”

“I do,” Ardat said, looking at the aftermath of the battlefield.

The Shaman nodded in approval as he coaxed the wavering form in front of them to expand. The translucent looking glass shimmered like water as it grew in size. Ardat searched the area for Michael but all she could see was the pile of rocks covering his limp body.

“You wish to go to him?”

Ardat swallowed a lump in her throat that had enlarged since the beginning of the battle. To say she didn’t care about Michael was impossible. Above all else, she wanted to be by his side to fight. She wasn’t an assassin or a manipulator, she was a warrior. “Yes and no.”

“Explain.”

“I want to make sure he is safe. However, if what you have told me is true about Sodom and the fourth, and final, Horseman, then we must prepare.”

The Shaman looked on with a smile, “Balance in everything, my dear. Ours is not a game of sides, it’s of leveling the scale. Always when conflicts of Light and Dark exist, there will be shades of grey. So to I can tell you Michael’s fate is not yet sealed. There is still a chance for his survival if we succeed.”

Ardat exhaled as she felt relief wash over her. Somehow she believed the Shaman. Something about the way he spoke, the familiarity in his voice, told her he was honest. Trust was still a strong word to use about the way she felt about the Shaman. “Then what must we do to succeed? When will they strike?”

The Shaman tilted his baldhead and looked deep into Ardat’s eyes. “Much too soon. With the Death Angels all but destroyed and heaven’s most capable warriors weakened, we have little time.”

Ardat folded her arms over her chest and took stock of her surroundings. The two were in a cave deep within the very heart of the earth. Dripping water echoed from a long-lost cavern hidden below. The moist scent of earth and rock filled Ardat’s nose and mouth with every breath. The only light came from torches fluttering and flickering along the cave walls. A thought came to Ardat as she watched the Shaman wave his hand over the looking glass and maneuver from Golgotha’s dominating walls across the supernatural plane. “You know, you could have always just not made that spell for Gabriel. You practically gave him the ability to set this whole plan into motion.”

The Shaman stopped the scene in front of what looked like a tall tower. “My order has never asked why or how, we have only maintained the balance and do what needs to be done. Without the spell, Gabriel would never have been able to separate the human and supernatural planes, keeping the human race out of this historic conflict Raphael would never be urged to take back his abilities. And the fourth Horseman would not have been discovered at this moment.” The Shaman pointed to the towering building that vacillated in his looking glass. “Do you know what this is?”

Ardat eyed the building wondering if it was some kind of trick question. “Of course, I was there when it was built. It’s the Lighthouse of Alexandria.”

“Correct. Most importantly it is our next destination. The forth Horseman awaits us there. To maintain the balance between good and evil, the side of the Light will desperately need our assistance awfully soon.”

Alan awoke to the groans and muffled screams of pain that was the horror of the end of a battle. Smoke from a dozen different fires drifted across the dark sky mixing with the growing stench of sweat and blood. Alan’s chest felt like a mess of broken bones and torn skin. His head swam as another intense bought of pain threatened to take him into unconsciousness once more.

Moans drifted across the battlefield as those still able to stand found their feet. Alan forced himself up to a sit, regretting the act as soon as he performed it. The pain was unlike anything Alan ever experienced. A familiar voice behind him echoed his own sentiments. “It looks bad, little brother, your breastplate is bent nearly in two. Minotaur armor does not bend so easily.”

Alan winced as Cratos came into view, “Aren’t you supposed to be helping or reassuring me that everything is going to be okay? I can feel how bad it is.”

Cratos spread his lips in an act Alan was beginning to understand was a smile. “You’ll live. Let me help you to your feet. And now that we have spilled blood together on the field of battle, you truly are my little brother.” Cratos extended a hand, “Come. We will find you medical aid.”

Alan accepted the offered hand and with a grunt Cratos lifted him to his feet. The eight foot tall warrior could have carried Alan if he wished. Instead, he wrapped his right arm around Alan’s upper back and armpit. The pain was only just bearable as the two made their way through the battlefield and outside the courtyard of Golgotha. Something Cratos said took the edge off Alan’s pain, “What do you mean ‘now I’m your little brother?’ You’ve been calling me that since I met you.”

Cratos nodded, “True; however, before I was calling you that in jest due to your puny size. Now it is a term of affection.”

Alan had to stop himself from laughing. He had no idea what kind of pain would follow the action. Aside from that, laughing as they walked through a landscape of dead and dying bodies seemed inappropriate. Alan’s eyes scanned the surrounding area searching for anyone he might know. It was clear that the encounter with Gabriel had been a success but to what extent Alan couldn’t tell.

“The others,” Alan asked still searching the courtyard as Cratos led him out. “What happened to them? Are they all right?”

Cratos remained quiet.

“Tell me,” Alan persisted as worry began to chew at his stomach.

“Be still, little brother,” Cratos said as they left the courtyard of Golgotha and travelled under its gigantic arches to the front of the fortress, “and see for yourself.”

Alan stumbled in the care of Cratos’ support down a dirt path and to an army of white tents erected to care for the wounded. Seraphim ran to them taking Alan’s free arm and draping it around her neck mirroring Cratos. As far as Alan could tell, she was free of any serious injury although her eyes were as somber as ever.

“Let’s get you to the healing tent as soon as possible,” Seraphim said directing the trio to a tent with open flaps. Those still able to walk ran back and forth carrying wounded and attending where able.

Alan’s eyes widened as he saw the chaos ensuing inside the medical tent. Whimpers and screams assailed his ears as he was led to a clean cot to the left. Danielle rushed forward, concern written on her face. She looked as though she were about to faint. “Oh, Alan,” she opened her arms to give him a hug then thought better of it and took an awkward step back. “I’m glad you are okay. I wanted to come find you myself but Cratos said it was his duty to the Minotaur Nation, or something like that, and promised to bring you back.”

Danielle said all of this in one breath. “I’m fine,” Alan said as Seraphim and Cratos lowered him onto the cot. “But what happened to the others? Where’s Michael?” Alan felt a sense of panic wash over him as he searched the open tent without seeing any of the faces he searched for. “What happened to Raphael, Gabriel and Kyle?”

Danielle opened her mouth and closed it again. Cratos began slowly taking off Alan’s armor to avoid the question. “Raphael and Gabriel have been unconscious since the blast that ended the battle. Kyle fled with Triana and the remaining Fallen and Michael—we haven’t found Michael’s body.”

Alan sat shocked on his white-clothed bed. Any pain that tingled through his frame was minimal compared to the news. The desire to find Michael filled him stronger than any other emotion. Alan struggled to rise off the bed as everyone pushed him back down. “I need to find him,” Alan said through watering eyes. “We all need to find him now.” Images of Gabriel blasting Michael back and sending him careening into a stone wall flashed in front of Alan’s eyes. An avalanche of rocks buried the Archangel. Alan pushed against Seraphim and Cratos’ strong arms as he thrashed back and forth trying to right himself. The pain was too much for his body to endure. The last thing Alan remembered before he traveled into the open arms of unconsciousness again was Seraphim and Cratos holding him down and Danielle crying.

---

When Alan woke again, it was nothing like coming back to his senses on the battlefield. Instead of dirt beneath him and the murmurs of the dying, Alan was in a tent. It was small but served its purpose. Alan was lying on a bed with a table beside him; near the entrance to his tent, Cratos sat staring at him sitting rigid on a chair.

Waking to the sight of the gigantic minotaur almost sent Alan searching for a sword. Instead of finding a blade, Alan caught Cratos’ eye. Events came back to Alan as he struggled to sit up. Pain was still present and reminded Alan of its company every time he breathed. The level of discomfort was nothing compared to the possibility of losing a friend. A white bandage wrapped around Alan’s chest and torso and hindered his range of motion as he finally came to a full sitting position.

Alan and Cratos stared at one another for a long time. Alan didn’t want to know what happened to Michael; somehow he already did.

“Danielle healed you as best she could,” Cratos said. “Your skin is as tough as steel but Gabriel’s blow broke your sternum and sent a portions of your ribs loose in your chest. You’ll heal fine; still even for you, it will take time.”

Alan accepted the news without giving his own wellbeing a second thought. “How,” Alan stopped to lick his lips and gain the strength he needed to force out the question. “How has the search for Michael gone?”

Cratos slowly shook his horned head. “He’s gone, Alan. We’ve searched for him in every corner of the courtyard. We removed every piece of stone that piled on after Gabriel struck him and he’s not there.”

“How can that be? I saw him. We all saw him hit that wall. We all saw him buried by the falling rocks.”

Cratos shrugged, “He’s just not there.”

Alan felt his face redden as he gained his balance on unsteady feet. “Gabriel did something. He knows. We have to find out what he’s done.”

“Perhaps,” Cratos said standing. His twin ivory horns brushed the ceiling of the tent as he clenched and re-clenched his hand that wore a similar white bandage to Alan’s own. “But even if Gabriel and Raphael were not still in a catatonic state, now is not the time for questioning our captives. You have a much bigger problem to worry about.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cratos swept the tent curtains aside with one massive arm and revealed the state of the angelic army. Alan felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. Just when he didn’t think things could possibly get any worse, the massive army that had assaulted Golgotha was now a fraction of its size. No more than a hundred tents were being deconstructed around him as once again the army was being ordered to move out.

Amongst the struggle that was mobilizing a wounded army, Alan picked out Seraphim’s black and grey wings. She was speaking with Esther only a few tents down. As the women looked up, they caught Alan’s eye and walked over. To say that both women looked tired would have been a disservice to their state. Alan felt guilty to have rested for any amount of time while others struggled on.

Esther had bags under eyes and looked as if she would fall over at any moment. Seraphim’s eyes were red and it didn’t look like she had taken a moment to rest. Blood still spattered her armor and her hair was a thick tangle of red. “You seem to be looking better,” Seraphim said.

“I am. I want to help. Where do you need me?”

“Normally, I would insist you rest,” Esther said as she rubbed weariness from her eyes, “but we need all the help we can get. Sodom’s army has been spotted approaching from the West. We need to mobilize and make it back to the safety of the Temple before they arrive. We are in no condition to fight another battle.”

At once, Alan understood the stakes. If they were attacked now, they would be routed without a doubt.

---

The slow pace their army was forced to travel was beyond agonizing. The angels who could fly were sent ahead of the main force carrying as many of the wounded as possible. The plan was to keep the bulk of their army on foot and send the angels still capable of flight back and forth until all were safely under the roof of the Temple.

Alan refused to be transported and instead waited in the rear of army. If Sodom’s forces were going to catch up to the retreating angel army, then Alan would buy them some time. Despite his injured state, he refused any assistance to walk. Cratos stayed by his side as the shambles of the angel-army continued their pilgrimage to safety. “I could carry you and save you the discomfort of walking,” Cratos said.

Alan grimaced, as a misstep sent another stab of pain through his chest, “Don’t be so eager to carry me. It’s weirding me out.”

Cratos looked as him with unblinking eyes. All philosophies of a joke lost on the minotaur, he restated his intention. “You are bound to the minotaurs after giving your word to the Queen. I also am bound to see you to safety, little brother.”

Alan waved off his concern with an outstretched hand. “No, I won’t leave the army now when they need us the most. If Sodom’s forces catch up to us, then it’s up to me.”

“You mean it’s up to us,” Seraphim said as she swooped down and took a position to Alan’s left. Her black and metal wings rested on her back for only a moment before they receded into her shoulder blades.

“Yes,” Alan said grateful for the opportunity to see Seraphim again, “it will be up to us. Have you heard any word on the search for Michael? Or the status on Raphael and Gabriel?”

“No, there has been no sign of Michael. The spell-laden emblem Gabriel used, however, has been found. It was shattered. As far as we know, it holds no more power. Esther has it under guard for safekeeping. Raphael and Gabriel are still both in a coma.” Seraphim’s next words came out laced with pain and sorrow. “The Death Angels are no more. They were either killed in the fight or driven mad by what Gabriel did to their minds.”

“I’m sorry,” Alan wished he had something better to say. The words seemed like a weak response for the loss Seraphim must have been enduring. Along with his sadness, Alan was struck by how well Seraphim was taking the loss. Her usual fiery temper was gone and in its place a lonely sense of defeat.

“So am I,” Seraphim said. A single tear gathered in her eye and slid down her right cheek.

Alan decided to brave Seraphim’s wrath as he extended a hand and gripped her own. Cratos mumbled something and quickened his pace. Seraphim held on to Alan’s hand and squeezed as she laughed, “It seems awkwardness is not lost on the minotaur kind.”

“Sera,” Alan started seizing the opportunity, “I wanted to tell you—”

“No, Alan,” Seraphim said releasing his hand with a slow shake of her head. “I shouldn’t give you hope. It would be cruel to lead you on to believe we can be anything other than fellow warriors.”

Alan felt his heart sink and his brow furrow, “What are you talking about?”

“Alan, I am an angel who has lived an eternity and will continue to do so unless I find my end in battle. You are a Horseman now but will again be a human when the final battle is fought and the one-thousand year choosing of the Four starts again. Whatever this is, it cannot work.”

“We can find a way.”

“No. So much calls for our attention now. To try to navigate a relationship would be selfish.”

Alan took a moment to think on her words. He wouldn’t give in that easily but he needed a way to make Seraphim see that despite their differences, they had a future. “Sera, what I feel for you isn’t a fleeting thing. It’s something much deeper.”

Alan watched Seraphim’s face for any sign that what he was saying was getting through to her. All she showed were stern eyes and a set jaw. “If what you speak is true,” Seraphim said unclenching her jaw, “then perhaps—”

Shouts of warning drowned out anything Seraphim was going to say. Alan hated the timing and audibly groaned. A quick look behind him showed all he needed to know. Still miles away but approaching quickly, a large mass surged towards their position.

---

“Go, go!” Alan shouted as he urged the remaining wounded angels and Nephilim forward. “The Temple is close!”

Alan ran, sweating from pain more than exertion, as he urged those in front of him to quicken their pace. It was a race where losing meant death. Sodom’s army was slowly advancing on their location. No matter how much Alan encouraged their party to move, they were too weak and slow to gain any ground.