Rebel (20 page)

The rocks that were massed at the edge of the water led out into the sea, almost like the stepping-stones of a giant. The last one was about two hundred yards out and huge, big enough to hold a small patch of earth and some ancient yew trees, twisted by the wind into strange, mysterious shapes. Sometimes I braved the rocks and the strong currents that flowed in this cove and swam out there. On the far side, where no one could see, were footholds. The first time I’d climbed up I had been terrified. The second I was braver. Now it was the safest place I knew.

Not even Thomas had known about it, though I’d discovered it early in our life together. Even then I’d
needed time and space of my own, somewhere he couldn’t reach. He’d been protective, but at times it had almost felt . . . smothering.

I climbed onto the rocks at the edge of the water, hating myself for my disloyal thoughts. Thomas had loved me, cared for me, asked nothing of me. Not even my blood. I was doing my best to honor him in his death. I’d done very well at it until Cain had arrived.

I closed my eyes. I could feel the warmth of the sun through the soft mist that always shrouded Sheol, and I let myself drift. I knew there was no way I could force a vision, find an answer when I so desperately needed one. But I couldn’t help trying.

When is he going to leave? He never stays long—everyone says so. When is he going to lose interest and disappear?

There was no answer forthcoming. Even as I tried to will myself into a meditative state, the questions kept bouncing back. I knew he hadn’t been the one to harm Allie, though I couldn’t say why. The sneakiness of the attack was just his style. There was nothing straightforward about him; he was all smoke and mirrors. But he wasn’t the type to make war on women.

Except, perhaps, me.

I took another breath, bringing it deep inside my body, trying to force my muscles to relax again after their instinctive tightening. Everything had been fine
until he had arrived. Well, not precisely fine, given that we were facing possible annihilation by the Armies of God. But we’d been managing very well until he came here.

I could think of nothing that would drive him away. I couldn’t even pray to a God I’d never believed in. Finding out that a Supreme Power actually existed, that he had started this complicated mess we all lived in, didn’t improve matters, since he’d cursed everyone I cared about and then left us to Uriel’s tender mercies. I would simply have to endure.

I stretched out on one of the rocks, the granite rough beneath my clothes, and let the sun bake into me. Watching him fight had been a horrifying revelation. For the first time I’d had a true look at the savagery beneath his taunting, teasing presence, and it had shaken me in ways I couldn’t understand. I had been in pitched battles; I still bore the scars. I had defended myself and others, and if I hadn’t actually killed anyone, I had been willing to. I had seen blood and horror and death all around me, and nothing had disturbed me as much as seeing Cain try to kill Michael.

Stop it,
I told myself.
Think calm, peaceful thoughts.
The only way a vision was going to come was if I stopped trying to force it. I needed to relax, keep to a perfect state of peace, and maybe, just maybe, I’d get the answers I needed.

Peace. Calm. All was good, all was well, I just needed to—

The cloth came down over my head with sudden, smothering force, bringing me to instant alertness. I struck out in a panic, but the thing was enveloping me, trapping me, smelling of dust and death. I felt myself hauled up, shroud and all, into someone’s arms, and I finally remembered to scream, as loud as I possibly could, as I struck out with all my strength.

I heard a muffled sound of pain; then a blow struck my head, so hard I blacked out for a moment, seeing bright lights at the back of my eyes as I struggled for breath.

My mind finally pulled itself together as I began to focus. All right, so he was stronger than I was—fighting back wouldn’t help. The only chance I had was to trick him. I let myself stay limp as he dumped me over his shoulder, and I hoped I’d get a look at him from beneath whatever he’d wrapped me in.

It must have been some kind of sack—there was no light. His shoulder dug into my stomach, hurting, and it took all my concentration to keep my body loose, as if I were still unconscious, despite the panic that swept through me.

This man wanted to kill me. I knew that without the benefit of a vision—this was no complicated
game: this was death and malice that had wrapped me like a corpse, and unless I did something I would be dead.

I knew where he was carrying me, probably knew the area better than he did, since this was my own private cove. He would have to make his way either back across the boulders to get to land or forward toward the sea. I wasn’t sure which would be better. I could swim like a fish, but if he knocked me out I’d be helpless. Even real fish could drown.

Then again, on dry land I’d have no chance at all.

He turned toward the sea, and I let myself flop against him. He strode across the boulders, hauling me with no discernible effort, which meant he had to be strong. Then again, all of the Fallen were unnaturally strong. I tried to see if I could identify him by smell, but all I could breathe in was the musty scent of the blanket he’d wrapped me in. He could have been anyone. Even Cain.
Oh God, not Cain.

He made his way seaward along the path of rocks with no hesitation, as graceful as all of the angels. Would he toss me into the water without making certain I was truly unconscious? It was probably too much to hope for. Would he try to break my neck before he let go? That would be the most efficient, and the Fallen were efficient.

I almost thought I could smell the sea through the enveloping folds. If I were one of the Fallen, a
broken neck would heal the moment I touched the water. But I wasn’t; I was a mere mortal, prey to everything that could kill a human, and I was going to die.

The hell I was.

He stopped, and I flopped gracelessly against his back. He shifted me, levering me downward, and I knew with sudden horror that he planned to simply bash my head against the rocks before he let me slip into the sea. The incoming tide would wash my blood and brains from the rock, and when, or if, they found my body, they wouldn’t know what had caused my crushed skull.

I could see it clearly, a vision, perhaps, or a possibility. I felt him swing me over his head, felt the rock drawing near, and at the last second I twisted, spinning out of his grip.

Too late. My head smashed against the side of the rock, not as hard as he’d intended, and the blanket cushioned the blow. But this time I was really out, darkness snapping down around me as I sank into the cold, dark sea, sank into eternity, into nothingness, into death.

M
ETATRON LOOKED DOWN
into the inky ocean, watching the blanket disappear. He should have known he couldn’t trust her. She must have seen him
coming. It hadn’t done her any good, though. Even if he hadn’t managed to smash her brains against the rocks, he’d done enough damage that she was sinking like a rock beneath the surface, unmoving.

He’d meant to hold on to the blanket as he let her slide. It had been hard work, sewing it closed, when he’d never touched a needle in his life, but he hadn’t wanted to risk her getting a good look at him. Nothing was guaranteed—he’d lived in Sheol long enough to know that the wives were surprisingly resilient. But Martha was no longer a wife; she had no protection. No one would even notice she was gone. And the blanket would hold any blood and brain that leaked out before he tossed her.

He could no longer make out the dark shape beneath the waves. He’d picked the deepest part of the water he could find, just to make certain it would take her down. His only worry now was that she’d be found before the blanket disintegrated. Too bad—he could have used it again. But it was worth it to finally close the seer’s too-knowing eyes forever.

Cain might not even realize he’d been the one to do it. After all, the seer came out here a lot—it would be easy for her to slip and tumble into the sea, hitting her head on the way down.

And if he did guess who was behind it, what could he do about it? No, it was much better this way. Simpler. Cain had never been an enforcer; he’d
never had to slaughter families for their blasphemies, old people who wept when they saw him. Cain was going to need to—what did they say? grow a pair?—if they were going to succeed in destroying Sheol. Or Metatron would simply have to destroy Cain as well.

She was out of sight now, taken to her grave deep beneath the surface, and he turned away, dismissing her as simply one more job completed. It was a warm, sunny day, the omnipresent mist almost transparent. All was well with the world.

I
WAS DROWNING.
I knew that—I had water in my lungs already, and the wet folds of the blanket trapped me as I sank, deeper and deeper. I began to struggle, pushing at it, kicking my legs free, wriggling, until it finally slipped over my head. It didn’t help. The ocean was pitch-black; I couldn’t breathe, my skin was numb from the cold, and part of me wanted simply to let go.

I kicked. I’d gotten turned around when my assailant had thrown me in the water, and I was still disoriented from the blow on my head. I would swim in one direction, moving toward the surface. If I went the wrong way and drowned, so be it. If I ran into the man who’d tried to murder me, he could finish the job with my blessing. I was tired of fighting.

I moved like a seal through the water, upward,
sleek and fast, and light began filtering down. I might even make the surface before my lungs exploded, I thought dazedly, without relief or despair. I kicked again, moving, moving, and a figure coalesced in the deep water in front of me. Thomas?

It wouldn’t take much. Just a slight adjustment, and I could move down to the deeper part where he waited for me, the enveloping, smothering presence that I hated and missed. Oblivion, peaceful, lovely, the embrace of the water all around me. Why shouldn’t I give in?

Because no matter how hard I tried to be calm and serene and meek, at heart I was a fighter. I kicked, hard, and a moment later my head cleared the surface, and I began to choke.

I was out beyond the last boulder, out of sight of anyone on the shore. The choice had been made—at least for today I would survive. I managed to swim to
the ledge on the ocean side of the rock, the last of my energy spent in pulling myself up. It was narrow, and I could barely hold on as I coughed and choked and spat up seawater. And then I lay there, unmoving, letting the sun warm my iced-over skin, letting my breathing slowly return to normal.

My throat and my lungs burned. There was blood on the ledge, and I realized my head was bleeding with unnerving enthusiasm. I had no idea how badly I’d
been hurt, whether I was going to die there on the ledge, my body dragged out to sea when the tide came in, or deposited neatly on the shore for someone to find.

I didn’t care. The sun was warm as I lay there; the soft afternoon breeze brushed over me. I let go, sinking into a blessed, comforting darkness.

A
ZAZEL WAS ALONE
in the assembly hall, reading through the volumes of scriptures that had been passed down. The volumes of lies, Cain thought with a cool delight. When Azazel found out the truth, it would shatter the very beliefs he’d held so dear, with which he’d once governed. It was tempting to wait for his revenge, to make it more complete.

But Azazel was alone now, his back to the door, and the residents of Sheol were busy with their various duties, far away from the meeting room. He could ease in and break Azazel’s neck, and he’d be paralyzed, unable to crawl to the sea for healing. He would die, his lungs filling with his own blood, and Cain would watch him and think of Tamarr and justice long overdue.

He slipped inside the door, silent and deadly, ready to attack, when a sudden wariness slid inside his concentration. Azazel lay before him, a perfect target. But something was wrong.

Martha
. He had no idea how he knew it, but he’d been tuned in to her from the moment he arrived in a burst of well-controlled flame. Martha was in danger.

He looked at Azazel’s back, so vulnerable; he wouldn’t get this chance again.

But he heard her cry out, in fear, in pain. The water. She was in the water.

He turned and left, closing the door to the assembly room quietly behind him.

C
OLD WATER SLAPPED
my face, waking me, and I tried to sit up, immediately tumbling back into the water. The sun was almost at the horizon. I had no idea how long I’d been there, and I didn’t care. I needed to get back.

I held on to the ledge, testing my strength. Apparently I wasn’t going to die. I reached up and touched the side of my face. Something was crusted there, presumably dried blood, and I winced in pain. I should go, swim around the rock and try to make it homeward, but something stopped me. How could I be sure my would-be murderer had gone? The last thing I wanted was to walk straight back into his filthy hands.

I pulled myself up onto the ledge, now submerged by three inches of water with the incoming tide, and started up the side of the cliff. Most of the
steps were easy enough—it was almost as if natural stairs had been worn into the rocks, leading to the copse of trees at the top. Only a few were difficult, and when I’d first discovered the path I’d tumbled back into the ocean any number of times before conquering it.

I couldn’t afford to fall again—this time I might not surface. I moved slowly, my hands clinging to the rocky outcroppings, a mantra muttered underneath my breath: “Please, please, please.” I didn’t know who I was talking to, didn’t even care. It simply helped me keep moving.

When I finally saw the twisted trees looming overhead, I almost let go in my relief. I practically soared up the last few steps to land, belly flat, on top of the rock, gasping. Safe.

I was about to push myself up when something stopped me, some preternatural sense that danger was near. I stayed where I was, considering it. Of course danger was near. Sheol was a small place, and whoever had attacked me couldn’t have gone far. No one had flown overhead. . . .