Chapter 4: Prophecy of Vayl
Othaniel held the light-pen delicately in her hand and painted. She enjoyed escaping into the depths of her mind through simple artistic expression. Sometimes she even surprised herself by what she painted.
She drew the light-pen over the clear medium, and a new layer of deep red spilled everywhere. She brushed away a few locks of shining raven hair and reviewed the painting. Something needed to fill this mass of red. She tapped the light-pen through her holographic palette, selected gold, and raised it to the medium.
The light-pen paused as if it had a will of its own. An echo of a memory protested. She brought it back to the holographic palette and cycled through the full range of colors until she found the one that felt right: a faintly reddish brass.
“Yes, that’s the one.” She passed the light-pen over the painting in bold vertical strokes. Close up, the image was nothing but swatches of disorganized color. But step away, and the colors melted together, formed shapes, and those shapes became the painting.
Othaniel leaned back, curious of her own creation. It looked like … a tower? Yes, a tower, definitely. A huge brass tower amidst fire, smoke, and lightning. But the scale seemed strange.
Othaniel smiled, a pleasant expression on her youthful face.
“But how could a tower have no top?” she asked no one.
She selected a brighter brass hue from her palette, but paused to glance at the distant wall screen. An external camera provided the image from outside the Word of Vayl, Zophiel’s command ship. Part of the Aperture Halo’s circumference spun lazily across the view.
“Five hundred years, Zophiel,” Othaniel whispered. “I never thought you’d finish it. Well done, Brother.”
The Aperture Halo was a mammoth ring one thousand kilometers in diameter, situated far above the infernal heat of a blue giant star. Seven huge spikes extended inward from the ring, cutting off just before they touched at the center. This made the Halo resemble a massive seven-spoke wheel of brass. Eerily aware eyes dotted its surface, slowly opening and closing.
The positions and numbers of those eyes changed over time. Often they collected around a certain area, all blinking rapidly. At other times, they distributed themselves across the whole surface, most of them shut as if sleeping.
Othaniel didn’t pretend to understand what they were.
Beneath the Aperture Halo, an immense chain of gravity rings guided the star’s plasma up to a barely controlled vortex beneath the Aperture Halo’s center. Curved panels rotated around the vortex, each larger than the mightiest warship in the Disciple fleet. They spun around the glowing, pulsing heartbeat of energy, almost too fast to be seen, and somehow provided power to the Aperture Halo without any physical connection.
Everything was built from that same red-stained brass.
Othaniel resumed painting, and gradually the tower took on more definition: all distant angles and hinted details as it climbed through layers of fire. She added more highlights to the clouds, and something else formed in the distance. The vague shape was nothing more than a shadow beyond the closest clouds, but it gave the impression of vast black wings and long wiry limbs.
“How enormous it must be,” she said. “I wonder what it is.”
The hairs on the back of Othaniel’s neck stood up. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the foreign source of power striding down the corridor. Her sister approached with slow, deliberate steps.
The door slid open, and Riviel entered Othaniel’s guest quarters. She crossed her arms and leaned against the open doorjamb.
Othaniel continued to paint, her back to the visitor.
“You know who it is, don’t you?”
“Of course, Sister.” Othaniel dabbed a few details onto the tower. Bits of white and yellow reflections added such a wonderful sense of heat to the painting. It felt so right.
“Why is it you can do that and I can’t?” Riviel asked.
“We’re not completely identical, you know.”
Riviel chuckled. “And thank Vayl for that, Sister.”
Othaniel set the light-pen down and turned slowly on her stool.
The two sisters were visually perfect. No other phrase fairly described them. From the delicate lines of their faces to the shapely curves of their bodies, everything about them evoked an almost surreal beauty.
Riviel stood a fraction taller and wore a black uniform trimmed in red with blood rubies down the front. Her black hair was cut short, unlike Othaniel’s, which reached all the way down her back and was clasped in three places by silver rings. Both sisters shared the same young face and unusual silver irises.
“Our brother wishes to speak with you,” Riviel said.
“He sent you to convey such a simple message?”
“Perhaps not so simple. Veketon has responded to our courier.”
“And?”
“Let’s just say our grandfather does not disappoint. I’d tell you myself, but I think Zophiel wants to share the news with you in person.”
“Very well. Let me just finish the color I’m on. Zophiel is in his sanctum?”
“That’s right.”
“This will only take a moment.”
Riviel pushed off the doorjamb and walked to the nearest wall. Paintings sat or hung in crooked rows, organized by theme or content. Othaniel had unpacked them earlier that day. She often felt comforted and inspired by their presence.
“A lot of these are new,” Riviel said.
“Well, I have been gone a while.”
“Who’s the man?”
“Which painting?”
“This group over here.”
Othaniel set the light-pen down and looked over. The painting showed a tall man in a storm-gray uniform. He wore a pleasant, if slightly sad grin, though the other details of his face were vague at best. Two unfocused white columns, possibly the legs of a seraph, rose behind him amidst a field of flowers.
Ten other paintings featured the same man. The last one showed him within a confining mechanical chamber. Pipes and conduits and metal grating covered the spherical walls. He held a dagger of blue chaos energy in his hand, and blood drained from a cut to his forehead.
Murderous intent filled his eyes, though the rest of his face still held little definition.
“I don’t know,” Othaniel said.
“Surely you must have some idea.”
“Perhaps.”
“Memories from that creature?”
“You mean Vierj?” Othaniel raised an eyebrow.
“I really wish you wouldn’t say that thing’s name.”
“Sorry about that,” Othaniel said. “In any case, I believe you are correct. The man in those paintings killed her. Or perhaps was nearby at the time. It’s difficult for me to tell.”
Riviel nodded thoughtfully.
“If you don’t mind me saying, something seems to be troubling you, Sister,” Othaniel said.
“It’s Zophiel’s plans for Veketon. I would have preferred a more … cautious approach.”
“You? The cautious approach? I would think you’d relish a direct attack.”
Riviel grinned ever so thinly. “I’ll admit you raise a valid point. Regardless of our plans, battles to come should be … interesting. There’s a certain thrill in knowing we face worthy opponents.”
“Our brother seems confident, and the three of us are united once more. I’m surprised you’re worried at all.”
“Not worried. Just anxious. We haven’t faced a trial like this since we escaped.”
“We survived her, and we’ll survive this.” Othaniel set the light-pen down and stood up. “Will you be joining us?”
“No, I have other duties to attend to. Zophiel wants me to coordinate our preparations with the captains.”
“Very well, Sister. I shall see you later.”
Riviel dipped her head ever so slightly.
Othaniel exited her guest quarters. White hexagonal stones formed the Word of Vayl’s passages, contrasting with the red-uniformed Outcast Disciples. Light flowed from the walls, ceiling, and even the floor.
Othaniel swept her black gown behind her and turned down the passage. The Outcasts she met bowed until she passed.
Zophiel had positioned her quarters close to his own sanctum, and it only took Othaniel a minute to reach the entrance. Heavy hexagonal doors barred the way, flanked on either side by six Outcasts in full combat armor with ultrasonic swords and carbines.
Othaniel smiled inwardly. As if such paltry defenses could stop her even if they tried.
All twelve warriors bowed.
The doorway split and slid into the walls in six equal sections. She stepped inside Zophiel’s sanctum, and the door sealed shut behind her.
The expansive chamber was shaped like a large hexagon and stood mostly empty. Fluted columns added a sense of elegance to the space, but the bright light emanating from every surface caused foreign objects to stand out. Othaniel spotted numerous holographic emitters, wall screens, and retractable seating … but no Zophiel.
She walked further into the chamber, her footfalls ringing out as clear notes, then spotted a small doorway to her right and decided to try that. The entrance opened as soon as she approached, and she stepped in.
This chamber was much smaller and far more crowded. A square table stood in the center with a single place set. Her brother’s musical instruments lined one wall, from largest to smallest, most of them stringed arcs of metal or wood, all of them mastered centuries ago.
The futon was uncurled on the floor, and—
Zophiel lay sprawled on it, still in his Disciple uniform.
Othaniel felt suddenly embarrassed by her intrusion. She fell to one knee and bowed her head.
“Brother, you summoned me.”
Zophiel did not respond. His chest steadily rose and fell.
“Brother?” Othaniel lifted her gaze and frowned.
She crouched next to him, gripped his shoulder, and tried to rouse him.
Then tried again more forcefully.
* * *
Zophiel awoke with a start, sweat glistening on his skin. He wiped at his brow and sat up on the floor.
The world blurred around him as if viewed through tears. He ran shaking fingers over his face, rubbed at his eyes, and peered once again at his surroundings through the post-communion haze. The outline of a woman came into focus. She knelt beside him and smiled sweetly. Her silver eyes held warmth and sympathy.
“Othaniel … I’m sorry … the c-communion … came without warning … I’m s-sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize, Brother.”
She offered Zophiel a hand and helped him to his feet. He ran unsteady fingers through damp locks of black hair. Small tremors plagued his hands.
“Are you all right?”
“Vayl called to me,” Zophiel said. “But I was … I was unable … couldn’t reach him … before … interrupted …”
“I can return later if you wish.”
Zophiel shook his head. He took three deep, stuttering breaths, and the tremors slowly subsided. The memories of pain sang in his flesh, but he forced them away with powerful mental discipline. He pulled a chair out from the room’s only table and dropped heavily into it.
Zophiel set a hand on the table and concentrated on it not moving. Small twitches still plagued his fingers, but they slowly died away. He gestured to the opposite chair.
“Please have a … seat.”
“Thank you, Brother.”
Zophiel took another series of calming breaths, each one with fewer stutters than the last. He stared off into space, trying to close away the memories of pain.
“You wished to speak to me?”
Zophiel looked up. “What? Oh, yes.” He took one more deep breath. The tremors died away almost completely.
Almost.
“I received Veketon’s reply today,” he said.
“Riviel mentioned as much. What was his answer?”
Zophiel snorted out a laugh. “He sent the messenger’s head back. Every Fellerossi fleet is moving to attack us.”
“Is that not the response you expected? Even the one you tried to provoke?”
“Yes, I suppose it is. Instead of us hunting him, he will seek us out. He will bring the last portal lance to us, and we will take it by force.”
“That was your plan from the beginning, Brother.”
Zophiel nodded absently. “True, but he will be a formidable opponent. You will stand with us, won’t you?”
Othaniel nodded, her eyes bright and warm. “Of course, I will help. How could I not join my brother at a time like this?”
“I’ll admit I’m surprised you answered our invitation. Riviel didn’t agree with me sending it at first. She said … well, I’m sure you can guess what she said.”
“I will not abandon you again,” Othaniel said firmly.
“It’s comforting to hear you say that,” Zophiel said. “You must understand it is the three of us against a cruel and thankless universe. We have no one else but each other to depend on.”
“Yes, I’ve come to understand that all too well, Brother.” Othaniel bowed her neck slightly. “The time we’ve been separated was … an unexpectedly painful period for me. I have no plans to leave again.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Zophiel said. “You know, it really is wonderful having you back. Even Riviel is pleased by your return.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“She’s just not very good at showing it.” Zophiel quirked a smile.
“Obviously.”
The two of them shared a private laugh.
“How would you like me to help us prepare?” she asked.
“Riviel will acquaint you with our new weapons and armor. Start there. I think you’ll find at least some of them to your liking.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“And now, unfortunately, I need to commune with Vayl.”
“Then please finish.” Othaniel rose from her seat. “We can talk some more afterward.”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
Zophiel saw her out the door. It shut behind her, and he was once again alone.
He knelt on the floor, closed his eyes, and concentrated. In his mind, the room no longer existed. He floated in space, ripped free from his corporeal senses. Sight, sound, smell, touch, taste. All of them no longer penetrated his thoughts.
He couldn’t feel the heat of the room, or hear the distant hum of the ship’s ventilation, or smell the fading aroma of his half-eaten meal. Everything in existence dwelt within his mind: a universe of one.
Memories surfaced, and his heart raced.
He remembered the first time he ever spoke to Vayl, of how the pain and the loss of sight had brought a cruel purity. He opened those memories now, allowing his body to experience them as if they were fresh.
—confusion—
Vierj threw him into the wall. He struck with such force that metal warped and his bones cracked. Black barrier energy snapped around his body, but it was a feeble defense against Vierj’s limitless power. He slid down to his knees and collapsed onto the cold floor.
Riviel shouted at Vierj, but the scrawny child was powerless to stop her.
“It seems defiance is contagious today,” Vierj said.
Through the haze of pain, Zophiel saw Vierj’s bored grimace. With the slightest gesture of her hand, a whip of black energy appeared and struck Riviel in the chest.
The child flew back. Her head cracked against the far wall, and her body slumped to the ground.
“Hmm, I was hoping for her to put up her defenses.” Vierj sighed heavily. “She isn’t maturing as fast as you did. Oh well, I suppose that will do for her punishment.”
Vierj turned to Zophiel, gazing at him with dispassionate silver eyes. Fear gripped his heart.
“I have tried to be patient and reasonable with you, but you continue to defy me in these petty ways. It is truly growing tiresome.” Vierj took his face into her hands and placed her thumbs just below his eye sockets. “I do not enjoy causing you pain, but your continued defiance has led you here. Perhaps a wound that will take you some time to regenerate from is called for this time.”
Zophiel’s breaths came short and fast. Vierj held his skull in an iron grip, straining his jawbone with intense pressure. Her thumbs came up and touched his closed eyes.
“Don’t,” Zophiel hissed through clenched teeth.
Vierj pushed her thumbs into his eyes and kept going past the first knuckle. Along the sides of his face, her fingers tore through muscles and his jawbone as if they were soft clay. Zophiel screamed and screamed and screamed, blood pouring from his ruined eyes and face.
Nothing existed in his world. Nothing except his cries and the unbearable pain. Pain! PAIN!!!
Agony gave way to emptiness, and on the edge of that emptiness, another mind appeared.
Are you there, my lord? Zophiel’s thoughts echoed in the emptiness.
Silence followed, and then …
Yes, my young disciple.
My lord!
—clarity—
The emptiness twisted around them, becoming a whirlwind of mingling sounds, sensations, and colors. It spun rapidly, the disparate mind-noise smoothing out, forming a blue metallic floor, walls, and a low ceiling. Zophiel saw himself on the floor, slumped against a wall warped by his impact. Blood poured from his ruined face and pooled underneath him. He saw a child Riviel, picking herself up off the floor and limping towards him.
Vierj had left.
The memory slowed and then stopped completely, Riviel in mid step, tears pausing in their trek down her face.
A figure not from the memory suddenly appeared, first just black smoke near the floor, then twisting upward, gaining definition and dimensions. The black smoke became a humanoid figure.
The creature stood tall and lanky, with a black leathery cloak concealing most of its body. Elongated arms ended in thin fingers, as if the creature were stretched or malnourished. Bone pressed against his sunken, night-black skin.
The cowl of his cloak hid all but a glimpse of his dark, bald head. Twin eyes like infinite blue furnaces watched Zophiel, but despite their strangeness, the eyes still communicated a great sense of compassion and kinship.
Zophiel dropped to one knee and bowed his head deeply. “My lord Vayl.”
“Please rise, my young disciple.” The creature’s voice was ancient and fatherly.
“Yes, my lord.”
“I sensed much excitement in you. So much so that I felt the need to commune with you. Tell me what has brought about this strong emotion.”
“Of course, my lord. It is simply that I will soon possess the seventh portal lance.”
“And with it, you will finally be able to complete the Aperture Halo.” His eyes brightened ever so slightly. “Ah, at last. This is excellent news indeed. And yet something troubles you, tempers this excitement. Please, share your concerns with me.”
Zophiel nodded. “This lance will not be as easy as the other six. It is in the possession of a powerful seraph pilot.”
“More powerful than you?”
“Perhaps. But Othaniel has rejoined us, and we have the weapons you sent through the Aperture Halo. These together should be more than sufficient.”
“Then why doubt yourself?” Vayl dismissed the notion with a withered hand. “I understand your caution, but I have faith in your abilities.”
“It is simply that I do not wish to fail you, my lord.”
“And you will not,” Vayl said. He approached Zophiel and placed a hand on his shoulder. Zophiel felt warmth and approval and an almost fatherly sense of love filling him.
“My lord?”
“Yes?”
“I have a request.” Zophiel found it hard to make eye contact.
Vayl’s eyes flickered with bemusement. “You wish to see it again?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Very well.”
Vayl stepped behind Zophiel and placed a skeletal hand on each shoulder. The frozen moment from Zophiel’s distant past faded away, turning into insubstantial blue smoke, then twisting, twirling, accelerating, and finally forming into a new reality.
Zophiel found himself standing on a black craggy plateau overlooking a blood-red desert. Smoke and fire and brimstone filled the sky above. Huge brass orbs like giant eyes exhaled fire from their irises. There were dozens of them, hundreds of them, each making a slow trip around the planet.
Immense winged shapes moved within the firestorm, shrouded from direct view by the swirling inferno. An enormous brass tower rose above the desert and disappeared into the flames above. At its base were the collapsed structures and broken highways of a human city, now little more than a heap of ruins.
The fate of this cruel universe, Zophiel thought with satisfaction.
The image wavered and faded, then snapped back into focus. They were in the air, floating within the center of an endless sky of the most perfect crystal blue. Expansive cities of white stone, silver, and clear crystal floated serenely. Scale was difficult to judge, but some could have been the size of whole continents.
The Homeland, Zophiel thought. He spotted several winged shapes in the distance. And the Keepers. The enemies of my lord.
“Behind us,” Vayl whispered into his ear.
Zophiel turned. Huge brass eyes exhaled clouds of living fire and ash. Some of the eyes were so vast they dwarfed the continent-cities. The firestorms expanded, engulfing one city after another. Swarms of distant black shapes swooped down. Pure-white explosions dotted their approach, and the Keepers flew up to meet them.
“A future like this leaves a scar of pain,” Vayl said. “It resonates in time both before and after it. These events will come to pass.”
Zophiel closed his eyes, his doubts erased and his faith rekindled.
“The cruel legacy of the Keepers and their seraphs will soon be destroyed,” Vayl said. “Together, we will make it happen.”