On Wings of Chaos (Revenant Wyrd Book 5) Read online

  "You think so?"

  "I kinda know," Maeven said sheepishly. "I can feel it. Your mother's emotions changed your wyrd, giving you more of a link with the Ever After."

  "How do you know all of this?" Jovian asked.

  "By reading your wyrd," Maeven said.

  "So I'm like a book to you?" Jovian asked.

  "Your wyrd has flavors and scents to it that the animal side of me can read and interpret."

  Jovian shivered against Maeven. The kettle started to whistle. Jovian peeled himself out of the blankets and made a cup of chamomile tea for Maeven before climbing back into the warm cocoon with him.

  "Does that weird you out?" Maeven asked.

  "What?"

  "The animal side of me?"

  Jovian thought for a moment. "I guess it doesn't, not really. It’s shocking to see, but I can relate, given the dreams I've been having lately of growing wings of my own, and considering that in another life, I was an angel that could change into a wolf."

  "Dreams of becoming an angel?" Maeven asked. "Is this anything to do with the darkness growing in the west?"

  "You've heard about that?" Jovian asked, a little startled. "How many people know of this?"

  "There's room for debate on if it’s something that's actually happening or not," Maeven explained. "You know who Azra Akeed is?"

  Jovian nodded.

  "Apparently she thinks there’s a rising power in the west, a darkness like some angelic storm that is threatening to sweep over the realms if it’s not stopped. She thinks that's the reason for the attacks that have happened of late."

  Jovian remembered vividly the attack on Joya in the Spire of Night, and the attack on his home. But even before that, the attack of the old caustic lady the night that a possessed Grace showed up and fought Porillon in Greenwood.

  "I think there's something to what Azra says," Jovian admitted. There was a part of him, the side that was his mother, he presumed, that knew more about this. She could feel the darkness, in a way. The part of him that was still connected to his mother knew there was truth in what Azra said.

  "Would you care to explain?" Maeven asked, taking a drink of his tea.

  "Angelica and I have been dreaming of the Turquoise Tower," Jovian told him.

  "Angelica and you?" Maeven asked.

  "Yeah, since we’re connected through our mother. It's the dreams we've had of turning into angels. The Pale Horse is there, and this strange robed figure."

  Maeven tensed at the mention of the Pale Horse. Last time Jovian had talked about the Pale Horse, he’d died.

  "I know," Jovian said, accurately reading the rigidity of Maeven's body. "They’re just dreams, though."

  "What does Grace say?" Maeven asked.

  Jovian sighed. "That the dreams Angelica and I have are normally prophetic."

  Maeven took a deep breath and pulled Jovian closer to him, resting his prickly chin, thick with whiskers, on the younger man's shoulder. "I hope this one isn't."

  "But the dream is strange; it's like all of these half-breed angels have come there to burn away their humanity, like they’re called there, and their angelic side overrides the desire of their human blood. In his last one we had it seems like there’s about to be a war."

  "Anything else?" Maeven asked when Jovian grew silent.

  "That figure, the dark one with black wings. The black-winged half-breeds seem to pay homage to it."

  "Arael?" Maeven asked.

  "It seems familiar, though. . ."

  "Arael would seem familiar to your mother’s memories," Maeven said.

  "But it seems too delicate to be a guy."

  Maeven didn't answer.

  "Who knows?" Jovian sighed. "Just because the theme of the dream might come true, doesn't mean every nuance of it will, right?"

  "Let's hope not," Maeven whispered.

  It was warm for a winter’s day, the kind of warm that made Aladestra long for spring. A balmy breeze fluttered the leaves and blossoms in the terracotta pots along the parapets of the Ivory Tower. When Smith Hudson had found her and insisted that they go over his harvest reports, since they hadn’t had time since the fall, she sighed with resignation and told him that she would only go along with listening to his report if he did so on a walk.

  Aladestra loved the view from the upper reaches of the Ivory Tower. The noise of the busy city crested the top of the tower in ebbs and flows, like waves of human voices and city bustle. The gentle rise and fall of the ivory roofs rippled out from the center of the city, thinning to smaller homes the further they were from the Ivory Tower and the hub of business in the Ivory City.

  To be completely honest, Aladestra wasn’t listening to Smith at all. He droned on about the yield of mead produced in Meedesville. Then he would go on about how much they had taken, and how much was available to sell. Then he would do that with every crop the Holy Realm farmed.

  She’d already read the report. Aladestra knew that wheat would be down because of the wyrded storm that had plagued the Neferis plantation, which was one of their largest producers of wheat. Aladestra knew there would be little of that to sell, so they would have to look to other realms to supplement their stores. She knew about the boost in tobacco, that corn was the same as last year, and that. . .

  She didn’t have time to listen to him — not when there was a nice winter day before her, and her mind was at ease for the first time in a while.

  That was, if she could avoid thinking about what was happening in the Realm of Earth. She stopped, and Smith stopped with her, though his recitation of his reports didn’t. She pulled her white shawl closer around her midnight-blue dress and gazed toward the north. She would never be able to glimpse the Realm of Earth from here; the Mountains of Nependier got in the way. But she could imagine her view if she could see that far.

  Overhead a crow called, breaking her concentration. She sighed and turned, pressing her back to the wall of the parapet, gazing at the waterfall behind the city.

  The Ivory City was nestled in a sort of gully within the Mountains of Nependier. Behind the city was a scenic backdrop: towering mountains which were red and silver from the weeds that grew along their heights. But the most spectacular sight were the Falls of Nependier, which cascaded down the mountains and into a basin that had been altered by human hands. Rivers flowed out of that basin and created a moat around the city.

  And what a city it was. Aladestra was happy she had been chosen as the Guardian of the Holy Realm, because her seat of power was in the center of the largest city in all the realms. Not only did it sport all of the largest buildings, but it was the center for the arts, the center for most of the government, and the center of education.

  There wasn’t one realm that governed all the others, but there were general bodies of government that tended to oversee certain aspects of all governments through the Realms. The Realm of Earth was in charge of all of their own workings, but there were certain boards, like the board of education and the board of wyrding, that were central to all realms, and presided over those fields in all the realms. The seats of those boards resided in the Ivory City.

  And when there was a meeting of the Realm Guardians, it often happened in the Ivory City.

  But despite all of the nice weather, and the melting snow, Aladestra couldn’t bring herself to be happy. The Realms had been savagely attacked lately, by caustics and, Azra would argue, by alarists as well.

  Aladestra pulled her shawl tighter still and pressed on, her mind on the attacks her realm had faced. It was a shame that the war in the Realm of Earth was happening now. She would send reinforcements if she could, but the truth was, none of the realms could spare any of their defenses. She was busy rebuilding, and having guard details strengthened at all towns and cities within her borders.

  The call of a crow overhead drew her attention again. She shuddered, hoping it wasn’t an ill omen. But then a glint of something on the crow caught her eye, and Aladestra stopped.

  “Hush
, Smith,” she said. The wind toyed with her long curly hair, casting strands of blonde on the wind, and her blue eyes studied the shape better. She channeled a thread of wyrd into her gaze, sharpening her focus and strengthening the distance that she could see.

  “Get inside,” she whispered to Smith. He made to protest. “Now,” she ordered. He obeyed.

  The short, chubby man half-closed the tower door behind him, peeking out the crack left. “What is it, Guardian?”

  “Not a crow,” she said. She watched the black wings spiraling over the city. “What do you want, bird,” Aladestra said. It wasn’t even a bird. She could vaguely make out the shape of a human where the body of the bird should be.

  It was an angel.

  She gathered her wyrd around her. Lavender energy crackled across her hands. It wouldn’t happen this time. She wouldn’t stand by and watch as her realm was attacked again. Before the fallen could act on its own, Aladestra threw her hands out, and from them giant arcs of lavender lightning flashed through the sky, finding their mark.

  The fallen drifted to the side, rolled, and winged toward her. She felt the coming of the angel’s power.

  Before her a muscular man landed, a swath of black cloth tied around his waist. He shrugged his shoulders, and loose feathers fell, smoking, to the floor of the parapet.

  Smith shut the door firmly.

  “That hurt,” he said, his voice beautiful, soothing as the warm winter wind.

  Aladestra wasn’t fooled. She launched another attack. The force of wyrd concussed the air around the fallen, flipping him end over end from the tower. She raced to the edge, throwing balls of lavender fire one right after the other in quick succession.

  The angel darted expertly out of their way and flew around the tower, out of sight.

  Aladestra heard a large boom, a shudder, and dust and smoke filled the air. Now the noises from below weren’t the casual notes of conversation, but screams of terror and pain. There was a loud roar, and the world split into chaos. A great gust of smoke and dust rushed up the sides of the tower and quickly overcame the parapet she stood on. The clear air was clogged with so much debris that Aladestra couldn’t see.

  Glass rained down into the streets, shattering across the cobblestones, slicing people to shreds as the apex of the Wyrder’s Academy came down. In another explosion, dust shot out from the academy, and the skywalk between it and the Ivory Tower vanished out of sight, dropping away and plummeting to the streets below. In minutes the enormous Ivory City was surrounded by a plume of smoke. Blotting out the sun, the smoke skittered peacefully across the basin of the Falls of Nependier, where it got lost in a churn of spraying water. It rose up, greeting the base of the mountains, and rose still further. Aladestra wouldn’t be surprised if the elves were able to see the dust by nightfall.

  She cast her wyrd out in a shimmering bubble around her, clearing some of the air. Her heart raced double-time, wondering what had happened. She heard shattering glass, and another loud noise followed by a great reverberation in the ground. She was knocked to her knees, the Ivory Tower swaying in some cataclysmic event.

  Aladestra heard the fallen land beside her.

  “Looks like some of your building’s foundations aren’t as strong as you thought,” the angel muttered.

  In horror a light dawned. She raced to the edge of the tower, trying to see down, but the hazy air wouldn’t let her. There were cries of terror below, whimpering and the sound of running feet. Another shudder in the ground, and another crack. Now that she knew what she was listening for, Aladestra could hear the sound of mortar breaking, tumbling to the ground, smashing giant holes in the cobbled streets below.

  She turned and let her rage flash out of her in a torrent of wyrd. The angel backed up, slapping away every burning tendril of lavender wyrd as it slithered at him.

  “By the Goddess, I will see you dead!” Aladestra said.

  The angel tried to mount an attack, his sword coming out of its sheath and hammering down on Aladestra, but a force of wyrd repelled the blade. She called her wyrd forth into a jagged shape much like a dagger, and she plunged it deep into the fallen.

  It gasped once, and she yanked the shard up, arching it under his ribs and driving it toward his heart. Blood cascaded around her hand, soaking the sleeve of her dress and ruining the white shawl that now lay forgotten on the floor of the parapet.

  The angel started to fall to his knees, but Aladestra shoved all of her rage into the wyrded shard, and it shattered. An explosion of wyrd happened inside the angel, and shards of her lavender wyrd shot from the surface of his skin, leaving his flesh hanging on his frame like tatters of cloth.

  He fell dead at her feet.

  Aladestra knelt beside him.

  “Smith,” she said, her voice cracking. “You can come out now.”

  The door creaked open.

  “I need to write the other Guardians. Bring me some black parchment; this is a dire situation.”

  Zara looked up to see the lavender lightning lance up into the sky. She sat on her bench, eating her sandwich, and wondered what was happening. People strolled by her, paying neither her nor the lightning any attention, just enjoying the warm winter weather and good conversation with friends. A slight breeze stirred her red hair, and she munched away, watching what was happening in the skies above. She saw the lightning hit something that looked like a bird, but then it responded to the strike, and as the creature wheeled out of the sky toward the top of the Ivory Tower, Zara could see that it wasn’t a bird at all, but a human with wings . . . an angel. She dropped her sandwich, stood, shielded her eyes with her hands so she could see better, and watched for a few moments. She couldn’t see anything, and then the creature flew off the top of the tower, snapped its wings open, and flew around the tower. There was a huge flash, a roaring noise, and then a giant explosion of fire and wyrd that lit the air brighter than any sun.

  Zara stumbled back. Everything was silent. Chatter in the streets hushed as everyone turned toward the flash. Zara knew something was different, but part of her mind tried to rationalize what was happening, tried to root her in the physical world. She was aware of the hem of her green dress billowing around her ankles in the warm breeze, how it tugged at her cloak, and how her sandwich was on the ground and she should really pick it up. And then screaming, and a roar of noise like a giant waterfall crashing down around them. The sounds of glass raining down close at hand, shattering on the cobblestones. Dust and debris so thick it quickly blotted out the scene of the Ivory Tower. Hands grabbed her, shook her from her stunned state, and pulled her backwards into a store, its glass windows framing a scene of terror outside. People ran and didn’t look back. Close behind them, rivers of smoke and debris raced along the streets like water cascading violently through a channel.

  “Dear Goddess,” Zara said, turning to the balding shop owner. “You saved my life.” She was shaking. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she knew something was happening that would change her life forever. She sank into a chair, her wobbling legs no longer able to support her body, and gave in to her tears, though she didn’t know why she was crying. She didn’t know the significance of what was happening, or even what was going on outside the windows, the streets were so clogged with smoke.

  The squat shop owner pressed a glass of water into her hands, but she was shaking too badly to drink anything. She moved to place the glass on the mosaic table beside her when another explosion made the very air quiver. Zara jumped, and the glass slipped out of her hands and shattered on the floor, sending streams of water and glass cascading over the tile. Zara screamed when the glass broke, placed a hand to her chest and gasped for air.

  “I’m sorry,” she told the frazzled shop owner, who immediately started cleaning the mess.

  Banging came on the front door. Zara jumped. The shop keeper backed away, his frightened gaze flickering between Zara and the door. If they opened the door, then the debris and smoke would flood in here, and all the t
error, and all the chaos from outside would be even more real.

  Zara hiccupped. Shivered. The pounding came again, bloody prints on the glass of the door. Screaming. Another roar of noise. Zara closed her eyes tight, willing to be out of this nightmare, willing to wake up to the sun filtering through her penthouse apartment, painting her bed in honeyed yellow relief.

  And then, with a startling shatter, the windows of the shop exploded in on her, and the ground shook, heaving her from her feet, throwing her across the floor. The person from outside fell through the door, a shard of glass tearing up through their midsection, pinning the woman in the doorway. Smoke flooded through the shop with a gale force wind that tore at Zara’s green dress. There was no oxygen to have. The heavy smoke burned her lungs, making breathing impossible. She coughed, gasped, and coughed again, her head flooding with pain. A moment of terror, blind panic, and then the roof gave way under immense pressure, and Zara knew only darkness.

  Days later two figures showed up at the keep that were a welcome sight for Joya, even if their presence did cause a bit of a stir through the barracks lining the walkway to the front of the keep. None of their ilk had been seen before by the likes of those in the Realm of Earth, but Caldamron and Shelara didn't let that faze them one bit. In fact, if they even noticed the way the soldiers investigated their alien forms, and their weaponry, they didn't show it.

  In the light of day, Shelara's skin shimmered slightly less, though the blue seemed deeper, even if the green incandescence didn't blush so frequently across her skin.

  Caldamron's black and white furred figure stood out strangely among the shorter humans. He stood like a soldier before his Guardian, his clawed hands clasped behind his back, the metallic weapons he called guns holstered at his side.

  "It’s great to see you!" Joya trumpeted. Instantly the dark elf and the cat-man relaxed.

  "Guardian, is there any news of Uthia?" Caldamron asked.

  "The last we knew, she was going to see if she could get some help from the other dryads in the Shadow Realm — we haven't seen her since," Joya informed them. "But come, I would like to introduce you to the Guardians of the Realm of Earth, and get you settled in. We are about to have a meeting I would like you both to sit in on, if they will permit my counselors to attend."