The reckoning
In the distance, there was music and there was talk, creeping in from the depths of his mind in a series of hushed, worried remarks. None of the voices sounded familiar, but then, he wasn’t trying to recognize them. A dull but terrible brightness bled through his eyelids and sent a sharp, searing pain to the center of his brain. The crowd murmured, growing closer.
He scowled and squinted. Strange faces stared down at him through bright, blinding light. His head pounded and his face hurt, but he moved up to a sitting position anyway, still in the men’s room of that club, surrounded by a small crowd that watched with curious concern. Blaz and Aiden were gone. The name alone ached in his chest, heart quivering. One hand used the floor for support as he moved to stand on both feet. The room suddenly fell into a violent spin, prompting the crowd to touch him, grabbing him by the arms, knees buckling. It was only when he latched onto the sink and steadied himself that he realized the crowd had caught him. He could feel his face burn with embarrassment; he’d never needed help before.
In the mirror over the sink, he saw the color of his cheeks and the bruises on his face, around one eye, where Blaz had punched him. Light cut through the tears on his skin like tin foil sparkling under the sun, but it wasn’t enough to patch him up. He was far weaker than he’d thought, but had a feeling Blaz would’ve knocked him out regardless. A twist and the water ran. He covered the drain with a hand, letting the sink flood. No image formed on the surface; no hints to Aiden’s whereabouts. Jerking his arm away, he wondered if the contractual tie between them had broken, or if he was just too weak to do this anymore. With a deep and exasperated sigh bursting out of his nose, he shouldered his way through the crowd and left.
Aiden had a lot to explain. Not just him, but everybody else too; Blaz, Striker, the Oracle. A brief memory, a flashback of Aiden’s face before Nathaniel had lost consciousness, a comment that Blaz had made—what did Zea have to do with this? What could possibly have been his part? He was in The Abyss; Nathaniel had seen to that himself, pushing Zea and the rest of the resistance off the cliff with his own hands. His wings moved, taking flight; there was only one broken angel that’d be able to give him any answers.
The path to the Oracle’s temple curved around the mountain, seemingly out of Narissa’s view on purpose, forgotten about. As Nathaniel followed it, light welcomed him, shining through the overgrown plants that hung from the mountainside, a bright trail on the stone path. His pulse raced faster the further he went, choking him as he turned the last corner. Both Dave and his mate lay at the temple’s entrance, bright light pouring from their wounds. Blaz. With his chest engulfed in flames and his heart drowning in sorrow, Nathaniel took Dave’s sword and walked in, swallowed by the darkness of the hallway, his halo completely unable to light the way. At the very end, light shone through and shadows danced, although no sound could reach him yet. His footfalls broke the silence. With the sword gripped tightly in his hand, he rushed down the hallway, heart beating out of his chest.
A breath, partway disappointed, partway relieved was the response to the emptiness of the Oracle’s chamber, inhabited by her alone.
He looked like shit.
Turning to face her, the flames in his chest swallowed the rest of his body, sword hilt squeezed into the palm of his hand. Her, the instigator. Her, the one who wanted to see him fall so badly that she’d sent an entire army after him. Did that flatter him? The fact it took so many to break him? After all, he’d taken out an entire army and Salus’ Representative all by himself. Light no longer coursed through his veins and his skin turned into ash, but he still found himself above all the ones who’d ruined him, didn’t he? Pathetic. He deserved to fall.
The sword in his hand flipped. Why did she wish for his demise so fervently? What would she get out of this? Retribution came from the very bottom of their group. She wasn’t in it to see him fall, but to regain her freedom. The mind behind it had simply recruited her, the same way it’d recruited Striker, Blaz and Aiden. Each one of them had their own reasons and benefits for getting involved, or they would’ve never collaborated. The enemy of one’s enemy was a friend, wasn’t it?
His heart raced. Was Zea behind it all?
The rings turned. The extent of his enemies was unknown to her, but Zea was definitely involved. Who else would’ve known his exact weaknesses? Who else would’ve known how to successfully destroy him? Zea had come closer than anybody else. No, Aiden had, wasn’t that right?
Shut the fuck up. His blood boiled.
Had Blaz killed the soldiers outside? They’d stood in the way of the truth. Poor Dave died choking on his boss’ name, crying out for help. Unfortunately, he was too late. A shiver ran down his spine, throat closing. No. No, she was lying; she was trying to guilt-trip him when he’d nothing to do with those deaths. It wasn’t his fault. Blaz would’ve never come around if it hadn’t been for him. Blaz had left him for dead. Where was he now? Where was Aiden? The depths never got searched. No one ever remembered them; ghosts that trod the line between health and sickness, forgotten for their unwellness, too bothersome for the surface. How deliberate was his memory? Or, more accurately, how terrified was he of ending up down there, with the sick and the irrelevant? The waterfall had done nothing for him; his illness was rooted deep inside. Aiden had planted it well. Aiden had done absolutely nothing.
A scoff echoed through his skull like a distant call. So he really did love him. She’d had her doubts about that, after all, hadn’t he been head over heels for Zea his entire life? True love wasn’t easy to replace, but then, maybe his type was the replacement itself. Was Aiden as good as the original?
Shut up. His throat closed, swallowing hard. How long had Aiden and Blaz known each other? Was he jealous, or did he fear Aiden had been with Blaz this entire time, going behind his back, lying about his affection? No, Nathaniel believed him. His hands shook, heart lodged halfway up his throat. Aiden had told him the truth about that. How was he so sure? How did he know Aiden hadn’t been with Blaz since day one? He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Did she know? She knew everything. She’d always known everything. Had Aiden ever been genuine with him? Why? Did he doubt himself in bed?
His arm pointed the sword at her bleeding core, hand shaking, but he wasn’t afraid. Neither was she. In truth, Aiden had simply been caught in a crossfire, signing a contract without reading the fine print. As a businessman, he should’ve known better. Oh, wait, he’d signed it before becoming one, hadn’t he? A successful career had been his premature reward. Aiden had signed off his soul? Why else would a man like Aiden ever want to touch him?
The pull of a trigger and the sword thrusted into the Oracle’s core, stabbing it clean through. Light gushed out from the wound and exploded in every direction, peppering the walls, dripping down his face, skin burning where Blaz had punched him. Keeping a tight grip on the hilt, he watched liquid light pour down and wash his feet in boiling warmth, adrenaline in his bloodstream, eyes wide on his face.
“Fuck you,” he whispered, speaking through gritted teeth. Weak laughter echoed across his skull, mocking him, so he forced the sword down and slashed the Oracle in half, broken apart but held together by the wings that sprouted from each side, too weak to pick themselves off the ground.
Idiot. Weren’t there enough people trying to ruin him? In the end, he’d destroyed himself. As she spoke, a soft crack echoed within the room. His halo fell in two halves, shattering into a million pieces, swimming in the light that slowly filled the room. He no longer belonged. He hadn’t belonged in a long time. Dipped in a puddle of light, his feet burned, sandals soaked right through. A noise, loud, clunky, and the sword had fallen from his hand, lungs drawing in shallow breaths. They’d done it. They’d won.
Goodbye.
A strong force tossed him out of the room as if it’d exploded right before him, repelled by her very existence, thrown halfway into the exit hallway. In the throes of agony, he groaned, head pounding against the floor, his entire body aching. He didn’t get up right away; the world spun and his face burned. A hand came up to wipe some of the Oracle’s blood from it, eyes barely able to open, in searing pain. His sockets pulsed as if cut open and salted. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself off the ground to make it out of the temple. As a fugitive, he wouldn’t have too long before getting thrown off the cliff. His blood curdled with the mere thought, feet heavy on the tiles, the wet clapping of his sandals the only sound within it.
He could barely catch sight of the outside before a bag was thrown over his head and hands immediately tried to restrain him. His body struggled on its own, awakened by muscle memory, fighting his capturers off as best as he could. Weak and outnumbered, he soon met the ground. The capture was simple; the whole process was still crystal clear in his mind, as if the Great Expunging had been yesterday. Hands were tied behind the subject’s back, wings were bound together at the base, and two of the strongest soldiers dragged them up the mountain, through The Court, to the cliff behind it. He wondered which one of his men were behind this, and whose orders they followed right now.
“Blaz?” he shouted, complying with the hands that gripped his upper arms and pulled him up.
Holding him tight, the soldiers started down the stone path, unwilling to give him an answer. Feet shuffled as they left, both ahead and behind him, meaning there were a lot more people present than he’d anticipated. The fallings he’d participated in hadn’t had this many witnesses—except for the Great Expunging, of course; that had been unlike anything Paradise had ever seen. He tried calling out Striker’s name and even Aiden’s to no avail; no one was willing to talk. Loud footfalls climbed up the mountain, and when a breeze swept past, rustling their clothes, his lungs filled up with roses and amber, making his heart jump.
“Charmaine?” he tried, lower now, softer. A touch on his shoulder, featherlight, fingers brushing the bag over his head. They came and went as if they’d never existed. The hole in his heart grew. “Charmaine, I’m sorry. You trusted me—you warned me—but I didn’t listen. I let hubris speak louder. I wasn’t—I’m not strong enough.”
A hand slipped under the bag to touch the back of his neck, fingers warm on his skin, making him shiver. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she whispered, voice cracking. He felt the noose around his throat tighten.
“I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.”
At the top of the mountain, he was thrown to the ground and the bag was finally pulled from his head, allowing him a wide view of the edge of the cliff, wind whipping past, ruffling his hair. The sky was a dark blue peppered with bright, shining stars, different from the last time he’d been up here, a late summer afternoon. Moving to stand on his feet with great difficulty, thrown off by the lack of balance that his restrained wings brought him, he turned to stare at the crowd behind him, in a semi-circle that blocked any path to the stairs. The faces that looked back at him were all familiar, sending a sharp pang through his chest. Charmaine stood a few feet in front of the others with Adila at one end of the formation and Blaz at the other, holding Aiden captive with a hand over his mouth. Aiden wasn’t exactly fighting for freedom, but it was clear he was being held against his will; one hand half-heartedly pulled at Blaz’s wrist while the other tried to pry off the arm that seized him. He must’ve been at this for a while, possibly the entire way up the mountain. The panic on his face and the tears that streamed down his cheeks were too painful to look at. Nathaniel had to turn away.
“For failing to abide by the laws of Paradise and remain pure despite all evil, we hereby sentence you to The Abyss,” Charmaine declared, voice trembling, eyes shining with tears. Her lips quivered, hands clasped together, trying to keep one another from shaking. “Nathaniel, your holiness has extinguished, your piety has expired, and your halo has shattered. You are no longer one of us. You do not belong in Paradise.”
In silence, he bowed, heart broken in far more pieces than his halo.
“This ruling is just,” Adila concluded.
A sound, the rustling of Charmaine’s dress, and he saw it approach over the grass, always hovering an inch off the ground, feet never visible. Roses enveloped him and hands touched his face, making him glance up to meet her eyes, always at perfect level with his own, three blues that shone and leaked. Pressing his face in between her hands, she leaned over to plant a kiss on his forehead, tears dripping down her chin.
“Ask for Dolion,” she whispered, pulling back to look him in the face. “He will get you in contact with me.”
“Blaz doesn’t deserve Salus’ trust,” he cut in, a secretive whisper.
Charmaine tilted her head. “Tell him that yourself.” She spoke just before hovering away from him, crowd parting to let Salus through.
His pride was so wounded that he couldn’t even bring himself to look at his boss, face turned aside. “Blaz is no purer than me,” he started, loud enough for all to hear. “He doesn’t deserve exoneration.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” Salus informed him, making his heart skip.
“I’m going to miss his trial; this is my only chance to speak up. He doesn’t deserve exoneration and he doesn’t deserve public acknowledgement. What he’s done is far worse than any crime I’ve ever committed. The most he deserves in Paradise is The Valley, if not my own fate.”
“Says the angel without a halo upon his head. Your word is worthless now,” Blaz announced, vile and hateful.
“Nathaniel, is there anything else you’d like to say?” Charmaine interrupted.
Reflexively, he glanced at Aiden, but his heart ached too painfully; the knot in his throat choked it. He decided not to address that. Instead, he fixed his eyes on Charmaine’s face. “Thank you for everything.”
She nodded in response, tears streaming down her face. A hand covered her mouth as she turned aside for a moment. On the summit of the mountain, the wind swept, blowing her hair from her chest, rustling the folds of her dress, the only sound that broke the silence. It covered up a small, delicate sob. He thought back to the hug from the other day, the only one she’d ever given him, and wondered just how much of it had been out of encouragement, and how much had been a goodbye.
Charmaine once again faced forward. “As the arbitrator of this judgment, declared fair by the Representative of Justice, and witnessed by the ones behind me, I now call forward the plaintiff to finish the ruling.”
Off to his left, Blaz let go of Aiden and shoved him forward, making him stumble towards Nathaniel, face shining with tears. So that was why he was on this side of the valley, where no other human had ever come before—to push Nathaniel off. The approach was too painful to watch. A step on the patch of grass right in front of him, two, and Aiden stood an inch away, filling the air with cedar wood like a log cabin just before a lit match found its bowels. Aiden touched his arm and, for as much as he wanted to pull away, he physically couldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” Aiden whispered, speaking around a sob. “I didn’t wanna do this. I tried to stop it, but it was already too late.” His words were strained, breaking Nathaniel’s heart.
“Why did you sell your soul?”
“It was stupid. I—I didn’t see a future ahead of me. There was no way I’d go to college or become someone that mattered. I know I should’ve tried, but I was just so disillusioned…” Every word that came out of his mouth was more strained than the last, brimming with guilt. “When Zea showed up, I signed right on the spot—my eighteenth birthday. I moved on and never thought about it again.”
A hand touched Nathaniel’s face so softly that his heart almost believed it. Glancing up, he saw the shine in Aiden’s eyes and the pain on his features.
“Do you hate me?” Aiden asked, a tear dripping from his eye.
More than anything, he wished he could’ve said yes right now. Said yes and meant it. “No. I could never hate you.”
His answer twisted Aiden’s face in pain, and the hand on his arm squeezed it.
“Push him,” Blaz called, loud and authoritarian. It shook Aiden where he stood, hand moving down to touch Nathaniel on the chest, flat over it. He hesitated, brown eyes staring Nathaniel in the face, hurt.
“I love you,” Aiden whispered, barely audible, before pushing him off.
As the ground slipped away and panic drowned his heart in ice, it struck him that, had his hands been untied, he would’ve brought Aiden along.
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