“And he convinced Bastet to release Thirran’s soul from the under realms so that I might return it to you and bring honor to the sunborn name.”
My gaze swept the room for Hyas and Anika. The three of us were charged with keeping order and maintaining security at these meetings. At present, Hyas was ignoring his duty and watching you with rapture. He’d wanted to possess you and he’d been denied. Demi-gods were not known to be gracious in having their desires thwarted.
“But before we release Thirran’s soul to you,” you continued, “we have a few conditions.”
At this point, Aretha took over, listing out the tribal demands in her clear, authoritative tone. As she spoke, the orbs of light above us vibrated with mounting urgency. The angels were in rare form, and their greed for Thirran’s soul was palpable.
“If this soul is indeed the Potesta angel Thirran,” the Thrones boomed in a singular voice, “we will banish the Angel of Death from the holy realms and strip him of his title.”
“And bind him to a known mortal form and deliver him to us for sentencing,” Aretha added. None of us wanted to hunt down Azrael as a belial demon. The Angel of Death was far too cunning, and his allies in the earthen realm too abundant. Surely, he’d launch a counterattack and might even succeed.
“Of his choosing,” the Thrones amended. They must fear Azrael’s influence over the other Potestas for them to make this concession. “Now, present the soul to us.”
Orcus came forward and in the guttural language of the shadowborn, called forth Thirran’s soul. It rose from the skull and gathered like a mist. As Orcus infused the angel’s soul with his own spiritual energy, its color changed from a washed-out grey to a dull rust red, then lightened and became more vibrant in hue until it glowed golden like those of the Thrones surrounding us. Orcus, wan and visibly drained, was then assisted by one of his soul servants to his chair for a moment of respite. He wisely chose not to feed in front of the Thrones, though he would certainly need to soon.
“You are now in the presence of the Thrones,” they announced to the newly restored soul. “Tell us your name.”
“Thirran,” the soul announced with the clarity of a rung bell.
“And where have you been these many years?” the Thrones inquired.
“In the possession of Bastet, matron of the sunborn and handmaiden to Ra.”
“How did you come to belong to the queen of the under realms?”
“I was given to the shadowborn by Azrael, to be kept hidden away. In exchange, Azrael agreed to lobby the Potestas to allow the shadowborn to traverse the earthen realm and feed upon human souls. I do not know what exchange was made between the shadowborn and Bastet.”
For a moment, the hall was quiet save the vibrations of the Thrones, which I took to mean they were debating the veracity of Thirran’s claim.
“You would swear on all that is holy that you speak the truth?” the Thrones demanded.
“I swear it.”
The Thrones’s spirits then turned a deep purple color in hue. I didn’t know what it signified—excitement or wrath—but soon after, they made their departing remarks.
“We will contact you when it is done,” they said, and like fireflies winking in the night, they vanished, taking Thirran’s soul with them.
“Now what?” you asked everyone present.
“Now, we wait,” said Orcus.
Victory had never felt so tenuous.
Word arrivedto us three days later. The Thrones had bound Azrael’s spirit to a body. And not just any body, but one who was intimately familiar to you—the cyclops who’d acted as your jailer whilst in Azrael’s captivity, the same one who was serving time in a warborn mine.
It was not a mortal form as we’d demanded, nor was Azrael delivered to us for sentencing, which meant we had to call upon the warborn forces to aid in this effort. And why would the Angel of Death choose a being already under lock and key? Soon after, we learned that the cyclops had escaped the labor camp just days before, a sure sign that some treachery was afoot.
“He’s likely retreated to the cyclopes’ ancestral lands.” Hyas pointed to a cluster of islands near Sicily. We were studying a map of the territories in the twin’s tent.
“We should capture him before he can recruit an army,” Aretha said.
“Who in your employ released the cyclops?” I asked him and Aretha both. They seemed eager to skirt their own responsibility in this debacle.
“We’re looking into it as we speak,” Aretha assured me. I trusted her more than her brother, but only a little.
Beside me, you’d grown quiet. Fear made you fold into yourself. Knowing the cyclops was free and inhabited by the Angel of Death had left you unsettled. I laid a hand on your back. “We’ll find him, Vincent.” You glanced up at me and gave a small smile. Meanwhile, Hyas monitored us with what I’d consider a proprietary eye.
“The islands aren’t large, but the surrounding waters are treacherous,” Lucian said. “Not navigable by a boat of any significant size. We’d have to anchor out and proceed in small skiffs. They’d see us coming.”
