A Shaityr slipped through the wall of the chamber and hastily strode to Lucifer’s side. “My liege,” he whispered. “Cronus summons you…from the orb.”

  Lucifer’s fingers clenched on his staff. “That bloody fool!”

  With no other recourse, the dark lord vaulted up to the outpost above Palatine Hill. Communication through the orbs was not private, and forbidden save for dire circumstances. He stormed down the corridors to the conference room. Hovering in the fangs of a sapphire serpent, identical to the one in Antonia, a black orb bore Cronus’ darkened image.

  “Your life is forfeit,” Shaitan hissed.

  “He’s…he’s here,” Cronus sputtered. “He’s here in Shailem. At the temple!”

  † † †

  Gavriel rushed from the conference room, pushing past the Malakim stationed along the parapet as he raced across the gallery. As soon as Michael had sent word that Joseph had convinced Miryam to attend the festival, Gavriel had stationed himself beside the orb of liquid glass in the Malakim citadel, waiting to see if Cronus used it to summon Shaitan. And though the images were distorted, and the words slightly garbled, he knew the dark lord had been informed.

  Across the inner courtyard, Gavriel spotted Michael and the convoy surrounding Joseph, Miryam, and Jeshua. The young family was seated amongst the crowds listening to the teachings of an elderly Hasidim professor. The words of the professor barely registered as Gavriel ran towards them: “Though during the Ransom Ceremony, we celebrate our freedom from physical bondage and death, during the harvest festival, we celebrate Moshes’ giving us Elyon’s law, which frees us from ethereal bondage and renews life.”

  Gavriel dropped beside the commander, who started and reached for his sword. “Cronus just informed Shaitan the Captain is here.”

  “We suspected as much,” Michael said. “But you said it would make little difference as it is impossible for Varus to arrive during the festival.”

  “It is,” Gavriel said. “But it’s unlikely the Shaityrim won’t try something.” He glanced up at the shield that now protected the gallery and prevented Shaityrim access to the temple complex from above. “I’ll double the guards along the perimeter, and…” His voice broke off as two Khimara-mounted warriors flew into the outpost above Antonia. “Commander, Marduk and Bel’og are here.”

  19

  Michael drew his sword, and glanced towards the Captain. Miryam held the two loaves of bread they had brought, and Jeshua was sitting on Joseph’s lap, contentedly sucking on a toy. Michael glanced back at the outpost but all seemed quiet. “Triple the perimeter guards,” he said. “And try to find out what Marduk and Bel’og are up to.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but we don’t have any defectors in that tower,” Gavriel said as he turned to leave. “Sabinus imprisoned all the servants.”

  The convoy had also drawn weapons, and Michael noticed the Malakim stationed above were on high alert. Though he knew it was futile, he leaned down and whispered in Joseph’s ear. “It’s time to leave.”

  At first he almost thought his words had penetrated the mortal’s mind, for he rose and helped Miryam to her feet. But then he realized that the Hasidim elder had simply finished teaching, and the couple now prepared to enjoy a leisurely stroll about the temple complex.

  Hoisting Jeshua onto his shoulders, Joseph led Miryam towards the cloisters known as Sholomon’s Colonnade, where Hérod had built the royal stoa. High up on the wall surrounding the outer court, they gazed over the temple and the people milling about in peace. Though Michael understood Joseph’s intentions, for the mortal did not wish Miryam to remember the temple filled with the dead, he wished Joseph had not convinced her to come.

  Michael glanced far across the complex towards Antonia. Nothing stirred, and he could only hope that whatever Marduk and Bel’og had hoped to accomplish had failed. But just as Miryam and Joseph reached the upper tiers of the colonnade, soldiers poured from the Rhòman fortress. Mortals along the outer wall called down to the encampments below, shouting words of warning.

  “Get out of here!” Michael hissed to Joseph, but the couple stood stock-still, watching in surprise as the Jacovites below, evidently prepared for such a course of action, threw grappling hooks up to the temple battlements. They quickly climbed the ropes, then proceeded to haul up large sacks tied to the other ends.

  “Give us a hand,” one of them yelled.

  Joseph handed Jeshua to Miryam and helped the young man heave his sack over the battlement. Those in the courtyards below had raced up to the walled perimeter to witness the excitement, and it was soon flooded with mortals. The men who had besieged Sabinus opened their sacks and began distributing slings to every able-bodied man along the wall.

  Once again, Gavriel dropped down beside Michael.

  “How did Marduk and Bel’og convince Sabinus to send out the soldiers?” Michael demanded. “I thought you said he was terrified.”

  “He was,” Gavriel said. “They played on his greed, and convinced him that if he was going to raid the temple treasury, he needed to do so before Varus arrived.”

  Michael shook his head. “Unbelievable. How did he convince the soldiers to follow such orders? They’re clearly outnumbered by the Jacovites.”

  Gavriel shrugged. “He promised to reward them handsomely.”

  A man approached Joseph with a sack, but then realized it was empty. “We’re out of slingshots. But there are the stones,” he said, pointing to a large pile by the battlements. “Just use your hands.” He clapped Joseph excitedly on the back. Joseph merely blinked.

  Below, the soldiers had reached the valley at the base of Moriah, only to find themselves pelted with stones from above. Shouts of cheer erupted, and escalated when the Jacovites realized the soldiers’ arrows couldn’t make the distance. Climbing atop the basilica, the Jacovites now threw rocks from the roof of the royal stoa. Amongst the Malakim guards accompanying many of them, Michael noticed the spiky-haired guard, Tylel, with a new charge. Once again, the Malak seemed euphoric by the battle.

  “I think we should leave,” Joseph said to Miryam.

  “You think?” Michael retorted.

  The couple had just turned to retreat the way they’d come when soldiers rushed into the complex and headed for the basilica. Those still in the courtyard fled, but the Jacovites along the roof of the royal stoa didn’t notice, so intent were they on their fighting the Rhòmans below. Joseph steered Miryam deeper into the cloisters, away from the approaching soldiers. Michael invoked a dome of protection, and gazed across the courtyard. Between the Khahi shield above and the tripled guards around the temple perimeter, no Shaityrim had yet infiltrated the temple. He turned back to the mortals, crouched down along the far wall, waiting with bated breath, hoping to go unnoticed by the soldiers when they breached the cloister. Jeshua still sucked on his toy, oblivious to the commotion around him.

  On the roof above them, Jacovites cheered, still raining stones down on the soldiers.

  The Rhòmans in the courtyard disappeared from view as they reached the base of the basilica. Michael clenched his sword, waiting for them to scale the wall, but several moments passed and still they remained below. Observing their heat signatures, he saw them spread out along the length of the courtyard below the royal stoa, but none seemed to be attempting to gain access. Michael motioned for the convoy to remain with the couple, and he crept to the edge of the wall. Below, the soldiers were shoving rags, doused in pitch, into small pottery jars.

  Michael’s chest filled with fear. “Joseph, run!”

  Whether the mortal heard him or not, Michael never knew.

  A soldier lit one of the rags and threw the jar up to the cloister. The flaming projectile smashed into the wall beside the crouching mortals. Miryam screamed. The baby gave a startled cry.

  † † †

  Mounted atop his Khimara, Marduk watched the Shaityrim slash their way through the Malakim stationed along the perimeter. A gap in the fighting opened up, and he slunk his beast through it, unobserved amongst the commotion.

  † † †

  No sooner had the flaming jar smashed beside them than Joseph yanked his wife to her feet and pulled her down the corridor. The closest exit was at the far end of the cloisters, but even as they ran, the soldiers below spread out and continued throwing the flaming jars up to the basilica. Ahead of the mortals, one of the crockery torches struck the roof, and almost at once, a large portion burst into flame.

  The royal stoa caught fire immediately, for the wooden beams framing the roof were full of pitch and wax. Even the gold overlaying the entire structure was impregnated with wax. The cloisters filled with smoke, and chunks of the ceiling caved in around them. The fire spread rapidly, and Jacovites from above fell down around them, smashing onto the rubble. With a groan, a large burning timber gave way, and crashed through the tiers, blocking the couple’s path to the gate.

  † † †

  From the shadows of the temple proper, Marduk gazed across the courtyard, searching for his quarry. Michael and his charges had not been amongst those who had fled the temple in time. The Shaityr’s eyes widened in surprise when he spotted them, up in the blazing cloisters, trapped. He grinned, and prodded his Khimara. The leonine beast slunk forward, its serpent tail swishing with calculated intensity.

  † † †

  Frantically Joseph tried to maneuver the burning timber out of the way. Michael rushed towards him, barely registering Jeshua’s cries over the chaos around them.

  Despite the rapidly spreading fire, Rhòmans now breached the basilica, breaking into the vaults where the Sanhedrin kept the treasury used to exchange foreign currency. The Jacovites on the roof tried to flee, but many were impaled by Rhòman swords or spears, while others fell upon their own swords, lest they be captured by the enemy. Bodies fell through the missing chunks of roof onto the cloisters, or over the edge of the basilica and into the courtyard below.

  Shaityrim flooded the temple, having finally broken through the Malakim perimeter. The convoy rushed forward to hold them back, leaving Michael alone with the Captain and his parents.

  † † †

  The Khimara crept along the temple wall, stalking its prey. Marduk refrained from prodding the beast, and allowed its hunting instinct to guide him towards his victim. Silently, he drew his sword.

  † † †

  Coughing from the smoke, Joseph struggled to push the flaming beam out of the way. Michael invoked the beryl—the jewel of choice amongst guards—and his sword took on an amber glow. While he was still unseen to the mortals, the beryl granted him temporary access to their sub-natural world. Timing his actions with Joseph’s next heave, he pushed the fallen timber out of the way. The mortal reached for his wife’s hand and helped her over the large chunks of burning rubble still blocking the corridor.

  At last, the couple reached the end of the cloisters, but two soldiers appeared in the gateway, panting from running up the stairwell in full armor. They raised their swords, and Joseph stepped in front of Miryam. Michael’s sword still shone with amber light, and he slammed it into the back of the knee of the closest soldier. The Rhòman fell backwards…onto a sword jutting from the body of a fallen Jacovite.

  Miryam screamed as blood splattered both her and Jeshua.

  Michael whirled towards her just as he noticed Tylel jump over a missing patch of the ceiling above. Amber-glowing sword in hand, the Malak plunged his blade into the wood beam above the second soldier. The lumber cracked and smashed down atop the Rhòman, followed by Tylel, who landed with a grin beside Miryam and Joseph just as the flaming body of a Jacovite crashed at his feet.

  “Greetings, Commander,” the Malak said.

  “Was that your charge?” Michael asked in shock.

  “I believe so,” Tylel said, trying to make out the face through the charred remains. He turned back to Michael. “Commander, behind you!”

  Michael whirled to see Marduk atop his khimara at the base of the basilica, just as the beast sprang forward. The Shaityrim commander held his sword at arm’s length, preparing to whip his blade through Michael’s neck.

  Michael ducked even as he felt the slipstream from Marduk’s sword rustle his hair. He slashed and felt his blade make impact.

  Marduk’s hand, still gripping his sword, sailed through the air and fell to the temple courtyard. The Shaityr screamed in pain, Mauveth jetting from his wrist.

  Before Michael could fully register what had happened, he realized Joseph and Miryam were finally free to escape, and ushered them past the bodies of the dead soldiers, through the gateway, and out of the temple.

  20

  An opulence of frondescence that bloomed across terraces, through conservatories, and over meadows and groves, the Lunar Gardens was a sanctuary of dark beauty backlit by the bright white light of the moon it encircled. Watered with Mauveth for millennia, every tree, vine, stem, and leaf, once green or brown, now grew black. The petals on every bloom, whether flower or fruit, were a deep blood red. How Isis had performed such a feat, Marduk did not know. He’d never bothered to ask.

  Not many Shaityrim were ever brought here. Isis preferred no one realize just how much Mauveth she had harvested from the mortals. Beyond the black breath she received from every country that paid homage to her as spirit-mistress, she also traded ambrosia for the raw, ethereal anti-matter. Several groves were dedicated to the trees that produced the fruit from which she cultivated ambrosia—a sweet, fermented juice that intensified tactile experiences between Shaityr and Seraph. As Isis was the only Seraph to have joined Lucifer’s rebellion against the King of Shamayim, she—and ambrosia—were in high demand. Within moments of indulging in the substance, one merely had to touch fingertips for an electrically charged glow to surge between both parties, a surge which momentarily fused their spirits. The intimacy of this shared consciousness, though fleeting, was highly addictive.

  And if one were to grip hands….

  But even sharing ambrosia with Isis could not assuage Marduk’s despair.

  Lying against the black vines that made up a double-width hammock, he groaned in dismay. The stump of his right hand was bandaged, and though he no longer felt any pain—thanks to a potion Isis had given him—he dreaded the thought of the crooked, deformed extremity that would replace the one Michael had severed. Most Shaityrim who lost a limb were no longer fit for war, and relegated to an outpost or citadel smithy or khimari stables. Those most unfortunate were put on the front lines of battle. Though Marduk suspected he would not lose rank over his predicament, the thought of never again facing Michael in battle burned fiercer than the blade that had separated him from his hand.

  Appearing from behind a frond, Isis drew near, carrying a shallow basin filled with dark liquid. Marduk scowled at the sight of it. The opposite of Khahi, Mauveth could not regenerate a hand like the original, and he almost preferred the stump.

  “Don’t fuss, love,” Isis said, smoothing a strand of hair from his forehead.

  “Isn’t there a way you could steal some Khahi?” he asked.

  Isis’ eyes widened in surprise. “You wouldn’t be able to stand the pain,” she said quietly. “You must keep your wrist submerged over night.”

  Marduk sighed. Before Lucifer’s revolt, before the legions who had followed him had been cast from Shamayim, they’d shared the same Khahi ether as the Malakim. But somehow during the fall through Time, their very nature had changed. Anything Khahi was now noxious to one whose ether was the black breath.

  Across the terrace, a fanged frog croaked. Perched atop a dark lily pad, the genetically altered creature drifted across a black pond.

  “I would be better off turned into one of them,” Marduk muttered.

  Isis cocked her head and stared at her pets thoughtfully.

  “I was jesting,” Marduk said.

  “I know, but….” Her voice trailed off, and she rose from beside him and crossed the terrace, her white gown trailing behind her. She scooped up one of the frogs and held the creature in her palms. She gently pressed the pad of the frog’s foot and watched the tiny claws extend. “What if, instead of growing you a hand, I cultivated you a hand?”

  21

  Two thousand Excrucio stakes affixed with crossbeams littered the countryside of Jehüda. The Jacovites nailed to the timber were in various stages of death. Gavriel blew out his cheeks, then turned away from the sight. After Sabinus had ordered his soldiers to pillage the temple, the auditor had escaped Antonia. But the House of Jacov, overcome with renewed grief over those slaughtered once more in the temple, discovered that he’d taken refuge in Hérod’s palace. Once again, they besieged him, confident that Archelaus would meet their demands when he saw how faithful to him they’d been by risking their lives to ensure that the larcenist of his treasury, as well as that of the temple’s, did not escape.

  But they had not expected Varus.

  When the legate of Syria arrived with several legions of soldiers, the Jacovites abandoned the siege and fled. Varus pursued. Those caught were sentenced to death by Excrucio. And while Varus’ troops nailed mortals to felled trees, Aretas’ men plundered the nearby villages.

  Not wishing to face Varus, Sabinus had fled back to Rhòme, and Cronus returned to Caesarea on Amanah’s coast. In Marduk’s absence, Bel’og remained in Shailem, and presently, stood on the outpost balcony above Antonia deep in conversation with Hadad and Dushara.

  Overhead, a company of Eremiel’s troops flew towards the countryside to retrieve the souls of the dead. Breaking rank, the lieutenant turned his mount towards the citadel and alighted on the gallery. His pegasus had not yet slowed to a complete stop when he jumped from her back. With a purposeful glance towards Gavriel, he disappeared into the citadel.

  Casually turning away from the Shaityrim atop Antonia, Gavriel retreated into the Malakim fortress. He found Eremiel in the conference room, his expression grave.

  “The Aravians are running amok,” the lieutenant said. “They don’t just plunder the villages they raid, they kill—including the young.”