Gates of Rapture

CHAPTER 16

Stannett sat up and vomited into the bowl the female Militia Warrior had provided him. His eyes rolled in his head. He’d been working most of the day, and he didn’t know how much longer he could sustain the blocking maneuvers. The hour had to be nearing six in the evening, and the spectacle event was set for eight. As for discovering what Endelle was up to, or her now famous obsidian flame triad, he couldn’t even get close in the future streams.
Greaves stood on the deck opposite Stannett’s chaise longue, arms crossed over his chest. “Anything new?”
He shook his head. He felt weak, sick, discouraged. Coming to the Illinois Two Seers Fortress, and heading up Greaves’s entire system, was supposed to have been a pinnacle in his life, something to be enjoyed and celebrated. Now he was a quivering mass of nausea, with a raging headache, and he felt weaker than shit.
“No change,” he said. “I can’t reach the spectacle event. Marguerite has it blocked off.”
“How can she perform both functions?” Greaves asked.
Stannett shrugged. His cheeks cramped. He’d be losing it again soon. “My guess is that she’s been training Seers to work in teams.”
“My on-the-ground surveillance near the Camelback Parade Grounds says that they’ve done a couple of mass folds. What do you make of that?”
What did he make of that? Why the hell was Greaves asking him questions better suited for his generals? “I don’t know.” He brought the bowl close, took several deep breaths, and threw up again.
“You shouldn’t have indulged, Stannett. Now, when I need you the most, you’re at your weakest.”
With his chin low, he looked up at Greaves. “I truly regret my indiscretion.” Of course, right now he would have said anything to appease Greaves.
“I’m glad to hear you say so. But what I need—besides the blocks against Endelle’s Seers—is any information about when to attack the spectacle parade. Do you understand?” Greaves levitated, then slowly descended into the pit until he stood at the foot of Stannett’s chaise longue. Greaves waved the bucket away.
The female Militia Warrior stepped back, saying, “I’ll be back shortly with fresh Seers.” Greaves nodded. She vanished.
Stannett took deep breaths. It didn’t help his nausea problem that Greaves smelled of lemon furniture polish.
Greaves glanced left and right. “There is blood on the leather.”
“The women tend to bleed from various apertures, including their wing-locks, when the process overwhelms them.”
“I see.” He glanced back at Stannett. “So, how are you keeping our plans blocked in the future streams right now if the women keep dying on you?”
Stannett smirked. “I have power. It sometimes doesn’t show as much as perhaps it should, but I’m holding it steady. The effort has given me a monstrous headache, which is why I’m puking.”
Greaves’s smile softened. “Let me help with that.” He rounded the side of the chaise and put a hand on Stannett’s forehead. The pain drifted away like fog beneath the sun.
He looked up at Greaves and released a deep breath. “Thank you, master.”
“Keep blocking our side of things, and if you can find an inroad to secure the intentions and timing of the opposition, let me know.”
“Yes, master.”
Greaves lifted his hand and was gone.
Stannett released a deep breath. He had grown sick of this endless pressure to produce and perform. Greaves didn’t understand his need for autonomy. Yes, he’d lacked control, but he was doing better now and he didn’t like being hemmed in.
The Militia Warrior returned and changed out the Seers, whipping them on the legs when they uttered even the smallest sound. She struck one Seer across the face with her whip when she dared to ask where she was. The welt would last a long time.
Stannett followed his jailer’s movements. Certain ideas had taken root in his mind of a profound sense of ill usage. Once the female Seers were strapped in, Stannett put them in the usual stupor. Afterward, he rose from his chaise longue. Time to make a change of his own.
“Is there a problem, Seer?” the woman barked. She wasn’t a woman, not really. Very flat-chested, proud of her muscles. She probably wished she were a man.
“No problem,” he said. He levitated to the viewing platform just a few feet from her. He kept advancing toward her.
She narrowed her gaze. “What the f*ck do you think you’re doing? Get back down into the pit and get back to work. Or did you not hear the master, not understand his critical need for your services right now?”
“I heard him and I understood him.” Stannett hadn’t planned out exactly what he intended to do.
He lifted his hand and sent a blast soaring through the air straight for the woman. She didn’t really have time to react. She flew backward and hit the wall with a loud thudding sound. She fell to the floor.
Stannett’s brows rose. Her entire chest was caved in and smoking. He’d killed her.
He wanted to feel bad, he really did, but his appetites had reasserted themselves. He left her where she was and returned to the pit and to his chaise longue.
He stretched back out. He looked inward and physically ascertained what he already knew, that the blocks held. Now to get the relief he needed.
He slipped into the future streams, joined his power with the six women, and let the pleasure flow. The first orgasm hit him before fifteen seconds had passed.
*   *   *

“I want a shower,” Grace whispered, sitting on the black mats at the Militia Warrior workout center once more. “Dear God, I long for a shower.”
Leto smiled. He sat behind her and rubbed her shoulders. It was almost five thirty—not even three hours till the spectacle. He had spent the day securing the location of Greaves’s artillery through his computer and put Gideon in charge of making sure Thorne was alerted when any of the sites lit up.
All during that time, he had taken numerous breaks to watch obsidian flame work as a team. He saw Thorne’s role clearly, the same one he performed as the leader of the Allied Ascender Forces, Endelle’s army. He kept everything headed in the right direction. Thorne held things together, or—as he liked to say—he was the anchor to obsidian flame.
With such a massive undertaking, the triad critically needed an anchor, someone with a com who could make split-second decisions, someone who had preternatural power of his own to do whatever needed to be done.
It was the one thing that gave Leto some peace in what had become his own battle of worn-out nerves as the afternoon advanced. However, right now they all needed some downtime.
Thorne finally released the triad and made it possible for all three couples to return to their homes. He also let security know so that the folding could be done straight from the workout room.
Leto rose to his feet with Grace, took her hand, and folded her back to the villa bedroom. He laughed, because before he could say a word he heard the water running. She’d flipped the levers using a little kinetic manipulation. “Yeah, I guess you do want your shower.”
Grace laughed. “You should probably know this about me.” She gave him a quick kiss, then headed into what was now a roll of steam coming from the bathroom.
Of course as soon as he thought of her in the shower, naked, certain ideas flooded his mind.
He followed after her but frowned when he felt her no longer standing but sitting on the floor. Yeah, the sharing of external sensations always provided a lot of data to process.
He found her seated in front of the toilet, her arms around her knees.
He looked around and drew his sword, but they were alone. No death vamps this time.
“What’s the matter?”
She looked up at him and blinked a couple of times. “What if I can’t do this?”
Oh, that was all. Just a little pre-battle jitters. Of course, Grace wasn’t a warrior. She wouldn’t know just how normal this was.
“The whole time I was practicing,” she said, “I was fine. Really fine. Now all I can think is, Two hundred thousand at a time. And what if Stannett breaks through in the future streams and discovers our exact plan? What if Marguerite’s teams can’t sustain the blocks she’s put in place?”
Leto sat on the floor next to her and put his arm around her. This was where millennia of service as a warrior could be of use. “You’re not doing this alone, Grace, not by a long shot.” He rubbed her shoulder gently.
“It feels like it’s all on me.”
“Do you think Thorne feels any differently right now? Or Endelle? How about Fiona or Marguerite?”
She turned to look at him. After searching his eyes for a long moment, she let out a deep breath. “I see what you mean.”
“What you’re experiencing is perfectly normal.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“Are you worried?” she asked.
The question surprised him, not because she asked but because he had to dig around for the answer. “I’m not sure. Maybe after so many centuries I’m immune. But I also know that it’s a waste of energy to fret like this before a battle. You’ll need every ounce of your strength while in flight.”
She pressed his arm with her hand. “I still couldn’t believe we were able to fold all those Militia Warriors while flying. How did it look from your view?”
“I have to admit, I wasn’t looking at the troops on the ground. My view was so exquisite that my gaze was fixed right here.” He drifted his hand down her back to cup her buttocks.
Grace laughed. “I don’t believe you for a second but … um … how much time do we have before we’re needed back at the parade grounds?”
“Marcus wants us at the palace by seven fifteen.”
He leaned close, nuzzled his way toward her neck, then sucked above her vein. That means we have at least an hour and a half. We can accomplish a lot in that amount of time, he sent. A lot.
He felt her shiver and her body start to unwind. Even so, she pushed him away and rose to her feet. “I still want my shower. I am so not doing anything without getting clean first. And I do mean anything.”
His eyes fell to half-mast. A shower didn’t have to take long, especially if he helped. And the thought of her really clean in various places forced him to get rid of his clothes and join her.
By seven fifteen Leto stood with the rest of obsidian flame in the central rotunda, waiting for Endelle before folding to the parade grounds. He was jumpy, but then they all were. On the other hand, this was a solid team, all the coordinates had been laid in for the mass fold of Greaves’s army, and obsidian flame had proven they could get the job done.
The only real unknown was whether or not Greaves would actually bomb the spectacle parade. But Leto had his own team, led by Gideon, watching the monitors, which now had a heat-sensing fix on the location of all the local artillery. The moment anything went hot, Gideon would know and in turn would relay the information to Thorne’s com.
Perhaps for all those reasons, even Casimir had arrived to wait with the obsidian flame team. Though a couple of times Grace had drawn near and chatted with him, Casimir was very respectful. Leto admitted it helped that he looked so different with his bald head and his long white linen robe. He looked more of a monk than a seducer of women.
Could Leto forgive him?
Did it even matter?
Thorne nudged him and spoke in a low voice. “Not sure I could tolerate having him around.”
Leto chuckled softly. “It’s kind of hard to complain when he’s fought off Third Earth death vampires twice on my behalf.”
“See your point. Still.”
“Yeah … still.” He sighed.
“Any clue yet about this ascension of yours?”
“Nope. And I’m not feelin’ it, so I don’t know what to tell you. Of course, all I really care about is being with your sister. So it wouldn’t matter to me whether that was here on Second or on Third … I just need to be with her.”
“Well, it’s not the usual process for an ascension, that’s for sure. I mean, have you been having dreams at all?” The hallmarks of an ascension always included dreams of the new world and often inexplicable longings as well.
“Nothing. No longings to be on Third, no dreams of ascending. Nothing. Just Casimir showing up saying he was my Guardian of Ascension.”
“Well, like everything else, I’m sure it will sort itself out.” He shifted slightly, then murmured, “Oh, my God.”
Leto turned, as did the entire group.
Endelle had arrived.
Her hair rose to an enormous height and width, teased to a full madness, but drawn in at the center with a crown that bore about a hundred sparkling gems. Probably not real, but holy shit.
Her bustier was the same spotted fur he’d seen the day before. The rest of her costume was layer upon layer of fabric with a panel of peacock feathers serving as a kind of apron. Two smaller women, each in simple black flight gear, carried the train.
“I’d twirl for all you gape-mouthed idiots, but we haven’t got time.” She turned to Thorne. “We ready?”
He nodded, then finally closed his mouth. “Uh, yes.”
She glanced at the triad, all in simple black leather flight suits and black flats. “You ladies ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.” All three obsidian flame responded as one.
“Then come stand by me. Bring your men with you, then let’s do this thing.”
*   *   *

Timing is everything.
Some truths are so universal as to be dull. But Grace had never known this truth to be quite so relevant as it was now. The entire success of the mission depended on getting the timing exactly right.
She had a death grip on Leto’s hand, but he stood fast. He seemed oddly relaxed, maybe because he knew she was so wound up.
A Sousa march blared from the loudspeakers, a lively sound and appropriate for the spectacle. But the music seemed to keep her nerves on fire, and every sixteen bars she would jump.
Fiona leaned back against Jean-Pierre’s chest. He had his arms wrapped around her, as usual. Grace didn’t think being held so tight right now would help her at all.
So Leto allowed her to keep squeezing his hand.
At the same time, she kept glancing up at Thorne on her right. His jaw worked. He touch his headset frequently and continued talking quietly, this time to Gideon, making sure that the artillery-locating files were up and humming at the workout center where Leto had set them up.
They all wore headsets hooked over one ear, which made communication easier. Thorne had a companion piece on his shoulder that allowed him to change frequencies. He had reports coming in steadily from Marcus, who had command of the entire communications system. He was also connected to Colonel Seriffe, who was in charge of security and the two hundred thousand Militia Warriors here at the parade grounds.
Where the defecting army was concerned, as soon as obsidian flame was airborne and moving down the parade route, Leto would give the order to begin the secret mass folds of Greaves’s army. Brynna waited in North Africa to confirm the success of the first two folds. The second two were destined for Apache Junction Two.
If all went according to plan, the first fold would take place in ten minutes.
Once more, she squeezed Leto’s hand hard.
*   *   *

Because he couldn’t reach Stannett, Greaves was flying blind, a state he despised more than anything else on this advanced ascended earth. He had lost contact with the Militia Warrior he’d put in charge of Stannett, and he was unwilling to leave his Estrella Complex to see what was going on. He had hoped to get that slight edge he would need to be victorious tonight.
He was almost dizzy with the potential of what could be accomplished in one bombing raid. He would destroy not just obsidian flame, but also Thorne—who led Endelle’s army—and Endelle herself. He felt almost giddy with the sheer potential so close at hand. If he could do this, all he would have to do is march his army over to Endelle’s palace and take over.
He paced his war room, trying to still the excitement that coursed through him. He had excellent visuals of the Camelback Parade Grounds, of tens of thousands of Endelle’s Militia Warriors in full black-leather flight gear, of rows upon rows of tanks, of the usual spectacle nonsense ready to take to the skies, and even a close-up of Endelle looking like she belonged in a circus.
He had but to say the word, one general would hit the GO button, and the parade ground as well as Endelle’s nearby administrative HQ would be dust.
But the one thing he’d relied on to guide him had failed. Stannett was offline, and Greaves had a really sick feeling that he’d killed the Militia Warrior.
Even if that were true, it was too late to do anything about it now.
Whatever happened from this moment forward was all up to Greaves and his limited information. He was tempted to just let the artillery take out the parade grounds now; some part of him knew that was exactly what he should do.
But the cautious part of him as well as the strategist held back. If he wiped out obsidian flame in the middle of the spectacle, the world would understand his intentions and would submit more readily. After he decimated the area, he’d finish off the colonies, eliminating all points of threat in the space of a very short evening.
*   *   *

The fireworks boomed and lit up the sky.
Showtime.
Grace drew in a deep breath, then glanced once more at her brother. He had really changed over the past several months. He was a new man in every sense. She hardly recognized him now, and not just because his eyes were no longer red-rimmed, but because his stature had altered. He stood with his shoulders well back, his head high. He had always been a leader of men, but now he seemed to be more. There were even rumors that he would one day become the Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth, replacing Endelle.
Not tonight, though.
She heard Leto draw in a quick breath. She glanced at him, then saw that he was looking at the monitor. Endelle was airborne, her massive train flowing behind her. Grace smiled. Whatever else the woman was, with fireworks blasting in the background, with the music blaring, she gave good spectacle. She was fit for her world and for her times.
She waved at all the spectators as her gown trailed behind her, a comet speeding by, on enormous wings, a great, glorious, irreplaceable, profane, feathered comet.
Another monitor showed the parade grounds. The troops were already on the move, marching in strict formation, making strong turns en masse, with the occasional unified shout. All the warriors knew the order of events, and it said a lot about Thorne and Seriffe’s training of the Second Earth Militia Warriors that all the men and women proceeded down the parade route as they did. Everyone understood the real possibility that Greaves would attack and that only the perfect timing and power of obsidian flame would be able to remove everyone from harm’s way before complete annihilation.
There were five huge grandstands, but all were full of Militia Warriors in street clothes. No civilians had been allowed to be present in case things went wrong.
Grace pressed a hand to her stomach.
The swans and geese and their handlers flew in from the northwest. Grace could see them in the air, but the cameras gave a much better visual so she ended up watching the monitors. This would be one fine webcast once the event was edited.
If all went well.
Oh, God. If all went well.
To Leto, she sent, I know you’ve told me, but is your army ready to fold?
He looked down at her and smiled. Hells, yeah, he sent.
Thorne called out. “Obsidian flame, mount up.”
Grace felt her stomach take a spin. This was it. Leto stepped away from her, and despite the ferocity of her nerves, and because of the practice of two millennia, she let her wings fly.
Much to her surprise, suddenly she could breathe. Something about the simple act of mounting her wings had steadied her. She even chuckled.
She glanced at Fiona, who in turn winked at her.
Marguerite also turned back and smiled first at Fiona, then at Grace. She stood two feet in front of them, in the position they intended to sustain while in the air.
Grace nodded and smiled, even though her heart raced.
Yep, showtime.
She looked once more at the image of Endelle on the monitors. She was clearly glorying in her trip down the parade route. Maybe it was for that reason—that Endelle could enjoy a moment so fraught with danger—that Grace finally let go of her nerves and began to focus on her obsidian power.
With a whisper of a thought, she could feel the rumble beneath her feet, feel the earth-based power ready to flow through her and enable her to do things no vampire should ever be able to do. She flexed her wings, just feeling them.
She glanced at Thorne. He turned toward her and offered a curious frown. You okay? he sent.
She nodded. “I’m good.”
He smiled, then returned his attention forward. He touched his headset almost continuously now, shifting from one entity to the next, speaking softly the whole time. He was fully in command.
With that, he gave the order to take to the dark night skies.
Grace reached out in her obsidian way, touched her obsidian sisters, felt the answering response, and as one they launched.
Grace’s wings plowed air. The fireworks still boomed, lighting up the sky in an array of colors and patterns. Every once in a while, she’d watch a dragon-shaped series of lights pass by her peripheral vision. Motion was good. The music wasn’t as loud now that she flew above the amplifiers and the marching warriors. The DNA-altered swans and geese flew in front of their group and behind. She could occasionally hear the handlers calling to them.
Spectacle.
One of the best parts of ascended life.
If Endelle was right, if Grace had been right in suggesting this scheme in the first place, then another kind of spectacle was about to hit the air.
Her com lit up and Thorne’s gravel voice said quietly, “You may fold the first section at will.” Which was code for the first part of Greaves’s army.
Grace let the coordinates move through her mind, and she held her mass-folding ability in the forefront. She apparitioned, took possession of Fiona, and without hesitating let the fold begin. She felt the mass movement of a quarter of a million Militia Warriors, from Mongolia to North Africa, as obsidian flame folded them. She felt dizzy with excitement.
Leto came on the com, something she could perceive even in her split-self. “Brynna confirms.”
She wanted to give a shout, but Thorne came on softly and said, “Prepare for the second fold. Grace, when ready proceed.”
She focused on the second group, from the Australian Outback. She felt the power flowing in an almost constant loop from Marguerite, to Fiona, then herself, even split as she was. She concentrated on the coordinates, and once more she let the fold just happen. It was an amazing sensation, and all this was happening as the fireworks continued to boom, the warriors below marched, and all the swans and geese kept the focus on spectacle and not on a war-changing secret folding operation.
“Brynna confirms the second group arrived,” Leto said. “She’s folding to the Superstitions so that she can confirm the third fold.” A moment later. “She has arrived at the Superstitions. She’s ready to receive the third fold.”
Thorne’s voice once more spoke softly. “Grace, fold your third group when ready.”
*   *   *

Greaves heard Thorne’s voice over the com. He stared at the parade ground but couldn’t see any special movement of troops. They all moved in formation and had remained constant in number the entire distance, so what could Thorne have meant by “fold your third group”?
He had heard both Thorne and Leto talk about obsidian flame folding something somewhere, but if they were doing so right now, it wasn’t on the parade grounds.
He glanced at the monitors and spoke to his staff. “Do any of you see movement, like some kind of mass movement of the troops?”
When he received a general negation, he peered once more at the monitors. What he was seeing looked like plain old spectacle to him.
An aide approached. He would have brushed him off, but he held a piece of paper, was sweating like a pig, and had a wild look in his eyes. Greaves got a really bad feeling. “What?” he barked.
The aide shoved the paper at him. “Your … your Mongolian army is gone.”
Greaves blinked. He looked at the paper. Glanced at the aide. Shifted to stare at his generals, who wore blank looks. He didn’t bother asking what the aide meant.
To his staff, he asked, “Has Thorne made another fold request?”
The aide that kept the monitors alive with ongoing footage, said, “Warrior Thorne just spoke of a fourth fold to his sister, Grace.”
When Greaves saw another aide flying at him from down the hall, Greaves knew.
Leto. F*cking Leto.
His army.
The fold wasn’t on the parade route. The spectacle was one big f*cking distraction.
“Launch the artillery now.”

Approach the gates of rapture with wonder,

Lay down the past,

Then fall.

—Collected Poems, Beatrice of Fourth