RISING SHADOWS (Shadows Book 2)

Chapter 35

Rafe and I stepped into a world of death.

The Land of Souls was a vast stretch of barren wasteland. A grey soil horizon bowed to a large full moon sat within stormy skies. The only things that seemed to grow in the decaying earth were trees twisted and bent every which way, the end of the naked branches hinged and pointed like skeletal fingers.

I clung onto Rafe's arm as dark silhouettes of winged figures filled the sky above all heading towards a huge circular building. "What are they?" I asked when a group of angels soared overhead, four wings attached to their slim bodies.

"The Virtues," he replied. "The miracle workers. Stay close."

Azrael returned to us and fell in line with Rafe. "They are ready. It looks like everyone has been summoned."

Rafe's only reply was to thread his fingers through mine. I sank into him, siphoning off as much comfort from him as I could. Glancing up at him, a muscle throbbed in his cheek. It was the first time I was happy not knowing what he was thinking.

"Shit," his jaw dropped.

"What is it?"

Huge shadows crossed the sky, larger angels sailed between the others, their silver wings glinting like a blade turning in candlelight.

"You're honoured. Come," Azrael nudged Rafe. "Let's not be the last to arrive."

"Is something wrong?" I asked as quietly as I could.

"I don't like this, Riley. Rarely are all angels summoned together at the same time, particularly not for a meeting they haven't asked for."

"And particularly not for one a witch has." My heart started to pound in rhythm with our increased pace. We stayed on foot with the other Servants and their dark wings. Rafe explained each order of angels had their own entrance to the building which was known as Samael's Colosseum and never mixed with each other. Samael's servants, the Angels of Death, were at the bottom of the angel hierarchy, their place reflected in the lowly space allotted for them in the Colosseum.

Samael's Colosseum, his palace, was an oval structure of travertine stone. It was colossal, it had to be to house the thousands upon thousands of angels that descended through the arched facade whenever they were called. It stood seven floors high with arches becoming more opulent higher up with beautifully carved statues and decorations brushed with gold leaf.

The Servants had no such grandeur. We crushed into the lowest tier, the same coarse soil lining the ground inside like a grey sea.

He was shoulder to shoulder with Azrael, while I had the wings of a female Servant digging into my abdomen, the torso of another pressing with force against my back. We were hemmed in like cattle.

"What do I do?" I asked Rafe.

"For now, you stay with me."

I began to feel my cheeks fluster, sweat forming around my hairline glueing long strands to my neck.

Above us, the higher angels assembled on their respective floors. The Seraphim were at the top, Rafe said, clothed in robes of finest silk. They were the only splash of colour against the washed out scenery of Samael's Colosseum.

The seven Archangels floated towards a circle of platinum thrones in the oval clearing. Rafe pointed out Samael, though there was no need. I could have named him myself. One of the seven Angel Lords, no-one would have guessed his importance from the moth-eaten robes amassing around his frame. The seven took their seats facing each other and when they spoke, their voices echoed around the curved walls so every last angel in the Colosseum could hear them.