The eagle, p.27
The Howler's Cry (Cross Academy Book 2), page 27
Yadira snuck a glance at Seganamé, his punctuality was not surprising. If there was a stickler for the rules among them, it was the Thirdborn—so long as the rules were in alignment with his own agenda.
Yadira had been out scouting when she’d felt the brush of the Firstborn’s consciousness in her own mind. Naturally, she had given her access and saw the mental summons for all Nine Births to retreat to the Womb immediately. Yadira was surprised the meeting had been called to discuss Hosenké’s failure. But she wasn’t surprised when she saw Seganamé already waiting.
He hadn’t noticed her when she’d first entered—probably because she had appeared from thin air instead of walking through the front doors. There was no point in learning astral travel if you never took advantage of it. Still, the Sixth Birth of Carnage had been pleased with herself when she’d approached the firepit and found Seganamé staring into the flames, unaware of her presence. His face had been impassive—bored, even. A square jaw, neither clenched nor slack, full lips locked in a painfully stoic expression, noticeable cheekbones that only seemed to add an edge to his blank face.
The only sign of coherence on the Thirdborn’s face had been in his eyebrows. Heavy red brows drawn ever so slightly together, like the gentlest pucker of full lips. It was an expression that appeared so bland and simple yet held a thousand different questions knit together between his crimson brows. To anyone else, he would have looked to be merely gazing at the fire, but Yadira had served with the Thirdborn for centuries. She recognized his expression right away.
He was scowling.
But why? she had wondered, and just as the question had formed in her head, Seganamé looked up. Only his eyes had moved, locking onto her like a laser, while the rest of his body remained facing the flames. That was when Yadira felt a familiar shadow of fear curl around her heart, a breath of danger exhaling from Seganamé’s very form.
He was the Thirdborn. And he had never let the others forget it. Even the Secondborn cherrypicked her words around him, despite him never reacting to her temper or her venomous tongue. That was probably what made him so scary.
The Secondborn yelled often, and that shook Yadira to her darkened core, but it was when that red-hot anger was met with the chilling calm in Seganamé’s deep, velvety voice, that Yadira knew what fear truly was.
That black fear had trapped her where she stood, and Yadira swallowed and hoped that Seganamé wouldn’t kill her for sneaking up on him. But he’d only sighed and pulled his carmine hood up to hide his face and his flowing red hair.
“Yadira. Come,” he’d ordered.
She obeyed, joining him at the flames. “The Firstborn summoned us all for a meeting.”
“Yes,” he said calmly. And that was the end of their conversation.
Now, Yadira stood at the firepit with the rest of her Birthed brothers and sisters, still waiting for the Firstborn to arrive. The Fifth Birth was to her right, but Hosenké was not on her left. He’d always thought it was dumb for them to stand in order, so he made it a point to arrive as late as possible and stand in the corner of the room. Seganamé had found his way to the other side of the firepit once the Fourth Birth had arrived. He always had some sort of secret intel to share with him.
Meanwhile, Hosenké seemed to squirm from his stance across the room. Yadira could make out the beads of sweat breaking out on his face, and she doubted they had anything to do with the heat in the room. The Seventh Birth had returned a failure. Just as Yadira had months ago. Unlike Yadira, however, he had no excuse. She smiled to herself, hoping his punishment would be severe.
Just then, darkness covered the room and all the quiet chatter hushed to a still silence. Yadira grounded herself. The Firstborn liked to make a show of her arrival, as if her appearance was some sort of performance. Beside Yadira, the Secondborn crossed her arms and sucked her teeth—the only one in the room bold enough to display her annoyance so openly. Then again, she was the Firstborn’s sister, Yadira doubted she would be killed for merely crossing her arms.
The Firstborn rose from the flames in the firepit, erupting from the burning wood and the hissing blaze without the smell of smoke upon her. She was not a sundancer, but her mastery of the dark arts had given her immunity to many of the elements of the earth.
As far as the Sixth Birth knew, the Firstborn was immortal. Or at least very old. Yadira had no idea just how old or how Number One had become the Firstborn. The only thing she knew for certain was that their leader had been handpicked by the fallen angel, Black, and that she was only one of three Births to come face to face with Lucifer himself in her long lifetime.
Yadira shivered at the thought. She was a Birth of Carnage, a woman who had sold her soul to a demon long ago, but even she had never seen Beelzebub in all her time living in the shadows. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to meet him. He was her lord. Her master. Her prince. But Yadira would be lying if she said she felt anything but fear towards him. Not loyalty. Not love. Not even respect.
She closed her eyes to clear her head. Such thoughts were blasphemous against the Prince of the Air. “I am in darkness and darkness is in me,” she whispered quietly. It was the mantra she had been taught at her Birthing ritual to channel the power of the demon that dwelled within her. Like always, she felt it stir in response to her words. Dark energy pulsed through her veins, claiming whatever vestiges of light had crept through the cracks in her vessel. That’s what happened when you allowed doubt to seep in. When you began to open yourself to the other forces of the world. Yadira had read the terrible Scripture that said, The Word of God is swift and powerful. The passage sent a ripple of anxiety through her.
Swift. Powerful.
Well, so is Lucifer, she thought smugly.
The Firstborn was facing Yadira now. “Sixthborn, are you listening?” she asked. Only her mouth was visible from beneath the flap of her red hood, the crimson cloak was pinned to the shoulders of her long dress with a clip fashioned in the shape of an IX symbol. The Roman numerical for Nine.
“I am listening,” Yadira replied.
The Firstborn nodded and then turned her attention to Hosenké. “You have failed me.”
“As we all predicted he would,” the Secondborn said quickly.
“I’m sure some of us had confidence in him,” the Fourth Birth said in his rumbling voice. He was just a floating puff of black vapors filling the sleeves of a red cloak, but his voice was loud enough to fill the room. Yadira had never seen his face or his true form before. In their meetings, he was almost always a puff of smoke like now, but sometimes his voice was feminine, sometimes it was childlike. He was one of the few Births written in the Academy’s records, because of this, he changed his age, gender, and even his form as often as possible to keep the Priests running in circles.
“I did what I could,” Hosenké defended himself. “They were waiting for us. They had a plan in place.”
“What do we do now?” the Fifth Birth asked. “Obviously, this isn’t working.”
The Secondborn crossed her arms. Like always, she was levitating over the black stone floors, but as she drifted closer to the flames, Yadira felt her anxiety begin to swell. It wouldn’t be long before Number Two was yelling.
“We did what we could,” said the Red Face from across the room. He was standing beside Hosenké with a red cloak draped over his shoulders and a new red mask covering his face. Yadira almost smirked. She had heard how he’d almost died to a bunch of Academy students. How pathetic, she thought joyously.
Number One turned to the Red Face, and despite her face being hidden, Yadira could feel her glaring at him. “You were nearly killed by a bunch of brats. How could you let that happen?”
Though his arms were casually folded over his chest, Yadira didn’t miss the way the assassin’s hand gripped the material of his sleeve. He’s disappointed in himself, she realized. As he should be. She had failed once, but he had failed twice—even with Hosenké there to help. The two had returned emptyhanded and now the Academy knew the Red Face’s true identity. Things were worse now than they’d ever been.
Number Two ghosted over the floor, right up to the Red Face. Her hood flew back as she came to an abrupt stop right before him. Short black hair danced around her shoulders, but as her anger swelled and the Dark energy inside her began to stir, her curls levitated—just as she did over the floor. Yadira watched as they stuck out in every direction, like static shock. A red glow settled over the Secondborn like an internal light had been switched on. She was the face of anger, and the masked assassin was her focus now.
“You have ruined everything!” she yelled, the inverted cross in her forehead seemed to glow as she raged. “I knew you were a terrible investment. You have dishonored Number Nine’s name.” She leaned down to hiss at him. “I speak death to your soul.”
“Darkness come,” the other Births chanted in unison.
The Red Face laughed. “I’m already cursed. Dying would be a relief.” He removed his mask, earning gasps from around the room. “But I can’t die.”
Yadira looked away. She had only seen the Red Face without his mask once since his Birthing ritual. He was grotesque. Disgusting. Especially when she remembered how handsome and charming he had been before everything went wrong.
The Red Face gestured at himself. “This is what immortality looks like. It ain’t pretty. You want to curse me? Death ain’t the way to do it. I’ve been trying to die for years.” He chuckled, though there was no humor in his voice. Only sorrow. Only regret. “Life is my curse,” he said softly. “And every day I breathe is my personal punishment. So you can’t hurt me, sweetheart.” He glanced around the fire. “None of you can.”
Because every second he’s alive, he’s hurting … Yadira finished with a shiver.
No one spoke for what seemed like a long time. Even Hosenké held his normally sharp tongue, glowering into the flames again, like he expected to find something there. It wasn’t that any of them sympathized with the Red Face; their sudden silence came from the unanimous recognition of their failure as the Nine Births of Carnage.
The Red Face was only suffering because they had lost Number Nine. Because they had needed a replacement. Because they had rushed his Birthing ritual. And because they couldn’t fix what’d gone wrong. He was cursed because of them. And his horrible face and his never-ending pain was living proof of their mistake—it was a horrific reminder that they could make mistakes. And if they’d gotten his ritual wrong, who was to say they weren’t wrong about other things?
Like … maybe they were fighting on the wrong side of this Demon War.
Like maybe Lucifer isn’t as strong as God, Yadira squinted, and then she quickly smothered those thoughts before the Firstborn sensed them. Instead, she focused on Hosenké who was still sullen and quiet as he waited for his punishment.
It was funny to think that weeks ago, he’d hated the Red Face. Had never trusted him. Had never liked him. But now he was standing right beside him, in silent solidarity as his partner in failure.
“It was not all for naught,” the Thirdborn finally said, his deep voice whispering through the consuming silence. The sound of him speaking sent little sparks over Yadira’s arms as goosebumps formed on her skin.
Number Two glanced over her shoulder at him. “What do you mean, Number Three?”
Every hood turned to face him as he softly began to explain. “Hosenké failed to capture the vessel, but he was able to summon the howler. The Red Face was unmasked, revealing his true identity, but the Cross has been too distracted by his betrayal to pay much attention to the second spy in their midst.”
The Secondborn looked over the flames at Number Eight. “Does your cover remain?”
The womanly figure nodded. “No one has noticed me yet.”
“Our plans can still be salvaged,” Number Three assured. “Activate the howler and allow Number Eight to take advantage of the chaos that will unfold.”
“You will bring us the boy,” Number Two ordered, pointing at the Eighthborn.
Number Eight nodded.
“There are some complications,” Hosenké said cautiously. “Fox Fire, Roaring Fire, Kohlannis Hunger, and the Priest—Lord Izzy—are all trouble.”
The Red Face agreed. “I don’t think Number Eight can handle them all alone.”
“She won’t be alone,” Number One said. “We will all attack at once, Number Eight will only be there to grab the boy since she will be the closest to him—you were invited to the upcoming mission, correct?”
Number Eight nodded again. “The mission will begin tomorrow.”
“Good,” Number One said.
“So, how do we handle the people I mentioned?” Hosenké asked.
Number Eight cleared her throat. “Roaring Fire will not be present. He has decided to return home and will not be part of the escort mission.”
“That’s one down,” Number Four said.
“Kohlannis Hunger has been neutralized,” Number Eight continued.
Yadira raised an eyebrow. “How on earth did you neutralize him?”
“Indeed,” Number Five added. He was only curious because he was a user of the Void curse, just like his distant relative.
Number Eight shook her head. “I have my methods.”
“Are you certain those two won’t be a problem?” Number One asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Good.”
“That still leaves Fox Fire and Lord Izzy,” Hosenké pointed out.
“I am confident we can handle them,” Number Two said with a wave of her hand. “The vessel’s little friend is just a girl. And this Priest—”
“Is nearly unstoppable,” the Red Face cut in. “He has a Priestess who aids him. But even without her, I’m not sure Hosenké or I could have beaten him.”
Silence charged through the room. There were no worries present—only shivering excitement at the prospect of fighting such a formidable foe.
Members of the Cross were powerful. That much was obvious. But they were easy to distract or disrupt—doubts, worries, sin—it was so simple to get them to slip up or lose faith in their God. But this Priest seemed to have great faith, paired with an awesome blessing that even Hosenké could not properly describe.
Users of Light were intriguing, to say the least. Fighting for Someone they hadn’t even seen in the flesh. Defending a Voice in their head. A ‘Spirit’ within. That was why Yadira preferred her Dark energy. It didn’t depend on her faith or on how much she trusted some Guy in the sky. She had cold, hard proof of her power. The demon inside her was evidence enough, and he had never failed her. She was powerful, no matter what she believed in. But those who depended on the Spirit within were only as strong as their faith.
What a horrible way to fight, Yadira thought.
But they win in the end…
The words came unbidden, accompanied by a passage that sent tendrils of fear skirting over Yadira’s spine. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
They win in the end…
She closed her eyes. They don’t win! There is no way the darkness has not overcome the light. Look around. The Nine had been winning the Great Demon War for centuries. They didn’t live behind walls. They didn’t have to train for generations, trying to perfect a ‘blessing.’ They were already perfect. Just biding their time. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
The opportunity had arrived.
“If this Priest is as skilled as you say,” said the Firstborn in a very calm voice. “Then we will kill him before the real fighting begins.” She turned to the Thirdborn. “I will send Number Three. Your only job is to kill the one called ‘Lord Izzy.’ Do it quietly, so the rest of the Cross will be unprepared for our final assault.”
Number Three simply nodded.
“The rest of you, stay ready for my summons. The mission begins tomorrow, we must be prepared to attack at any moment.”
They nodded.
“Number Eight, you will wait for my cue to take the boy. Understand?”
Number Eight cleared her throat. “Yes, Firstborn.”
“Maintaining your cover is your top priority right now,” said Number One. “Do not allow anyone to discover your identity.”
“Yes, Firstborn.”
“Now, go. Be ready to attack. Be prepared to crush the Academy and to destroy their … hope.”
Number One disappeared in a flourish of sparks and blazing fire from the pit. The rest of the Births took their leave one at a time, until only the Thirdborn and Yadira were left once again.
She timidly looked over at him. “You’re being sent out as an assassin.”
He lowered his hood. “Yes.”
“You’re not afraid.”
“I have no reason to be.”
Yadira lowered her own hood. “Seganamé…” She didn’t know what else to say, but he had turned to her with such an expectant look on his face, she felt she had to fill the silence. So she blurted without thinking, “Why didn’t you take over Carnage?”
The question stunned her so badly, she almost wanted to slap a hand over her big mouth. Any of the Births could challenge a higher Birth whenever they wanted. If they won their duel, they would take that Birth’s number and move up however many ranks they deserved. Those were the unspoken rules that kept their power in balance, but it was blasphemous to suggest challenging Number One.
Seganamé wasn’t bothered by Yadira’s question, in fact, the look on his face bordered amusement. Yadira suddenly felt stupid for even asking, as if his reasoning for remaining the Thirdborn should have somehow been obvious to her.
“Do you know why there are nine of us?” Seganamé asked softly.
She shook her head.
“Because of God.”
That was not the answer she was expecting.
“God is a Trinity. Three in one.”
She knew that—everyone knew that. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. What did that have to do with there being Nine Births of Carnage?
