I grip my sword.
And as for hundreds of years before, as the tide comes, the sun rises, the moon follows.
We do nothing.
But watch.
PART ONE
THE BEGINNING OF IT ALL
ONE
Helena
“It’s gone.” I sit in my tent and rock back and forth. Not only is our elder dead but half our village is destroyed.
Children were murdered before my eyes.
And they did nothing.
Our heroes.
The Watchers of the mountains did nothing!
Why were they put there if not to help us? Not one of them drew their swords. I’d been warned not to look to them as much as I did, but I believed that they were there for a purpose, just like I believed I was born for a reason.
Tears are mixing with dirt and soot on my face as I sit there and stare at the ashes from my fire.
I can’t eat.
Sleep won’t come.
And I’m angry.
I’m so angry I want to run up to the mountain and shout at them. The trek would take too long though, at least a day in the freezing cold and ice.
“Helena!” my father yells my name. “Hurry!”
I scramble out of the tent and fall to my knees as my cousin lays dying in his arms. “Save her! You have to save her!”
I’m the only healer our village has.
I’ve spent years collecting herbs, trying to do the best I can.
“I can’t,” I finally whisper as I press my fingertips to her cold skin. She has burns up and down her arms and legs, her breathing is shallow. “But”—a tear falls onto her face—“I know someone who can.”
Everyone around me gasps.
“Who?” Father asks. “What great healer do you know?”
I stand to my feet, look up to the mountain and say, “Them.”
I know he’ll try to stop me.
I know they’ll all try to stop me.
But it’s my cousin.
It’s my people.
My people.
My village.
My life.
And. They. Did. Nothing.
So I’m going to die trying to make them do something and know that my sacrifice won’t be in vain. Not if it can save her, not if it can save us.
No, it won’t be in vain.
I wait for everyone to fall asleep in their tents and start to pack enough food for the trek up, not enough for the trek down.
This won’t be a trip where I will be returning; I know somewhere in my soul that I’ll be punished.
It will be worth it.
To see her walk again, to smile, it will be worth it, won’t it?
The elder told stories of magical powers that the people who watch possess, that they keep their powers, unwilling to use them on humans for fear of retribution.
My opinion is that they’re selfish, rich, gods, standing on a mountain because they’re bored with life in Heaven.
Their armor is pure gold, it gleams and shines down on our village during the sunny days, and in the winter, it burns so bright it’s like having our very own sun of protection.
But that’s all they’ve given.
So now it’s time to take.
“Goodbye,” I whisper to my father as I lift the flap of the tent and wrap more wool around my head and torso.
When I look up, I see only golden helmets and what looks like dark hair. I see massive swords at their sides and expressions of silence, if that could be an expression.
I wonder if they’ve talked in the hundreds of years they’ve been here?
With a deep breath, I start walking to the edge of the village, where the mountain starts to get steep.
With one last look behind me, I turn toward the golden army.
And start to climb.
TWO
Sariel
“Did you see?” Bannik whispers in the darkness so only I can hear him. It’s the first time his voice has reached my ears in hundreds of years, yet lightning doesn’t strike down, and the creators do not come.
“I see.” My voice is raspy like it’s filled with cobwebs or just waking up from a deep sleep.
“We should not be talking out loud.” Azeel reminds us.
I almost roll my eyes which makes me laugh—when was the last time I wanted to laugh anyway?
Have I ever?
I admit it’s what’s made me jealous of humans, they laugh, they play, they dance, they sing.
The songs of the stars start to fade again, so I straighten my spine and continue to watch the tiny, pretty, little human make her way slowly up the mountain.
She’s brave.
So brave.
Not to just attempt the twelve-hour climb—but to face us in our presence like this. To look upon an archangel Watcher is death.
Humans and angels don’t mix.
We aren’t supposed to for a reason that again has been hiding in the creators’ great wisdom.
She’s smaller than us by at least a foot and a half, if not more.
Her hair is pretty, black, long down her back, and her eyes are like the blue of the oceans. I shouldn’t know any of those things.
I’m not the only one who’s distracted, who’s watching the human as well as the mountain while she climbs.