Elysian Read online

  Elysian

  (Celestra Series Book 8)

  Part 1 and 2

  Addison Moore

  http://addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com/

  Copyright © 2013 by Addison Moore

  Edited By: Sarah Freese

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Books by Addison Moore:

  Ethereal (Celestra Series Book 1)

  Tremble (Celestra Series Book 2)

  Burn (Celestra Series Book 3)

  Wicked (Celestra Series Book 4)

  Vex (Celestra Series Book 5)

  Expel (Celestra Series Book 6)

  Toxic Part 1 (Celestra Book 7)

  Toxic Part 2 (Celestra Book 7.5)

  Elysian (Celestra Series Book 8)

  Ephemeral (The Countenance 1)

  Ethereal Knights (Celestra Knights 1)

  Someone to Love (The Someone to Love 1)

  The Solitude of Passion (Coming Summer 2013)

  To those who have loved Celestra,

  thank you.

  This is for you.

  Celestra, I tossed you in the air and you flew like a butterfly, but now our journey has come to an end. I’ll see you again in the forever after, until then, goodbye.

  Part One

  Preface

  Time. It is the compass on which all human breath relies. It dispenses increments filled with love, grief, harrowing suffering, and indescribable joy until each measure comes to an end with the swift close of a casket.

  Life is born of God’s own breath. Each destiny painstakingly bore with patience. My destiny was unveiled at the crossroads of love and sacrifice. Love is innate, it magnifies—glorifies. Sacrifice is foreign, alien, it requires surrender, it demotes, removes—it willingly chooses the path of suffering in order to venerate something other than itself. Sacrificing for the ones you love is the most beautiful gift of all. It can never be repaid. You would never want it to.

  A tower of flames surrounds me. The enemy glows with its midnight smile as I resolve to embrace the fire. The end had come. All those moments, all those disposable increments of time had finally reached their ultimate conclusion. Destiny had landed my feet at the doorstep of eternity. She had her way with me—swept me into a lethal corner as if I were dust, nothing more than gossamer, unimportant, insignificant as a sigh. My every breath was numbered, and, now, the next would mark my last.

  There is a clarity that only the threshold of death can bring, an instant perspective on all those hazy precepts we often ignore as we amble toward our final hour. It’s in that moment—our very last—we realize a visceral truth, so powerful, it has the ability to unhinge the past, evaporate it in an instant, useless as a dream. The end of our days, the end of our journey in these coats of flesh, is merely the birth of something new.

  Our days are nothing but a preface. We had been shaping our true destiny through our actions all along.

  Life followed life—death was just a lie.

  The end is simply the beginning.

  1

  Refiner’s Fire

  The fire explodes in a fit of wicked growls, tucked deep in a cave in the Elysian Fields. I turn to face it, to face my destiny and wonder how I’ll ever survive those flames.

  “Will I live, Marshall?” I gaze up at him with a pleading expression.

  He closes his eyes and gives the slightest hint of discouraging news.

  I glare into the fire with a new resolve.

  I won’t let myself rest in peace—not before I fall on the sword of the Master. I’ll crawl to it in my dissolving state if I have to. I’ll do something right. Celestra and Sectors will prosper. The people in the tunnels will still have hope. If that were the sum total of my life, it would have been worth the misery.

  My left foot touches the last bit of soil—the next step changes everything.

  My life comes to me in jags. I see myself as an infant in my mother’s arms, her face a mirror of the one I would wear. All of the good times I shared with my father crumble before me like a house of cards. I see Lizbeth, then Tad, my new family—the view of Paragon from the ferry. Logan and Gage in the bowling alley with Brielle by my side. I see Logan lying over me on Ellis’s pool table as his kisses render me under his “ever after” spell right there, right then. Gage and his sea of delicious love—his incurable ache for all of my heart. He’s always had it. Always will. One memory after another—a carousel of kisses, the indescribable yearning—they swarm faster and faster until all I see are the crimson waves of the flames, calling me, luring me with their prickling fingers deep into the fire.

  Submerged within the blaze, I see them—resplendent and beautiful—Logan and Gage, Ellis behind them. They hold out their hands for me to join them in the blue heart of the flames. An apparition envelops each of them, Logan as the lion, Gage as an eagle, and Ellis an ox.

  My feet move.

  Falling in love is a lot like death. It chooses you. It decides the moment and the chain of events that will preclude the precise intersection of life in which it occurs. It uses you—treats you as though you were malleable in its warm hands. It doesn’t bother to ask if you want it or need it, just fills the gaping hole of destiny’s design.

  Love. My world bloomed with its beautiful never-ending ache. I would give all of my blood to my enemies to have it completely—if I knew it would satisfy them—if I could live without it. But I know the resolution. I knew the end of the story before it ever began. I have chosen love. And now, I will surely die.

  This is the moment in my life for love and for death. Fate had intertwined the two, bereaved of any mercy. The architecture of my being, my infrastructure, was built for this very moment. The pillars of my life had been established long ago—the blueprint written in my bloodlines.

  Marshall chants over me—such a pretty song to die to.

  “I’m as pure as gold,” I whisper.

  For Logan and Gage who both fought so hard—for Celestra—I step boldly into the flames.

  ***

  Heat as sharp as knives bites through me. The fire dances and licks at my flesh, but the flames never penetrate me—they never touch my skin. A strange blue glow swallows me whole. I glance up to see Marshall expanding like a shadow, and I’m somehow nestled safe inside of him. He hums an exquisite tune that vibrates through me with an energy so powerful, so alive and beautiful, words could never accurately describe this intense glorious feeling. His sharp features glow. Marshall is resplendent, unimaginably gorgeous while lost in these luminous embers.

  We’re crossing dimensional planes, pulling forward at an accelerate rate that defies every increment of measure ever known to man. We’re transcending the Elysian Fields, warping through time and space toward an incredibly bright light that my entire being aches to become a part of.

  A doorway opens, and a beam of illumination radiates from inside as if in this place, this strange and foreign land, it were the sun itself.

  “Ms. Messenger.” Marshall appears by my side anew—so breathtakingly gorgeous I want to fall to my knees. He takes up my hand and nods toward our destiny. “The throne room, my love,” he whispers as we walk through the expansive entry.

  A rush of bliss fills me so much deeper and far more brilliant than any shock of adrenaline could ever afford.

  A room, a spacious cavern with no discernible walls, surrounds us. A veil of splendor, thick as a plume of smoke, rises from the opposite end, and instinctually I recognize this as the glory of the creator himself. The floo
r is a clear sheet of sapphire that expands beneath us with shooting beams of light that shine through it like a prism. Up ahead, a nest of lightning enwreathes the throne with its constant crackles and sizzles as a calm, soothing thunder rings throughout the chamber in a nonstop rumble from above.

  Marshall leads me down an expansive aisle. On either side of the throne there’s a half circle with twelve additional thrones on either side, and seated upon each one are men of regal stature, all of whom hold the look of knowing in their eyes. There’s something supernatural about them in general, and they remind me of my birthmother.

  Then I see Him. God in all his glory—robed in light, his face secretly hidden by the aura that radiates from his eminence. A rainbow spins its half-moon over the vicinity in shades so brilliant they would make any hue on earth blush with shame.

  Logan and Gage appear by my side, but I can’t look away, I can’t take my eyes off the beauty of the Master—the pioneer of my salvation seated to his right. Hair like lambs wool, white as snow—his body is like that of burnished bronze, nothing but fire and molten metal from the waist down.

  An oversized throne looms in the background, made from a blue stone with green and white marbled throughout. It looks like the earth when viewed from above, and instinctually I recognize that it’s made of Lapis. I don’t know how I know this, I just do. Beneath the throne, down the silver-lined stairs, flows a stream of crystal water. It flows beneath the floor, leading away from the room, thick as a rushing river.

  My feet move closer to the center of the twenty-four elders. Logan and Gage move alongside me. Marshall doesn’t let go of my hand, nor do I want him to.

  In an explosion of white feathers, four creatures appear before the throne—a lion, an eagle, an ox, and a beast with the face of a man. They each have six wings and are covered with blinking spots. It’s not until closer inspection that I realize those aren’t ordinary markings but eyes covering the beings like a blanket. Their bodies are tawny with an aggression so fierce and wonderfully tame at the same time.

  In a choir the four beasts shout, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God almighty, who was, and is, and is to come.”

  “Marshall,” my voice quivers as I take in the sight.

  The room rumbles. The twenty-four elders fall to their knees, casting their crowns to the foot of the throne. I watch as the metal circles, cleated with jewels, roll on their circumference, gold and platinum, silver and bronze until they reach their destination. A euphoric feeling overcomes me, and I drop to my knees, prostrate before the Master of the universe.

  “Rise.” A calm voice rides high over the thunder, over the hypnotic hum that’s bound the room, and I struggle to my feet. Every ounce of my body wants to remain on the ground, kissing pure sapphire clear as sheet-glass.

  Logan catches my eye. His refinement takes my breath away. His blond hair glints in the light like strands of luminescent floss. His cut features look alarmingly deadly, beautiful beyond repose. He offers a brief smile before reverting his attention back to the throne.

  Warm fingers take up my other hand, and I turn to see Gage in all his splendor, his dimples settled in his smile, his black hair swept back like velvet. From over his shoulder I see Ellis, perfectly whole, and my spirit soars. He’s lean and comely, indignantly charming, even here.

  Somehow, someway we had all found a way to cheat death. Life courses through our veins with something far more sophisticated than blood—perhaps water from the throne of God himself.

  Slowly, one by one, the elders rise and look up at the Sovereign One.

  The Lamb of God stands and takes a bold step forward. His eyes burn like fire, his smile a delicate touch of his approval. His full attention falls over us, and every molecule in me reacts with the splendor of a Fourth of July spectacular.

  “You’ve accomplished much.” He thunders it out so fierce my bones tremble.

  The elders lift their hands and point just shy of his feet to a red glowing stone.

  Embedded in a jasper boulder extends the handle of a silver sword, and my heart races to my throat.

  “The sword of the Master,” I whisper.

  “It’s yours, Skyla.” Marshall says it with such authority I almost believe him.

  “So this is it?” I take a step, still tethered to both Gage and Marshall himself.

  A thunderous explosion rattles the room as a plume of dark smoke enters the vicinity. The navy fog clears revealing my mother on one side of the sword, Demetri on the other.

  They let him in here? I squeeze Marshall’s hand.

  He’s one of the reasons they’ll burn the place down eventually. Sanitation will be priority one, once all of wickedness has been ousted for eternity.

  Figures, the only way to rid the grounds of the disease that is Demetri is to torch it.

  “I totally get it,” I whisper.

  “You ‘totally get’ what, Skyla?” My mother’s voice rises high like a knife tapping the side of a crystal flute. Her beauty is sharp. In every way Candace Messenger is far more refined than I can ever be. Her hair comes to life in long, glittering waves. Her body shines like its own celestial eminence.

  I press my lips in tight. I may not have been raised by the woman who bears my features, but I sure know when I’ve crossed her invisible line, and I venture to guess that would be right about now.

  “Do not speak unless spoken to.” She bites the air with her words. “If you’re to lead the Nephil kingdom, you must learn to behave immaculately in the presence of the Maker.” She expands her hand toward the throne, and her smile rises and falls like the strum of a harp.

  I give a brief nod, but all I really want to do is take hold of the prize, claim victory for Celestra once and for all.

  “The sword remains for a little while longer. You may touch it and nothing more.” Her pale eyes shine like polished stones. “The war is to be diagnostically weighed by the Justice Alliance, and when we’ve reached our verdict you will be notified.” She crimps a tiny smile.

  “What do you mean notified?” A swell of anger wafts through my body. It rises in me like an unnatural emotion, unwanted, and inspires a wave of nausea to roll through my stomach.

  “Touch the sword if you desire then be gone,” she says it sweetly as if she never heard my question. “When the time is right, you’ll be called to the ethereal plane where we’ll discuss the repercussions of the war generated in your name.” Her eyes sharpen over me. “All is not done, and you have not won. Be warned, I am every bit unhappy that the victory was not clear.”

  “But I’m here.” I let go of Gage and Marshall and fan my hands around at the great expanse. “Look—the rules were, the elders would lead me to the sword, and clearly the elders have brought me to where I need to be.” I stride over to the jasper boulder housing the prize and reach to grab it.

  “Consider carefully what you’re about to do,” she growls.

  “You said I could touch it.” But we both know damn well I’m going to snatch it. I might even try to procure a casualty with it even though it’s an impossibility to kill a Fem. At this point I’d take a temporary maiming.

  “Skyla, no,” Marshall barks from behind.

  I clasp my fingers around the cool metal handle, and the sword illuminates a bright cobalt blue, the exact color of Gage’s—

  A wild jolt travels through me, wicked and reckless. My body propels through the air as I fly backward, straight out of the throne room at speeds unreconciled to man. Then to my horror, I start in on the descent, heavy and swift, with a pronounced finality.

  The ground comes up quickly, and instinctively I know this is going to hurt.

  It figures that I would get myself thrown out on my—

  My head breaks my fall, and all of Heaven claps to darkness.

  2

  Masquerade

  A groan expels from me as I land flat on my ass—my face pressed over the glassy pavement.

  “Shit,” I whisper, completely ticked at my mother. I bi
te down on my lip as I struggle to sit up. It takes everything in me not to rattle out an entire slew of expletives. I’m pretty sure language like that will land me in far more precarious places than streets lined with gold.

  I glance around at my new surroundings. It’s beautiful here, air perfumed with honeysuckle, streets that shimmer like glitter—a river bisects from the exit of the throne room down as far as the eye can see with fruit trees lining either side of the water. Large balls in every color hang off the heavy-laden boughs like oversized Christmas ornaments.

  “Skyla!”

  I glance up to see my father’s glorious face and spring to my feet no worse for wear.

  “Did you see the war? How did I do?” I wrap my arms around his neck, and he spins me, burying a kiss in my hair in the process. He holds the scent of lemons and spice. His features have adjusted to the younger version of himself, about thirty, and his head is full of dark, thick hair. I run my fingers through it, soft and slick.

  “You were fantastic. I’m proud of you, Skyla.”

  “Yeah, well, my mother didn’t seem to feel that way.” I glance back at the structure behind me.

  “What did she say?” His affect darkens. I think we both know my mother’s disapproval is a buzz-kill in any dimensional plane.

  “She’ll call when she’s done adding up the points.” I shrug.

  “Ms. Messenger.” Marshall strides up with Gage, Logan, and Ellis holding up the rear.

  I bypass Marshall and wrap my arms around the three of them. Logan and Gage both envelop me in their love—so holy and pure it quickens through me like a flame.

  “You did good.” Ellis gives me a knuckle bump.

  “Ellis.” I dive over him and hold on tight. “I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”