Although the written information in the diary provided the true history of the human race of Naan, the more ancient story of the heavenly angels and the demons from the abyss could be found between the printed letters. Montague had to read the gaps between the inks where each space shaped its own letter of the angelic language.
Now the only person in the world he knew who could interpret angelic language, he felt the weight of mankind’s conflict pressing down on him.
Spending years learning ancient mysteries from Burton Lang, Montague realized that most magic was simply an advanced science, not yet understood by the minds of their current world documented in books. Powders, potions, and crystals were just chemicals and structures that did things that only appeared to be impossible. But instead of using this chemistry for developing the civil world, the Nekrums had used it as a weapon of destruction.
The technology of Naan couldn’t protect Man from a threat so powerful, not alone.
Montague had assisted Burton in a plea to the high heavens for help and hoped that an angel was coming. These advanced entities were ascended masters made of pure light, equipped with abilities such as: telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, flight, and materialization—appearing in and out of physicality. In physical form, the diary referred to them as—wizards.
In the past, angels had a problem descending to the planet. The Nekrums had quarantined Naan, forestalling any divine being from entering the physical world. The quarantine secured an astral barrier extending up hundreds of miles into the sky like an interior dome that filtered divine light.
Montague’s sensei had been able to descend before the invaders arrived. Born and raised by the Lang family, Burton had been hidden among peasants. After suffering from amnesia for six years, the memory of his true identity returned. But then the angel needed assistance from the people on the ground who knew the truth. The ground crew called themselves, the Divine Alliance. And Montague had been indoctrinated into that alliance as a child, yet he still didn’t know how to break the quarantine. As long as the Nekrums controlled the planet’s etheric body, angels would not be able to incarnate.
Rayne Volpi, the last known Volpi, appeared different from any other human on Naan. Montague could only guess that either he was the angel that he and Burton had called upon, or he had indeed been cursed by the mage during his birth, inviting a demon to reside in the consciousness of the prince; only so the Nekrums could control the entity, and the boy. Montague felt overwhelmed at the power he was up against. Divine magic was different than organic magic, the advanced chemistry that he understood. Angels or ‘wizards’ could harness liquid light, the substance that formed the heavens. Although the Nekrums had discovered how to manipulate the elements with their technology, if divine light was controlled by evil, it could be deadly.
Every time Montague looked up at the auburn moon, he was reminded of the responsibility that he now carried as one of the last surviving members of the alliance. How can I carry this burden alone, he thought? What if my best isn’t good enough?
The first light of a mid-autumn morning barely lit the mud-gray sky. Montague La-Rose escorted Indrid Cole; the seventeen-year-old orphaned count of Grale, through the second-floor hallway of the Ikarus castle. With the shadow of his father’s beard, Indrid looked more and more like him every day. They were meeting Gretchen and Anna Lott, the young girl from Mern, at the handmaid’s quarters before the king’s birthday celebration.
“Monte, can I ask you something?” asked Indrid. Now a member of the Ikarus Guard, he wore boiled leather under armor, even when off duty.
“Of course,” said Montague.
“Rayne is eight years old now. But…he doesn’t look it, or act like it. Instead of skipping stones or taking on a skill such as sword fighting or archery, like most children his age, he’d rather read or sit in the gardens and draw pictures of the scenery. He can outwit any educated man in the kingdom. I swear his head should be bigger than it is to hold a brain so complex. Then, there is his body size. If he is almost my height now, he’ll be a giant by the time he’s my age. We won’t even need an army.” Indrid laughed. “Will he become king before he turns eighteen?”
“Well, he is the king. And we’ve discussed his condition. There is no doubt that he is maturing faster than most people, physically and mentally. But the law states that his rule commences when he turns eighteen, just as you have to wait. Until then, Alexandal acts as steward of the throne. Only a month from now, you will return to Grale and rule your kingdom,” Montague told him.
The Graleon boy had spent too long in Ikarus, Montague thought. The plan had been to care for the children, Indrid, and Anna, the youngest Mern and cousin of the royal Lott family, for a short time; only as long as it took to rebuild their homelands and secure the safety of both kingdoms. The restoration took only fifteen months. So far, Indrid and Anna, along with her relatives, had been kept at Ikarus for eight years by order of Lord Alexandal.
Indrid’s voice rose with excitement, “Will I return on my eighteenth birthday? That very day?” he asked.
“On that day, you are the one to make that decision. You are the heir to the Graleon throne,” Montague said, “Unless you object and choose to stay here with us.” He winked.
“I’ll be a good count,” Indrid said.
“No. Be a great count. And all great counts must know the very histories of Grale that I’ve been trying to teach you,” Montague said, frowning. He thought maybe Indrid would get the hint that he
