“And there is our signal,” Cael leapt up immediately.
Blaise dropped the dish he was washing into the sink and tore off his apron, running across the room to catch Charon up in his arms. He kissed him hard, the fine strands of his white-blonde hair falling over them both. “Be safe my mate,” he urged Charon.
“So worried,” Cael crowed and grabbed Charon’s hand, dragging him out onto the balcony. Blaise shifted into gargoyle form, and Charon and Cael opened their wings leaping into the air in unison.
Charon saw Etienne in the air, waiting for Blaise and Dior, the third gargoyle leaping off Elior’s building and changing in the air, a breathtaking feat. Ashlynn’s dark wings opened as she followed on the gargoyle’s heels.
Cael dragged on Charon, pulling him away from the portal that the gargoyles and winged vampire headed towards, instead rising up above the gargoyle’s building, until the air was clear.
A portal opened above them, and they were through, into the rose hued skies of Charon’s home aerie, before the gargoyles engaged the invading Nephilim in battle. The portal closed immediately behind them, the suction of air pulling at Charon’s feathers.
It took a moment for him to get his bearings and he was breathless from the exertion of the last few minutes. “You are truly a master of the portal,” he observed, impressed by the blonde man’s skills. “It is a rare skill.”
“My curse, I used to call it,” Cael admitted.
“Yes,” Charon knew what had happened to Cael’s family. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Let’s prevent you from experiencing the same,” the other man replied. “I am unfamiliar with this aerie, you will have to direct me.”
“Hopefully with everyone watching the games, few people will be around to see us enter,” Charon changed direction towards his family’s home. He wondered what Dior would make of the aeries. Charon had always found them beautiful, the naturally formed spindles of rock projecting skywards in graceful spikes, their bases ringed by green fields, flowing water, and the slave villages, and their midpoints skirted by cloud.
As seemed to be common between both realms, the richer and more powerful your family was, the higher up their home. Charon’s family sat just below the clouds, where the damp was a constant companion. They landed on the narrow platform and Cael flicked his wings to disperse the droplets but did not say anything.
Charon knew that Cael’s own family’s accommodation in their aerie would be well up the spindles and the cloud cover. He opened the door into the living area of their home and heard the baby crying in the background. Cael closed the door behind him.
Charon breathed in, the scent of home familiar and comforting. Perhaps the last time, he thought with an edge of sorrow, that he would be there. The furniture was worn, and children’s toys were scattered across the floor, but it was clean and tidy, and Charon told himself there was nothing to be ashamed of.
His art supplies and canvases were set up near one of the front windows where the light was best, and had not been touched, he saw, since he had left to participate in the games. Cael wandered over that way and flicked through the completed canvasses stacked against the wall.
“Ah, Anahera,” his mother called from the back bedroom obviously having heard the door close. “Can you bring me a cloth from the line?”
There was a clothes horse with the baby’s cloths hung to dry. Charon felt for the driest one and carried it with him towards the bedroom. His mother’s back was to him as she bent over the bed, changing the baby. “Ah, thank you,” she half turned as he entered and gasped, her eyes immediately filling with tears. “Charon.”
“Mum,” he went to her and wrapped his arms around her. She looked tired, he thought. She must have been suffering one of the episodes of illness that seemed to overcome her with increasing regularity – the relic of her participation in the games. “Tabbris has grown so much,” he observed, his voice thick with unshed tears, watching the baby roll onto his stomach and try to crawl away.
“Oh, Charon,” his mother released him and took the cloth from his hands, capturing the baby and deftly wrapping the cloth around his legs before scooping him up into her arms. “It is so good to see you, but how is it that you are here?”
“My friend has the ability to open portals,” he said. “Mum…”
He was interrupted by the door opening and closing in the living area, and he heard his father’s voice. “Lieke I am home. Hello?” Javan was confused by Cael’s presence in the living room. “May I help you?”
“I am fine,” Cael replied with confidence. “These are really very good,” he sounded surprised.
“My son’s,” Javan said with pride.
“Hi dad,” Charon stepped out
“Charon,” Javan’s face crumpled as he strode across the room and caught his son up in his arms, pressing his face into his hair. “The games are not over! How is it that you are home?”
“No, Cael can open portals,” Charon explained.
“Cael,” Javan looked over his shoulder at where Cael continued to snoop through Charon’s art supplies. The blonde man paused, grinning, and waved. “Charon,” Javan’s tone changed. “This is… breaking the rules. The punishment…” He held Charon at arms’ length so that he could search his face intensely.
“I know, but things have changed, dad,” Charon gripped his father’s forearms. “The portal opened into the forbidden realm,” he heard his mother gasp behind him. “It is not what you would expect,” he told them. “The people there had a good life, before the games opened there. A better life than we have here.”
“So, you will be safe,” his mother said with relief. “Amongst the slaves until the games renew?”
“Yes,” Charon said. “But that is not what I mean. You need to come to the forbidden realm.”
“What?” His father was baffled. “What do you mean?”
“It is better in the forbidden realm, than here,” Cael was starting two piles of canvasses. “You need to get your family together and come back with us.”
“Charon, no,” his mother said, coming to stand to the side of father and son. “We can’t just take the children to an uncivilized realm. And just because the realm has been opened to the games, does not mean we can immigrate there…”
“Escape, not immigrate,” Charon said to her. “And it is not uncivilized.”
“Surrounded by slaves,” his mother murmured dubiously.
“They don’t consider themselves slaves,” Cael explained.
Javan frowned at him. “Who are you? What has happened to you? Something is wrong about him,” he said to Charon’s mother.
“Cael Jovil,” Cael replied cheerfully revealing his vampire sharp teeth and the flash of Other in his eyes.
“Cael Jovil,” Charon’s mother repeated. “I know that name. Charon,” she dismissed the subject of Cael and focused back on her son. “This is madness. We can’t just pack up everything and fly off through a portal to the forbidden realm.”
“Just take the clothing on your back,” Cael advised. “And a few of these pictures.”
“Charon, the disgrace,” his father said. “The dishonor that will result if you are found here. You need to go back, now.” He glanced anxiously over his shoulder. “Before Anahera, Mitra and Kemuel return from school and see you. They will never be able to keep this secret.”
“The games will renew in a few months,” his mother said. “It will fly by, my son.”
“Mother, father,” Charon looked between them. “I have taken mates in the other realm. I won’t be returning.”
“F-king hell,” Javan released his shoulders in disgust. “For f-k sake, Charon,” he gestured his anger with his hand. “We need you. Anahera will barely be fifteen when the next games start. You sentence her to death if you do not return and you know that.”
“Which is why he is here,” Cael pointed out. “To take you all back with him, where there are no games.”
“And none of our people either,” Javan snapped. “No technology, no civilization, no medicine, no education system, no employment. How are we meant to survive amongst slaves?”
“The same as everyone else,” Charon said. “By doing what you can to contribute. As to the rest – they have technology, civilization, medicine and an education system. Or did, until we opened the games into their realm. They are not slaves, and they are not defenceless.”
“You need to go, Charon,” Javan shook his head. “The children will be home soon. Think about your family whilst you are slaking your lust in the beds of slaves. Perhaps when you have f-ked enough, you will remember who and what are important to you in time to return and save your sisters life.”
“I have made my choice, and it was mine to make,” Charon said with a firmness that he did not feel, his heart twisting in his chest. “I will not be coming back to participate in the games. The people of the forbidden realm are not the slaves, we are. We are slaving our lives away, sacrificing health, fortune, youth and, often, our lives for the entertainment of the rich and powerful of our people in these games. I am offering you freedom. A better life for the children, and for yourselves.”
“A portal opens to the city every few days,” Cael hefted a collection of canvases and notebooks. “When the next portal opens, we will come back. Think about it in the interim, and if you reconsider, have your family ready to go. There will be no time to spare – you will need to be ready to go, with just your most precious items. Anything else, you can get from the forbidden realm. Come on, Charon,” he thrust the art into Charon’s arms before taking a second collection up. “We have been here long enough. It’s time to go.”
“Please,” Charon pleaded looking between his parents. “Be ready to go when we return.”