Prolouge
"Sky, you don't know what you're doing!" frantically cries a woman's voice, she trying desperately to coax a boy off of his high perch, staring down into the bottomless void below, and she's choking on her tears; they can't be held in. Her first-born son had just been pronounced the casualty of the war against Hell's knavery, and she wasn't about to stand by and do nothing while her second-born flirted with the same sly she-devil known by the same name, Death. Yet here she was, frozen down to the floor as he stood at the edge of the world, prepared to jump and feed his soul to his own angst's hunger. "Stop this! You know I love you, and that your brother's death wasn't in vain. Please!... Don't let this woe make you blind..." Her knees give way to her tribulation, and she kneals down, her hands over her eyes, half trying to hide this spectacle from them, and half so no one else would see the dual rivers of tears flowing down her face. It was there that Sky spoke.
"I'm sorry I have to do this to you, my cherished mother, my nurturing life-giver," he whispers. "But my heart fell over the side of our realm beside my brother. Life is meaningless without him. My flesh is cold and the sun doesn't cast the same brilliance to my eyes every day I awake to see it; nothing can replace him and the bravery he gave my spirit. My brother, my kin... He was my saint and soldier and guardian."
He took one step closer to the drop-off. Now not even a hair could be placed between him and the abyss that lead to the mundane universe. He raised one foot over the drop-off, ready to kick off with the other and plummit down to end his beyond mortal life. The woman finally had regained the stamina to stand and thus took off in a dash, running to catch her son, Sky, before he was out of her existence forever. Who would've thought that anything so much purer than human would ever think thoughts of suicide? It was all on account of the day Valderon descended upon his home, carrying all the evils of the Netherworld upon his black-as-night wings. As he turned towards the the rays of the sunset that would be his star of death, it was seen that this boy had the white smooth-as-satin wings of a swan, but they were bound by golden thread and bloody, looking not in their holy might as normal but defeated and morose. The woman had finally caught up with undeserving-of-doom son, but couldn't hold him back in time before the fall to Earth began--- her hand just graised the back of his shoulder.
"NO!!" she screamed out in agony to all the world, the heavens, the planets hanging still in their orbits above. She felt her throat closing up and stopping short her breathing. Her bliss, her strength, her inspiration, her blood and its warmth... were all gone, partly taken by by her first son's passing, partly taken by this just now. Her vision, blurred by her languor, caught its last sight of Sky before disappearing beneath a layer of mist and puffy clouds. With her brightness in her personality forever lost, she growls, raises clenched fists to the sky and caterwauls her crushed soul's message for all her folk to hear,
"Damn the Gods! For snatching away my pride and joy... and entity..." Down on Earth, Sky landed, snapping his neck and spine in two.
CHAPTER One
Clay Aiken snapped straight up in bed. 'It was that dream again', he thought. 'Just a dream.' He stared out his window at the full moon, musing many assorted things. 'What does it mean? The angel that took his life... It's so sad. Kind of like... Deb-'
He shook his head. He wouldn't go blaming himself again for the past, for things that he couldn't control. But form time to time, it still made him feel empty inside. Worthless. Now that he was awake---and already depressed and introspective--- he needed his comfort snack. Honey on white bread. He smiled at the thought of all his old times at home when he was a little kid, absent-mindedly munching it while watching his favorite cartoons on TV. He stumbled sleepily out of bed towards the kitchen, and he thought he could drool, thinking of its sweet stickiness. But when he reached the kitchen, he found that the house was out of honey. He sighed.
'Back to bed, then.' It was then that his mother heard him, as he'd stepped on a creaky board on the floor.
"Clayton?" she called wearily.
"Hmm?" he grunted, not even bothering to turn his head in her direction. He noticed Raleigh had heard him, too, her shiny little black beads for eyes carefully watching her daddy.
"What are you doing up, sweety? It's four-in-the-morning, only." He looked up at the clock. So it was.
"You're not the type to be up early. Something wrong?"
He couldn't tell her he was thinking about his step-sister's death after all these years, and she wouldn't understand that weird dream.
"Just a bit hungry, s'all," he lied.
"Well, no wonder, you're so darn skinny," Faye Parker joked, standing in her bedroom doorway and looking down the hall. Raleigh yawned.
"Sure you didn't have a nightmare, Clayton? Ya wanna talk?"
"Nah," he said, smiling a little. "I'll go back to sleep, Mama." She ruffled his bedhead hair as he walked by.
"Okay. But I'm always here for you, son."
'If only you could tell me what that crazy dream is,' he thought as he covered back up. 'That's what I <i>really</i> want to talk about. That poor angel's son...' As he shut his eyes, he realized the dream was playing through his head again. It'd be the sixth time this week.
It was his time off from the Independent tour with Kelly Clarkson, which finally left Clay with some time to sleep, not to mention, catch up with his family. That was one downside to basing your career on your voice--- everybody wanted it, everybody never got enough of it, and he had all these places to go so people could hear it, home not being one of them too often. He sighed. But there was a negative side to everything, ya know? The packed schedule, the non-stop traveling, and let's not forget the mobs. Was some peace and quiet too much to ask for? He couldn't walk down the street anymore, couldn't go to the bank or to get groceries, not even in his hometown; that part was screwy, considering that just about a year ago, it was the usual car behind you honking and the driver hollering "move it, jack ass!", or some other curse word he cringed at the sound of. Decentcy, people!
Now, that same jerk would smile widely and cordially let him pass in front, with a warm remark like, "Go right ahead there, Mr.Aiken. My wife'd <i>kill</i> me if I was rude in any way to you", or, "Aww, shucks, I don't mind, Clay, do whatever you want", like he was the President of the United States or something. It was absurd... and unsettling. He was still trying to forget when he and Kimberley Locke stopped for lunch at the Ivy Restaurant, and when they were done and hopped in the car to cruise off, boy, he'd never seen so many cameras in his life. He felt boxed in and just not free. His stomach churned nautiously as he brought up such memories. But he always had to remember the positives of stardom, as well. He had major influence on how the public thought and acted, and pop culture, but that wasn't as important to him. He couldn't stand the singers that kids today were looking to as role models; who they were imitating to feel cool. They were so disrespective, and explicit, and always doing the wrong things, in an ever-changing spectacle to look tough. What these rappers did to women in their music videos! They made them out to be objects. When the Lord decided it was time for him to fall in love, he'd find the woman that made him feel complete, that was his best friend and that he could protect yet not inhibit. The that gave him that warm and needed sensation in his heart; the woman he would smile at in awe and be ever-thankful when he cradled their child in his strong, soothing hold.
Whoa, back up, we're getting sidetracked! The topic of the hour was his example to children, not what turned him on about a girl. He always thought it was funny when his thoughts flowed down a chain like that, ending nothing like they began. He felt himself grinning with his eyes closed over two things. The first was the jokester in him that always elbowed him in the ribs and laughed at how weird he was. The second was how it would tickle him when the moment finally came when he ran ecstatically up to his mother and announced that he'd found his soul mate. That day would light up his life. True love.
'Like that'll ever happen,' he sighed, mentally shaking his head. 'What girl's gonna fall for this geek?' Yet thousands had. Maybe even millions. He'd had fans that had flown as far as South Africa and Guam just to meet him. HIM! It was ludicrous. They found something in the way he sang his sappy love songs, tried desperately to dance, made stupid faces, and even giggled his annoying, squeaky giggle that drew them to him, that was irresistable. He was dumbfounded. 'Why me? I'm not that good-looking or talented,' he noted. 'But... wow, the total panty count for the summer tour was--- 87!' He had scored the praise of toddlers all the way up to women with great-grandchildren. 'And the panties're still comin'!' Which brought him back to setting a positive example. From his sqeaky-clean songs and albums to his benign-intentioned foundation for the mentally and developmentally disabled--- that he'd cordially shared the name with with his best little buddy ever, Mike Bubel---Clay was all about the positives. And it would be these that would get him through his heart-pounding, thrill-filled adventure with the higher beings of an ancient land known as Kamet.
