by Cecilia Tan
Dismay.
“I want you to wear this because it will cover your tail.”
Protest.
“People won’t understand if they see you. They will think you’re evil.”
Confusion.
“They fear what they are not used to. And right now, this town is gripped with panic and hysteria.”
Fear.
“Now, let me help you pull this over your head.” He helped her into the cloak.
Amusement.
“Ah, you find it interesting! You’ve never worn clothes before in your life, have you?” Francis watched as she twirled around in the robe. She danced across his room as the cloth flowed after her. He watched as she rubbed the fabric between her thumb and forefingers and how she studied the sensation of the material against her skin.
“Watch yourself, don’t trip.” But before he could finish the sentence she tripped over her feet. Father Francis jumped and caught her in his arms. Again those dark eyes looked up at him. Love radiated from her. She stroked his face. She moved her lips to his.
His lips moved towards hers.
“No. I cannot. I have taken vows that I will no longer taste the pleasures of the flesh,” he told her as he pulled back. “If you try again I will not be able to resist.” He sensed a sad understanding in her. She squeezed his hand as she pulled herself back onto her own two feet. She didn’t try to kiss him after that. Instead she turned her interest back to the cloth of the robe. She held her arm high up in the air and studied the sleeve dangling down.
A noise came from the church. Immediately her ears perked up. She looked at Father Francis for assurance.
“I heard it too,” he said. “Stay here, I’ll see who it is.”
He closed the door to his chambers. He caught a glimpse of her looking on at him with those ever entrancing eyes. Lost, apprehensive, and overwhelmed, the girl creature waited for his return.
There was hushed talk coming from the church. He heard several people. They laughed at something. He was not comfortable with the tone of their laughter, there was something malevolent in the way it echoed. As he turned the corner of the hallway he saw three young men standing around the alter. They shouldn’t have been there.
Father Francis cleared his throat. They jerked in his direction. One of them quickly hid something behind his back.
“What are you boys doing up there?” He approached them.
“Nothing,” one of them said.
“Nothing,” another repeated as if an echo.
“We... errr... we were wondering if we could have a word with you?” the third one said.
“What do you have behind your back?” Father Francis asked the last one. He recognized him as the magistrate’s son, Johanne.
“Nothing,” Johanne said. Then he casually placed a candle stick back upon the alter. “I was just holding it. I wasn’t going to take it.”
“Step down from the altar. And take your hats off in church.” Father Francis stood next to the first pew, implying that they should come down to him there.
“Remember to cross yourselves as you step down,” he added. He took a seat in the pew and beckoned them to sit also. They hesitated for a moment. When the apparent leader, Johanne, elected to remain standing the other two took his cue and stayed on their feet also.
“Sit down,” Father said. When they didn’t, he repeated himself more forcefully. When they finally took places in the front pew he asked “What can I do for you boys?”
“Father,” one of them started when it clear none wanted to be the first to speak, “we... that is a lot of us in town... were concerned about some of the things you were saying, and we thought you might want to... well... not—”
“Stop defending the witches!” Johanne interrupted.
“I beg your pardon!” Father Francis was shaking, but he dared not show it. He hoped it wasn’t showing; he hoped his voice had not turned squeaky.
“You’ve been going through town, saying all sorts of unusual things, like there’s no such thing as witches, and that science can explain everything.”
“God and science!” Father interrupted. “Are you trying to tell the church what it should preach?”
“Father, the church is perfectly clear on its stance on witchcraft. You are the one who’s—”
“The church does not condone this hysterical mayhem that’s going around lately. And I must say you have not helped in the least to calm things down! You, Johanne, a magistrate’s son, you should be ashamed of yourself.” He pointed to the gang leader.
“I have nothing to be ashamed of. And my father does not like it at all when you call his judgment into question.”
“Did he send you?”
“No, he did not. If he had something to say then he’d...”
“Then you came here to vandalize the church didn’t you?” The fear in Father’s stomach turned to a furious anger. After feeling the emotional affinity with this girl/creature he knew that it was her feelings that were inside of him now. She knew the evil of these young men, reading them like a book. Her anger, echoed back to Father Francis, gave him the courage to confront these hooligans. Father Francis also knew, somehow, that the girl/creature was slowly walking down the hall. She would come around the corner any moment, and he would have to explain her to these wild men. He hoped she was wearing the cloak’s hood. He tried to convey this to her by picturing her wearing the hood to hide her ears and fiery red hair.
“We came to vandalize nothing!” the one who was quiet up to now blurted.
“We wouldn’t do such a thing,” the leader continued. “In fact we were here looking around to see that no one does. You have enraged the town folk.”
“You have enraged the town folk,” Father Francis raised his voice just as he saw someone turning the corner from his peripheral vision.
“Who’s that?” one of the boys, the quiet one, asked. He, being more idle than the rest, had time to survey the surroundings. He was pointing to the little hooded creature standing by the doorway.
“Just a lost child,” Father Francis said as the blood drained from his face. “We’re looking for her parents now.”
“Run along angel, back to the kitchen with you,” Father Francis said, the girl/creature did not move.
“I told you to take your hats off in church,” Father Francis said, bringing the focus back to the boys, he grabbed the magistrate’s son’s hat and pulled it off the boy’s head.
Just then the front door of the church creaked open. The magistrate himself, a man called Klein, walked in. Several others of the village followed.
“Oh, there you are,” the boy’s father said as he adjusted his eyes to the inside lighting. “I thought I told you not to come in here.”
“We were just leaving,” his son spoke, not knowing where to dart his eyes, to the priest or his own father.
“Well then, get going!” the magistrate snapped.
“Don’t forget your hat,” Father Francis held it out for the boy. “That’s a nasty scratch you have! And your ear, it seems like someone took a bite out of it.”
“Yeah,” one of his friends snickered, “he got into a fight with a girl.”
The magistrate’s son looked at his friend with piercing eyes. The gaze spoke volumes. Shut up, before you say something you’ll regret, it said.
“Who did this to you!” Father Francis said. He didn’t know exactly what he had, but he was grasping onto something ephemeral, an idea, a clue, a fleeting thought. But what did he find?
“Don’t answer!” the magistrate snapped.
“It was that w—” the other boy started to say.
“Silence!” the magistrate rushed to the front pew to collect his son.
“The witch!” Father Francis said. “Elsa did this to you, didn’t she?” Then he noticed something on the boy’s hat which he was still holding. “What’s this? A strand of red hair. I know of only one person who’s hair was as red as this.” His eyes quickly focused on the bo
y’s coat. “And here’s another strand of the same hair on your coat. It’s Elsa’s. You attacked her! She fought you off.” Father Francis couldn’t believe he was making these accusations, never did he imagine he could stand up to one as powerful as the magistrate. And the words kept coming. “Then you and your father accused her of witchcraft and had her killed!” He turned to the magistrate. “Didn’t you!”
“These charges are outrageous!” The magistrate bellowed. “I’ll see that you’re excommunicated!”
“Dad, no,” the look on the boy’s eyes turned to fear. “He knows!”
“Be quiet!”
“It’s no use. He knows. I’m so afraid now.” The boy started to cry. “It’s all over!”
Father Francis finally understood. This was the girl/creature’s doing. She doesn’t only speak through emotion, she’s using them as her weapon! She’s projecting this courage to me, fear to the boy, and irritating the magistrate—a man known never to lose his temper or say a single word that wasn’t pre-calculated.
“In front of God, confess!” Father Francis commanded.
“Yes, it’s true,” the boy said, now shaking. His eyes averted both Father Francis and his own father.
“You bore false witness?”
“Yes, yes Father Francis I, I did.”
“And your father?”
“We planned it together. It was my friends who accused her first, so it wouldn’t look like it came from the family.”
“No!” his two companions cried in unison.
“I told you to be quiet!” the magistrate grabbed his son by the ear, yanked him to his feet, and pulled him out of the pew.
“Owww! It was your idea!” the boy yelled clutching his ear.
“And that bitch deserved to die!” the magistrate snarled. “If not for your interference, I would have gotten her to confess and seen to it that she burned! But, you insisted on witnessing everything! I’ll see that you burn in her place!”
Francis watched as the girl/creature’s empathy drove the magistrate to an angered fury. By now, a dozen other people had gathered in the back of the church to hear the condemning words.
“You, down back!” Father Francis spoke, pointing to them. “You are all witnesses to their guilt. You, by the door, fetch the constable!”
“This confession is sacred, it was heard in a church!” the magistrate hissed again. “You are all ordered to disregard it!”
The murmurs grew loud... and angry.
“How dare you twist a holy sacrament to your own ends! This confession is fair evidence in any court of law! Detain him until the constable gets here,” Father Francis spoke with a confidence he had not felt since he was a young man. He suspected his days of being the meek priest were over.
The constable came and took the magistrate away. The three boys were led off too, with hands tied behind their backs. Then eventually the church emptied out. All who were left beside Father Francis and the girl/creature were Mr. Trobber and Mrs. Henkel. They had come back when they saw a crowd gather around the church.
“Well said, Father,” Mr. Trobber broke the silence.
“I thought you went home for the evening,” Francis said as they continued to stare at him and the little child in the hooded robe.
“But father—”, Mrs. Henkel said, pointing the girl/creature.
Francis noticed her tail sticking out from behind the robe.
“I take it neither of you have traveled far from the village. Pity.” Father Francis said, giving no excuses. He led the girl away to his chambers.
“I see now why God brought you down to our world,” he said to her, knowing she didn’t understand the words. “What a fool I was thinking it had anything to do with me. You are here as Elsa’s avenging angel.”
The creature looked up at him, again with her round black eyes drinking him in.
“Your mission on Earth is completed. I suppose they will be coming for you soon.”
The moon, fully risen, shone blue through the window. It was too large and too bright to be real. Its light left shadows across the room like some daemon twisting reality. Francis lay in bed trying to comprehend this girl/creature sleeping next to him. He felt her soft skin against his naked body. He felt the warmth of her body and watched as she breathed in and out so gently. Her dreams were peaceful, and there was a content smile on her face. She nuzzled against his arm. Her tail idly twined around his leg just below his knee. He too, was content. Had he sinned in taking her? How could it have been a sin, something so wonderful as partaking of her body.
She would be leaving him tonight. He knew this. Her work here was done. She came just as the dark clouds of evil gathered over the town. Now that she had disbursed them, she would be called back. But who sent her and to where would she return? He took another look at her, the pointy elfin ears, the sensuous tail, the small breasts with their ever erect nipples, the soft curves of her back, her hair to die for, and the ever so enchanting round eyes with the large black pupils. He still didn’t know if she was an angel or something else.
Shadows flew past the window, shadows of wings, occluding the moonlight for a moment. Then came the scratching at the front door. It is time, Francis said to himself. He would soon know who or what this creature was. He thought of waking her, but he didn’t have the heart. He got out of bed and walked quietly to the door. Whoever or whatever was there was very patient. They knew he was coming and they could wait. As he walked down the final feet of the aisle he felt as if he was gliding along, not even touching the floor. The doors swung open as he but touched the handle. Effortlessly and silently. Here was the moment to answer all his questions.
Two large figures stood in the moonlight. Their silhouettes showed them to be female figures. Females, well proportioned, muscular, lean. Each more than a head taller than Father Francis. They stepped forward in unison. The church became illuminated as they entered and Father Francis saw their true nature. The first thing he noticed was their wings. Angels! Then he noticed the rest of them. There were not demurely clad pristine and pure creatures sent by God. They wore armor of chain mail. Each had a leather collar around her tall and shapely neck. They wore breast plates that revealed, not hid, their cleavage, barely covering their nipples. Their leather girdles cut across their legs to just enough to cover their pubic areas. Their knees and elbows were covered with pads spiked with silver nails. Helmets of metal cover their heads. Blonde hair laced in braids cascade down either side of their shoulders.
Father Francis had read the about Vikings. He knew all about their raids on coastal villages. He had seen wood cuttings of Vikings in battle, and those depicting Viking religion. These are Viking angels: Valkyries. He knew of the Viking beliefs, their many gods and goddesses. But never in his darkest nightmares did he ever believe that anything from their mythology ever existed. And if these Valkyries were real. Does that mean that the Viking gods and goddesses were real as well? How would he ever reconcile what he saw here with his belief in his one God?
“We have come for our little lost one,” the Valkyrie on the left said without moving her mouth.
“Ahhh!” he tried to say something but only an ineffectual grunt come out of his mouth. “She’s sleeping so soundly, please don’t wake her,” he wanted to say. “She can stay with me, I will take care of her,” he tried to explain. He wanted to put his arms up and stop them from walking past him, but his arms wouldn’t move. “Ahhh!” he grunted again in protest.
“You know in your heart that you cannot keep her,” the one on the right thought at him. “You have shown yourself to be a brave and wise mortal. You have looked past her appearance and given refuge when others would have burned her at the stake. You will be toasted in Valhalla!”
“Valhalla!” he murmured. He knew what that was, the great hall where the Viking fallen are taken after death. This is cannot be possible. After life there can be only Heaven or Hell, not Valhalla.
“Accept your destiny, mortal,” the Valkyrie smiled at
him. “I am a chooser of the fallen worthy, and as such I can tell you that your place in Heaven is well secured.”
Just then Father Francis felt the welling of immeasurable happiness. He looked behind him to see his girl/creature running out into the hall and down the aisle. She squealed in euphoria. It was the first time he heard her make a sound. She ran past him and jumped into the arm of the closest Valkyrie. She hugged the giant angel like a lost child embracing her mother. The girl/creature and the two Valkyries hugged and kissed. He saw that their affection was much more than motherly, more than sisterly, but not yet reaching the erotic.
“She wants to thank you,” the Valkyrie put a thought into his mind.
“It is I who should thank her. She has done much for me and the cause of justice in our village. She has avenged a wrongful death. I was sure she was sent by God for that purpose.”
“Any help she had given you was purely tangential. A great mistake was made and she fell through to your world. This accident was planned by no one.”
“But God does not let accidents happen.”
“Think of it that way if it helps you make sense of it all. We have no concern of how you come to your beliefs. But, she would still like to thank you.”
“She doesn’t have to....”
“Every time she offered herself to you, you pushed her away. You helped her, yet you wouldn’t let her into your heart. Never in her ten thousand years of life has any mortal pushed her away like you have. Now you have left her confused and bewildered.”
“I’ve explained to her that—” Father said, exasperated.
“Your vows! Yes. Surely your vows do not control what you dream. And in your dreams you were less than an ideal lover. So she tells us. As soon as she started enjoying herself you exploded and woke up.”
“I can not control what I dream!”
“Oh you mortals, how little you have learned. We will help you.” The two Valkyrie started cooing a song. This was the first time he heard actual sounds coming from them. The wordless song put him quickly into a trance. The little one climbed down off the Valkyries arm and took Father Francis by the hand and led him to the altar. The two Valkyries had no trouble lifting Francis onto the stone and pull his nightgown off in the process.
