The hair on the back of his neck stood up, a particular annoyance when something had not gone as planned. He was witness to two soldiers assisting in the escape of some of the MacDonalds. It bothered him. He was being completely irrational, but he had seen them encouraging other soldiers to assist in helping the MacDonalds. He had attempted to control their minds but was unable to break through their defensive mental walls.
He had not the time to find out what was going on and summoned Robert Campbell to his side.
“See to those soldiers over there.” He indicated to Kakabel and Appoloin. “They are guilty of treason. Make sure they are arrested.”
“Who?” asked Robert. “Do you mean Kennedy and Farquhar?”
“If that is their names, then, yes. See to it, man. Get them into cuffs.”
Kakabel and Appoloin hunted through the wreckage for the dead. They lifted the bodies of the MacDonald clan and lay them side by side in the cold snow. Appoloin glanced up to see a black spectre fly overhead, in the direction of the Staircase.
The Angels halted their work for a few seconds and were saddened to see not one but four Angels of Death arriving to collect the souls of the dead. Azrael, their leader, had stretched his enormous wings to their full height and width. They would encircle the souls when he carried them, and as he embraced the petrified MacDonalds, he would comfort and reassure them that all was well. He pointed out some of the terrorised souls to Douma, Ezekiel, and Metatron. Appoloin searched around for the soul of the chief’s wife but could not see her and suspected Azrael had collected her the minute she had passed over to their realm.
“We must exit these bodies now, Kakabel, and let them get on with this onerous task. I have seen a wraith heading toward the route of escape.”
“Forcas and Xaphan will be there waiting for it, then.”
“Let us depart. We must leave the soldiers we inhabit to their fate,” he insisted.
With a shake of the head and a slight twist in the shoulders, both Angels removed their beings from the soldiers’ bodies. Kennedy and Farquhar gazed across the mass of dead that lay on the ground and felt mortification at the actions carried out. Their judgement was clouded, and hard as they might, they could not hide their anger. They had been aware of a force inside them, urging them on to do what was right and, staring upwards, saw two white streaks crossing the forebodingly dark sky, just as their commanding officer ordered both men to be arrested for treason.
Kakabel and Appoloin flew in the direction of the Devil’s Staircase. They chased the wraith as it flew over the MacDonalds and caught a glimpse of Metatron flying close by. Kakabel was troubled to see the Angel of Death. Surely, the MacDonalds were making good progress? Turning his head, he was horrified to see the breath of a wraith blowing icy snow at the MacDonalds. A wall of ice arose, preventing them from any means of escape. Distraught at the sight of yet more death, Kakabel dipped his wings, heading towards the dying, but Metatron motioned him to leave. With the arrival of Douma, it was best if they were left to deal with the carnage.
Metatron whispered to the dead, his voice melodic and peaceful, while Douma picked each one up and carried them toward his leader. They both cradled each soul as though young babies, and sadly, some were. They comforted each one, preparing the souls of all the forty victims who had died from exposure, readying them for their onward journey.
When Kakabel and Appoloin reached the Devil’s Staircase, it was to witness Forcas and Xaphan ushering the waiting four hundred men away from the access to Glencoe. A company of soldiers had been sent to slay any surviving MacDonalds, those few who had managed to escape the murders in Glencoe and get as far as the Staircase. The four hundred, didn’t need a lot of persuading, they turned away, sick to their stomachs upon hearing Forcas tell them of the massacre.
A murder of trust. The most heinous act to be perpetrated on the innocent, according to Scots law, and any other law.
The sun, it would appear, had forgotten to rise. The day remained dismal and grey; the snow-covered mountains were shrouded in a veil of mist, hiding their sight from the cruelty befalling the people who guarded them.
It would seem even the Heavens looked down on the pitiful massacre and wept.
Chapter Three
Mairi
From her dressing room door to the little three-legged stool it was only two steps, and Mairi took them, tiredly, plopping down onto it. Blowing a stray lock of blonde hair from her forehead, she sighed when, as though it had a mind of its own, it tumbled back into the same spot. Resignedly, she flicked the errant lock away from her eyes, ignoring it when it fell back down again. Then, taking extreme care not to disturb the scattered, jumbled array of makeup, cleansers, and cotton wipes, she picked up the round mirror that lay on top of the three-drawer chest. When she eventually noticed her reflection in the mirror, she gasped. Studying herself in minute detail, she drew a finger across the dark smudges that were under her eyes and carefully returned the mirror to its rightful position on the chest of drawers.
The chest—or as she liked to call it “the dressing table”, because she thought it sounded more theatrical—was a lifesaver. All her essentials covered the top. To others, it may look like a small battlefield, but she knew where everything was and, at any time, could lay her hand on whatever she needed. From Pan Stick to tampons, everything had a place.
She dreamily scanned her dressing room. It was small, truly no bigger than a walk-in wardrobe, but it had two very important factors: One, there was no window, therefore no leering eyes could peep in, and Two, it had a door that she could lock. This gave her a measure of security, but a great deal of reassurance.
She had been inundated with her fair share of weirdos all week, leaving her to wonder where they were all coming from.
Her mind wandered for a second, until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, again and quickly snapped back to reality. The dark shadows beneath her ice-blue eyes, would not go away until she got the sleep that had been sporadic all week. Drawing the damp cotton pad across her cheek, she removed the first layer of theatrical makeup from her peaches-and-cream skin.
She couldn’t care less about the worry line that was lingering on her forehead, or the fact her beautiful face was tired and drawn. That was to be expected when she was performing on stage twice a day.
She was exhausted, her head was pounding, and all she wanted to do was get her makeup off and go home. There, she would immerse herself in a hot bubble bath, after which she would then relax with a cup of tea before, hopefully, falling asleep watching something, anything, on the television that would be engrossing enough to take her away from reality. Hers was not the perceived life of the ‘stars’, it was, definitely not the one she had imagined. Fancy parties, red carpet affairs, and expensive meals in first-class restaurants with a handsome co-star, were not part of her life.
Her acting career was more demanding than she had expected. She loved it, but it was hard work. It wasn’t just reciting lines, or standing in position. Neither was it walking on and off stage. It included endless auditions, walking everywhere to save money, with the additional stress of not getting a part. The acting side was wonderful—the rest of it was not, and it wasn’t as if her life was ordinary!
At times her life was quite ordinary. Her daily routine was the same as nearly everyone else. She got up, went to work, came home, and went to bed. Simple!
But when you included the fact she was a Mistdreamer, had an Angelic bodyguard, and could cross into many different realms, lands people didn’t know existed, or didn’t believe existed, then she knew her life wasn’t quite as ordinary as others.
She hoped it would be possible to put her mistdreaming life to one side and fully concentrate on her career. She was, after all, an excellent actress, although young, and in all the auditions she had attended, had been up against some of the best leading women in the circuit. Mairi would have been delighted to get the role of an understudy or any member of the cast, in any one of
the parts she had applied for. Instead, her last audition had led to her being offered the chance at playing the role of leading lady, a clear indication of her talent, even if she wanted to deny the truth.
Modest to the core, when the call came offering her the position, she had been stunned, and every day since had tried to convince herself that she was the right choice. She was lacking, slightly, in self-assurance, but she was a true professional. Given the opportunity of a lifetime to appear in a world-class play, Mairi had thrown herself into the part and had worked above and beyond all expectations, earning the respect of her co-actors – many of whom had disapproved of her being chosen, snidely whispering, behind her back, that she had passed the “couch test audition”, well enough for her to be offered such a prestigious role. Those, who had gossiped, became quickly aware, Mairi had been offered the part, on her acting skills alone.
Mairi was in The Scottish Play and, not wanting to tempt fate, she continued calling the play by the name given to it because of superstition. It is apparently unlucky for an actor to call it by the title given by Shakespeare, because death may befall him or her should the actual title be uttered. Shakespeare’s play has grown more mythical, throughout the years, and is now cloaked in superstitious mumbo jumbo, with every new adaption of the work. Mairi wasn’t taking any chances, just in case they were right; whoever ‘they’ were.
Her thoughts returned to the evening’s show and the trauma of yet another performance when she spent most of the night avoiding hands that loomed out from the dark oasis of the audience, to paw at her. Softly drawing the cotton pad across her face, she frowned, recalling tonight’s incident and how she was sick of men trying to grab her as she performed. This was her career. She was an actor, not an object to be manhandled whenever some idiot felt it was their right to touch her.
Mairi was conscious of the desire she stirred in some people, even if she didn’t understand it. Why were they unable to control themselves and let her get on with the job she had always wanted to do: act?
If the future held this kind of crap, and the company did not step up to the plate and come to her aid, or in the very least, remove the ‘grabbers’, she was going to reevaluate her life, and if that meant leaving acting behind, so be it. Enough was enough.
She added more makeup remover to another cotton pad and pulled it across her lips, leaving trails of the gaudy red lipstick on her face. Another wipe and she removed it entirely, satisfied with a job well done. She stilled when she heard a soft knock on the door. Rising slowly, cautious, as ever, she moved to answer it, wrapping her silk gown around her lithesome body. Two steps felt like a hundred, as she neared the door, and when a flicker of apprehension crossed her mind as she stretched her hand out to touch the handle, paused in mid-air.
It could be another weirdo, she thought and shivered. Perhaps another grabber, or maybe…
All week she had sensed someone nearby. It had unnerved her, and she thought someone or something was following her. A wry smile crept onto her face admitting to herself that it was quite possible. If she was being followed, then it could be by any number of possibilities: a mad fan, a crazed Demon, a protective Angel, or simply another who knew she was a Mistdreamer. The list was seemingly endless.
However, she could rule out the protective Angel—that would be Appoloin, the Angel dedicated to keeping her safe. He was normally at her side, but had left her for a few days and hadn’t yet returned. An emergency in the Heavens, he had said calmly, as if it happened every day, he’d then apologised to Mairi before leaving her alone, with promises to come back to her when he had finished assisting his fellow Angels with their problem. Mairi wished he was back with her now. He would not hesitate to answer the door, as she did.
She, together with her cousins, Lauren and Valerie, who were also Mistdreamers, had only recently learned of their gifts. These gifts enabled them to walk amongst Angels, primarily to assist them in preventing another Angelic war. By doing so, it also meant the girls had to cross into the realms of Hell, where they encountered Demons and many other manner of evil forces. Forces they then had to report to their Angelic guardian, or directly to the Angel of Communications, Ambriel.
Mairi waited a few seconds and considered the possibilities. If she opened the door and it was a deadly force, surely Appoloin would make himself visible, but then again, perhaps not. It was conceivable, however, that whoever was on the other side of the door was simply a fan wanting an autograph. Yet, as much as she tried, Mairi could not shake off the feeling of dread that prevailed threateningly around her. The heavy, dismal fog that was clouding her mind insisted whoever was waiting on the other side of the door, did not bear good intentions towards her in any respect.
With a heavy heart, her hand wavered over the handle hesitantly.
She felt the first forceful surge of power blast through her mind, one that was urging her to open the door. As quickly as the thought was pushed into her mind, she withdrew her hand. Whoever stood outside was not human. She backed away and bumped into the stool, causing it to clatter onto the floor, one of the wooden legs breaking free from its brace.
A distinct growl could be heard from the corridor, and Mairi picked up the broken leg, holding it close against her chest, gripping it tightly with both hands as though in defence.
Great, she thought sardonically, if it’s a vampire I’m safe. I can stab it through the heart with wood… but they don’t exist, do they? Her eyebrows raised slightly as her thoughts developed, and continued with her thinking process as she spoke to herself. Mind you, I never thought Demons wearing green waistcoats existed either…
She had no more time to think, as with a thundering crash, the door smashed open.
*
The Heavens
Ambriel viewed the unfolding danger through the Heavenly Glass and spoke briskly to Appoloin, the Angel of Destruction. “There is no more you can do here, Appoloin. You have tarried longer than was necessary. You must hurry to her. The danger is imminent. Whoever is causing her such alarm is able to distort his form in the glass. Move like lightning, Appoloin. Take her to her cousins, and let them say their goodbyes. But go now. I will meet you in the Castle,” he said urgently, eager to keep a watchful eye on Mairi.
The tall, blond Angel stood straight, his six foot three muscular physique held in perfect symmetry as he drew back his magnificent wings. With a brief acknowledgement to Ambriel, he rocketed to the sky and flew through the heavens, his body becoming a blur as it soared through the stars. When he exited the realm, a sonic explosion bounced off the walls, causing several Angels to look around inquisitively for a few seconds, until they realised what had occurred, then went about their daily tasks.
Ambriel focussed again on the events he viewed in the glass, not noticing Archangel Omniel’s entrance.
“What say you, Ambriel?” he enquired. “Did I just witness the departure of one of the Infidelibus?”
Ambriel raised his eyes. “Yes,” he said abruptly lowering his eyes, reverting his attention to the glass. “It was Appoloin.” He drew in a deep breath as he saw Appoloin lift Mairi into his arms. “Yes!” he yelled. “He has her!”
Omniel continued to watch Ambriel speculatively, waiting patiently for his friend to return his gaze.
“I’m sorry, Omniel. It was Mairi. She was in trouble, and I had to send Appoloin.”
“No need to explain,” Omniel replied, waving away the words as if they floated like dust motes in the air. “You need, however, to ready yourself. We must go to The Veil after we have spoken with the Mistdreamers and their families.”
Ambriel sighed unhappily. “I care not for this. It is not going to be the most pleasant of tasks.”
Omniel agreed, but the precautions they were taking were a necessity, for all.
“It means nothing, if they are killed whilst assisting us,” he answered, more aggressively than he intended and immediately felt contrite, but the situation was dire. He rubbed his forehead, where an unusual
ache was beginning to form. “I apologise for my outburst,” he added, “but you have said yourself on more than one occasion, the Mistdreamers are our priority. They must be led to safety. Or—”
Omniel was not given the opportunity to finish his sentence, Ambriel voicing his thoughts for him. “I know, I know,” he said tiredly. “Or the future will not unfold as it should. You understand we endanger these girls every day, or have you forgotten this, Omniel?”
“I have forgotten nothing, Ambriel. I am well aware of the danger they are in. You must also keep in mind what they are to us. You have become too personally involved, I think, and have forgotten your position and the Mistdreamers’ role, in the future of our worlds.”
Ambriel felt the fury build inside him. The injustice they would inflict upon the Mistdreamers, without their knowledge, was eating away at him. He knew it was a necessity, but these girls had become more to him recently than the messengers they were intended to be.
“What say you, how will they respond when you have made them aware of all that is in store for them, and of the crucial outcome?”
Omniel shook his head. “I am concerned, obviously, but my concern is not as important as the conclusion. You know how it must end, Ambriel. It is imperative it goes to plan.” He sighed sadly. “All this will be for nothing if every other factor is not in the correct position, we cannot afford any other alterations to occur.” Everything should have been organised by now, he thought crossly, but things had changed radically, when Forcas, a Fallen Angel, fell in love, then married his ward, Lauren. With this unexpected change of events, major elements of their plan had shifted into a disorganised state. “I do not believe they will be very happy with us, but it will not be their decision to make.”
The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution Page 4
