The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution

by Lisanne Valente

  Strong, able Fae marching in unison, swords and spears at the ready.

  “Where are you, Mairi?” whispered Valerie, from her bed in the Castle.

  “Mairi, answer us,” Lauren said, tears forming, though she would not weep. Mairi had chosen a path that she and her cousin could not follow.

  Iuchar steadied himself. “Come, Mairi.” He said taking her hand. “You are with us, now.”

  Elemiah materialised and stood by his sons. Handing them a potion he said nothing, his eyes filled with tears, sadness, pride. Too many emotions flowed through him. They drank the concoction instantly, without question.

  “Take care my sons” he said, through his tears and vanished.

  She glanced from one brother to the next and it was clear what they had to do. The voices of her cousins whispered in her mind, and she sent love to them on a mistdreaming promise.

  Mairi walked with the Fae, Iuchar, Fiacha, and Cassiel beside her.

  When Omniel and the Archangels Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel made their appearance, the sky turned to brilliant blinding white, and the Demons found themselves trapped in between the Fae and an army of Angel, who stood with Archangel Michael.

  When the two armies collided, the echoes of war filled the Glen. Fae battled Demon. Mairi, guided by the three Angels, struck deathly blows. Lucias could sense her. She was near, but if he made himself visible he would die. Not by Angel hand, he was certain. It would be one of the Demon kings.

  Flauros searched for Lucias. He had to kill him soon, but the little bastard was playing the same game as the Fae, vanishing and reappearing, striking at Fae and Angel with fatal intent.

  The sounds of screaming filled the cold air. Flesh smashing against steel and the shlooping sounds of suction as swords were pulled out of bodies. The stench of burned flesh and blood wafted in the air.

  Lights shimmered on and off as Angels and Fae entered intermittently, into The Veil, vanishing when they had slain another demon, so quickly they were unable to defend.

  Raphael grabbed Dantalian’s hair, with one arm, and soared into the air. Dantalian shifted into the leopard, a favourite beast. Raphael let him fall to the earth. When he landed, the leopard lost his footing, sliding on the erratics, then crashing into a tree. Stunned, he shook his head, reforming into a man he looked around, unsure of what he was witnessing. The erratics were moving, changing shape from the huge mass of stone, he looked away. I must have really thumped this mortal skull, he thought and laid a hand across his eyes.

  “I’m awfy glad you came back, laddie. Ah wouldnae like you to go tae the other side not knowing who killed ye. You shouldnae hae murdered ma family,” The MacIain, the Twelfth Chief of Glencoe muttered. “Ah’ll see you in Hell, but no’ just yet.”

  He smashed a hammer into the demon’s head, then, with his axe, chopped until he had cut off his head. When the deed was done, The MacIain grimaced, his eyes searched the ground and called out, “Find the ones responsible for your deaths” he ordered. He saw her, she was there, and he smiled. Peace, he thought, and melted into the air.

  He became the dew that wept upon the ground of Glencoe.

  The Archangels turned into a cloud of mist and soared above the Demons. Tiny droplets of their blood dripped onto them, and upon contact, the Demons sizzled, their skin began to peel away from their bones, sinewy muscles ripped open, until at last, they could take no more. Screaming and twisting, they eventually turned into a ball of flames, their ash billowing in the wind.

  Reforming upon the earth, they drew their magnificent swords and slew the beasts, leaving a ground covered in ash in their wake.

  Amdusias changed into the form of a man, his heavily clad feet causing the earth to groan as he landed upon the ground. He sank instantaneously, the spelled ground pulling him into a prison of coiling vegetation. The earth burned his legs, while the bugs of the ground began to devour him, nibbling and biting ravenously, endeavouring to consume him completely.

  Vual was outraged. Yet again, that little shit Lucias had convinced him to battle, only to end up losing half of his men. He would have to recruit more from the Mortal race, but they were becoming more aware, in the new century, and it made his life more difficult.

  “Damn, damn, fucking damn!”

  “Och, you’re having a moment, are you?” asked Lesley, her eyes narrowed in anger.

  “You cannot slay me, Witch. I leave for Hell when all is over, as you can see.” He held his chained arms up. “I will go when the Archangels give me passage.”

  “Oh… I don’t think so,” she hissed into his ear. “Don’t yi remember me, bonnie laddie?” Her accent thickened as she whispered. Vual pulled back, unsure of her intentions.

  “I say retreat, Witch. We have declared ourselves beaten.”

  Lesley flicked her wrist, and the boulder he had been lying against shifted. It trembled and groaned. Small stones rocketed across the ground, scattering like marbles.

  Vual watched them roll. The boulders stretched and exploded. Two Highlanders remained in their place. The ground began to tremble, the erratics screamed and shook frenziedly, so fast they became a blur. When they stilled, thirty-eight Highlanders stood in their place.

  “What the— What game do you play?”

  “She plays the game of retribution, Duke Vual, or should I say Captain Drummond?”

  Vual froze. He recognised these boys, but from where? With a glance at the witch, his heart stopped in fear.

  “You are The MacIain’s wife.”

  “One and the same,” Lesley said proudly, “and these two bonnie lads, are the sons you chased away. You didnae give me that honour, though, did yi? Was it fun holdin’ a wummin doon in the snow, so hard and so long, that she died of the cold?”

  “It wasn’t the cold that killed you,” he assured her.

  “Naw, you’re right, it was havin’ ma face put in tae the snow an’ drownin’, then breathin’, then drownin’. Ma poor heart could take it nae mare, but still I breathed, until I froze to death. You took pleasure in yer job that day, aye?”

  “Now we’re goin’ tae take pleasure in killin’ you, ya horrible monster.”

  The MacDonalds surrounded Vual, looking down upon the man who had caused their deaths.

  No more words uttered from Vual. His life ended faster than The MacIain’s wife had been granted.

  “I will see you in another world, my sons,” Lesley said wistfully. The Highlanders smiled at Lesley and slowly evaporated then disappeared into the ground. Her sons returned to the boulders that protect the grounds of Glencoe, she kissed the top of each.

  “Lesley!” screamed Baglis. “Come help!”

  Lesley ran to her mother. Jenny lay on the ground, a fatal wound to her stomach.

  “I have done all we can. There is no more I can do.”

  “Why does she not heal herself? Witch, heal thyself!” ordered Xaphan. Lesley pulled him away from the dying witch, leaving her mother to share private words with her sister, in the last moments of her life.

  “Healing others is easier than healing self. She must heal within.” She sad sadly.

  Gabriel floated down, to stand with them. “I think you should use your magical gifts, ladies. We will approve.”

  “You Angels suffer from a severe malady, and you must seek help immediately, or it will destroy all of you.”

  Gabriel puffed his chest out. “We suffer from no malady, mistress. What illness do you vision inside us?”

  “Oh, it’s a bad one. Sometimes it can be infectious, but it is very dangerous.”

  Gabriel looked worried. “I feel healthy. This body serves well; there is nothing but cuts and bruises, and these will heal.”

  “Aye, but the illness you suffer is called hypocrisy, very contagious, especially amongst idiots!

  “We cannot use magic when a body chooses to end, and we will not use our magic simply because you approve, Angel. You either give permission for the use always or not at all, not just when it suits.” She cov
ered Jenny’s face with an apron and waited for Azrael to take her.

  Archangel Michael stood in amongst the trees, hidden from the battle, now clearly coming to a close.

  “Have you nothing to feel shame about, Lucifer?” he asked.

  The Conjurer slithered from the tree, reshaping into his mortal form.

  “We are naught but ourselves, Michael. Fear ye nothing?” he asked.

  “I fear only the lives you have taken this day, and it is time for that to end.”

  “How say you will end this?” asked The Conjurer, already knowing the war was over.

  Michael called upon Appoloin and gave his instructions. They were to be followed to the letter.

  Appoloin returned The Conjurer to Hell’s pit, and fastened the enchanted chains Raphael had provided. Securing him so that his body would remain there for a thousand years, it would give the universe time to heal. He’d accomplished the task the Archangels had set for him, but he had sustained mortal injuries in his attempts to secure The Conjurer and had been delayed in returning to the battlefield.

  When Flauros and Baal saw The Conjurer being held prisoner, they called upon their Legions. It was time to leave. Without alerting anyone, they opened The Veil and within seconds had taken everyone across to the next universe. Baal took one long, hard look at the ground of Glencoe. It was littered with dying demon, some from his own Legion, and there was nothing he could do for them. A few Angel were being carried away, and Fae were being attended to by the witches. He closed the tear and left. They had lost again, and this time Lucias would get his reward, not by him or Flauros, but he would be punished.

  Upon his return, Appoloin was held back, by two demons intent on killing him. The battle was lost, but they were caught in a spell of Lucias’s making and continued to fight. When he had sent their souls to Hell, he watched, horrified, as Paschar headed toward Mairi, bitter hatred written across his once beautiful face, turning him from Angel to Demon. He was sneaking stealthily forward. Mairi, with all her bravery and newly acquired battle skills, was handling a demon brilliantly. Upon its destruction, she slapped her hands together, wiping away the blood and dust, and turned toward Appoloin, smiling that beautiful smile meant only for him, and for that instant, she forgot there were others to fight. It was then that Paschar struck.

  The spear he held ran straight through her heart. The attack happened as though in slow motion. She fought to take the protruding weapon from her chest, but it was stuck fast. She stared at Appoloin, confused. He was charging towards her, screaming. And then it all went black for her.

  Appoloin raised himself from the ground, his battered body and his pain forgotten, the leg so harshly damaged dragged behind him as he ran. To his love. When he held her in his arms, he promised her life again, with him and their boys. A happy life without mistdream and Angels, and he swore to the formidable clouds in the sky, that he would make right his promise.

  “This is why there are three Archangels, is it not!” he screamed. “You intended this to happen always! Why my Mairi, why? Make it right, Omniel!” he cursed bitterly.

  “He did make it right,” Lucias hissed into his ear, just as he slipped a dagger between Appoloin’s ribs. Lucias screamed with delight when he heard the breath escaping from Appoloin’s lungs.

  “Now!” yelled Michael, the Angels readied for the attack. Lucias’s ecstasy had caused him to release his spell of invisibility. So overcome with joy, his body became whole. He could be seen and therefore, taken.

  Adramelechk, who had been the closest to Mairi on the battlefield, was first to her side, and without any hesitation, drew his sword across Lucias’s throat. Paschar screamed and attacked Adramelechk, but had forgotten, in his anger and haste to save his master, who stood next to Michael.

  The Archangel hit him with his shield, perhaps taking too much pleasure, for an Angel, in the sound of metal against flesh. Stunned, Paschar looked to who had attacked him.

  “Michael,… help me. I know not what has become of me.”

  “You may have forgotten who you once were, Paschar, but you began to revel in your new role of servant to Lucias. It has not fared him well, as you can see.”

  Paschar growled when he witnessed Lucias’s body turning into molten lava. “I’m afraid not even the evil master you now follow wants that slug in his kingdoms. However, he has informed the Heavens of his delight in welcoming you.

  “I have not the time, nor the inclination to chat, and as much as I hate to give the master of hell anything, I once stood together in battle with him. He was a friend long before he became foe, and so, on this occasion, I will grant him this small wish. May you rot there in your new role as special servant to the King of Hell. He has been ensnared for the next thousand years. Because of your choices, you have caused the eternal deaths of some of his favourite dukes, those he depended upon to run his kingdom. I doubt he’s best happy, but then again, he’s not the most content being, is he? Ending the lives of demonic princes and dukes is not a loss to the Heavens, but a great one to His Majesty. Are you ready to meet your new master? What say you?”

  Paschar’s eyes widened as real fear permeated through him, and his attempts at speaking failed him. He opened his mouth, but could utter no sounds, to beg forgiveness, but even in that moment of hoping for respite, a slyness crossed his face.

  “I thought not,” said Michael as he ran his sword through the Angel’s heart, taking great satisfaction in watching the traitor die.

  Michael bowed his head in recognition of the Angel of the Death. All the Angels of Death had been busy this day. This unnecessary day of kill, thanks to Paschar, Lucias, and his mother, and what was the reason for all this death? Was it simply power?

  “No, not power,” Omniel said at his side. “Just power, envy and hatred.”

  “You really should stop doing that—that reading people’s thoughts, Omniel.”

  “So I’ve been told,” he acknowledged with a sadness.

  “You speak of your Mistdreamers now? You have much to reconcile with their people, I believe.”

  “More than I wish to consider as I stand surrounded by our dead brethren, but yes, there is much forgiveness of which to ask, and I suppose the time will never be more opportune.”

  Adramelechk cursed as he gazed sadly upon Mairi’s broken and bloodied body. Guilt and remorse flowed over him. Falling to his knees, he threw his head back and shouted at the top of his lungs. “WHY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?”

  Appoloin lay tucked into Mairi’s side, clutching her hand. His eyes were closed, unlike Mairi, whose beautiful blue eyes stared up to the skies. There was no sign of life, in either Mistdreamer or Angel.

  Adramelechk threw his head back and screamed at the sky once more. “Why would you not save her? Why did it have to be her? She should not have been the one to sacrifice, and for what?… For us? Where in the Angelic handbook did it say that?” he roared.

  Archangel Michael shimmered into view, together with the other Archangels, Raphael and Omniel. Their legions of celestial army were preparing to remove themselves from the bloody battleground, silently lifting their fallen brothers and sisters.

  “I tell you this, Adramelechk, it was written in the Book of Angels eons ago, that one of the Mistdreamers would have to die. We are conscious of your pain, but her death brings into force the plan that you and all Angels agreed to when Mistdreamers were first introduced. You cannot proclaim it is wrong now, just because you were her mist protector.”

  “Then send me to Hell because when Appoloin recovers, he will put me there himself.”

  “Appoloin will not recover, Adramelechk. His dealings with The Conjurer tortured and wasted the spirit that dwelt within him, it is no longer possible for him to dwell on this plane. He remains in the Heavens.”

  “Then let me stand in his stead.”

  “You would have Mairi live without the love of her life?”

  “Yes! I would. What will happen to those boys without her? How will they know
what is right and wrong without the guidance of this sweet Angel?”

  Adramelechk’s tears fell onto Mairi’s beautiful face.

  “There is always a solution, Adramelechk,” the Archangel Michael whispered, “though you may not care to hear it.”

  “I will do anything, anything, Michael. It is my fault. I should have been able to stop this from happening.”

  “How were any of us to know what Lucias and Flauros and that little snake Paschar had in store for her? This is not your fault. You must stop this pity party you are having all to yourself.”

  Adramelechk would have thrown himself at the first Angel, but it would have meant dropping Mairi, and he wasn’t yet prepared to let go of her. He continued to tenderly care for his Mistdreamer, still devastated she was no longer…He couldn’t bring himself to think the words, let alone say them.

  He turned his furious eyes on Michael. “You dare accuse me of having a pity party when this beautiful woman lies here dead? Save her, Michael. Give her my life’s essence. Please, I beg this of you.”

  “I cannot, my friend. I cannot do this to you or for her. We need her in the Heavens. She is more important to us there, and she is long gone from this world. Without this ending, there will be a war in every realm, every year, and we cannot control that. We cannot save the innocent if we are thrown to every corner of the universes. We can only concentrate on one realm at a time. You know this. Would you have each realm destroy itself? Think, Adramelechk, what other solution might there be?”

  “Let me remain here to live as a human?” he asked. “Let me help raise and guide Mairi’s children. It is the least I can do for Appoloin and the mistdreamer I failed.”

  “That would be preferable than the loss of many, but are you up to the task of raising two small hellions, because do not kid yourself, they will be.” He smiled at Baglis, who had entered the forest carrying the little bundles carefully in her arms.

  “They have their mother’s spirit and their father’s obstinance. Can you handle this responsibility? Do you feel you are up to the job?”

  Adramelechk gazed at Mairi, and his grief welled inside. “She will never see them grow. She will never watch them take a step or hear them speak their first words.”