Guardian

by Dan Gleed

  No words were exchanged – something I was getting used to in this bizarre new world of mine. Just about everything was done in sullen silence, made the more chilling for the indifference or resentment I saw whenever I caught an eye appraising me. Now I half fell, half stepped into the craft and it rocked dangerously, nearly pitching me over the far side. A sharp instruction was snarled at me from the stern, but I was already dropping to my knees, aware that if I went in, my bound hands would be unable to prevent a swift descent to the seabed. Kneeling awkwardly, the hard rim of the canoe digging into my emaciated hips and thighs, I felt the familiar tug of hopelessness steal back, ever ready to beguile my mind and threatening once again to overwhelm me. But I had been there before and somehow, each new menace increased my still somewhat nascent desire to fight back. A renewed determination to keep a hold on life was stirring. Well, that’s what it felt like. Dimly. At any rate, whatever was about to happen, I was sure it couldn’t be worse than I had already experienced.

  Chapter 30

  With a sense of satisfaction, Israfel glanced at his companion, who acknowledged my change of heart with a nod of pleasure. For weeks now, Israfel, appointed as Guardian following my attempted suicide, had been concerned at my failure to fight back against the weight of trouble being loaded on my young shoulders. He had watched with some unease as I apathetically accepted the deterioration in my mind and body. Nevertheless, except for the original mandate to intervene over the suicide, his orders had been clear: “Don’t interfere and don’t alter the course of human events.” Except, of course, if and when Satan clearly goaded some minion or other to overstep Heaven’s well-defined constraint not to kill. At which point Israfel was authorised to take any immediate action he deemed fit.

  As usual in such cases, Satan had only been given permission to torment but definitely not drive me to the point of mortal danger, where life could be lost. But just when that point was reached was a matter for the Guardian to decide. And that was why the job could be so stressful. Especially since there was always some demon or other not above trying for collateral damage that might ‘inadvertently’ take me out. Which was why standing back and letting me take the hits hadn’t been easy for Israfel, although not for one moment did he doubt the wisdom of his orders. Like all human children, I had been assigned a Guardian Angel at conception and, like most, had been allowed to go my own way since reaching thirteen, the time-honoured and formal age of maturity. Thereafter, the presence or absence of a Guardian had depended entirely upon my general attitude. The same approach taken throughout the human race. If an individual showed a selfless interest in others, some particularly redeeming feature, perhaps some intrigue in spiritual matters, or specific angelic protection was ordered by God (which turned out to be the answer in my case), an angel might then be reassigned.

  Like many, though by no means all angels, Israfel had already pulled duty as a Guardian and, having done particularly well on his first assignment, had subsequently been earmarked to undertake the Academy course for more senior and experienced angels and, in his case, this would be followed by selection for fast-track promotion. Now he had graduated and was entrusted with a second bite of the cherry – looking after me. Me, one of God’s prized humans (amazing, but as I was later to discover, we’re all ‘prized’ by God).

  But back to Israfel. Only a minority of angels were assigned a second stint as a Guardian, but those who did not only generally enjoyed the experience, but usually went on to lead glittering careers. However, as always with these difficult assignments the guiding star was ‘trust’. Total trust in Michael, the Captain of the Lord’s Host, plus an ability to use one’s initiative. Israfel could still remember his surprise and delight at being snatched shortly before the end of the Academy course to foil an apparently ‘important’ suicide. Clearly, he was considered one of the best, capable of undertaking delicate and discrete tasks. And to cap it all, he then discovered the human in question (me) was to become his next charge. A fact confirmed at the graduation ceremony. He would never forget the thrill of anticipation as he prepared to spend perhaps the next sixty years on and around planet Earth. Anticipation tinged only by a certain apprehension at being sent once again into the front line of the fierce battle that had been raging there for several thousand years. At least this time he was a well-taught, polished and accredited warrior and expected to have a definite edge. So together, albeit unknown to me, we began an anonymous and ultimately fateful partnership (anonymous as far as I was concerned). For certain I was nothing unusual, having experienced a relatively conventional early life, except for my father and the wild life that frequented our home range. And no one could say I’d had more than the usual scrapes that any growing boy seems to attract, as if by osmosis. Nevertheless, I would have to admit that my insatiable interest in all things feral had led me and Matt into predicaments no sane human should consider. However, I’d survived without any overt help and grown the stronger for it. And now this angel Israfel was watching my progress with interest. He already knew something of why the Creator cared so much for men and women. Also, why some humans were destined for a glorious future even if, when I come to think about it, we are, by turns, both sublime and ridiculous. Anyway, here we were, embarked on an involuntary journey together.

  Israfel had been briefed on the lion attack and Matt’s death and why there had been no order to stop the assault. There was always great sadness in watching the end of a promising human life, even one for whom no angel had particular responsibility and Israfel knew all that lay between the atheist Matt and eternity without God was the great ‘Day of Judgement’. Although it was the same for me at this point, Israfel had been given an in-depth explanation of God’s future strategy regarding my case and this had apparently proved both interesting and supremely helpful in preparing for what was to come. A briefing perforce followed by an instantaneous and precisely timed return to Earth duty, in order to foil the satanic plots still being cooked up to destroy me by my own hand. Now Israfel’s supreme test lay just ahead and he knew he’d have to keep his wits about him if he was to protect me within the constraints of his orders. Together with Benjamin, an angel he had met once many years before in one of Heaven’s many fabulous estates, Israfel was following me across the sea, long greaved legs keeping easy pace with the canoe. Since the last fracas, at which he’d been present with Tamar and his friends, there had been little interference from Satan or his minions. However, Israfel was a warrior at heart and he knew better than to relax his guard.

  * * *

  Benjamin didn’t have quite the same outlook. He was on a well-earned break, having recently been stood down from guarding the fisherman Kumai, now powering his canoe towards the anchored dhow. Unfortunately, although being given a chance to get out of slaving, Kumai had made an irrevocable decision and effectively thrown in his lot with Satan. But such was the fisherman’s commitment to the slaver’s cause (and the nature of the ship to which I was headed), there was a good chance Benjamin would be needed by the other angels for the almost inevitable fight that loomed ahead. Hence he’d been given permission to take all the leave due to him while still remaining on Earth, rather than hotfooting it straight back to Heaven for a rest. Since his thirteenth birthday, the day even his own culture had accepted he’d attained his majority, Kumai had become entirely responsible for his own destiny, but such was God’s love for His creatures, that there had remained a need to help Kumai retain at least some choice over his likely future. Enter Benjamin. However, with the die cast, the order had finally come from Heaven to pull back from the young man. He had already caused too much harm to himself and others. Sadly for Kumai this meant there was now almost certainly no going back.

  Up ahead, a large sea-going boum dhow, its characteristic stern bearing the famous old navigator’s name Majid an-Najdi, snubbed uneasily at anchor and Israfel could see from the line being taken by the canoe that this was the destination. Head up, he examined the boat with interest and his ha
nd instinctively dropped to the pommel of his sword, but Benjamin put out a swift restraining hand. “Have no fear, friend. We’re to respect a truce for the time being and they know it. This boat has long been used in the vile trade of slaving and belongs to that loathsome creature Arcturus, the one you can see lording it up there at the stern. For now we are not to dispute the matter with him.” Israfel relaxed a little, but was dismayed by what he saw. A noxious cloud that seemed to have a life of its own enveloped the cluttered deck and within its suffocating confines he could see shadowy figures hopping and crawling over the battered old planks. Up on the thick hemp mainstays supporting the heavily raked mast, there was a positive infestation of ugly, rat-like creatures clinging to every spare foothold, but the demon Benjamin had pointed out and who had caught Israfel’s interest sat motionless at the very stern, behind the long steering oar. Fierce, piercing yellow eyes, made sinister by their characteristically vertical iris slits, tracked the approach of the two angels closely and the tightly compressed lips signalled the creature’s obvious hatred of them. A huge body, with hulking muscles and long legs, singled him out as superior to the scowling pack around him. A suppressed, savage power, barely held in check for the moment, marked him as one to watch, whilst the sycophantic deference paid by the other demons confirmed him as their leader. Contemptuously, Arcturus turned his head away, as if to study matters of more importance. He knew the approaching angels wouldn’t try anything and was enjoying his moment of authority over the wretches held captive in the bowels of the ship.

  Israfel shuddered. The presence of so many demons was depressing enough, but the palpable air of human despair engulfing the ship set his teeth on edge. Below decks, he could see through the thick old timbers the curled bodies and slumped shoulders of the captives who lay chained and helpless. Standing well back, far beyond the reach of any of the malodorous monsters, he could also see a number of his fellow angels sitting and watching in a small group. Israfel hailed them, saluting with his customary courtesy, and was rewarded with a warm response from each in turn. Even so, assuming Paul was destined to remain aboard and sail with this ship, the next few weeks were not going to be much fun. And given the awfulness of what he could already see in the hold, Israfel knew he’d have real trouble holding his temper in check long enough to get through the journey without a fight. If it was to Arabia they were bound, the journey would take weeks and knowing what he already did about the noxious trade in human beings, the journey was likely to provoke his ire on an almost hourly basis, an effect that could eventually spill over into unrestrained anger. And then it only needed his battle sword to be unsheathed, and the flash and hiss of its extraordinary, almost unbelievable ten-foot blade would start something that, for all the demon’s obvious power, could only end one way. With multiple deaths amongst the ugly horde in front of him.

  In fact, he was beginning to fancy an encounter with Arcturus already, but even as he contemplated the scene, there was a stirring amongst the rank and file who had spotted my impending arrival. Several of the creatures scuttled to the side to get a better look at their latest victim. However, when they realised I was not only in reasonable shape, despite my earlier treatment, but under Israfel’s direct protection (however loose), a wave of hissing and swearing broke out amongst them. Some of the more foolhardy even began to finger their weapons as they concentrated afresh on the approaching angels and recognised at least one of them as having recently been involved in the demise of several of their contemporaries. Rumour and fact had got mixed in the telling, and it was now a firmly held opinion that certain ‘Avenging Angels’ had been seen preparing for what the Bible referred to as the final Day of Judgement, when the Enemy had promised He would come back to Earth in all His glory. Was this one of those Avengers? He was certainly impressive. And who knew what awful fate awaited any demon faced with one of them? Legend had it (well, they hoped it was only legend) there was a lake of fire even now being prepared for them and any humans they could take down with them. Certainly there was mention of this in the humans’ Bible, but their hierarchy swore the place was fictitious. False or not, the princes and powers of the underworld were in a state of near panic as rumour followed rumour and no one knew what to think anymore. And now here was an angel who looked imposing enough to actually be one of the principal Avengers. So maybe, just maybe, with enough of them available, they could even the odds a little. Get ahead of the game, so to speak.

  Chapter 31

  Below them, the incoming craft brushed lightly against the ship’s hull and a shout brought two of the crew to the side. A rope snaked down and was quickly looped under my arms before being drawn tight by a sudden upward pull which, coinciding with the drop of a rolling wave, lifted me abruptly clear of the unstable canoe. I knew it was pointless to struggle. My arms were still pinioned behind my back and if for some reason I fell out of the rope, I would be in real trouble. So I contented myself with using my feet to keep away from the rough, weather-beaten planking that contoured the side of the ship. I still didn’t know why they’d brought me here, but I had a feeling I soon would. And for sure I was right in that assumption. As I stepped over the low rail, an iron collar was snapped around my neck and in one practiced movement locked into place. Then dragging me by the chain attached to the back of the iron ring, one of the men led me straight down through the main hatch.

  At once, the rising smell, combined with the ship’s uncomfortable movement against the anchors, almost doubled me up as I fought to suppress the bile mounting in my throat. In front of me, barely discernible in the light of a single hurricane lamp, a line of bodies sat or lay – chained by the neck to a metal rail that ran the length of the hold on each side. Quickly, I noted they were mostly men, with a few women held a little apart. I didn’t appreciate it then, but years later when I looked back, I realised that my overwhelming impression had been one of total isolation. Strange really, as the place was, in human terms, heavily overcrowded. But it was a place devoid of all compassion. A place of hopelessness. A place of death, where inhumanity reigned supreme. Only one of the slaves took any interest in my arrival and this was a fragile-looking black man secured at the far end of the starboard shackling pole. Despite his forlorn state, the nauseating smell and the foul conditions around him, there was something different about the man. A calmness and a peace reflecting from his face was what initially caught my attention. And unknown to me, he had also come to Israfel’s notice.

  At first, the angel had missed the obvious signs when looking through the hull, but now he gazed in frank admiration at the courageous young black man sitting bolt upright in the midst of real squalor and uncertainty. Ripped from his home, dragged like an animal to an uncertain fate and held captive against his will, his demeanour still spoke of strength and purpose as he sat staring quietly and without fear, looking straight at me and my gaolers. What I could not see, and Israfel could, was a slight iridescence, a delicate, almost imperceptible shimmer of light emanating like a halo from within the man. It wasn’t much, but the demons had certainly noted it and they were keeping a prudent distance. Not one of them dared step within that pale glow, because they knew exactly where it originated. Feeble or not, it confirmed the presence of their arch-enemy. Or to be more precise, the Holy Spirit, being the manifestation of Jesus Christ, the humans’ promised Saviour. Which amounted to instant death if they so much as laid a finger on the man without express permission. And not just because of the awe-inspiring angel with the forbidding look now standing well within striking range. To touch a favoured human at any time without God’s permission was to invite instant retribution, no questions asked and no quarter given. Besides, heroics were never high on their list of ‘things to do’ . Invisible, they contented themselves by watching, with some relish, as my body was forced down far enough to allow the crew to lock my chain onto the rail. Allowing them to dispense with my temporary bindings as I found myself kneeling right beside the man I had noticed whilst descending the gangway. N
evertheless, for a while sheer burgeoning, hopeless terror kept me quiet. I just knelt there, my breathing shallow and ragged, trying to control the horror rising like a tide within me. With complete awareness and awful clarity I now knew exactly why I was on board. I was destined to live a nightmare, something I’d only heard about once or twice in my life while at school, studying slavery as a footnote to history. Now I was an integral part of what I had mistakenly assumed to have been consigned to that very history and, what’s more, I was definitely on the wrong side.

  Shackled in a medieval slaving ship, totally alone and, to all intents and purposes, dead to everything I held dear, the world once more came crashing down on me. A life sentence of slavery, from which I sensed there would be no remission, stared me in the face, stretching out into darkness as far as the eye of prescience could see. And judging by events so far, there was little I could do about it. Despite the heat, I began to shiver deep within myself and before long I was shaking from head to toe. A mixture of the obvious misery surrounding me and the stinking bilge water that slopped about my knees, containing who knew what in liquid form? That, certainly. But it was more than that. Something far more profound was in the air. Lying like a pall over the ship’s hold, it held the chill of utter hopelessness and abandonment. That brace of capricious creatures that creep into the soul, forcing one to contemplate both the present and the future with absolute honesty. And whichever way one looked at it, my destiny since leaving home had displayed all the hallmarks of disaster. Now painfully clear before me lay the full horror of the depths to which I had been dragged and, in response, I felt rising within me a desolating rage against the inhumanity of the men who had determined my every move since I’d first stumbled into that train carriage a full lifetime ago. Rage against a gang who had seen me only as a useful commodity to be sold for who knew what price? A round of drinks, another night on the town? At the same time, more miserably alone than I’d ever felt before, I sensed rather than heard a stirring beside me, followed by a sympathetic hand closing over my dangling arm. Mysteriously, with this stranger’s hand came the first vestiges of peace in a long time, an unfamiliar tranquillity, something strange and exotic that stole over me like a warm blanket, quietening and stilling the trembling, leading me back from the fearful yet now familiar abyss beyond which lay insanity. Gradually, I remember becoming aware of a friendly voice speaking words in a dialect past understanding. The melodious sounds had an odd cadence, as though the speaker was talking to someone else I couldn’t see, although somehow I didn’t mind. From somewhere far beyond me I could sense a deep reassurance, as though someone actually did care about me. Strange. But who or what it was, I couldn’t tell.