Guardian

by Dan Gleed

  Chapter 51

  A fly already hovering only a few yards from me. Even then. And leering. Re-armed after his run-in with Josephus and ready for action, Arcturus was beginning to recoup his somewhat battered self-confidence and, having accepted his assignment (what choice did he have?), was taking the time to think through his new project with some care. Sifting across the outer reaches of my mind, Arcturus had been slightly alarmed to discover a noticeable maturity of attitude, a refinement of principle and ethical development, principles not found in many of the humans with whom he had previously dealt. Presumably developed in the hardships I had recently undergone. Experience had taught him that most humans bumbled through life seldom, if ever, concerned about morality or principles, even when push came to shove. Which made a demon’s job that much easier.

  But this one (me) had, apparently, managed to compound the immediate problem by succumbing to possibly the worst pollution available to the human mind. Excited, outgoing love. Carnal, yes, but rapidly adding overtones of affectionate, unselfish empathy. As far as Arcturus was concerned, if you had to have anything to do with love, then self-love was as good as it got. Self-sacrificing affection was potential disaster. Having said which, by definition, human lovers opened themselves to sexual manipulation, which would probably give him the opportunity to engage a particularly exquisite torment he’d managed to perfect. Indeed, the manipulation and exploitation of human lovers in the hands of someone as gifted as himself was usually pretty straightforward. Revolted though he was by proximity to genuine love of any sort, Arcturus nevertheless needed to evaluate my mind more closely. To seek out and assess the weak points, obsessions, corrupt or offensive habits from the past, anything that could be exploited to his own sordid ends. And inevitably there would be some, but the sifting would take a little time. Worth it though, if the result of his investigations meant he could select the perfect poison to bring about my swift and final self-destruction.

  Whatever Heaven might be planning for this creature, Arcturus felt, it was essential that he quickly destroy any hope he might have gained, demolish any trust, twist the friendship and above all spoil any burgeoning love for the female, Roz. And Arcturus knew from long practice that he was as slick as it got when it came to that sort of creative malice. As far as he could tell from Josephus’ short, sharp briefing, which was actually designed to confuse rather than enlighten (who knew what went through whatever passed for the commander’s mind?), he, Arcturus, was now fully aware that sooner or later he could expect Heaven’s intervention. Why, he wasn’t entirely sure at this juncture. But he was used to such uncertainty and actually more than content to simply be a free agent once again, released from having to take responsibility for the usual swarm of irritating sycophants Hell tended to foist on him. The best of whom could never seem to accomplish the simplest of orders. No, he was probably much better off alone on this mission, even though the threat of death still hung over him. And, who knew, he might yet earn himself not only a reprieve, but promotion and some worthwhile prize to boot.

  Continuing to watch, he debated his best course of action, becoming slowly aware that, for some reason or other, there were no warrior angels, never mind Guardians, anywhere in sight. Interesting, and a point worth bearing in mind. Those miserable Guardians seldom left their charges alone without good reason. And it certainly hadn’t escaped his notice that there were hordes of the human blemishes everywhere he looked. Quite a few of whom could normally expect to be on some angel’s radar. Suspicious and keeping his eyes peeled, Arcturus unsheathed his sword, pointed the sharp dart of a tip towards his assignment and drew back his arm as though to strike. And, with enormous satisfaction, observed an anonymous angel materialise immediately opposite him, obviously intent on parrying the simulated blow. Smirking, Arcturus lowered the blade and leaned casually on the pommel. “That’s all I needed to know for now,” he said to no one in particular. Content simply that the obviously inexperienced angel (new Guardian?) did now fully appreciate the extent to which he had been deceived and the ease with which he had been drawn into an embarrassing overreaction. A disdainful glance was all it needed to underwrite the contempt. Thereafter, he simply filed away the useful snippet of information that Paul’s previously assigned Guardian, the warrior with whom he’d already crossed swords, was absent. On a new mission? Or being updated on this one? If the latter, then this was likely to become more interesting than he had supposed, as everyone knew Heaven only called face-to-face briefings on exceptional matters.

  Of course, if and when Israfel did return to duty, he would be much harder to deceive than the inexperienced minion currently assigned. Of that Arcturus could be entirely confident. So, turning back to his target, Arcturus resumed the task of sieving through the outer reaches of the mind laid bare before him (frustrating that he wasn’t allowed to tamper with the core of it), looking for a clue as to the best way to reactivate the self-destruct button, a ploy that had so nearly succeeded earlier. All coupled with finding a means by which the specific restriction on killing, already announced by Heaven (at least Josephus had included this in his briefing), might be judiciously circumnavigated. Inevitably the best way to curry favour with his masters. Of course, persuading another human to undertake the killing could be difficult. But Arcturus was under no illusion. Any attempt by him to exterminate Paul himself would be met with instant retribution. Something he was determined to avoid.

  Chapter 52

  A soft evening breeze stirred the hard, dry fronds clustered in a neat spiral around the top of each elegant palm trunk. Arched spears of evergreen leaves click-clacked their way into the soft onrush of night and rendered the purple shadows the more attractive for their soothing murmur. Dancing to their own primeval tune, they managed to harmonise the casual randomness of cooling gusts of air into an almost symphonic melody. So much so that, from the soft sand where I lay staring up into the star-glazed sky, their serenade provided everything a young man in love could wish for on his first, unchaperoned tryst.

  Only an hour or so earlier, Roz had finally managed to wrestle me back to the hut, surprisingly little the worse for wear. And not before I’d extracted a heartfelt promise to meet me later at the beach. Now, stretched out on the cooling sand, I found to my delight that even that short, earlier excursion had produced a benefit out of all proportion to its content. Perhaps it was simply the effect of stumbling and stretching, or perhaps it was down to victory over a psychological barrier, but, whatever it was, the past few hours had produced a sea change within me and the blood had begun once again to course through my limbs, not out of them. Not without pain, I hasten to add. Nevertheless, it was progress and marked progress at that. So much so that, not long after I had been unceremoniously dumped back onto the charpoy that had acted as horizontal brace and virtual prison for the last couple of weeks, I was able, like the proverbial phoenix, to rise once again to my feet. Not only that, but able to rejoice in a considerable degree of returning dexterity, something I had begun to fear permanently lost. Now I waited at the edge of the palms, right on the line between the grey, dusty inland soil and the whitewashed beach sand, ears straining to catch the first footfall of the girl whose very presence could overwhelm my senses. How heady that moment, forever etched in memory. How my heart leapt and somersaulted in contemplation of such beauty, such untrammelled delight. Had I ever previously given thought to how love might feel, I would have fallen so far short of reality it would have been ludicrous. I would not have had the remotest understanding of how unadulterated joy could flood one’s veins. My heart sang while my mind delighted in contemplation of that dear girl and of how she would affect my future.

  Her voice, when it came, was cool and lilting, and to my waiting ear was like oxygen to a drowning sailor. I don’t remember the words, just the thrilling sweetness of her tone. The open, innocent calling of a young girl in the first flush of feminine maturity, calling for her love, knowing I would be waiting exactly where I had promised. Turning
and raising myself up on one elbow, my heart went into overdrive as I caught sight of her shadowy outline in the light of the last rays of a sun that was already well below the horizon. She moved as gracefully as a faun across the open ground that fronted the hut she’d made her own. Even in the lengthening shadows her silhouette traced a heady mixture of style and leggy coltishness. I thanked all the gods I could think of that despite the restless off-shore breeze, the temperature remained overly warm and was no doubt the reason she wore even less than before. A red and gold sarong wound tightly around her breasts fell in loose, flowing pleats to mid-thigh, beneath which the skin of her legs glowed dusky white, in counterpoint to her bare, brown shoulders.

  Gently, I answered her call and watched as she responded by swiftly altering her path directly towards me. I stared enchanted as she drew near and plumped herself down, while small puffs of sand thrown up by her passing splashed carelessly out around her bare feet. Every move she made, from the sway of her hips to the toss of her long blonde hair, seemed to me to be the personification of elegance and beauty. Such was the overall effect of her exquisite allure that the breath caught in my throat, my heart started thudding like a trip hammer and the boisterous susurration of blood coursing through my ears all but drowned the soft sounds of twilight. As she came to rest beside me I was certain she, too, must be able to detect something of the confusion her very near presence (and my overworked imagination) was developing. But if she did, she said nothing. So close was she that her natural fragrance filled my nostrils, even as the added electricity of touch almost gave me a heart attack.

  “Hi, and how is the patient?”

  By then I could barely speak, such was her overwhelming effect on my confidence. But I finally managed a weak and doubtless inane response. At any rate, we both broke into nervous, if somewhat relieved and delighted, laughter. Mainly, I suppose, because the simple sound of words was enough to discharge the tension between us. Both of us revelling in the fact that I was free and healing rapidly, but mostly in mutual recognition that we were alone, with the whole night stretching out in front of us, to make of it what we wished. And with the draining of tension came the contented and joyful acknowledgement of a shared love that, whilst it had certainly begun to mature, had by no means yet achieved its apogee. Released, we filled our world with speech that tripped easily off the tongue, sitting close together, side by side, thighs and arms touching gently but deliberately. Inwardly, each exploring our own very different sexual responses but, outwardly, filling in something more of what had been happening to each of us over the preceding months.

  For my part I discovered, for the first time, that what had seemed to me to involve a complete lifetime had, in fact, only been the product of little more than five months. Five months. Less even than half a year, in which not only had my whole world been turned upside down, but my life had several times hung by a mere thread. Moreover, both psychologically and emotionally in that short time I had grown further and faster than I had dreamed possible. Above all, the innate trust I’d had in the world around me, that modicum of confidence in the grown-up world most young men of my time retained even on the verge of their own adulthood, was gone forever. In its place had developed a brittle, cynical understanding that you lived and survived by your own cunning, your own abilities, or you went under. And I still seethed with the bitter knowledge that the law of the jungle was the only law that seemed to count. True, the excruciating pain of utter betrayal had dulled as I had grown more resilient. But just as shockingly, I had discovered that even Matt had receded in memory. And, with that awful realisation had come a cold and secret resolve to somehow erase my debt to him, if such an outcome was possible. I would overcome the fear that had left him to die alone and in some sort of recompense, would hunt down those who had not only abused me but, just as importantly, had put so many others through a living Hell. Not least, the gorgeous creature now sitting beside me. And with that resolved, I gave myself over completely to the most beautiful girl I would ever know.

  Slowly, inevitably, our physical closeness had begun to fill the world of conscious thought. At first, it had been almost incidental, especially while we had so much to say and to absorb. But the companionable warmth of contact, skin to skin, had inevitably burgeoned into a positive and electrifying heat that neither of us could hope or wish to deny. Conversation flagged as so many new and untested sensations coursed through our youthful, virgin bodies. For both of us, they distilled into an almost overpowering sexual desire, a wordless drive to move closer still, until our bodies were touching along the full length of oh, so casually, outstretched legs. Pressed together at the hip. Arms deliberately entwined and rubbing silkily all the way to our bare shoulders (how did that happen?). Such was the power of raw emotion flowing between us, I thought my heart would forget its function or, at the very least, my lungs neglect to breathe. Whichever might happen first, it was likely to be a close run thing. And by this time the last stray signs of evening light had gone and the deep shadows of night had wrapped themselves around our al fresco couch. Behind us, muted by distance, the low and comforting sounds of domesticity carried faintly from the circled huts, where fires winked in staccato rhythm as door hangings moved to and fro in response to the passage of resident and visitor alike.

  No one else had even a passing interest in our encounter and it seemed to us as though we floated free in a world of our own. Nearer to hand, the ceaseless advance and retreat, rush and hiss of the gentle lagoon surf on sand beat a rhythm as old as time itself. On the softly sloping beach laid out below us, ghost crabs flitted rapidly about their business, forever hungry, forever afraid. Overhead, the light of a million stars whitened the sky and in the subdued waves phosphorescence gave sudden and eerie glow to the tide line. All a mere backdrop, a spectator to our growing passion.

  Utterly absorbed, we had eyes, hands and hearts only for each other. How could I ever forget that first sublime kiss? My first entry to the world of real, life-affirming, enduring love. Seemingly on impulse, we had gently rocked back onto the cradling sand, turning almost by instinct towards each other, our breath intermingling, our noses almost touching, each supremely aware of the other. For a silent moment we had stared deep into each other’s eyes, every limb utterly still, savouring the moment. Unwilling to shatter the magic. Our eyes had locked, even though all that could be seen in our night-shadowed orbs was a faint reflection of starlight, but it seemed to me as if I was falling headlong into a well of delight from which there should be no return. With a new urgency our suddenly hungry lips mashed together, the gentleness of our first encounters forgotten and I remember thinking someone must have coupled me to the mains. Nothing further was said. Nothing extra needed to be articulated. How long had those first, lingering and gentle touches lasted? I have no idea. All I can tell you is that as I tasted her and felt for the first time her small, even teeth sliding silent against my tongue, I knew beyond doubt that here was my soul’s lifelong companion.

  There are no words to adequately describe the impact of a first kiss with someone for whom you have developed an overwhelming love. No words that can do justice to the initial response of the heart, the irrepressible intention and purpose exploding within you, as it seeks to protect and nurture, but also to explore the object of that love. If you have never experienced such an emotional awakening, you cannot hope to understand. And on this night to remember, for us there was also the first arousal and experience of sexual pleasure. Is it any wonder that love holds all the trump cards? To a frisson of almost overwhelming pleasure, I soon discovered that Roz’s sarong was her only covering and as my nervously exploring hand slid along her velvety, shapely and athletic thighs, I discovered that there is more excitement to be found in a pair of silky smooth female legs than any parental pep talk or scholarly discourse can hope to prepare you for. And when that first and simultaneous climax exploded around and within us, it did so as the culmination of a frenzied, passionate and almost primordial coupling t
hat left us both drained and gasping for air, our suddenly naked and sweat-slicked bodies drenched with the dew of lovemaking.

  Chapter 53

  Abdel-Aziz had finally worked his ship back to the natural break in the reef that signalled the entrance to the old port of Malindi. Only to confirm, as anticipated, that his was now the solitary sea-going dhow using the almost deserted port. Quartering the area just north of Malindi with some difficulty, they had wasted several days looking in vain for their attackers and the erstwhile Abdullah. Watching with extreme irritation as the last of the identifiable dhows had slid silently past on their north-bound journeys, long, sail-strained spars soaring and dipping in time to the rise and fall of the ocean rollers. Thoroughly enraged by the delay and barely able to contain himself, despite his innate and not unreasonable fear of Ahmed, Abdel-Aziz fought to contain his fury as he contemplated the wasted journey on which he had been sent by his long-time paymaster.