White Angel

by R A Oakes

  “We can’t get down this way. It’s impossible,” one frightened ape wailed.

  “Here, let me help you,” a hairy ape said giving the reluctant gargoyle a shove.

  Waving his arms around helplessly, the doomed gargoyle fell hard plowing into a line of winged apes on the switchback path below him. Grabbing at anyone or anything, he failed to save himself, but did succeed in giving several other gargoyles a chance to join him, knocking two off the path after landing on them and dragging another to his death. The screams of the four creatures were further unsettling the nerves of many other gargoyles like themselves who were still clinging to the mountainside, but just barely.

  As a rapidly increasing number of winged apes were losing their nerve, freezing in place and refusing to move, more able gargoyle warriors were quickly becoming disgusted, impatient and willing to sacrifice them, shoving or kicking them off the mountainside. As gargoyles above began tumbling onto warriors below with greater frequency, larger numbers of winged apes were being knocked from the goat path, falling off the mountainside and bouncing their way roughly to the bottom making crunching, snapping, breaking sounds along the way with a smattering of grunts and thuds, then silence, with the quiet being anything but reassuring.

  As the last gargoyles up near the bridge were forcing their way onto the crowded path, they, too, started losing patience with warriors holding up their escape and began shoving and elbowing anyone in their way. As more and more gargoyles began bouncing down onto those below, with each knocking two or three others off the path, a general panic ensued.

  Gargoyles, caring little for the lives of others to begin with, began seeing every other winged ape on the path as an enemy. Soon, they were all shoving and kicking at each other, trying to save themselves regardless of how many of their fellow warriors died in the process. In a matter of minutes, the goat path was cleared of all but the toughest and most ruthless gargoyles.

  “Captain Jeriana, does the light from the bridge allow your archers to see well enough to pick off the remaining gargoyles?” Lt. Nantaric asked.

  “Yes, but those gargoyles down below pose no further threat to us. I won’t be part of a senseless slaughter.”

  However, Lt. Nantaric, having been hunted by gargoyles for 30 years in Swarenth’s relentless search for King Tarlen, disagreed saying, “If we let them live, by midday they’ll be attacking people in surrounding villages while foraging for food.”

  “I’ve had more than enough killing for one day. If you want them dead, do it yourself,” Captain Jeriana responded.

  “I suppose you’re right, but letting these gargoyles go free makes me feel sick. They’re heartless creatures who have a never-ending thirst for the suffering of others. But the truth is I feel much like you do. I’ve enough blood on my hands for one day. Too much, in fact.”

  Both Captain Jeriana and Lt. Nantaric stood on the edge of the ravine watching the gargoyles who had survived the mass hysteria picking their way slowly towards the bottom.

  “I hope we don’t regret this decision,” Lt. Nantaric said. “I hope we’re doing the right thing.”

  “Right or wrong, I’ve done all I can do for now. War is a drain on the human spirit. This fight up the mountain trail has taken everything out of me, leaving me feeling empty and parched. War takes but gives nothing in return. A bad day that’s free of violence is better than a good day at war,” Captain Jeriana lamented.

  Lt. Nantaric remained silent listening to this incredible warrior woman who was saying what he’d often felt in the deepest recesses of his own soul but had never been able to verbalize personally, or maybe hadn’t dared to try.

  “I must be nearing exhaustion to be talking like this. But I’ll tell you one thing, if we somehow do get into the castle, it’s not King Tarlen I’ll be worrying about, it’ll be getting back together with Chen and my sisters. I need to draw on Chen’s power, Andrina’s endless strength, Gwendylln’s unflinching devotion to our master and Corson’s love of life in whatever form it happens to take at the moment.”

  “You’re fortunate, Jeriana, to have people you can trust and rely upon,” Lt. Nantaric said quietly, almost reverently, spellbound by this powerful warrior woman’s thoughts and feelings. This was no weakling spouting rhetoric, but someone who had been worn out by her deep commitment to honor and duty. He was surprised to be listening to Jeriana with not only his ears open but his soul, never having done so before with anyone and worrying that he might never have such an experience again.

  “It hasn’t been an easy life,” Jeriana said continuing to voice her thoughts. “All my waking hours are spent practicing the arts of war or actually fighting, at least that’s how it seems at times. I’m in my mid-20s and haven’t even considered the possibility of having a family of my own. I’ve never even met a man I’ve cared about or been interested in, let alone loved. Most men are intimidated by women who are aggressive and intelligent.”

  Lt. Nantaric remained silent for a moment, unsure of what to say, this being the first time a woman had ever confided in him, but he was enthralled. Having spent most of his life protecting King Tarlen from Swarenth’s search parties, he had never gotten a chance to hope for anything for himself.

  “You’re still young and have plenty of time to fall in love and raise a family, but I’m in my late 40s. Life has passed me by,” Lt. Nantaric said feeling embarrassed and awkward at speaking openly to anyone let alone an accomplished young woman.

  Captain Jeriana was surprised. “How can you say life has passed you by? If it wasn’t for you and your warriors, King Tarlen wouldn’t be alive, and the world would have long ago lost any hope of reclaiming what once was.”

  “Jeriana, even if we succeed and everything we hope for comes true, my life will still be empty. I’ll have no one to share it with.”

  Captain Jeriana took a long, hard look at this fine man. He was handsome, powerfully built, an excellent warrior and a close personal friend of the king. She thought, He says he’s in his late 40s but doesn’t look a day over 35. Suddenly, it dawned on her that Nantaric wasn’t only physically attractive but that she was enjoying their conversation. This surprised her, never having experienced a man opening up to her before, nor had she ever spoken in such an unguarded manner.

  “Nantaric, men my own age bore me. They never say anything of any great value.”

  “Give them time. They’ll grow up eventually.” “I’m tired of waiting.”

  “Experience and maturity come with age.”

  “I can see that,” Captain Jeriana said admiration in her voice.

  “I didn’t mean to flatter myself. It’s just that you can’t put an old head on young shoulders.”

  “How wise.”

  “It’s not my wisdom. My grandmother used to say that.”

  “You were smart to listen to her.”

  Captain Jeriana allowed herself to lose her footing, seeming to trip and almost fall. Instantly, Lt. Nantaric reached out for her, catching the warrior woman around the waist and pulling her to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman in his arms, and it was nice, but he felt awkward and let go of her after being sure she was safe. Jeriana didn’t move away.

  Looking into his eyes, she said, “I’m not waiting any longer to start a family, and you’re not too old to start one.”

  Lt. Nantaric just looked at her in amazement and said nothing.

  “Am I coming on too strong? If I am, that’s too bad. That’s how I am. I go after what I want.”

  Lt. Nantaric didn’t know what to say.

  “I want children,” Jeriana said.

  “I’ll never have any. I’ve missed out on all that.”

  “No you haven’t.”

  Nantaric started feeling apprehensive and a little frightened. Not a fear of dying, mind you, but a fear of being offered a chance to be truly alive, something he wanted with all his heart but had never even dared to dream about.

  “Jeriana, don’t say such thing
s. I might take you seriously.”

  “I wish you would.”

  “Don’t give me false hope.”

  “I don’t hope for things, Nantaric. I make them happen.”

  Looking into one another’s eyes, Jeriana and Nantaric delved deeply into each other’s souls. Both liked what they saw.

  Sensing victory over this man, she changed the topic. Doing so before he felt completely reassured, she reasoned, would make him uncertain, insecure and confused. Good, Jeriana thought.

  “Well, the bridge is aflame, the gargoyles are getting away, and we have a castle to conquer,” she said listing the daunting challenges before them.

  “What can we do?” Nantaric asked unaware that he was already looking to her for guidance and counsel, but Jeriana noticed and smiled to herself.

  “I guess we could use a miracle,” she said almost laughing.

  “I believe in miracles.”

  “Well then, now’s the time to pray for one.”

  And so he did.

  Suddenly the earth beneath their feet began shaking. Quickly stepping back from the edge of the ravine, they nonetheless struggled to keep their balance and were almost knocked to the ground. An earthquake at the top of a mountain? Jeriana asked herself.

  “Ahuuugh, ooowww!” a ghost-like voice wailed.

  Jeriana and Nantaric tried to ascertain where the sound was coming from, but it was all around them.

  “Nooo mooore! It mmmust eeend!” the eerie voice howled.

  “Look!” Nantaric shouted pointing at the ground, at the solid rock beneath their feet.

  The tormented face of a man was protruding from the flat stone surface. Soon his head, neck and shoulders were visible. Then both Jeriana and Nantaric stared in disbelief as the man of stone actually sat up, lifted his right arm, pointed at the castle and cried, “Ssswarenth’s tttime iiis ooover. Hhhis rrrule muuust eeend!”

  “Who are you?” Nantaric managed to ask, though shocked to be talking to a man made out of rock.

  “Greystone,” the anguished voice seemed to whisper as the man lowered his body back down and was reabsorbed into the stone surface.

  Immediately, boulders along the upper half of the goat path began breaking free and falling into the ravine. The ground continued vibrating, but the focal point of the shock waves seemed to be dropping deeper. After crawling over on his belly to the goat path’s starting point, the lieutenant looked into the chasm and saw large chunks of the mountainside collapsing sending thousands of tons of stone crashing to the bottom of the ravine.

  Jeriana joined Nantaric, both watching in amazement as the giant rockslide swept the remaining gargoyles off the goat path and into the ravine, screaming all the way to the bottom.

  Rolling onto her side, Jeriana smiled at Nantaric and said, “Well, that’s what I call an answer to prayer.”

  The lieutenant smiled back and shrugged.

  “Where did you learn to pray like that?”

  “My grandmother,” Nantaric said simply.

  “Is there anything that woman couldn’t do?”

  “She might have had a hard time with that bridge,” Nantaric said looking at the blazing inferno engulfing the only way into the castle.

  As they were watching the flames leaping high into the nighttime sky, a lone warrior took his horse to the edge of the cliff and rode onto the stone structure, getting as close as possible to the fire without getting scorched, and stopped. The dark silhouette being framed by the raging mass of yellow, orange and red light was easily recognizable, if only due to the giant warrior’s sheer size. It was Lord Pensgraft.

  “What’s he doing?” Nantaric asked.

  “My guess is he’s waiting for Aerylln to come for him,” Jeriana said, who knew the huge warrior better than anyone else except for his family.

  “But how can Lord Pensgraft know she’ll come?”

  “He just knows.”

  “But how?”

  “He’s her father,” Captain Jeriana said smiling.

  “Well, then, I’m not the only one who believes in

  miracles.”

  Chapter 31

  Inside Dominion Castle.

  Still feeling weak and nauseated from his encounter with Balzekior, Marcheto placed a hand upon the stone wall to his right, taking comfort in its damp coolness. Then, after steadying himself, he proceeded slowly and cautiously down a long, winding staircase to the tunnel King Ulray had used only a few hours earlier when bringing King Tarlen, Chen, Aerylln, himself and the others from the tiger compound to the front entrance.

  After reaching the bottom, Marcheto started retracing his steps but found the going difficult frequently stumbling over loose stones along the path. Without the White Angels and their Swords of Fire, the underground passageway was a mixture of flickering light and deep shadows, any illumination coming from the flames pouring off Balzekior who was somewhere up ahead.

  Bends in the tunnel, weaving around giant boulders, kept the young wizard from actually seeing his adversary. Trying to follow the fiery lava woman through a dimly lit passageway was hard enough, but catching up with her was proving to be virtually impossible. Marcheto was still fighting bouts of lightheadedness, and his legs were barely able to support him, let alone give chase.

  How much farther ahead can she be? Marcheto asked himself. Had the young mystic known the answer, he would have been even more discouraged, for Balzekior, desperate to escape, was running with all her might.

  After putting considerable distance between herself and the White Angels at the front entrance, the fiery demon woman wasn’t feeling quite so frightened. However, until she was completely out of the castle and miles underground bathing in red-hot lava, she knew she wouldn’t feel safe. Realizing that her lake of fire had been destroyed, Balzekior was willing to settle for almost anything. Even a trickle of life-giving demonic lava would be a welcome boon at this point.

  As she continued running unopposed though the tunnel, having quickly outdistanced Marcheto, Balzekior’s feelings of optimism were beginning to increase. Still, there was an unexpected opponent the demonic lava woman hadn’t anticipated and couldn’t evade. Greystone, the wizard who’d caused the rockslide along the goat path, suddenly reappeared inside the tunnel, stepping out of a stone wall and barring the way. “Going somewhere?” the humanoid creature made of rock asked.

  “Whoever you are, step aside,” Balzekior growled in her most threatening tone of voice.

  “I’m Greystone and, no, I like it just where I am. I think I’ll stand here a while.”

  “You fool, you can’t stop me,” Balzekior said running forward and punching Greystone in the chest shattering the humanoid’s body, pieces of rock bouncing off the stone walls and ceiling, with more being scattered along the floor of the passageway.

  “That’s more like it,” Balzekior said feeling quite pleased with herself, but then, much to her surprise, a completely intact Greystone stepped out of a section of wall up ahead.

  “Ouch, that hurt,” Greystone said feigning pain by rubbing his chest a little while giving the demonic lava woman a grim smile, mocking her.

  “Whatever you are, I told you to move!” Balzekior shouted.

  “Would you like to know what I am? Why, I’m every rock you see in this tunnel. But what’s most important, I’m also the tons of rock in the ceiling directly above you.”

  “Oh, should I be impressed? Well, I’m not. You’re just a bunch of hard-packed dirt. You’re common, you’re everywhere and you’re worthless,” Balzekior said stretching her arms out in front of her, pointing the palms of her hands at Greystone and shooting a blistering, roaring torrent of flames at the rock humanoid.

  “Mmmm, that feels good. It sure takes away the damp chill of being down in this tunnel. Oh, but I’m sorry, I just realized something. Was that supposed to frighten me?” Greystone asked.

  “You should be dead. That fire was hot enough to melt ordinary rock.”

  “In a way, I’m already dea
d. And I’m not so ordinary. I used to be quite a wizard, you know.”

  Balzekior gasped. “No, it can’t be you! Not the old wizard who was said to have been absorbed by the rocks around here centuries ago?”

  “It’s nice to be remembered, but don’t you recognize me? Has it really been that long since we last met?”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. I never expected to see you again.”

  “You ought to be careful whom you run off a cliff. Dead wizards have a way of coming back when you least expect them.”

  “First White Angel and now you, it’s not fair. I can’t take anymore,” Balzekior cried out in frustration.

  “Do you mean the youngest White Angel? The one who kissed me in the tiger compound? That is, I mean, who kissed a stone wall?”

  “How should I know?”

  “My spirit had been lying dormant in these rocks, but she brought me back to life.However, prior to my reawakening, at least for the last few decades, I’ve been having awful nightmares. It’s as if a terrible form of energy took over the castle filling it with a foul stench.”

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you like the putrid aroma of things rotting and decaying? Bringing that sweet fragrance to Dominion Castle was my idea,” Balzekior said with a sly and wicked glint in her eyes.

  “You’re sick.”

  “I’ve been told that before by many people, most of whom I’ve destroyed.”

  “Well, I don’t like nightmares.”

  “Why should I care? I have no personal interest in your pathetic existence.”

  “I find your indifference shocking,” Greystone said sarcastically while placing his left hand against a stone wall.

  “What are you doing?” Balzekior asked fear and suspicion seeping into her voice, her bravado evaporating.

  Suddenly, the floor began vibrating and the walls shuddered while dust and bits of rock fell from the ceiling. Placing the palms of both hands against the wall, Greystone took a step back, leaned forward and began shaking as hard as he could.