Livingstone Saga, Book One: Birth

by Janell Rhiannon

  “Never you idiot priest! Why would I be compelled to leave when this flesh feels so full of life. I can take her any time I desire.” The taunt speared Celestino, who roared with anger and grief. “I told you I possess greater power than you have dealings with.”

  “I command you in His Holy name!” Father Tomas repeated the request to no avail. The demon’s hold was deep, and it was destroying Iseo. Celestino felt a unexpected lull of energy. He knew Iseo was leaving this life. No! No! No!

  “Leave the room, Father!” Celestino bellowed. “Now!”

  “If I leave, I cannot help you!” Father Tomas panicked.

  “If you do not leave he will take them both. She is already slipping from this world. I can feel it! Get out!”

  Father Tomas was not sure why he agreed, but he ran from the room and Celestino bolted the door behind him. When the bolt slammed shut with an iron clang, a roar shook the heavy oak door almost from its hinges. Father Tomas crossed himself, fell to his knees, and began praying until sweat stung his eyes.

  Iseo’s husband sank to the floor behind the priest and he prayed to Allah, because he knew in his soul that the lives of his wife and child depended on it. He had not believed in this possession, even when his physicians confirmed the fact. He did not believe in superstitions. He thought perhaps because Iseo had not observed all of Islam’s laws, she suffered. But the roar from within the chamber vibrated every rib and shook his doubt out like one shakes a floor covering clean. He feared for his family’s lives, for his own, and for the young priest facing the demon by himself. Allah save them!

  *

  Celestino knew that the only hope he had of saving Iseo and her child was if he faced the demon as a gargoyle. He tore his robe from his back. He pushed the power of the livingstone into his veins. His wings filled the room, knocking over candles on several table tops. He shook his huge leonine head and roared again, baring his fangs and claws. He stood on his hind legs and walked upright like a man toward the bed. “I will drag you from her, demon!” Celestino’s voice, an amalgamation of beast and man, growled roughly. A loud shattering and heavy thud to his left made the gargoyle take his eyes from the demon and Iseo.

  A tall, dark hooded figure appeared from behind a pillar. “Ah, Celestino, I presume.” His voice rolled like a wave toward the upright winged lion.

  The demon clapped its hands and laughed with glee. “I told you! I have held her as you commanded, my master,” the demon spoke through Iseo’s mouth.

  Celestino’s roar filled the room, “Tanuicus!”

  Outside in the hall, Father Tomas heard the name. Holy Mother of God. Save them. Por favor save them all!

  “It is I. Whom else were you expecting?” Tanuicus lifted his hands and removed the hood from his head. His golden hair spilled out. His eyes shone like blue jewels. “Why so vexed, my Brother?”

  “We are not Brothers,” Celestino sneered.

  “I beg difference. You and I are made from the same stone.”

  “I honor my vow to God. You betrayed it.”

  “How virtuous,” Tanuicus taunted. “How does loving this pathetic woman honor your vow?”

  The truth paralyzed Celestino. He fell to all fours, growling and shaking his mane.

  “It is not so easy to maintain one’s loyalty when the heart is involved. And we gargoyles are all heart, are we not? The Makers forgot that little detail in our training. Our heart is our greatest strength, and our deepest weakness. You have fallen prey to…the weak.”

  The floor beneath them shifted as if on sand.

  “What?” asked Tanuicus.

  A thunderous quake shook the room. The furniture jostled and slid across the floor. Tanuicus grabbed the pillar to steady himself and Celestino balanced uneasily on all four claws. A blinding, dazzling light filled the room.

  “Show yourself that I may know my champion!” Celestino roared and reared up on two legs. The Archangel hovered above the floor. His rose-gold amour gleamed brightly from the light emanating from his very presence. The span of his silver feathers reached almost the entire length of the room. Through his gargoyle eyes, Celestino recognized him immediately. “Father Avriel!” he growled.

  “Archangel Avriel!” A wicked smile spread across his face. “It is time to cast the unclean back to Hell.” He landed on the ground and pulled his mighty sword from the scabbard across his back. “Which foe do you claim Celestino?”

  “My own kind!” He leapt at Tanuicus, front claws extended, fangs bared. Tanuicus fell to the ground, momentarily stunned.

  The Archangel took three solid strides toward the demon. It shrieked in the presence of the divine warrior. “I command you, demon, to release this woman servant of God, His chosen Maker, and release also her child.”

  Tanuicus pushed his wings forth revealing himself as a massive eagle. He sank his dreadful beak into Celestino’s muscled neck. The lion’s mane prevented what should have been a death blow. The powerful bite merely punctured the lion’s hide. Celestino roared and snapped his terrifying jaws at the grotesque bird of prey. There may have been beauty once in his form, but Celestino could see no trace of it now.

  Iseo, under possession of the damned, pulled something from under her bed covering. She clutched it in her hand and the demon called to Tanuicus, “Use the words and cast her to Hell forever!”

  The Archangel caught a glimpse of the reddish stone in Iseo’s hand. “Celestino!” he bellowed like a storm. “She has a Soul Casting stone in her hand!”

  Celestino had Tanuicus by the neck and flung him across the room where he landed with a crash into a wall. He leapt to the Archangel’s side, who had wrested the vile stone from Iseo’s grasp.

  “You realize the price of one life?” Zerkzian asked Celestino.

  “I will have them both, demon.”

  “No, you will not. You will cast me back, but I will not go empty handed.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  The demon gripped Iseo’s arm, twisting it until she screamed. She gulped air like an exhausted dog. He bit her neck from the inside, until blood flowed on the outside

  “Celestino…,” Iseo whispered. “I will make it easy for you.”

  “Do not give in to it, my Maker. Stay with me.”

  Tanuicus appeared at the edge of the bed in his glorious human form. “I have already spoken the incantation, with one exception.”

  “What is the exception?” Archangel Avriel demanded.

  “I cannot stay with you, Celestino. He will take the child. I cannot live if he does,” Iseo cried.

  “The exception is, I have not spoken the name of the intended soul,” he smiled at his enemies. “I win either way.”

  “Noooo!” Celestino roared against the pain.

  “I give myself to you Zerkzian.” Iseo spoke the words to save her child.

  “Freely? You will give up your soul?” the demon questioned.

  “If you honor the life of my child,” Iseo said.

  “He has no honor!” Celestino growled.

  “I will,” Zerkzian promised with a hiss.

  Tanuicus spoke, “Iseo.”

  “It is done,” Iseo whispered, looking to Celestino for understanding. “Forgive me.”

  “Iseo!” the gargoyle roared.

  “She is mine,” Zerkzian’s snarl morphed to wicked grin. “Mine!” And with that Iseo was gone. Her body lay lifeless, crumpled and bloodied, on filthy sheets. Her soul captive in Hell forever because of the Soul Casting stone. Her soul now damned to wander in sulfur and ash and fire. Forever. A moth fluttered in and flew straight for a small flame, flickering with life in the hearth, where it incinerated itself with a small crackle.

  The emptiness forced a howl from his Celestino’s chest that racked the timbers with its wretchedness. The child must be saved. Celestino felt the tiny heart beat weakening. He used his claw to rip the womb open and pull the squalling child into the light. Its unfocused eyes blinked at him as he transformed once again into h
is human form. Tears of sangre pooled in his eyes. She is gone. Zerkzian was gone. The child remained. So be it. A warm, wet tear of sangre fell onto the babe’s forehead. Celestino pulled a sheet from the bed and wrapped the child in it.

  The Archangel spoke to comfort his fellow warrior, “Vengeance belongs to God, Celestino.”

  “Why could you not save her?” Celestino asked.

  “The incantation had been spoken. Even I can not undo what Lucifer’s Tear set in motion.”

  “Why did God not hear my pleas above the din?”

  “His Law is His own. I do as the Most High commands. I was commanded to stop the flood of souls through Hell’s Gate from Santiago. And I have done so. You have been commanded to save souls trapped by demons. It is best you remember your purpose, Celestino.” There was neither compassion nor remorse in Archangel Avriel’s voice, but Celestino felt there was an understanding between them of all that had transpired.

  “Will you leave Compostela now?”

  “I am your watcher. I will never be too far away. You have more training to complete. Tanuicus yet remains. He will not likely forget that you are here.”

  “I will tear his neck from his body,” Celestino snarled.

  “He did not reveal his full strength to you. Beware of him. Train. Have faith.” With one tremendous flap of his wings, the Archangel shot straight up through the chamber, which opened into the blue sky. In an instant, the room closed up again. Celestino unlocked the door. He was met with astounded stares by all, as they stood stunned to muteness. He stood naked cradling the blessed, pathetic bundle. The livingstone’s power not yet fully faded and the shimmer of being in the Archangel’s presence lingered. In the silence, the child wailed and broke the awestruck tension. Amat braved crossing the awkward scene, grabbing the child from the sangre and sweat soaked priest.

  “She is gone. I could not save her.”

  “Many thanks, Father. May Allah bless you,” Iseo’s husband said. “You have saved my son.” The king removed his outer robe, handing it to the priest.

  “I want no thanks. I was not strong enough to save her. I made promise. I kept it.”

  “My gratitude all the same,” the king said, bowing his head to Celestino. “If you have need of anything, all you need do is ask.”

  “I desire cleansing…of this flesh.”

  “My apologies, Father. I will have a bath drawn for you. Wine? Food? You must be famished, no?”

  “Wine.”

  “As you wish,” the king said. He clapped his hands and several servants appeared. “Bring the priest refreshment. My best. And have the women draw him a bath.” He turned to the priest. “Excuse me now. I must see to my Iseo.”

  Celestino flinched at the intimate way al-Nassir spoke of his Maker. He watched with growing empathy as the king gently covered Iseo’s wretched body and cradled her lifeless form in his arms and wept. The king could do what he could not. Celestino’s suffering would remain his alone to bear. There is no door, but your return to flesh, that can contain this grief.

  “I have never known you to ask for wine,” Father Tomas’s observation brought Celestino back to the present moment.

  “This day will be my first. What is this day’s number?”

  “It is late June, the twenty-first.”

  “I will drink wine on this twenty-first of June. Until a day arrives when I am no more.”

  “Will you be—”

  “No more talk, Father. I wish to be alone. I am alone.”

  “I understand.”

  Celestino turned away as he spoke, “No. No, you do not.” Father Tomas could not understand the loss of a Maker for a gargoyle. The Makers grounded them in some way. He had not realized how entwined Iseo’s very essence was with his existence, until it was no longer there. Even in her absence from his daily life, he had not understood her power over him. It was only in her death that he realized she was his tether to this earth. Now, he would be forced to navigate the world alone.

  *

  In the bath, the solitude offered no comfort. The ache in his chest increased with each passing moment. The women emptied more pitchers of hot water into the tub. An image of Iseo reaching across his chest during his ritual bath flashed into his mind. He realized that for his entire existence he would have to live with all the memories and images of Iseo. In the days to come, he would have to reconcile all these things in his heart, but this day was not the day.

  “Get out,” he grumbled at the servants. They scurried from the room. Celestino did not wish to share his grief with anyone. He wanted aloneness. His tears of sangre fell into the water swirling into pink trails.

  This day God did not hear his voice above the din. This day there was no miracle.

  “I cannot keep this life of mine any longer.” Tristan said three times, “Isolde, my friend.” And in saying it the fourth time, he died.

  Then throughout the house, the knights and comrades of Tristan wept out loud, and they took him from his bed and laid him on a rich cloth, and they covered his body with a shroud. But at sea the wind had risen; it struck the sail fair and full and drove the ship to shore, and Isolde the Fair set foot upon the land. She heard loud mourning in the streets, and the tolling of bells in the ministers and the chapel towers; she asked the people the meaning of the knell and of their tears.

  An old man said to her: “Señora we suffer a great grief. Tristan, that was so loyal and so right, is dead. He was open to the poor; he ministered to the suffering. It is the chief evil that has ever fallen on this land.”

  But Isolde, hearing them, could not answer them a word. She went up to the palace, following the way, and her cloak was random and wild. The Bretons marveled as she went; nor had they ever seen a woman of such beauty, and they said: “Who is she, or whence does she come?”

  Near Tristan, the Señora of the White Hands crouched, maddened at the evil she had done, and calling and lamenting over the dead man. The other Isolde came in and said to her: “Señora, rise and let me come by him; I have more right to mourn him than you have—believe me. I loved him more.”

  And when she had turned to the east and prayed to God, she moved the body a little and lay down by the dead man, beside her friend. She kissed his mouth and his face, and clasped him closely; and so gave up her soul, and died beside him of grief for her lover.

 

  Aftermath

  In 1212 AD, Al-Nassir was defeated and killed in battle. Iseo’s body was exhumed and taken back to Santiago de Compostela for proper Christian burial. The Fathers buried her in the center of the common Garden and a great flowering tree was placed over her grave. Iseo’s son was educated for a time among the Brothers of the Church, and returned to his grandfather at his majority. The unexpected and forbidden love of Iseo and Celestino lives on in myth and fairy tales. And a lost diary...