by BoJenn
“Pour the oil over your head now, NOW!”, Eleanor ordered, but calmly.
“My head?” Cat fumbled again, almost dropping it, but barely managed to catch the precious oil with the same hand. Catherine lifted the chrismal above her head. “Three drops?”
She did not notice the voice, from the position of the Son in the Holy Trinity, that spoke with such strength and love, as that voice relayed commands from the base of the triangle to Eleanor.
“The oil. Take the oil gently. There, that’s right; lift it above your head.” It was Eleanor’s voice. She sounded like an angel, a calm in the storm. Undisturbed by the events at hand, she spoke so beautifully that Cat was able to hold the crystal vessel without shaking, and with confidence.
“Sprinkle the oil over your head, now,” Eleanor added again, when it seemed like Cat wasn’t moving fast enough. “Come on, gently now. Here you go…one, two, three drops.”
At her prompt, Catherine began to sprinkle three drops rather blindly over her hair, but suddenly the glass vessel flew out of her hands, as if someone had hit it with a baseball bat. It did not shatter, but it flew across the pyramid. Before it passed out of the triangular lines, Eleanor lurched forward to grab it. She landed face down, the flask with the chrism oil clenched tightly within her right hand.
“The Spirit of Intimidation” put his clawed foot over Eleanor’s wrist, holding the oil. He put enough pressure to break her wrist bone, but Eleanor still refused to let go. “Only over her one-hundredth death would the demon get it,” she courageously told herself.
Still remaining quiet, Catherine was knocked down to the floor by “Physical Abuser”. She began to make verbal jabs at the evil crew, even though they were invisible to her. “Hey, you bastards! You think you’re tough, huh?”
“Be quiet; don’t talk to them,” came a warning from the Son’s point. Thomas peeped into the conversation. “Don’t talk!”
“Why?”, Catherine whispered, looking toward the base of the triangle. “What? Who is that? Thomas?”
“Not now. Later. Hush!”, Eleanor advised. “Later, or else they will read us.”
Catherine looked back at Eleanor, “But how will I talk to you?”
“Remember when you were young? When you could read others? Do it now,” Eleanor ordered Catherine. Cat flashed back for a millisecond, and remembered how she could read the thoughts of others.
“In your heart—in your mind—read me. You will know what to do. Now, no more talking.” Eleanor got a visual lock on Cat’s eyes. Cat nodded, “Yes”; she understood. They nodded in unison, knowing now that their eyes recognized each other’s signals, energies and vibrations.
The fallen chrismal was protected by Eleanor’s fingers from where she’d snatched it. However, her wrist was painfully crushed, with her fingers barely moving where she lay, under the pig-faced devil that snorted mustard sulphur and sneered at her attempts to free herself. With his smashing stomps intended to disable her, Eleanor still remained calm.
The chrismal slipped from her broken fingers. But, at least she had allied herself with patience, which helped to stave off the proof of her pain with a mask of indifference. “Clever, swine,” she uttered in a sarcastically sweet tone of voice. But, Eleanor was losing control, and Tadhg signaled her. “Stay focused. It doesn’t hurt. It’s in the human mind. You don’t feel pain,” he reminded her. “Concentrate, no distractions.”
“The Spirit of Intimidation” leaned close to Eleanor’s ear, still holding her down. He had seen her mouth move, and call him a swine. “What? Say it again,” he mocked. “There, that's what I thought. You are just like us. You name call, too,” he laughed, as he applied more weight to his foot and Eleanor's bones crunched again.
“Mustard yellow skin—so, handsome!”, Eleanor jeered. Tears from the pain almost fell from her eyes, but she managed to hold them at bay. There was no way she would give into them. She was too proud; she would not show defeat, pain or annoyance. She heeded Tadhg’s reminders. Instead, she gave the devil a devilish smile. She played it’s own game.
“You’re just a loser. Face it, you have always been a bully; and you will never be anything but one.” She smiled again showing the grit of her teeth through her pink pretty lips. She was an angel who could rally to mask herself at any given moment; and the cocky expressions she mustered seemed more frightening and intimidating than the demon had predicted. Eleanor, then, transformed her face, putting on a plastered mask appearance, her lips beginning to expand like a clown’s, and her teeth growing dark yellow and long, like a mule’s.
“The Spirit of Intimidation” stepped back at the sight of her, turning to hand the figurative baton of relay to “Pride”. “Yes, there you have it,” he told to “Pride” with a hearty laugh.
“Think you’re better than us, huh?” Pride taunted, not buying her game. He knew her weapons of warfare were a smoke screen. It may have baffled “Intimidation”, but not “Pride.” “Pride” stepped forward and pushed “Intimidation” back with its armed, metal appendage.
Still, the chrismal lay on the floor, with the chain woven between Eleanor’s crushed fingers, but the chrismal, itself, ungrasped, beneath her palm. The pig, “Intimidation”, might have forgotten about the reason he crushed her wrist, but she did not forget. “The demons and devils have short-term memory loss and often forget what they’re doing,” Eleanor noted to herself, wanting to use that against them in the matter of the chrismal. She could not pick it up with broken fingers, but it was laying, under her hand, just outside the triangle of the Trinity, so its power would be limited. Without the help of the Supreme, everything seemed hopeless.
“Pride”, so debonair, with coal black hair slicked back and falling upon a black silk suit, saw the chrismal. Being face down, with both “Pride” and “Intimidation” standing near and ready to physically and mentally overpower her again, there was only one option left for Eleanor to alter their dire situation: prayer.
It wasn't that she hadn’t asked for help; she had. Giving up was out of the question, and continuing to ask through prayer, and believe, was the cloak for any seasoned warrior. But, Eleanor had to deal with “Pride” on her own account, too; the demon had begun constantly prompting her to throw in her white towel. And, even old warriors wearied and doubted in times of duress and pain. This was one of those times—well, almost.
“Unthinkable,” was the response she molded to “Pride’s” taunts. With, countless successful battles and accomplishments behind her, to let disbelief slip in, or surrender to such a pig, was not an option. She knew she had to think of all the potential counter-attacks, and believe with absolute and solid clarity, and even just as much faith as a tiny mustard seed, to move the demons away and gain the chrismal.
Eleanor visualized a sword, holding it up, in her mind, to maneuver it. The sword was her symbol for her faith and belief, that no weapons formed against them could or would prosper. The sword she manifested appeared vertically, above and in front of her, its inlaid handle about a foot from the tip of her nose. The gold handle shone so bright as to cast its light on Eleanor’s face. All she need do was to wield it with her faith.
Suddenly, precisely, the blade turned horizontal in the air. For one brief moment, everyone watched with fascination; then “Pride” tried to turn Eleanor’s head in another direction, so she wouldn’t be able to direct its path. But, looking at the blade to guide it wasn’t necessary; Eleanor used her faith, her mind and her belief to move it through the air. Though its blade was short—15 inches in length—the weapon began stabbing at “Pride’s” handsome, chiseled cheeks. “Pride” defended its boastful face, covering it with its pincerlike extensions. But, the sword strategically darted at the demon, over and over again, with deft precision. It ripped in razored slices through the cloth on the sleeves of its forearm extensions. “Pride” tried to dodge it, finally moving away from Eleanor’s reach, trying to escape, but the blade, independent from her grasp, followed him, jabbing continuously, “
Stab, stab stab…” No other demon was there to help him as he fell backwards.
There was no time to laugh at “Pride” as he cowered away. However, Tadhg and Eleanor both filed the vision away, so they might chuckle later at the demon’s forever predictable nature. Yet, the war was far from being over. The other demons and devils had re-appeared, and were not impressed with Eleanor’s stunt.
Catherine could see that Eleanor's hand was oddly crushed, with the chrismal still beneath her palm, and that Lovey was still downed, despite the applying of the powerful, spiritual oil. Catherine reached out to pet Lovey. She felt a gentle rise in his side, his breath so very faint—he was alive!
Catherine knew, then, that as much as she wanted to comfort Lovey, to whisper to him and tell him that he was going to be okay, she had to help Eleanor; so she began to crawl slowly toward her. She knew she would have to seize the chrismal for Eleanor, before the other devils saw how easily they could take it. She crawled, little bit by little bit, on her belly, towards Eleanor and away from Lovey.
Eleanor’s sword had only been a temporary divergent. “Fear” stepped out, once again, from behind the middle of the other demons and devils who had, by then, gathered around “Pride”, and stood next to its evil comrades—“Self-Loathing” and “The Accuser of the Brethren”. “Fear” and “The Accuser” were both considered to be the big guns of the command. “Where does she think she's going?”, “Fear” challenged the others, in jest.
Eleanor, aware of the wicked ones’ stances, darted her gaze to Catherine. Eleanor’s eyes warned her to watch her every move. Then, without hesitation, and in one swoop, she twisted her full body to free one arm, so she could scoop the chrismal out from under her crushed hand and set it in flight towards Catherine.
“Dammit!”, Catherine screamed as the burning, piercing knife of “Fear” darted through Catherine’s arm, just as she had reached out and caught the chrismal before it jetted out of the Trinity boundary.
“Oh, hear Cat curse! Ha ha ha ha…”, “Mocking” screamed, leading the other dark forces to laughter for a moment.
“Ignore it! It can't hurt you, unless you let it!”, Eleanor quickly advised Catherine. “Hang onto the oil. You're in the Trinity now. The oil has full power in your hands. Use it wisely! Douse yourself.” Then, before talking further, Eleanor took a breath. “Catherine, listen to me, all things are not as they seem. Anoint yourself with the oil and the sign of the Trinity. Three drops of the oil, now. Hurry!”
Catherine immediately dribbled three drops of the oil into her hand, and anointed herself by making the sign of the cross on her forehead. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,” she murmured aloud, reciting it in her mind, as well.
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,” Cat whispered again. Then, she kissed the chrismal and made the sign of the cross over her heart, and then over her mind, again, at the pineal gland.
Eleanor smiled. Catherine had done it right.
The pack of demons cringed and moaned, “Stop her!” They cried and cursed with foul contempt for God.
Catherine moved over to Eleanor and shook out a few more drops from the chrismal. She made the sign of the cross over Eleanor’s forehead, and gathered her close. Then, after Eleanor’s anointing, she moved back to Lovey, and doused him once more.
Tadhg told her to move back into the center—that the war was not finished.
She moved back into the center, as he instructed. “Keep your mind clear. Focus your thoughts on your deliverance and being free, once, and for all time,” he told her. “Lovey and Eleanor’s conditions were incidents created to cause you to lose sight of the mission.” Tadhg was being very straight forward and highly focused. He had no emotion in his voice.
The demons circled the pyramid. They started calling Tadhg names, “Faggot, momma’s boy, wimp,” and so forth. Tadhg never blinked. He never broke his faith; he didn’t waver in strength. Still, he showed no emotion. He was solidly and firmly planted in his conviction, and that spiritual stronghold of might, was the reason Eleanor had chosen him.
The demons, then, swirled in a dance around Thomas, who stood at the Son’s position. He was shaking, with “Fear” breathing on him.
Tadhg looked at the situation, and with a wave of thought, slammed “Fear” back against the wall. But Tadhg made no comment. “Fear” left Thomas alone from that time forward. The other demons and devils backed off, as well.
Tadhg had used the conviction of his thoughts to bind the devils in leather cords, and cast them on the floor, whining like sissy boys who called out for their mommies. Not once did Tadhg blink, smile or look at them in their dilemma. He looked elsewhere, standing like a statue of granite.
Tadhg then motioned for Eleanor and Cat to come closer to him, so they were near enough to touch. He, then, reached to each of them, gently bringing their heads together with his, and whispered to them to close their eyes.
Eleanor softly prayed, once more, reminding the Supreme God of their need for reinforcement. She also humbly thanked Him for their safety. Even though there had been no apparent presence of any of the Holy Alliance, Eleanor knew they must be present as the battle took no casualties. Lovey was still alive; and Catherine, throughout the battle, seemed to have, incrementally, gained understanding of all the spiritual concepts.
Outside the walls of the triangle, and outside the manor, roared the weather. Booming thunder, lightning, howling wind, hail, tornadoes and every fearful, trembling effect were cast by the demons. One demon, named “Retaliation”, and its alter ego, “Jealousy”, moved to the window. “Retaliation” carried a staff which resembled a lightning rod. He held it up at the sky, visible through the window pane, and started yelling gibberish words at the weather.
“Eleanor?”, Catherine whispered using mind talk.
“Yes,” Eleanor replied, looking at Catherine from the floor where she lay.
“Why does bad weather come with you and the others?”, Catherine whispered in her mind.
Eleanor chuckled. “There is a war happening right now, my dear. Surely, you would expect to see some evidence of that on the earthly plane?”
Catherine sighed, “Yes, I understand—we should see something, I guess. But, what should I do right now?”
“Pray. Just pray without ceasing. Talk to God. Give Him thanks and praise,” Eleanor instructed.
“Alright. How should I start?”, Cat asked.
“Start as a child would. Remember? Start with ‘Our Father…’” Then, Eleanor smiled at Catherine; she could see that Catherine had gotten the idea.
“Our Father who art in heaven…”, Catherine began. She spoke out loud. She wanted the demons and devils to hear her. “…Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.”
“The most important part to recite and remember is ‘on earth as it is in Heaven’”, Eleanor said.
“Shall I start again?”, Cat asked.
“Yes, that would be excellent. And, let the prayer become the life in you. Let it arise from within every cell of your body. Let it permeate outside to the floor you lie upon, to the chrismal you hold, to Lovey as you touch him; and, then, to anything you see, and to those things you see not. Believe and depend on every word, as it is the, Almighty himself, truth. Believe in God, and never let go of your belief. Even as the storms come and go, and the waters rage, never doubt. Always believe, and always, even if you're frightened, remember to pray this prayer. Call out for help, Elizabeth Catherine Dubois, as He will always hear you; He will always come. You must trust, obey and believe.” Eleanor's voice seemed to fade into the rhythm of the weather, as if it were part of a larger whole. But the weather began to worsen, in spite of Cat’s prayers.
“How much longer do I pray? When will it go away?”, Catherine asked.
“Never stop praying, Catherine. The storms will be here all the time—and, so will He. Keep praying; never cease.” Eleanor graciously spoke just like
a fairy godmother, just like an angel, would. She seemed to glow with love that permeated every cell of light.
Lovey’s little tail began to wag; and though he remained exhausted, he was alive, and his faith had been restored; his belief had grown stronger.
“Sleep Elizabeth…sleep…and rest. The war is eternal. You must learn to rest despite the appearances of things and events that bring unrest.” Eleanor kissed Catherine’s brow. “When weary, rest. It is imperative for all human warriors. You are now a warrior.” Eleanor took the few drops of remaining oil from the chrismal, and, touching her forehead again, said, “I anoint you my warrior princess. In the name of our Father, in the name of our Brother, and in the name of the Holy Spirit, be the warrior you were called to be, forever more…”
The thunder, lightning and wind grumbled threats of imminent disaster. “Retaliation” and “Jealousy” stood at the window, commanding more and more noise, lightning, and visual threats of impending doom to join in their performance. The more terrible the weather worsened, the more Eleanor and Catherine and Tadhg ignored the evil forces, the louder those two devils tried to distract them. “Fear” joined them; he would not give up after being slammed into the wall by Tadhg. “Fear” had directed “Retaliation” and “Jealousy” to continue the battle.
“Jealousy”, having gained no ground at all because of Catherine’s acceptance of Eleanor’s wisdom and power and grace, rather than her becoming jealous of Eleanor’s gifts, the demon then tried to point out every single temptation towards “Jealously” imaginable. The demon spoke to Catherine’s mind, taunting her about Eleanor’s beautiful light that shone in her from the inside out, and, then, the fact that Eleanor was so much more talented and had gifts beyond her simple Catherine Dubois pitiful self, and, then, that Eleanor was old and ancient and she was nothing, could never be anything, in comparison, thus she should seek to steal Eleanor’s talents, beauty and age-old wisdom.
