by Han, George
It was a day planned to be memorable and it was a day eventually to be remembered, though for very different reasons.
Her father and his hunting entourage was ambushed and killed by the invading hordes from the north. As they neared, her unprepared tribe scrambled to put together resistance.
The ruling council convened and deliberated. It was finally agreed for the strong to fight and buy time for the weak, infirm, and children.
The leader of the council, Maganus volunteered to lead the men. Maganus was the wise man, but had none of the haughtiness of seniority. Instead he was hale, and good humor was his complexion. Red-bearded, he had rosy cheeks and a smoking pipe always at hand. Highly regarded in the clans, his words were sought after and the opinion valued.
Finally the council sanctioned the option and Gwyneth stood to speak.
“I beg to differ.” She said. “Maganus is like an uncle to me. He once saved me when I had to fight off some wolves in the woods. I have just lost my father, and his corpse was not recovered. The burden of vengeance cannot fall on the shoulder of another man I hold so dear.
“We’ve had enough deaths already,” she concluded.
Murmurs followed as Maganus lit his pipe and inhaled. Leaning against a table, he made loops of smoke with a naught twitch or pout of his lips. The murmurs stopped.
“Fighting is in my blood, Gwyneth. I cannot leave. I will stand tall and avenge your father.” Maganus differed, ever so gracefully.
“Cathaor is my father. It is my duty to avenge him, not you.”
“Cathaor is your father, but he is like brother to me. No man leaves his friends to die.” Maganus took another puff and continued. “I cannot comply. We rule by consensus in the absence of a leader. I have been chosen for the task.”
“Then as the daughter of your leader, I say I stand next to you.”
Gwyneth’s words of faith swayed the elders and cast the decision in iron. She had their support.
Gwyneth felt electrified by the newly entrusted leadership and took her place in front of the congregation.
“My first order is that the elders will lead the women, children, and the sick to
withdraw through the valley towards the western lands where allied tribes are camped. I shall lead the defence. We will hold the line. Our efforts will buy time for the withdrawal.
After she had finished her sentence, Maganus stepped forward and bowed. “I do not forsake friends, much less the daughter of a man I called brother.”
Gwyneth replied. “I wish you had left but your decision is my good fortune. We need you.”
A hundred of the strongest were quickly chosen. The weaponry was distributed—-spears, shields, and short swords. But the Vitulus tribe had never been a warring entity. They were content with hunting, cattle rearing, and light farming.
Gwyneth bade her mother farewell. Tears formed at the rim of her eyes, but she feigned a calm exterior. As the de facto head of the tribe, expressions of sorrow were forbidden.
The snow had halted and it helped the retreat. After the remnants of the withdrawing party had disappeared over the horizon, those that remained prepared for war.
As Gwyneth put on her father’s armour, the polished chest plate with a handsome wolf engraved on it, a sense of gravity grew upon her. Her father’s words resonated in her ears.
“Sacrifice is the badge of our tribe, the foundation of our continuity.”
These words of courage, the only buoyant for her sinking nerves as she faced the first battle of her life. Gwyneth had never killed a soul, how will she now stop the enemies to save her tribe? In her tent, Gwyneth sank to her knees and prayed those in high above, to those in the mountain, and to whoever that will listen.
“Hear me, hear a girl speak. A girl who has lost her father, and am someone who will soon lose her family and tribe, I ask of your blessing. I wish to see none of my loved ones, the small ones die. Pray, let it be me. I will do anything in exchange for their safety.”
Calm returned, fringe noises in her mind ceased, and she felt warmth in her chest. Gwyneth felt she had been touched by someone divine. She said her thanks and picked herself up for the ultimate.
She chose a spear from his father’s collection. Maganus joined her with his pair of battleaxes, which teethed with chips, along the cutting edge, that spoke of many battles fought and won. He wore his courage and defiance in his bulbous nose, stout chin, and red plaited beard, pose of a warrior.
They lined themselves at the path leading to the village. The snow returned soon, in heavy fall.
“Maybe the snow will slow those bastards,” Maganus muttered.
The enemy’s arrival at dawn proved Maganus wrong. A single horseman over the far horizon soon gave way to tens and soon hundreds of silhouettes.
The light of dawn provided Gwyneth a glimpse into their intimidating armoury, spikes, and shields. Their horses were armoured, too, and she had never seen such ugliness in the beautiful beasts. These invaders came prepared for looting, murder, and destruction.
Gwyneth could imagine the final moments of her father and his clansmen, the fierce battles, sword fights, the whizzing of the flying arrows and soaring spears. She lowered her head and said a prayer for the deceased.
She had heard of the invasion of monsters from the seas—men of axes and spears who had children for breakfast and slept on beds made from bones of their victims. She had assumed, when she was older, they were just tales invented to send children to bed early. How wrong she had been!
A whistling in the air broke her thought. An arrow plunged into the chest of a sent a warrior, just five yards away and the spectacle hit home. Maganus raised a war cry and the battle commenced.
In unison, her men lifted their shields over their heads to form a protective umbrella but the rain of arrows proved too heavy as many fell. Without hesitation, Gwyneth led her men into war. It was mayhem. Limbs flew, blood spurted, and she found herself taking one after another of her enemies.
Gwyneth brought down a horseman, then another, but there were too many of them. She was soon hit, an arrow had found her right knee. As blood and her life leaked away, she found Maganus. His shield was stained with blood and his beard soaked with blood, his and his opponents. She witnessed his fall and his body was soon surrounded by the enemies as they thrust their spears into his torso.
Gwyneth’s cries erupted in the air and her last memory was an unbearable pain in her chest.
Gwyneth woke into brightness, surprised to find her wounds completely healed. The bleeding had ceased and her armoury had vanished. Dressed in robes of white, her hair was tightly plaited like it had always been. She felt coolness on her back and she discovered she was lying on a marble table. Snow lay all around her, as if it were winter.
Then Gwyneth realized something strange—her heartbeat. She had none. Startled, she jumped off the marble table. She was dead. She had been dead?
The answer that she craved arrived soon after. She saw two man, dressed in robes of white and gold, walking towards her. The taller of the pair was statuesque. His face was one of the most flawless she had ever seen; it had a strong jaw and a high-bridged nose. The eyebrows were intensely white and bushy, and the eyes were a captivating blue, gentle and kind.
No words were exchanged and then she noticed that next to him stood the familiar figure of Maganus. He, too, wore fresh garments. In place of the blood-stained armour, he was dressed in a brown overcoat. He had his staff and serenity lay on his cheeks.
They embraced.
“Gwyneth, they found you, buried in snow with your blood staining the ground around you.”
Gwyneth was startled. “I am dead then?”
Maganus turned to the man next to him. “Our friends saved our souls,” he whispered.
Instantly, wings sprouted from the man’s back and expanded to full length. He nodded and in a firm voice, spoke. “I am Alastair. I am the Guardian Angel for the Western Regions.”
“Guardian Angels?”
“Yes. I heard your prayers. The Archangel raised you from death for your courage and the immense sacrifice. Your death has not been in vain. Your family is safe and so are your brothers. I hope that soothed the pain in your limbs and heart.”
Gwyneth turned to Maganus, who nodded in confirmation. She smiled for the first time that day.
Alastair continued in a soothing voice. “As a reward for your sacrifice, you are offered a new life, a lease of Immortality in exchange for a life in defense of noble individuals and the hope of mankind. Join us. Join the army of brave warriors of God, the Guardian Angels.”
Gwyneth turned to Maganus for guidance but he was deep in deliberation.
“Gwyneth, Maganus, since time immemorial, we have been defending mankind, ignorant masses from the temptation of the Devil and his armies of Demons. Civilization and evolution of the human race is at stake. An unruly mob of Vikings turned up, proxies of the Demons, armies of hell, and ravaged your homes and nearly destroyed your civilization. Your tribe was fortunate to survive. But there are many who were less fortunate. The men were killed, the process of learning halted, the children, the future of mankind buried. Stop the forces of the dark.”
Gwyneth felt a stream of warmth course through her veins as she thought about her new mandate. Gwyneth and Maganus then stood forth and grasped the extended hands of Alastair. And so, they were each handed the mandate, Maganus became the guardian of the forests, the woods and its residents. Named the Friend of the Woods for his lifelong affinity with animals and his success in raising new crops which fed and grew his tribe, Maganus shouldered his new responsibility with vigor. Gwyneth, young and beautiful when she died was blessed with the prowess over the snow and given the title of Commander of the Snow. She was also appointed the Guardian Angel of young children.
And hence a new destiny began for Gwyneth and Maganus, a new mission – the defense of human civilization, warrior-soldiers of God.
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Chapter 11
The Fire Spreads
Lord Barbatos sauntered down the long halls of Castle Valmar, each step clicking with arrogance and mastery. Behind him, Eberhard, one foot taller, followed with the submissive humility of a tamed beast.
“Master, the rise of our stronghold is complete.”
Lord Barbatos looked at the stone walls, high ceilings and the ambience of power and might. After centuries of absence, he had brought the citadel of darkness back to Earth.
“We have returned,” he murmured as he surveyed the elaborate architecture of his prized stronghold. The ancient pillars holding up the high roofs were adorned by carvings of demons of all sorts—goblins, familiar spirits, trolls, serpents, and demon lords.
It was an audacious enterprise, an initiative meant to hurt the Angels and their human allies. It would be a matter of time before they responded. He was not afraid of their reaction for their response was the key objective of his entire scheme. They must come for him.
“It is time for our next step.”
“I am ready, Master.”
Barbatos nodded. He had reached the end of the corridor and turned into the landing that gave a complete view of the extensive hall. The atmosphere was saturated with the din of the demonic forms. They were waiting.
The haughty general of the demons leaned over ledge to study the rows of demons, all armoured and ready. From one end of the hall to another, there were thousands of familiar spirits and goblins awaiting orders. At the front of the formation stood a weary Count Raum, who had returned from his latest mission.
“Ivan?” Barbatos asked, his lips barely moving.
“Lord Barbatos,” Count Raum bowed. “The siblings are estranged in the woods. My legions are ready.”
Barbatos was indifferent but it belied the urgency in him. The siblings, kinglings whose existence will be an obstacle to his schemes must be captured.
“Your legions looked impressive.”
Count Raum bowed in thanks.
Barbatos leaned forward. “However check your complacency, Count.”
Raum cranked his neck in surprise.
Barbatos nodded and asked, “The Guardian Angels have been alerted by the spate of violence.”
“I am ready for them, my lord.”
Barbatos smiled in approval “I need a victory. A victory over them will boost the spirits of our legions.”
“My lord, I will not fail you.”
“Live up to your promise.”
Count Raum obeyed and raised a battle horn, and blew in earnest. A deep and rousing drone pervaded through the hall. Instantly, the hordes of demons responded with in a chorus of gruesome grunts and snorts, and stomped the ground in a cacophony of war cries.
The main doors, which rose to the height of the ceiling, creaked wide.Within minutes, an unruly army of demons of all denomination had filed out of the hall into the darkness of the woods. After the last demon soldier had exited, Eberhard asked, “My lord?”
“Patience, my friend. I sensed the thirst for blood in you.”
“Do not leave me idle, my Lord.”
“You will not be, I assure you. An important task awaits you.”
Eberhard dropped to his knees again, like a canine, cursed with the insatiable hunger for blood, begging for the chance to hunt.
“Master.”
“You remember the siblings I told you about.”
Eberhard nodded.
The Duke of Demons neared and whispered. Once he was done, Barbatos waved a dismissive gesture. “Eberhard, I want them alive.”
Chapter 12
Rendezvous
Maganus sucked deeply on his smoking pipe and looked at Gwyneth. “What is next?”
“I wish I knew.”
Maganus nodded. “You are always more sensitive.” He exhaled and blew circles of smoke into the air. “We were caught unprepared, Gwyneth. There were no signs that they were coming. They are going to leave us backpedaling again.”
She looked at her feet where the heels are hived up, to show their predisposition to be on the defensive in their tussle with the Demons. The Angels would never act first to preempt, be it to engage or destroy the Demons. They were only trained to respond, after the Demons had already acted. The Angels were built that way. Aggression to preempt evil was an act of evil in itself.
“The Demons never change.” Gwyneth murmured. “Stealth their hallmark and discretion our badge.”
Maganus stroked his beard as an ugly frown crumpled his forehead.
“Can you feel it?” he asked.
Before Gwyneth could reply, Marz was its feet; ears raised, and began to howl. The wind had picked and the trees began to sway.
“I feel it now,” Maganus said and looked at his Golden Cross, which glowed with warmth.
“Benign,” they both said together.
At that moment, the space to the left of them, in the midst of the woods, opened like a portal. A path of light appeared and they heard a thundering gallop. Then a huge stallion leapt out of the portal and landed with a suave turn, right behind Maganus.
The winds died away and the stallion’s rider wheeled his steed over to Maganus. He wore robes of white and black and an outstanding chest plate that depicted a roaring lion.
Jin looked like an impeccable Roman statue that has come alive. Lightly bearded around his squarish jaws, the man had tied his long hair into a pony tail. His Asiatic features were represented by darting black eyes that shone like sparkling jewels. His handsome face was framed in balance and composure.
Like the owner, the stallion was a magnificent creature with shiny black hide and bore eyes that glittered like gems. Despite the commanding presence, the stallion has a gentle disposition. Named Dilu, the stallion was raised from a rare pedigree in the Asian central plains.
“My friend, Jin the Silent!” Maganus clapped in merry at the sight of the timely arrival. Jin dismounted and held Maganus and Gwyneth in a tight embrace befitting of old friends.
Maganus spoke fi
rst. He had detected the tension in Jin, his face etched in strain.
“Fellow angels, glad to see you both.”
“Father Paul has been here, Jin.” Maganus informed as Jin wings folded seamlessly behind him. “The Libri has given me insight.” Jin was grim.
“Share your insights please,” Maganus urged.
Jin said. “A revelation was delivered. I was possessed by the book and a string of revelations witnessed. I realized I must come personally.”
They exchanged looks. “The Demons,” the trio said in unison.
Gwyneth explained the Leo Kenyon incident to Jin.
“Then their attack has already begun,” Jin replied in a somber tone. “Such audacity.”
“What actually did you see?” Gwyneth asked.
“Images of the Demon Lords, demons, familiar spirits, and one sightings of young children.”
“Kinglings they must be,” Maganus added, referring to the young Kings of Men who were under the guidance and mentorship of the Guardian Angels; the future leaders of humanity.
“There were two visions of a pair, hand in hand.”
“Siblings,” Gwyneth murmured.
“There were scenes of chaos and combat. Kings in peril and …” Jin said, then paused. “The images are hazy, but I saw a young man and a small girl, and darkness was growing over them.”
“Darkness rising?” Maganus asked. “The Libri’s reaction is worrying.’
“Pandemonium. Worrying still, vision of the American Flag in flag and cities were on fire. These images were reason for my presence in the human arena.” Jin shook his head. “Then I saw the coordinates and asked them to be interpreted.”
“My brother angels,” Gwyneth said. “Speculation will not help us. Action will.”
“I had already sent out the signum, the name of the common signal that Angels deployed to inform their comrades and allies in the event of a crisis. The distress call was raised by an Angels’ prayer in front of the Golden Cross at Aachen.
“They have all been alerted? Alastair, Eugene and Catherine ...?” Gwyneth asked, referring to her fellow angels—leader Alastair the Strong, Eugene the Healer, and Catherine the Grace.
