Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (85 page)

“Shit,” swore Fernando. “Close the doors, Jeanie, close them now.”

The White Faced Demon was gone.

The others were not. They swirled around him. Reaching to touch but pulling back at the last moment.

“It is done,” the Three Ladies chorused, a smile on their faces.

Confused, he tried to step out from the swirling beings but found they would not let him go. “What is done?”

They walked towards him and the swirling beings relinquished their attachment. “What was to be,” they chorused.

“But what is that?” He extinguished to sudden surge of anger. He knew that becoming short with these fantastical women would result in not finding the answers he so longed to be fulfilled.

“A first step,” replied the White Lady.

“A belated awakening,” responded the Red Lady.

“An initiation of potential,” stated the Black Lady.

“Your seeking has availed you naught,” they chorused. “Seek within yourself. Accept the Truth that was, is and ever shall be. Blessed Be he who is the Bridge of Life and Death.”

The answers confounded him. It was not what he was expecting and he frowned.

Sensing his disquiet, the White Lady placed her hand upon his left cheek, the Red Lady placed hers on the centre of his chest and the Black Lady placed her hand on his right cheek. “All answers are found within. The truth will set you free.”

Suddenly, all three turned their heads away from him in unison as if seeing something he could not. When they turned back to him concern was written over their delicate features. “Now you must return. The Testing has come. We will not leave you.”

“I don’t understand.” A sudden vertigo filled him and he closed his eyes.

Excruciating pain fired his brain and he snapped his eyes open. Every part of his body was on fire, dazing his mind. A sense of urgency filled him, forcing him to stand. It was as if he were a marionette, having little control over his body.

Lightning shot up his left leg but it did not give way as he looked around the room. In a chair, leaning against the wall next to the hearth, a novice sat in slumber, chin resting on his chest above folded arms. He was back in the monastery but he had no recollection of how he got here.

The sense of exigency grew and he turned towards the door. There was something he needed to do, but he did not know what. Every muscle in his back and leg protested the movement as he hobbled towards the door. Stretching out his hand to turn the knob he winced at the movement and noticed the thick bandages. He could not seem to make his fingers work.

Hurry or what you hold precious will be lost.
 
The chorused voices of the Ladies filled his mind.

Panic filled him and with great effort, using both hands, he managed to open the door. Swaying with fatigue and burning heat, he exited into the corridor. He did not know which way to go, but let the pull guide him. With each step, with each movement he lost the sense of awareness as the pain and fever grew. It seemed that even the walls of the monastery shimmered in and out of existence.

The hall was longer than ever. It was increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open and it was harder to draw breath until he was sliding against the wall, another door before him.

Here,
came the voices.

Whimpering at the thought of opening the door, he gritted his teeth and almost passed out as his bandaged hands twisted excruciatingly with the doorknob.

A blast of freezing cold and rain set him shivering. A part of him stood incredulous that they wanted him to go out in this. The other half watched in horror at the sight of Jeanie fighting against Fernando as the Noble tried to pull her back through the Cathedral doors. Both were soaked to the skin. Jeanie fought like a beansidhe as she tried to break loose. She seemed to want to run towards the woman on the horse.

Time halted. The rain froze motionless in the air. Terror welled within at the sight of his torturer.

“Let her go, Chosen,” shouted the Mistress of
Le Jardin
. “She is now mine. You can see how she desires to serve me.” Her cold malicious laughter filled the night.

“Over my dead body,” replied the Noble, hoisting a screaming Jeanie up by the waist, her legs kicking impotently into the air.

“So you care for this mortal?” The Lady's horse stamped the wet earth.

“No,” stated the Noble, “but a chance to deny you is worth the shot.”

Violet tilted her head back and laughed into the rain. “How droll. How noble.” Her face twisted into a sneer. “How much like a Chosen and as such you have a choice. Give me Jeanie and the Angel and I will allow these so called men of God to live. If not, my men will slaughter them all.”

Jeanie’s frustrated cries escalated as Fernando stepped back towards the Cathedral doors.
 

Call them. Call them now,
rang the Ladies voices in his fevered brain
. They are yours to command. Let them taste life in death.

Confused, he shook his head not understanding what they wanted of him. Whatever verbal exchange was going on between Fernando and his torturer was lost to the voices in his head.

Call those who you feared. You know the words.

Head swimming, his vision fixated upon the Vampire and her company.
 
His only desire was to see them eradicated from the earth and the words flowed. The ancient rune of summoning he was taught by Auntie came unbidden from his lips.

Jeanie thrashed wildly in Fernando’s slick grip as he backed towards the open church doors. Soaked through, the rain and the girl’s movements made it difficult not to crush her ribs into powder while he tried not to slip on the muddied ground. Cursing under his breath, Fernando wanted Jeanie to shut up so that he could think of what to do. His dark hair plastered to his face, he spat out soggy red ropes that slapped every time Jeanie swung her head in the hopes to unbalance him. It was bizarre how Jeanie wanted to run to the Lady’s side. It was as if her mind was not her own. Fernando would have released the girl if he had not realized how much the Lady wanted her - anything to infuriate that bitch Vampire.

Managing the few steps, he realized that the monks from the service were behind him, watching with wide horror filled eyes as the marauders brandished their glistening blades. Placing Jeanie back down on the stone, the wind still whipping her manic hair, he barely managed to grasp her wrist in her attempt to flee to the Mistress’ side. Swinging Jeanie around, the flat of his hand met the side of her face with a resounding slap. He did not hit her with his full strength, but the satisfying violence was enough to snap her head to the side, green eyes wide in shock. Hopefully it was enough to break whatever spell she was under.

“Look over there!” shouted a monk behind him.

Following the pointed arm, Fernando joined the others to see the Angel standing at the other door as if in a trance. His nude pale body seemed to glimmer in the darkness and Fernando could see the Angel’s lips moving.

All of a sudden the rain and the wind ceased and a deathly silence filled the void. Fernando heard the woman's laugh turn into alarm as her horse, as well as the others, grew skittish.

The monks behind the Noble all sucked an audible intake of breath and held it, watching as a pearlescent swirling mist rose up from the muddy ground. Their heart rates jumped in fright, caught in the expectant horror of what was coming.

Fernando too held his breath and watched.

The mist thickened into a dense fog, its undulations churning, cutting off the vision of the would-be invaders. Strangely enough none of the tendrils elected to sift into the Church. Even the monastery’s stone steps seemed immune from the mist.

Slowly, shapes coalesced within the fog and Fernando took an involuntary step back. A monk behind him grunted as the Noble accidentally stepped on him, but none dared take their eyes off the unfolding scene.

Grotesque human-like forms swirled, their faces white and their eyes black in their ghostly apparition. Several of the monks whimpered. Others began praying, the clicking of beads through nervous fingers accompanied the mumbled words. Several others fled when one of the white-faced ghosts turned and smiled maliciously at them before turning its attention away. Fernando found Jeanie clutched to him, his arm holding her protectively as they watched in stupefied terror.

Suddenly there was a rushing sound, as if a great wind threatened to blow the church and the monastery to rubble, and then came the cries. Screaming horses, shouting men, Violet wailing. The cacophony of agony continued on and on until suddenly, the deafening silence returned.

Panicked breathing and racing hearts were the only sound as they witnessed the fog lowering, the ghosts gone, to settle at waist height. The churning surface revealed the Vampire and her entourage, including the horses, were nowhere to be seen. There was no sound of fleeing into the night. It was as if one moment they were there and then in the next all evidence of their existence had been eradicated.

The bubbling surface shimmered and Fernando’s eyes widened as three tall figures appeared as if made of mist. He could tell they were female, but what was truly remarkable was their colouring - white, red and black. They advanced through the vapour, heading towards the Angel who had sunk to his knees.

Behind the Noble he heard the monks fall to their knees, some of them prostrating themselves, weeping as they began the old liturgy, “Hail Mary, full of Grace…”
 

Jeanie buried her face in Fernando’s chest, sobbing and calling out over and over, “Mama, mama …”

Stunned, Fernando watched the Triple Lady bend over the Angel, each whispering something before placing a kiss on the Angel’s head.

Eyes rolling up, the Angel groaned and toppled over unconscious. The three women shimmered and then were no more, taking the mist with them.

T
he grass was soft and damp as he sat cross-legged. Before him the spring burbled its glittering waters. The silver chalice, its chain broken, slowly rolled between his two hands.

He watched in fascination the shimmering colours of the water’s surface as the light reflected its lazy movement. It was beautiful to watch, but what he truly wanted was to taste it, to drink to its completion and then dip it full into the spring.

He lifted the cool metal to his lips, his breath panting in expectation, and closed his eyes in rapture as the cold water slipped past his parted lips and into his mouth. Flowers, sunshine and beauty tantalized his taste buds as his body warmed the water, releasing the bouquet. He inhaled through his nose and sighed, allowing the waters to slide into his body. A shudder of pure energy filled him and he sipped again and again. Each time life’s pulsating energy filled him to near bursting, drawing him to take deeper draughts.

Once the chalice was drained he placed it down onto the rocks. He would drink again soon. For now, he watched the white demons swirl and swim lazily around him. They were his and he was theirs. No longer could he fear them. No longer could they rule him. Extending a pale hand towards them they brushed across his fingertips, drawing out the energy he offered them.
 

It did not take long before he felt the pull of the chalice once more. Lowering his hand he turned his attention to the silver cup, grasped it gently by its stem and then dipped it deep into the radiant pool of water.

Diamonds dripped from the chalice as he pulled it out. Water clung and absorbed into his hand and forearm, sending a blissful shock as if he touched something alive. This time he did not savour each sip, he devoured it, gulping down the taste of blood, air and fire.