Guardian (26 page)

Israfel had little choice. Unlike me, he had instantly recognised the men for exactly who they were and what they were doing there. And right behind the advance he'd spotted an unruly horde of subordinate ogres, each of them slavering over its chosen human and all of them intent on inciting further mayhem. His orders prevented him from interfering directly with the armed heavies, so he couldn't stop them making an attack, but he could sort out the malicious creatures that were encouraging and urging them on from behind. Briefly, he debated taking them on alone but, thinking better of it, was about to call on his latest rank-related benefit and summon one of the elite Angelic squadrons, when a sudden banshee-like wailing, accompanied by a wall of shuddering sound assailed his ears, catching him unawares. Whatever the cause, it was clear something major had spooked the ghouls. They were scrabbling frantically backwards, away from their chosen prey as though their very lives depended upon it. Which, it turned out, they did. And even the two horrors that had managed to gain possession of a couple of gang members were trying hysterically to unhook their claws in a frantic bid to get away. But even as Israfel registered this, the two slavers who had been the subjects of possession pitched forward, themselves writhing and screeching in pain, before lapsing into a coma-like state, as though dead.

Surprised by the mayhem, Israfel followed the direction of the fiends' gaze and immediately understood the reason for their panic. A great and blinding light had appeared behind him. A pool of pure, dazzling brilliance extending from a door thrown open in Heaven was revealing a dimension normally closed off to both humans and demons. From it, an ethereal radiance was flooding the whole area where we crouched. And in that moment, as he took in the full import of the Heavenly features forever hidden from human eyes, Israfel heard the blare of massed trumpeters and a loud voice warning all of creation to ‘make way for the King of kings'. Displaying the slick co-ordination for which they were famous, the elite Royal Guard paraded through the arched opening. Marching swiftly in close order formation, they began breaking off in a well-practiced honour guard manoeuvre, coming to attention in pairs at precise intervals along either side of the great highway that had suddenly materialised and now stretched from Heaven's door to an insignificant bush in the middle of an equally unimportant stand of coastal scrub. Clearly, there were remarkable events in progress. Although he'd never seen and certainly hadn't been involved in the like before, Israfel realised immediately that the stirring display by the incomparable Heavenly Host was simply a prelude to the imminent appearance of the King of kings, who always gave a personal welcome to new citizens of His Kingdom. Moreover, already striding between the guard pairs and radiating His own impossibly brilliant light (which even angels had difficulty facing), Israfel spotted the Son of God Himself. Swiftly, he unsheathed his weapon and dropped to one knee in a warrior's tribute to his Lord and Master, spreading his hands and dipping the tip of his sword to acknowledge the presence of Royalty.

A token swiftly and subconsciously aped for a few seconds by the evil spirits who, to their utter consternation, knew their game was well and truly up. They had no option but to kneel before the King of kings and vocally acknowledge His Lordship, but no entity not already redeemed or Angelic could find itself within sight of the full splendour of the risen, glorified Christ and hope to live, unless the sceptre of mercy was extended in its direction. A gesture that was never going to happen for these fallen angels. And even as they continued their frantic, ultimately doomed, but despairing retreat, the air began to dance and ring with the ethereal sound of a distant Angelic choir singing the praises of the eternal Prince of Peace.

Israfel was thrilled to his very core. Clearly, at least one of the humans, either Roz or Paul (both, he was hoping), must have responded to the gracious, mind-blowing invitation to life in all its fullness that God, through His Son, Jesus, extended to every human at some time in his or her life. And although Israfel didn't want to miss a single nuance of this thrilling ceremony, one he'd heard about, but never actually witnessed, he knew he wasn't thereby relieved of duty. Reluctantly turning his head back to the human scene being played out around him, he discovered that, released from the devilish pressure previously being used to drive them on, the crew had come to a grinding and indecisive halt, as though mesmerised. Yet without being able to see or even sense either the sacred scenario being played out ahead of them, or the rout taking place behind them. But then Israfel spotted the real problem.

Five young black men were slipping silently through the bush only yards behind the sailors, fully alert to the nearness of their presence but, like their prey, completely unaware of the spectacle ahead. They were armed with the powerful bows so beloved of the local residents and were clearly intent on nailing their quarry. Israfel had seen enough of men's dealings to know a massacre with no mercy was in the offing and, with a quick glance to ensure I wasn't in the line of fire, he moved to a vantage point from where he could alert the less experienced Nadab to developments. And seconds later, with barely sufficient time to reach his chosen location, events began to unfold rather more swiftly than anyone would have wished. A heightened momentum not even triggered by the slavers' demons. With nerves broken and despair writ large on every feature, the threat they posed had long since ended. In fact, a squad from the Second Battalion of the Royal Guard had already been detached to clean up the mess left by the erstwhile demons, whose remains now constituted little more than blemishes on the spiritual landscape. So, even if that particular motley band of evil spirits had been spared and allowed to latch onto the villagers rather than the slavers, they would have been in no fit state to influence what was rapidly becoming a full-scale incident.

From the outset, it had been the men from the outraged village, fiercely determined young bloods intent on exacting a thorough revenge for their humiliation and the insults heaped on their extended families, who would prove the most adroit. Moreover, they needed no external driving force to stay focused. Just their burning sense of injustice. So, presented with the golden opportunity of an enemy who, for whatever reason, appeared momentarily off guard, they simply launched straight into their planned butchery. With almost military precision, the young men bent forward to notch long, sparsely fletched arrows to their gut-strung bows. Then quickly but silently, so as not to alert their victims, they drew the fearsome weapons back to full stretch before simultaneously letting fly. The five targets heard nothing, suspected nothing, saw nothing and consequently died in a haze of nothingness. It was as though each had suddenly sprouted an arrowhead from the middle of his throat and the clearest alarm any of them could manage was a low gurgle from a blood-filled oesophagus, each and every cry smothered before it was even birthed. Barely pausing, confident in their supreme ability at arms, the young men moved to their right, heading towards the beach, where they lined themselves up with the next batch selected to die. Unexpectedly, they found only three, but that scarcely altered the rhythm. The same deadly scenario was repeated and the three died just as quietly and efficiently as their compatriots. Then, still in the almost slow-motion ballet of their lethal hunting technique, the men drew together to orchestrate the next move.

They knew the numbers and they knew they were two short, not counting the two moving down the beach. But even as they pondered the matter, Ghazi, one of the recently possessed duo who had fallen unconscious, started moving in the undergrowth as he regained awareness. It was to be his last activity, but the manner and fact of his death were noted. Fatih, with rather more sense, had managed to surface quietly. Which, given that he could see all five of his potential assassins from where he lay, meant he had some quick thinking to do. Slowly, inching his way forward, he started to move towards us, his intended victims. A sensible move, since it had the benefit of taking him away from the bowmen and towards the original quarry. Not that, under the present circumstances, he had much hope of capturing and holding us for Ahmed. But at least, if he could get near enough, we represented potential bargaining chips. And, right now, that was the most he could expect. As a flagrant rapist, he knew he could anticipate no mercy whatsoever. A swift death at best, but only if he was very fortunate.

He still had no idea why he had passed out, but, whatever the reason, he now felt distinctly lightheaded and disorientated. Empty, almost. Moreover, he was sweating with an intense sensation of anxious futility, whilst knowing that this unfamiliar sensation had little or nothing to do with the killers behind him, even though they were clearly intent on tracking and dispatching him. No, he had little fear of death, so this bewildering sense of dread merely added to the confusion of the moment. To the best of his knowledge, all he had been doing was lying on the plantation floor. Why, he didn't know. Nor, for the time being, could he begin to fathom the source of his growing and all-pervading sense of terror. And where were the rest of his men? Surely they couldn't all have been killed? But with that thought barely formed, he abruptly realised that if he didn't get to us quickly, he too would be dead or, possibly, unconscious again.

Fortunately for him, but unseen behind him, the avenging villagers had decided to move back and strip their first victims, intent on looting anything of value. And that distraction alone saved him. In fact, it took Fatih a good five minutes to reach us and neither of us saw him coming. But once on top of us, he had no compunction in jamming the end of his rifle into Roz's startled face, speculating that I would not risk anything that might lead to the girl's harm. Slowly and very carefully, keeping a particularly substantial and well-leafed bush between him and the spot where he had last seen his pursuers, Fatih then stood, forcing a bewildered Roz to rise with him. And it was this arrogant imposition on my darling that finally provoked me into action. I was already mentally kicking myself for failing to spot this armed maniac's arrival, and now this new and present threat to her was too much. In anguished desperation I remember tensing to make a grab for the gun, but Roz, bless her, must have read my mind, because she spoke suddenly, but very calmly. “Paul, don't do anything, I'm alright. Really. Just keep calm, for my sake.”

Even now I can recall the extraordinary composure in her voice and it compelled me to lower my fists slowly and very carefully to my sides, although I kept a wary eye on this highly unwelcome intruder. What to do next? I couldn't think. Although the hostage, Roz already appeared somehow to have wrested the initiative from her captor and, strangely, it was to her we were both looking at that moment. In retrospect and given the circumstance of a loaded gun pointed straight at Roz's right temple, doing nothing was about all I could have done at the time, so it was probably a reasonable idea. Neither of us knew anything about the massacre that had already taken place a few hundred yards south of us, so we both remained certain that somewhere in front of us were upwards of a dozen armed and unquestionably dangerous men. This being the case, I reasoned, it was better to fake compliance for the time being and hope that, sooner or later, an opportunity would present itself to turn the tables somewhat. If only I had known. But then, how could I?

Nadab wasn't paying attention to Israfel or any of the fast-moving human developments. He was concentrating on Roz and was already formulating plans to schmooze his boss concerning his part in the spine-tingling developments now taking place under his very nose. It wasn't every Guardian who could boast that his charge had become an honorary citizen of Heaven. Nevertheless, some thought was needed because, by specifically interfering in the secret and mysteriously divine aspects of a human life (while Roz had been walking on the beach), he was pretty certain that he'd still have to answer to his boss in some way or another. But surely from his own favourable perspective, what he had done could be trumpeted as a triumph, couldn't it? Surely he should be permitted one minor embellishment to his responsibilities? Which might be rational, he knew, but with a sigh he had to acknowledge to himself that it remained equally true that ‘orders are orders', whatever the intention or outcome. And if this proved the case, it was hardly likely to be viewed as quite the brilliant coup he'd supposed. But for now, the rapidly accelerating spiritual development within Roz continued to attract his entire and undivided attention. In delight he had watched her move from animated chatter about God, to a quiet pondering of her nascent understanding. And then, to his intense joy, he had watched her make a sudden, decisive move towards belief, meeting a Heavenly response, which was already way ahead of her. Only to observe a moment later that both humans, suddenly alarmed, had been forced to run for cover.

Unfortunately, having let everything else pass him by for a few seconds, Nadab wasn't entirely certain of the cause. At which precise moment, a somewhat exasperated Israfel had materialised at his side.

“Come on, Nadab, move! Anyone can see they're in real danger and so far you've done nothing, not even for Roz, never mind Paul. There's a bunch of very angry villagers over there executing the slavers on sight. They're high on bloodlust and it won't be long before they're in easy killing range of our two. And right now, they're clean out of ideas and momentum. They know they haven't accounted for all the slavers, but they're nervous and so they're likely to start milling about and will probably shoot on sight. Especially since they know they haven't got the leader. A man called Fatih, the one who instigated the rape of their mothers and sisters. Anytime now they'll spot him and he's close enough to Paul and Roz to place them in jeopardy. It's too late to divert the villagers and anyway, if you look, you'll see there's only one junior Guardian between the lot of them, so we can't expect much help there. We're going to have to hope nobody lets fly with an arrow until they've actually identified their target.”

Israfel was just getting well into his ‘senior and more experienced' stride when a clearly excited Nadab cut him off in mid-flow. “Israfel, look! Look at Roz, look at the way she's beginning to blaze. Only a couple of hours ago she wasn't sure about anything Heavenly. Since then she's obviously decided to respond to the Lord Jesus and invite Him into her life. And now look. The King has come to speak with her personally. Isn't that fantastic? Can you imagine it? She's going to be with us throughout eternity.”

“True,” replied Israfel, who was studiously trying to ignore the violation reported by Nadab, “but you need to understand that right now King Jesus is not only telling her Who it is whispering into her ear, but He's opening her eyes to our world, so brace up. Look, she's seen us. Superb! Pity we won't be at the party they'll be having in Heaven today.” Even Israfel, his duties almost forgotten in the intensity and delight of the moment, continued to gaze entranced. Outwardly and to human sight, nothing unusual had happened. To all intents and purposes, Roz had simply stopped worrying about whether God existed or not and, in obedience to my shouted command and her natural instinct, had begun running for cover. And from that moment, as far as I was concerned, it was our tense and dangerous situation that needed to fully occupy every thought.

I distinctly remember feeling in that moment of recognition that we faced rather more pressing events than Roz's preoccupation with God and that any further discussion would have to wait for a more propitious time. Not only was I completely oblivious to the good that was happening, but I was also totally unaware that God Himself was watching developments with great sadness, as He contemplated the unnecessary waste of life for yet more humans. Which still left the very present danger we faced, compounded by the undetected killing spree. And unknown to us, the avenging villagers had caught the sound of Roz's voice and it was drawing them into an immediate and stealthy movement towards our hiding place. Intensely aware they had yet to account for three of the gang members, which almost certainly meant three guns intent on wreaking revenge, it was no wonder they remained extremely wary and on edge. But that in turn meant Roz, unprotected by the bush behind which Fatih remained concealed, turned out to be the first, vaguely human movement to catch their attention. And thus the first to which they could offer a reaction. So it was that I heard, rather than saw, the simultaneous flight of several arrows whispering through the air and, to my unspeakable horror, witnessed the love of my life suddenly, shockingly, sprout a pair of wicked looking shafts from her back. At which point, in total bewilderment and disbelief, she arched towards me, mouth twisting in pain and her eyes wide with terror. Even as she flopped onto my desperately out-flung arms, a great gout of blood spouted from her mouth, drenching me and preventing her from making even the smallest whisper of fear. How could I ever forget that terrible, appalling scene? Or forgive? In that instant, my heart was torn asunder and all that afterwards gave me hope of any kind in the midst of sudden, utter misery and the horror of irreplaceable loss was the recollection that in the last few seconds of my erstwhile partner's life, I clearly saw her terror fade. To be replaced by absolute, trusting and, to my mind, completely bewildering love for someone or something somewhere beyond us. Yes, I somehow knew beyond a doubt that her love for me remained and of that I stayed intensely aware, but, in her eyes, her gaze, there shone an acknowledgement of something beyond us both.

And by the time she had exhaled for the last time, several unbearably short seconds later, her expression had changed from fear into this unqualified and incomprehensible serenity. But of this I am completely certain: Roz, my utterly beautiful and selfless girlfriend, the young woman who had rescued me and given me hope where there had been none, the vibrant lady who had grown up to become the architect of all my most precious dreams and who, by her simple presence, was able to soothe away all doubts and fears, died completely free of anxiety that day. I saw it clearly etched in her dear face. Yet how or why this could be, I had no inkling. Nevertheless, for the sake of sanity and the defence of truth, I hold onto that memory as for dear life. At the time, all I could do in the extremity of my anguish was to bear her full weight, sliding gently to the ground with her, her head and hair turning wet with the sudden, uncontrollable tears of my broken heart. Even as I held her close, the persistent flow of bright red arterial blood created a starkly obscene counterpoint to the delicate brown of her suntanned arms. Its rapid, spreading stream darkening and caking her dusty khaki shirt. All thought of Fatih (I was to discover his name somewhat later and under rather different circumstances), the threat he posed and the results for which he was undoubtedly responsible fled from my mind, overtaken by the all-encompassing and unadulterated numbness of grief.

That morning I felt my heart as good as dead and its frigid detachment held me in thrall for uncounted time, until the anguish eventually morphed into an aching and permanent sense of loss. A loss that began in all too familiar a way, by gnawing at the edges of my sanity before seeping drop by foul drop into my heart, into my very psyche, where much of it remains to this day. For ages thereafter I walked in a profound and desperate silence. A silence of the soul. A darkness of the night. No matter the sound and fury around me, my shattered heart contemplated only its aching void. What little I can remember of that horrendous morning and the moments that immediately followed ‘the incident' (I have never been able to call my love's death throes anything else) are stained and confused by the almost demented outpouring of my strident misery. Actually, had I but known it, shutting down emotionally to act like an uncaring and unfeeling marionette in the weeks that followed probably saved my sanity and thus my life. A life that, at the time, I would gladly have forfeited.