Phoebe Wren and the Vortex of Light (4 page)

Phoebe shook her head, perhaps in prolonged disbelief, perhaps in an effort to empty her mind of the ghoulish images she felt sure would haunt her for the rest of her life. How could it have happened? How could such a huge, strong aeroplane have fallen from the sky with so little warning and caused such devastation? Phoebe could barely fathom such a catastrophe, and yet she knew it to be true, because she had lived through it, the sole passenger to walk away from the wreckage on that fateful day. There had been no explanations forthcoming, no reasons given to help her make some sense of it all. No-one seemed able to clarify the events of July 15
th
in any way, and Phoebe found this almost the most difficult thing to come to terms with. Why had
she
survived? What was so special about
her
that her life had been spared when so many others perished? The influx of thoughts and wonderings made Phoebe’s head hurt, and she sighed in exasperation as she had done thousands of times since that fateful day.

“I need some air”
, Phoebe thought, glancing out of the window of her bedroom in Thomas and Rose Quill’s home. She was truly grateful to the Quill family for the way in which they had taken her in. As soon as she had been physically able and mentally ready to fly again, she had returned to Ireland, and Ella and her parents had driven to meet Phoebe at the airport. Ella had run to greet her friend, tears of sympathy and disbelief and heartbreak streaming unabated down her face. There had not been much conversation during the drive from the airport back to the Quill’s home, and Phoebe had been so grateful that none had been necessary – there was an easy and instinctive understanding between them, and immediately Phoebe felt like part of the family. The Quills and the Wrens knew each other through their local church, Emmanuel Fellowship in Arles, and had been firm friends from the outset. Phoebe and Ella’s close bond of friendship had served to strengthen the link between the two families, and they had visited each other’s homes often, taking it in turns to cook for each other, or host summer barbecues, when the Irish weather permitted.

Phoebe pulled on a light summer jacket. The August sun was shining, but there was a nip in the Irish air, and she somehow found herself feeling the cold more acutely after ten years of living under the African sun. She went downstairs, out through the back door, and ventured into the sprawling back garden. The Quills seemed to live at one with nature in so many ways; their garden was unobtrusive and fitted in beautifully with the rolling Irish countryside. As she walked, Phoebe was aware of her heart beating, and consciously breathed the clean country air deep into her lungs, wondering if somehow its purity and wholesomeness would act as a balm for her broken heart. She was thankful that she was able to do this, and yet the same thankfulness made her feel guilty as she thought of her parents who never got to drink in the fresh beauty of Ireland, never got to stroll through the wild green meadows, or enjoy a reunion dinner with the Quills. Phoebe’s eyes filled again with familiar tears as she thought of her lovely daddy, Jack. He had been so looking forward to returning to work at Castletown Hospital. And precious Eva – her book would have been a best seller, Phoebe was sure of it.

Phoebe snapped back to reality, and continued to wander somewhat aimlessly out through the wrought iron back gate which lead her from the Quills’ back garden and into green fields. The vibrant green of the trees and the crisp blue of the sky was not lost on her, and Phoebe found herself beginning to say thank you… To who?
Abba?
She had not really given Him much thought during the weeks after the accident, and now a pang of remorse jabbed at her heart. Phoebe recalled the way in which her parents had lived their lives with the Atoner firmly at the centre, and how they had always taught her that in the Atoner, she would find everything she needed, the answers to all her questions.

“What about this, Abba?” Phoebe said out loud to no-one in particular. “Is this last month part of your plan for me? Did you mean to take my parents, or was that a mistake?”

She felt a hot tide of honest anger begin to build in her soul, and could easily have given in to a tirade of tears and accusations, but something caught her eye. Across the gently billowing grassy field, where the hedgerow ran into the forest, Phoebe saw something glimmer. Perhaps it was a tin can or a rogue piece of glass glinting in the autumnal sunshine. She saw the glint again, more pronounced this time, and curiosity got the better of her as she made her way across the field to the source of the light. As she got closer feelings of injustice and anger began to subside, and Phoebe realised that the light was not in fact the reflection of sunshine off metal, but rather seemed to be a curious funnel of light, radiating up from the forest bed, and growing in size and intensity as she approached.

Phoebe slowed her pace, a nervous fear tugging at her heart. She looked around and could see that she was entirely alone in the meadow.
“Perhaps I should wait until Mr. Quill gets home, bring him out here to see this…”
she wondered, aware that the little nervous knot in her stomach was tightening.

She paused, looking around her, then her eyes fixed again on the glow at the mouth of the forest. Strangely, Phoebe was very aware that her feelings of fear and dread had subsided, and had been replaced instead by a warmth and a sense of well being she could not explain, but which, to her surprise, she recognised. It was the inexplicable sensation of being protected which she had experienced in the midst of her despair at the site of the plane crash. Suddenly and instinctively, everything became clear and Phoebe knew what she had to do.

Her heart thudding in her chest and her ears, Phoebe moved tentatively towards the forest. She was nervous, yet somehow felt more safe and alive than she had done in a very long time. It was a bizarre sensation and one which she could not really explain, but she knew it to be real.

Standing beside the ever-expanding vortex of blindingly brilliant light, Cosain, Solas and Dilis stood shoulder to shoulder with Trean, Neam, Lasair and Croga.

“It is almost time, brothers,” said Cosain, his chiselled features earnest, his stance determined. “Phoebe Wren must decide now whether or not to venture with us through time and space. Her decision will change not only her own destiny, but will have an eternal effect on the island of Ireland. The Atoner’s plan is about to come to fruition, and we must be ready for the fight of our lives. The Enemy will not take this lying down.”

“We are ready, Captain,” said Solas, “We will defend her to the death, the Atoner’s plans are perfect and we will strive to help Phoebe achieve her destiny”.

“Look,” cried Dilis, his angelic countenance alive with radiant hope. “She is coming this way. I believe that she knows what she must do! Come, brothers, let us get ready to travel with her.”

The seven warrior angels, gargantuan wings fully extended, drew their swords as for battle. The enormous blades, three feet in length, glowed fiery red in anticipation of the inevitable mêlée ahead. The angelic breastplates were forged in bronze and purpose built to withstand demonic menaces. The fearsome angels stood, powerful and tall, clad in red tunics and black leather sandal boots laced up to just below their knees. These were not the serenely halo-clad, harp-playing angels from a scene on a Christmas card, but were the Mighty Ones of the Atoner, ready to do their Master’s bidding. The Heavenly brothers made for a formidable sight – had they been visible in the human realm.

Oblivious to the seven angelic beings awaiting her approach, Phoebe continued tentatively towards the forest and the source of the peculiar light. Her heart was racing now, but she felt undeniably and irresistibly drawn forward. She reached the edge of the woods and was about to pull out her cell ‘phone to ring Ella when suddenly she found herself being pulled with great force and at great speed towards what she now saw to be a swirling, undulating portal. Fear gripped Phoebe’s throat, but she did not even have time to cry out before she was sucked into the centre of the vortex of light and shot upwards at an incredible speed leaving the green meadow and the Quills’ house far below her. It occurred to her that this was how Dorothy Gale must have felt when the tornado caught her house in
‘The Wizard Of Oz’
. Inside the vortex, however, far from experiencing panic or dread, Phoebe felt warm and light, and somehow, despite her fear, she knew that this was something she had to do. She could not explain any of it, yet she knew she was exactly where she needed to be.

As suddenly as it had snatched Phoebe up, the luminous portal snapped shut and vanished, leaving nothing in its wake but a few startled hares in the empty meadow. Unknown to Phoebe, seven angelic warriors had simultaneously stepped into the vortex, and were winging their way through time and space with her. Phoebe’s life was about to change – again – forever, and although she could not know it yet, she would soon be in the throes of the greatest battle she could ever have imagined.

Phoebe’s light-fused journey was over almost as quickly as it began. In what seemed like a nanosecond, she felt the earth firm beneath her feet and looking around her, the whereabouts of her familiar surroundings slowly dawned on her – Phoebe was back on the plains of Africa!

“
How can this be?
” marvelled Phoebe. “
I must be dreaming! Yes, that’s what this is, just a dream.
”

She pinched her arm, and again, harder this time.
“Ouch!”
Yes, she definitely felt that. As she surveyed the landscape around her, she was suddenly very aware of the midday African sun on her back, and peeled off her jacket. There was no doubt, Phoebe was back in the land she had been brought up in for the last ten years – but how? She surveyed the dusty plains in front of her; the rusty coloured ground, the baobab and cotton trees, the dirt tracks and rows of hut-like homes – all so familiar and yet as she stood now, so surreal and illogical.

“Phoebe! Hey, Phoebe!”

Phoebe’s reverie was interrupted and she spun around in the direction of the voice calling her name. She was still unsure what was happening to her, and was reluctant to trust what seemed so obvious.

“Phoebe! Come on, Bird! What are you waiting for?”

Phoebe instantly recognised the voice. There was only one person who referred to her as ‘
Bird’
– it was the endearing nickname given to her by Demetrius Kwanga, a sixteen year old boy from the nearby village of Wemmer, and her best friend throughout the ten years she and her parents had lived in Africa. Demetrius had said that ‘Wren’ was the perfect surname for Phoebe because that’s what she was – a little bird. She could scarcely believe her eyes when she turned to find Demetrius’s perpetually smiling face just a few feet from where she stood.

“
Demetrius!
” Phoebe cried, kicking up an impressive dust storm as she raced towards him and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh Demetrius, I’m so happy to see you!”

Demetrius hugged his friend back, obviously bemused. “
Ehh
… I’m happy to see you too Phoebe, it’s been what? A whole three minutes?”

“Three minutes? Demetrius, what do you mean?” Phoebe loosened her vice like grip on her best friend and took a step back, screwing up her face as she searched his for some hint of a joke. She found none.

Slowly, realisation began to dawn on Phoebe, and she hesitated before she asked the next question, desperate to hear the answer, and yet afraid of its implications – “What’s the date, Demetrius?”

“Seriously Phoebe? You want to be silly? Okay – its July 14
th
. Can you remember the year, or shall I help you with that? It’s 2010, Bird”. Demetrius grinned at his friend; funny silly Phoebe who loved to joke around and have fun.