The Angels' Pride

by Steven Lindsay

  A direction, a cause. A war perhaps? But the region had been at peace for many years now, the old tensions with India were ever on the mend and Afghanistan was once again a functioning nation having risen out of its squabbling city-states. There was still unrest in the Middle East, and they had given aid to Iran when it had attacked Israel again. That aid was thankfully kept secret especially after how violently Israel had struck back before the United Nations intervened. Israel had destroyed several of their largest cities and nearly all their weapons factories. Iran had all but collapsed into warring city-states, a fate common to the Middle East and much of the world.

  He was a military man but there was no good cause to fight for. While he agreed Palestine should be returned to Islamic hands, he personally believed the Arabic Muslims were too disordered and divided to successfully achieve it. The Israelis were a strong and united force that the Arabs had little chance of defeating. Because of that fact, it made him proud to be Pakistani, they were dedicated Muslims that were more than a match for the Western World or the Hindu might of India. No, it was India that was the real temptation. So many sites that belonged to Islam but were under Hindu control. Those animals desecrated sacred sites with their false Gods, they were worse than Jews or Christians who had merely lost their way, no Hindus had never been on the path to God. They worshipped women for Heaven’s sake. What kind of religion could exist that gave women power over men, women were meant to serve men, it was the natural order. Not only was India a cesspool of Hindu beliefs but it was increasingly Westernised, turning back many edicts of decency. And that taint was crossing the border into Pakistan. Women were no longer covering up, they held jobs and they thought they could deny their husbands sex. What was the world coming to?

  “General?”

  He turned to face his Vice Chief, why did the man sound disturbed? Surprisingly enough there was a bright beam of light coming from the ceiling. Without thinking, he automatically pulled out his revolver and aimed it at the shape of a man that had appeared. The gun dropped from his hands unnoticed and forgotten as he stared in wonder at the six black wings of the Angel. He fell to his knees before the divine messenger, who carried a flaming sword of light and was adorned in shining armour like the ancients. Fire danced across his wings and arms, flames of righteousness that would strike out at the unfaithful.

  “My Lord Michael?”

  The Angel turned his burning eyes towards him “Yes my faithful servant, it is I. And I bring you a divine command.”

  “What is God’s command?”

  Michael grimaced behind his helmet, he was beginning to feel as Gabriel did. They should be recognised, not the image they had created. Well, they were reaping what they had sown.

  “The command of Heaven is that the Ganges be cleansed of the taint it breeds. Demons lure the weak of faith into the waters and claim their souls. Now their chief Demoness Brigid seeks to proclaim herself a rival to God. This affront cannot, and will not be allowed to happen.” He pulled forth his flaming sword, the globe on the pommel glowing with the light of the sun, and pointed it at Azad “You mortal will cleanse the land of this taint. You will crush the infidels and claim back what has been lost to Allah and his Angels.”

  He brought the sword down on both of Azad’s shoulders, burning through the cloth to leave fiery brands that marked him in the name of Michael. Then as he had appeared, he disappeared in a pillar of light. Azad stared at his shoulders, ignoring the pain to read the mark of Michael. This was his calling, this was his cause, his sacred duty. He would cleanse India of its taint, and while he was at it, he would cleanse Pakistan and Bangladesh. It was long overdue the countries were reunited under Islam and God.

  Ryan knelt before the newly erected statue of Brigid, despite the wings the resemblance to his Brigid was undeniable. She had somehow ascended, impossible to believe but he accepted it heart and soul. Brigid was now a Goddess, there was now a sect dedicated to her centred in Varanasi, and her image had suddenly appeared in all manner of Hindu paintings and carvings. To many of them, she was one of their Goddesses reborn. Those same people were saying that their Gods had all died and been reborn as one deity.

  Others were vehemently denying this and claiming that she was a Demon sent to test their faith. The same mumblings were being muttered among the Christian sects as well. The Papal stance was that Saint Brigid had performed a miracle yet many others were claiming she was a Fallen Angel or a Demon intent on seeking out the weaknesses of Asia. So far Islam had remained quiet, but they surely had their own opinions.

  But from all the Old Religions had come many converts to Brigidism, nearly all had been those swept up in the river’s devastation. And somehow he had ended up being responsible for them all. Many had seen him standing with her before she entered the river and claimed he had divine favour. He had tried protesting to no avail.

  Somehow he was meant to lead a religion in her name, with no Divine help. People were flocking to Varanasi every day, coming to bathe in the sacred waters of the Ganges then flock to the various temples being hastily thrown up all along the river. But as quickly as they went up they came back down, there was a plague of arsonists targeting the Brigidites and all their temples. As well as some of their lives. But it seemed that if they stayed close to the river’s edge, they were safe, so the banks grew ever more populated.

  He found it strange that a religion honouring an ancient Celtic Goddess had arisen in India but life was currently full of strange things. His vision kept playing up. When he looked at some people their images shifted, some had wings; six, four or two, some had green hair and leaves, others blood red eyes or made him think of Vampires. He wondered if he was being drugged or falling ill.

  No he couldn’t be falling ill he bathed in the river and that healed all wounds. Those that doubted the power of the river were soon silenced when they saw the sick enter its waters and leave healthy. It was also denied all Human attempts to re-tame it. No dam could be built across it, no canal branching off of it, not even sewage could be discharged into it. It was by Divine favour back to its full glory, and that glory extended to all its tributaries.

  But what they all really needed was a visit from Brigid herself, to give them direction. They were building temples in her honour, and he had made some hesitant edicts that had been accepted. But something chilled him, he felt sure they were all targets and that it would lead to civil unrest. If not a religious war.

  He looked at the statue for a very long time praying for her to listen and come back. They needed direction. They needed her.

  Brigid as it was, was slumped across a piece of driftwood floating amid garbage piles in the Indian Ocean. When she opened her eyes, it was only to see the endless expanse of blue sky and toxic sea. Her skin was flaked in salt and chemical residue, her wings were liberally coated in it. When had her wings reappeared? She couldn’t remember, she was still piecing together all that had happened.

  She sensed along her powers and sure enough, she could feel the very strong presences of India and Bangladesh and the faint whisper of Pakistan. Already there was a noticeable increase in the powers available to her. It was more than just the faith or the powers she had inherited from Kali but she didn’t know where else it had come from. She would investigate it later when she returned to the subcontinent, there was still much for her to do there.

  Further musing was interrupted when she noticed the massive cruise ship bearing down on her. It was like a building, it was monolithic, she still couldn’t comprehend the things Humans could make without magic. Utilising latent memories she had copied she created a flare gun and set it off. She also disappeared her wings when she saw the little boat coming towards her.

  She was losing consciousness when they hauled her up out of the water. She wasn’t sure why she was so incoherent. She absently nodded her head when they started asking her questions, she wasn’t sure what language they were speaking, words were beyond her. She did distinguish the Ganges to which she n
odded. An awed silence followed to which she stared wide eyed as she slumped down in the boat.

  What had she just gotten herself into?

  Several hours later after a conversation with the ship’s captain and the presentation of her credit card Brigid was happily bathing in her own first class cabin. It had given her the time to relax, gain coherent thought and control of her body and adjust to the sudden increase in her magical abilities. She still wasn’t fully adjusted to it, it made her worry for all the future lands she would claim and the worshippers that would continue to flock to her. Could she handle it?

  Her mind might be a mess but she had managed to get her body back into order, she had to. The captain had invited her to dine at his table tonight and she understood that she was currently the most interesting thing on the ship. It was why she hadn’t strayed from her room. She could feel their interest bearing down on her. Sometimes her senses were a curse.

  As she allowed her body to soak and allowed all the salt to seep out of her feathers, she abandoned her mental constraints and let her mind and powers flow outwards. First, she felt the response of the ocean, the still diluting waters of the Ganges still recognised her even as it was bleeding into the immeasurable expanse of the ocean. It made her smile.

  She also felt the resonance of her own believers coming from within the ship. She opened her eyes and slowly sat up focusing her powers into precise probes. To her complete surprise nearly half of the passengers belonged to her. She couldn’t believe it. In the middle of the Indian Ocean, she had more than enough believers to fill a town.

  She jumped out of the bath scattering water everywhere as her wings propelled her forward. She ran out into the cabin flicked on the TV to the nearest news channel. It showed the devastation all along the Ganges, the impossible health of the river, the miraculous survival of everyone swept up in the disaster. She saw shrines and temples being built in her honour, and the ruins of the many that were being burnt down. There was also the announcement that the Pope was on his way to India because of Saint Brigid’s miracle. That made her grimace. There was also a discussion about the Winged Goddess and the sudden appearance of her image in hundreds of ancient carvings and paintings and how many Hindus were claiming she was the next avatar.

  No wonder her powers had grown so much, the events in India had shaken the world’s faith. It explained why she had an abundance of faith powers she couldn’t pinpoint. A disaster with no deaths, a voice calling out to millions and a woman ascending from the river. Nearly half the Hindu population were claiming their Gods had died and that she was their reincarnation. She had never hoped for such instantaneous success. Atheists, Buddhists, Muslims and Christians were converting in the Sacred Waters.

  She shook herself, she actually had temples now. Then she sobered, the Angels would be on the warpath. The arsons and murders were clearly their doing, and that was only the tip of the iceberg. India and Bangladesh could very well soon become a war zone.

  The temple was not finished but it clearly had grand designs. People rushed this way and that, some building, others cleaning and even more simply wanting to be in the temple. There was a constant stream leading down the steps to the River Ganges and back. She just couldn’t believe the number of people that had already turned to Brigid. Nor the number of temples being erected all along the river. Not just in Varanasi, though it was now decreed the holy city of Brigid, but along its entire length in both India and Bangladesh.

  Oh many of them had been burned to the ground, by Angel and Human hands, but still more flocked to the ever increasing number of temples. The Arch Angels were furious but they were also busy dealing with mortal leaders and the stupidity of her fellow Elders.

  It was highly ironic that Nuriel found her first moments of peace in days in the temple of Brigid. It was here that no Angels would come searching for her as she studied the Brigidites. They were certainly an odd and colourful lot. But then they had been united in disaster and that always made for strange bedfellows.

  Killing them wouldn’t erase them or the world’s memory. Brigid had outdone herself. Her success was outstanding, on a world scale. She and the disaster was a worldwide discussion topic. Her influence extended far beyond the banks of the Ganges.

  It was sad but she felt sure the only way to undo what she had done would be through war. India and Bangladesh would be scoured clean, and Michael would be directing it all. He was very systematic in his eradications. One only had to think of the Cathars, Witches or Nymphs. Oh, there was sure to be traces of Demons all over the world but he had hunted down so many of them that they would be nearly Human. His hunting skills, and the skills of his Cherubim had very effectively removed the taint of magic, as Michael called it, from Humanity.

  She wasn’t sure what he was up to but he wasn’t that far away, he had to be in one of the neighbouring nations preparing for an Islamic revolution and war to come to India.

  She felt a moment of pity for them.

  But her pity wouldn’t save them. There was nothing she could do to save them. They were empowering a rogue Goddess. To the Arch Angels, they had signed their own execution. All the evidence she gathered was merely a formality, with the vague hope she could pull a trace on Brigid.

  Which was why she was here, word on the wire was that the ‘high priest’, as some were calling him, was the last Human Brigid had been with before she entered the Ganges. Some said he had divine favour, others said he was suffering from a broken heart. One had said that Brigid had cured him of his cancer because she loved him.

  If there was some small kernel of truth to any of them, then she might be able to use him to track down Brigid. She doubted it, Brigid was no fool. If she hadn’t been hunting her Nuriel would have allowed herself to respect and even revere the Goddess. She had certainly played her part well, avoiding all notice until suddenly she had hundreds of thousands of worshippers, if not millions. It was hard to tell at the moment.

  It didn’t take her long to track down the ‘high priest’ a onetime professor of Celtic Mythology. He was a good choice for the high priest; educated, charismatic, charming and clearly dedicated. A light probe told her that he belonged to Brigid completely. Heart and soul. So the rumours held truth. Unfortunately, there was no connection to Brigid, in fact, there was none of her magic on him except a fading healing spell. She would have expected him to have at least been shielded or something.

  It seemed Brigid had abandoned him. But why? Or was there more to it?

  She should really tell the Arch Angels about his connection to her. But that would only bring more death. Already hundreds, probably thousands had been burned or beaten to death by Angels and their Human followers. It was a far cry from their Divine semblance. Immortals were just as cruel and warlike as mortals.

  Perhaps they really weren’t so different.

  She turned around and left, ignoring the other Angels she passed. She was not in the mood to socialise or gather more intelligence. Besides she was stronger than them, they didn’t even know she was there.

  She paused on the steps, her attention caught by a wayward plant. It and the ones surrounding the temple, and the ones growing all along the river were vibrant. Not just the flowers but the leaves and even the stems. Far more vibrant than any plants she had seen recently. Was Azrael right in his musings that the earth was failing without some Divine being to nurture the Lifestream?

  She hoped there was some other reason otherwise the Angels were slowly killing the planet. For she knew the Arch Angels would never condone using an Earth Goddess’ powers on the land. Yet perhaps that was exactly what it needed. Perhaps the Angels had been too stringent in their use of magic and their presence in the world.

  Dangerous thoughts. Ones that could potentially see her punished. She pushed such thoughts from her mind as she teleported to Bangladesh. Peter had mentioned that some of the Cherubim had noticed a stronger taint at the river mouth.

  If it was true, she wondered why? Was it just a focus
for an entire river system? Or perish the thought had Brigid been flushed out to sea? She chuckled at the absurdity of it.

  A Goddess flushed out to sea. She was starting to have foolish notions.

  It was only when she rematerialized at the river mouth she realised she was holding rose petals, bright pink and smelling sweetly. She looked at them in wonder before dropping them into the water. It would not do to be asked why she had them. She didn’t know.

  Chapter 21

  Brigid took a deep breath as she stepped into the heavily clogged river mouth. She was about to piss off the Angels again, to an extent they would not even imagine. But this was more than just a spiteful act it was strategically needed for India and Bangladesh. They needed the Angels’ attention divided.

  Which was why she was once again in Australia, an ancient land but tenderly young country. It was quite fitting really, the land itself held power but the Angels’ hold on it was tenuous at best. It was also hungering to embrace any future than the environmental death it was sliding towards. Already large tracts of arable land had died from salinity or extreme drought. Their largest river, the River Murray was almost dry and had been running dry for years now. All the way along the Murray-Darling basin was experiencing intense desertification. Once rich farmlands were now dustbowls, a product of Humanity’s destructive legacy.

  And the failing of the planet.

  The whole country was continually devastated by fierce and unpredictable weather patterns. But despite all the recent disasters and trials Australia was a mostly faithless country. They were more pragmatic and didn’t see the point of praying for things to change. The weather was, after all, a natural force. She was going to destroy that notion, but many of them were of Celtic or Anglo-Saxon descent, their blood would resonate with her.