Cassiel took a minute to understand what Elemiah was saying before replying. “And what kind of decisions would you be making about the future of Mistdreamers?”
“That I cannot tell you.” He raised his hand when his three sons groaned and turned from him. “Let me finish, let me finish!” he wailed. “I am not party to the decisions made about Mistdreamers. If I was, they would never be in existence. I am totally opposed to the use of mortals in our world. Not only are they difficult… and contrary, but they are fascinating and enigmatic. A mixture that should be kept well away from Angels, whose everyday lives are a rigid routine. These exciting humans upset the balance of both Heaven and Hell.”
“A bit late to be realising that, is it not?” grumbled Fiacha.
“I think what we have with these amazing beings,” Elemiah continued, ignoring Fiacha’s interruption, “is the chance to learn more about them.”
“Did the Creator not… create them?” asked Iuchar.
“Well, of course he did, but he let them develop without any interference from Him. Sadly, that development has taken them so far from the knowledge we originally had about them, that we are at a complete loss in their physical and sometimes emotional regard.”
“Hence, the need for Mistdreamers. Surely if they are helping us in Heaven and Hell, they could also be helping us understand mortals better.”
Elemiah drew in a shocked breath. “I cannot do that. We are compelled to remain out of their lives…”
“Then why bring them into our lives?” argued Fiacha.
“It was a decision, as I said, out of my control. I was concentrating my efforts on the Fae, getting them to safety, when the Mistdreamers were secretly created. It was to assist us in any war that may be boiling in Hell, and it was to prevent more casualties.”
“Like those we suffered in Tír na nÔg,” Fiacha added.
“Yes, just like them. There would have been many more if Mistdreamers had not unearthed Lucias’s plans and informed us of them.”
“I see where you’re going with this,” Iuchar said. “They help us keep worlds free from war, and prevent the species, that dwell in these worlds, free from danger, by spying and putting their own lives in peril… for us.”
Elemiah could not hide his embarrassment or his sadness. “It has assuredly come to that. All might be well if a family of Mistdreamers had not taken it upon themselves to avoid being included in the Mistdreamer Register. They put themselves at risk. We were unaware of their existence until Lauren crossed into Heaven when she was a little girl. She was followed by the Infidelibus, who then traced all her relations, many of whom were also Mistdreamers. Her guardians were emplaced, to watch over and guide them when their gifts matured.”
“So it’s the Mistdreamers’ own fault they are in danger,” Fiacha said angrily.
Elemiah knew he was on shaky ground. This was the same argument he had shared with Ambriel, after being asked to help the Infidelibus meet the Mistdreamers as they journeyed into the Heavens.
He too, had become fascinated by this new race of super-humans. They loved and hated with a passion, in a time when Angels had forgotten, eons previously; that in itself was a danger, because an Angel, had a tendency to become immersed, in newly discovered emotions. Angels would completely lose sight of objectivity and head in the wrong direction. If that happened, they they had the potential, should they choose wrongly, to end up in the hands of The Conjurer. Therefore, some decisions were taken from them.”
“Am I right? What you’re saying is, we Angels have no free will, is that so?” asked Fiacha.
Elemiah was unsurprised by the direct question, as it had been one he had put forward to Ambriel. Why should he lie to his sons?
“I believe there is an element of that, yes.”
“Glad you told us the truth there, Da, cause I was heading off to meet The Conjurer myself if you hadn’t.”
Elemiah took a moment to himself. He was indeed blessed to have these very special Angels as sons, and hoped what he asked of them would be acceptable, because if it wasn’t, he had to search for others, and he didn’t trust very many Angels at the moment.
“Come on, Da, spit it out. What is it you are hiding from us, and are scared to ask?” Iuchar said slowly.
“I have difficulty in putting the words in a way that doesn’t sound like I’m putting you on death row.”
“Death row?” queried Cassiel. “Surely we are already there?”
“By no means, my son.” Elemiah smiled and put his hand on Cassiel’s shoulder. “You are waiting to move forward to the Heavens, because I am sure they have a ceremony of birth already prepared for you.”
“I do not wish rebirth. I am quite content in remaining as I am.”
“Then you accept the role of Angel?” he asked, his eyes determining whether or not Cassiel was conscious of all the restrictions set on this decision.
“I am well aware. I have been to Hell and back, quite literally, and, somehow, would like the opportunity to get my own retribution.” He held a hand up. “Oh, you misunderstand, not for the years of pain I endured, not at all. No, I want to avenge the Mistdreamers. It is time we took their side. I have a feeling they are about to move into a very demanding part of their lives and will require all the help they can get.”
He glanced at his brothers and then Elemiah, uncertain if he had been too outspoken.
“I do not believe I have ever been prouder,” Elemiah eventually said, when he found the words. “I thank you, Cassiel, and you are indeed correct. The Mistdreamers are going to find themselves in dire straits.” Placing an arm around his shoulders, he insisted. “You must rest and find yourself well before taking on any more burdens.”
“I am well, Father. Look at me. I am the figure of pure perfection, don’t you think, Brothers?”
Iuchar and Fiacha passed a secret code between them, and Cassiel found himself flat on his back, underneath the two Angels, sat astride him, holding him down.
“Now move, little brother.” Iuchar laughed. “Come on, get that perfect figure out of this. Go on, I dare you.”
Cassiel wriggled and squirmed, but he couldn’t move. With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he became as still as death. Iuchar and Fiacha lowered their eyebrows in puzzlement and looked to one another. Suddenly they flew through the air, landing flat on their backsides on the cold floor. Cassiel stood behind them, holding clumps of their hair in his hands.
“Shall I bang your heads together and hope some sense gets through, or will I leave you bald as coots and remove all your hair?” He laughed as all their hair disappeared. Both of them shrieked and slapped their bald heads.
“Not fair,” Iuchar grumbled.
“Did you give him these powers, Da?” asked Fiacha.
Elemiah could barely hide his astonishment. “Not I, no, but I am very impressed. I do think you should return your brothers’ hair, though, Cassiel. A bald Angel… not until battle.”
Three sets of eyes turned on him, and Elemiah felt as though he was trapped inside a cage. It was Fiacha who, once again, came to his rescue.
“Say no more, Da. We understand, but I think now may be the time to tell us what it is you hope we will agree to.”
Iuchar helped Fiacha to his feet, and Cassiel waved his hand over his brothers’ heads, and their masses of long hair reappeared. He shrugged, smirking cheekily. “It hadn’t gone. It was just invisible.”
A light shone brightly above them. The ceiling shifted to display the dark sky. Stars sprinkled across the inky background resembling sugar-coated bonbons. Nearing the family, the light grew larger and brighter. Bells tinkled, and the room radiating in a dazzling white light.
The Archangels Omniel, Raphael, and Gabriel floated slowly to the ground, their enormous, magnificent wings, fluttering and singing as they lowered.
Omniel took hold of Elemiah’s elbow, holding his forearm securely in his own.
“How fare thee, brother Angel?” he asked.
�
�I fare well, Omniel. Dost thee fare well also?” he returned the common reply.
Raphael and Gabriel followed suit, asking their brother Archangel if he was well before the reason for their visit was made clear.
“Have you told him yet?” asked Gabriel.
“By him, I take it you refer to me?” asked Cassiel.
Gabriel smiled warmly at Cassiel. “I do, my son. Thank you for being patient.”
“Well?” asked Omniel.
“I was just getting to it when you came in,” Elemiah answered in a piqued fashion.
Raphael stepped forward and greeted Cassiel. “We wish to welcome you into our home.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you, but I’m quite happy here in my father’s house.”
“Ah…” Raphael waited a moment. “I am pleased you are aware of your family roots. I do not, however, mean a house. I am talking about the Angel home, we wish to welcome you into.”
“We would like to gift upon you, your Angel wings, if you are amenable to that?” asked Gabriel.
“I am rested but would like to remain with my father before venturing into the Heavens, if I can receive my wings and remain here then, yes, thank you.”
“About that…” Elemiah said.
“Stop!” insisted Gabriel and raised his hands. “There is time aplenty for you to share your news. Let us welcome into our home Cassiel, the Angel of Temperance.”
Cassiel felt his back become heated and reached over his shoulder. He pulled his hand back when he felt a fluttering of feathers. Glancing over his shoulders, he was astonished to see wings. He tried to get a better look but ended up going in circles, like a dog chasing his tail.
“We have all done as you.” Gabriel laughed good-naturedly. “Why not look in this mirror?” A slight wave of his hand, Cassiel found himself surround by a 360 degree mirror.
He was impressed. The wings implanted on his back were beautiful. They weren’t as large as his father’s, or the Archangel’s, but they were stunning. They reached a foot above him but stretched down to touch the back of his knees. The feathers were silky soft and a brilliant, pure, white.
They moved of their own accord, and he speculated as to how he would be able to tuck them away, when, just as the thought popped into his mind, they tucked tightly into his back. Cassiel looked at his back. Instead of wings, he wore black curved markings. They were very similar to Celtic artwork and he remembered seeing something similar to the tattoos he now bore.
Every angel carried the marks of their wings, the artwork designed specifically to suit their rank and character.
“Are you pleased?” asked Raphael as the mirror disappeared. “Do you accept our offer to join our family?”
“They’re incredible.” Cassiel fought to find the correct words. “And I would be proud to become Angel.”
“Then,…” Omniel said slowly, “welcome to our family of Angels.”
“We shall leave you now.” Gabriel bowed reverently to Cassiel, and Omniel, Elemiah, and Raphael did likewise.
The roof opened and the sky was a touch lighter, the stars were disappearing, and the sun was beginning to rise as Cassiel watched three of the most important Angels soar into the sky.
He turned to see his brothers and father wearing the biggest, silliest smiles he had ever seen, and moments later, he found himself wrapped in their arms. When the hugging was over, he asked his father what was to happen.
“I will just say it and hope to be as brave as you three” He took a deep breath.
“Are you willing to be injected with my formula, even though it is not yet perfected?” asked Elemiah unhappily.
His three sons gave their agreement automatically.
“Come on, Da, out with it, there’s more.”
“Would you also take the place of those Angels who have left the Infidelibus and join us in our quest to keep the Mistdreamers safe and lead them into the prophecy which may end in disaster?”
“Whose disaster, theirs or ours?” asked the newly initiated Angel of Temperance.
“Of that I do not know, my son. It could be any one of us.”
He watched his boys group together to consider his words. It was a lot to ask of them, and in truth, he would prefer them to refuse. He wanted life for all of them, whether in the Heavens or on Earth’s plane.
“Take us to them, Father,” said Iuchar.
“We will stand at your side,” Fiacha agreed.
“And we will accept whatever fate has in store for us. We three will lead the way,” said Cassiel.
Elemiah stilled, his breath held in shock. The words had hardly left his son’s lips when his heart froze and he could feel dread grip his heart.
Chapter Sixteen
“Come, child, it is time for you to open your eyes and join the land of the living,” Baglis whispered into Mairi’s ear.
Mairi reluctantly opened her eyes. She had been enjoying her dreams. Gone was the darkness Lucias had taken her into. Instead, she had cherished mistdreaming memories of a time with her cousins.
“Baglis,” she whispered, “it is you.”
“Of course it is me, my lovely. Who else would there be here to attend you? Now, it’s time to get up and let me help you get dressed.”
Mairi sat bolt upright in bed, a four-poster bed, and looked around the room.
“Where is Appoloin? What happened to him?”
“Now, now, now, sweet lass, we’ll have none of that. His Lairdship has just gone out to, erm, wait a moment…”
“What are you avoiding telling me this time, Baglis?” Mairi crossed her arms over her chest, and refused to move until Baglis spat it out!
Before she had the opportunity to fumble her way out of answering, an almighty crash came from outside.
Mairi jumped from the bed and ran past a huge open fireplace, with an incredibly ornate stone surround. Above it hung a beautiful tapestry that she recognised, but didn’t take the time to take a closer look, intrigued by the noises she heard.
The large, bright windows had built-in shelves on either side of them, but she ignored the books and the trinkets and focussed on what was happening in the courtyard below.
She let out a very appreciative sigh when she saw a bare-chested Appoloin, wearing a kilt. His strong legs were tanned, and the blond hairs glistened under the morning sun. She watched his feet. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, but they shifted and moved as fast as though walking on hot coals.
She managed to drag her eyes from her husband to wonder what was happening, and her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide open, with shock.
There must be forty other bare-chested, some naked, kilt-clad men. They weren’t dancing, that had been her imagination. She watched as swords were swung, finding their mark. The clash of steel against steel echoed around the courtyard.
Appoloin was fighting. All these men were fighting. He was in danger.
Turning from the window, she ran to Baglis and grabbed her arm, pulling her into the hallway, and she stopped dead.
“Where the hell am I, Baglis, and how did I get here?”
“Well, lass,” Baglis stumbled.
“No mind.” Mairi waved away her answer. “How do we get to Appoloin? He’s going to get hurt. We have to get him away from those Scottish thugs wielding swords!” She waited a moment, her eyes rolling from side to side as she contemplated all she had seen.
Baglis waited for her to grasp any kind of understanding.
“He’s not fighting, is he, Baglis?”
Baglis shook her head no.
Mairi shrugged her shoulders. No way!
“I’m going back to bed,” she said and turned away from Baglis, walking back into the room, she closed the heavy wooden door behind her. A surprised Baglis was left alone in the hallway, stunned and open-mouthed. With a little giggle, she grinned and walked away.
This was one thing she would leave that little scoundrel Appoloin to explain. “They need time to talk. That lass has to get all her pain into th
e open.”
Mairi lay on her back, staring up at the linens hanging from the four-poster bed. They were clean but not sumptuous—as Eaton Square had been. They were practical. As were the heavy brocade curtains hanging on either side of the two windows.
It was a very pleasant room. The only decoration was the tapestry hanging above the fireplace. The lights were, of course, candles, and there were a few of them, in the wall sconces and the circular ceiling holder, none of which were burning. The fire wasn’t lit, but the room was warm. They were careful with their money, she decided.
She snuggled under the blankets. It was a comfortable bed, but when she moved, she could hear the sounds of the filling crisping and breaking. Closing her eyes, she thought of Valerie and Lauren. She didn’t want to think of anything else and fell asleep.
“Baglis tells me you have awoken, my love,” Appoloin said as he walked into the room. “It is good you are back with us again.”
Mairi pulled the covers over her head and turned away from him.
“And Baglis thought you might be hungry. It has been two hours since she came to visit with you, so she made up a tray for you. Warm oatcakes, just out the oven, creamy cheese, an apple from the orchard, sliced, just for you, some fresh chutney. I have no idea what this warm confection is, but it has jelly made with the strawberries from the garden, and oh, yes, freshly churned butter.”
Mairi started to stir.
“I’m not sure… what do you call these wee biscuits with the currants in them?”
“Shinnns,” came the reply from under the covers.
“Shins? No, I doubt they’re called that. They smell delicious, a little spice in there, and the butter is dripping right into them. What are they called, do you think?”
Mairi threw the covers from her and sat up. “They’re called ‘scones’, fruit scones,” she protested. She stared up into the mischievous face of her husband, who couldn’t hide his huge grin.
Mairi blushed. She ducked her head and nodded. “You knew that all along, didn’t you, Appoloin?”
The Park Family: Mairi: Retribution Page 25