An Angel's Touch

by Susan D. Kalior

  She stood there looking about the tent. “Are some poor Alacalufes out of shelter tonight?”

  “I told you I will no longer bring suffering to the innocent.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise,” I said, and then magically changed her clothes to a white wool gown and sheepskin thigh-high moccasins, and summoned a magical warm wind to blow her hair dry. I manifested a white breakfast tray stocked with cherries, cashews, poppy seed muffins, and steaming jasmine tea.

  “Relax,” I said. “You did well today.”

  She stared at the tea loyally, my words disappearing in her desire for the hot liquid. She sat as only a pregnant woman could, her legs on either side of the tray. She took the cup to her lips reverently, and drank with eyes closed, sipping and sighing. Such pleasures were beyond my reach. However, the pleasures of war were not.

  I sensed the Tazmarks gathering. Molten exhilaration brewed in my body. The time was at hand. I preferred Jen’s babies arrive before the battle commenced, only because I was curious, and had an urge for completion. But . . . not so great a thing one way or the other. Much more than that awaited me. Once this Shen took charge of a fight to protect her body and the earth, she would be fully restored. Then I had but to kill her. Once she was out of the way, defeating Tazmarks with a team of Dragons would be no contest.

  I said to Jen, “I’ve business to tend. I’ll return soon, my love.” I disappeared before she could protest or even open her eyes.

  I flew over the Cordilleras in the sixth realm, clairvoyantly peeking into the third realm. I spied Aruka in her deep purple gown with bell sleeves, arms flying about angrily—and Diego in his trademark black matador suite lined in gold brocade, with hands casually behind his back. I stopped to watch. Behind them, a spray of orange and yellow viscous basaltic lava shot out from the throat of the volcano. It was a befitting backdrop for my parents.

  Both of them were deeply shielded in black light. Aruka’s hands pounded the air. “Why did the Dragon Council promote Juan to level ten and not me! If I am the chosen co-ruler, how could this be?”

  “What makes you think the Council promoted Juan?”

  “I was told by a highly reliable source.”

  “Who?”

  “Does it matter? You have deceived me. You have used me to catalyze Juan to destroy the goddess so that you can have him for yourself. You know you cannot trust him! Why choose him? Why not me?”

  “It has taken you over three thousand years to become a level nine which you have only just attained. It took Juan only a little over nine hundred years.”

  “Even so, I have been a force to be reckoned with on this planet. I should be allowed to co-rule with Juan.”

  Diego shook his head. “You are too emotional. It is well known that female Tazmarks carry the Luna hormone which makes you rash.”

  Aruka’s face twitched. “I have been patient!”

  “Yes, for a rash female you have been patient, but you are hardly the stuff of a soldier, and ill equipped to lead in battle as co-ruler with one such as Ixion.”

  Her face turned beat red. “I’ll show you soldiering!” She disappeared into the sixth realm and flew past me, hissing a comment. “The Dragons will be defeated, Juan. Quen-tan will regret this betrayal!”

  Brave woman. Even I shuddered at the thought of taking on Quen-tan. I flew to Diego and appeared before him, my boots sinking into soft cooling lava.

  “Now what?” I asked. “Will she band the Tazmarks together against us?”

  “It’s unlikely she will convince any Tazmark of our plan. They will deem it a mere ploy to trick them into submission so she can defeat them all. She will now serve us as a decoy.”

  “When did she turn level nine?”

  “After you freed her.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Yes. But she was in a hurry. You have made quite the jump yourself in these last weeks.”

  “Yes,” I said, just realizing that myself.

  “Soon, Aruka’s efforts against us won’t matter. Panacéa is almost at full power, then you can destroy her. Then Aruka will perish with the earth. We have arranged for Panacéa to fight the Dragon Suko at midnight on Volcano 21. I believe you have met him. He has been told to frighten the goddess into taking charge in a battle without anyone’s help to facilitate her restoration. We failed to tell him she would cause his demise.”

  “Can she do it? Will she, do you think?”

  “To protect her infants . . . yes.”

  “Why Suko?”

  “When he has perished, Sardi will be liberated to mate with you, as she had long ago. Female Goldens offer much that Blacks cannot. She will be returned to you when you come home.”

  “Sardi was my mate?”

  “Yes, hard to believe, I know. She fell weak after you left. She was the one who birthed your children.”

  I guess I did have children, Dragon children, Quen-tan in fact, once. But the babies in Jen were different. I tried to push away the excitement I felt about the birth of these half breed Tazmarks.

  I said, “Jenséa, I mean. . . Panacéa is in labor.”

  Diego rubbed his flat palms together. “We prefer to complete the battle before the babies arrive. Her maternal instincts will intensify once they are born. She is more likely to turn against you then. If they are born before she is restored, you must secretly kill them. Her focus must be on you—not them.”

  That proclamation disappointed me. That I was disappointed disturbed me more. What feeling lurked, hiding, curled under rock and rage?

  Diego said, “You can sire full-blooded Dragons in the Dracovar Worlds, Juan.”

  I nodded, realizing I was going to miss my Shen. No matter how often I felt cured from her, the sickness ever begged return. However, I would not allow it.

  Diego said, “Aruka is out of control. She must not attain the Shen.”

  “Aruka cannot turn her against me. The Shen loves me now more than ever. Our goal shall be easily executed.”

  “Easy?” said Diego. “Panacéa, in full power, can utilize all seven power points at once. The ice storms of a Shen that slow our reflexes are inferior to the ice storms of a goddess who packs the ice with Divine Light. Easy? I think not.”

  I tried not to look stunned. She could kill multiple Dragons at once.

  Diego continued, “Only if you can uphold her trust and end her before she suspects and retaliates, will this task be—easy. And if she should split again and re-embed herself in our worlds . . .” Diego shook his head, “well, we have waited long enough.”

  “I am Ixion now. How is it I do not know these things?”

  Diego said, “Maybe you don’t want to know. Maybe knowing would lead you to destroy that last thread of want for her. Maybe you don’t want it destroyed.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, contemplating. Was Diego right? I hoped not. I must purge her from me completely to succeed in purging her from earth and more importantly from the Dracovar Worlds to free my ancient lands. I must turn her to stardust, irrevocably diluted into space and time. Oh, what would it take to permanently demolish that wisp of care that threatened everything?

  Reading my mind, Diego said, “I hoped you might ask.”

  Now it was his arms that crossed his chest, with raised brows questioning if I wanted his help.

  I nodded, letting my arms drop, opening myself to him.

  Diego stepped closer, glaring into my being, his eyes whirling, whirling.

  A sucking sensation covered my face. I let him journey inside me, into the mazes that wound throughout the expanse of my being. A being is never so finite as one would believe, far exceeding the boundaries of a body. He trailed his way through my emotional universe: fury, aggression, decadence, hedonistic pleasure, blood lust, power lust, and melancholy. Then I felt him try to move into my heart.

  He couldn’t get in. The barrier was stone.

  “Juan?” he said in a shaming manner, “let me help you.”

  I
forced the barrier to soften.

  I felt a popping sensation when he entered.

  He traveled into the realm of my heart into an undeveloped chamber of a Tazmark’s energy configuration. There in a dark corner, a tiny warm spot like a gold nugget, pulsed a yellow glow.

  This little light of mine, I’m not going to let it shine.

  Diego blew etheric white dragon fire upon it.

  Pain seared my chest, and I almost doubled over, clutching my black shirt over where my heart beat.

  The fire turned brilliant white, charring the nugget—through and through until it dissolved.

  The pain was gone. Diego had destroyed my buried want for her.

  And then he found his way to the part of my mind that held endearing memories, and he scorched the endearment out of them with white fire. Memories of Jen flashed, and blackened as they arrived. Her cattail figure and soft eyes—blackened. Her darling defiance, hands on hips—blackened. Her falling upon me with loving woe when she almost killed me at Cyrus—blackened. Me screaming to her spirit to return to her broken body in Montana—blackened. Our kisses, our touch, our merging—all darkened into the endless void of nothing.

  Diego had erased in me the essence of her, leaving empty scenes of times together. They were there, but they had no meaning. He had snaked through the capillaries of my thoughts and emotions and brought down the curtain on a once brilliant play staring a Goddess and a Dragon—a play that had shined for centuries. But now . . . but now—the light . . . was out.

  Diego said hypnotically, “You will induce her to believe she is your true love, but she is nothing to you. You will set the scene for her to take charge in a fight with Suko. Bring her to Volcano 21 at midnight. Once she has slain him, she will be whole, and you will conclude your mission.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I will.” I stood there relaxed. The love ache was gone. Thoroughly and completely gone.

  “Go to her, Juan. Remember, Volcano 21, midnight.”

  And so I went, disappearing in the volcanic steam into the sixth realm to fly toward the tent where I’d left Jenséa. I would never again think of her as Jen. The warm affection that name once held would never again touch my lips, nor my thoughts. I landed in the tent, vacant of her, a disconcerting event indeed. The stars were at 8:15 p.m. The January sun set late this far south. I had less than four hours to locate and deliver her to Volcano 21.

  Her scent eluded me, her presence the same. I tried to call her through the talisman, but to no avail. Was she on to me? Had she taken the opportunity to ‘fly’ when I left the tent? Perhaps she had been playing me—with Granny’s help. Or maybe the Tazmarks had kidnapped her. I had always been able to sense her whereabouts. Not now.

  I flew to the mound where I’d first shown her the Cordilleras, where her memory of me may yet linger. Lava still flowed from the volcano tops, hot-white, yellow, orange and red. Exhilarated, I stood tall on red ash, and extended my arm with pointed finger. “Calindus Vendus!” I summoned the winds to fly my message to her, concentrating hard on how I saw her that dawn, standing next to me, so sweet, so pure. The gale blew my long hair in front of me, as the winds took my message. “Do you deceive me, my love!”

  A dark blue wall of compressed thought came flying at me. It was a shield that someone sent to block me from her. I mind traveled in a jet stream, bursting through it. I summoned another wind, “Calindus Vendus!” and sent the message again, “Do you deceive me, my love!” I willed her to hear me and see me standing on the red ash where she once kissed my arm.

  With psychic ears, I heard, “Ma ma pad ma.” With psychic eyes, I saw parts of her through a cluster of female Alacalufes in an expansive tent. She murmured, “johnny, it’s time.”

  She had let me in. She trusted me still. And the babies were coming. I must act fast.

  I flew to the expansive hide tent that held her presence. I landed in the third realm, inside by the entrance, blocking sunlight. Act Three, Scene One.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Starting without me?” I said.

  The huddle of five women in multi-colored striped tunics and tan skirts with rattle and shell, opened like a flower. Angel Boy emerged, stamen of displeasure, blocking my view from the soft center of Jenséa. He looked quite the Alacalufe wearing a multi-colored striped serape, and guanaco hide pants. He walked up to me, red hair grown long to his shoulders, his face emaciated and weather worn. His chest expanded like a puff fish feigning might. “Leave her alone.”

  I wiped him aside with my arm.

  I went to Jenséa and squatted by her face. She lay upon her side in the white wool gown I’d bestowed her. Beneath her was a tan, fur-covered straw mat. Her yellow hair was splayed across a tan fur pillow that propped up her head. She held her belly like it would fall if she did not.

  Even so, her one hand gravitated to my knee. Her gentle touch bespoke her need for my presence.

  Angel Boy, standing in the spot I’d put him, commanded, “I said . . . leave her alone.”

  I looked up at him. “Or?”

  He shrank back without actually moving, blocked by the Alacalufe women behind him. “Or . . . or . . . ”

  I shouted to the women in their language, “Go away!”

  And then added to Angel Boy, “You too.”

  The women scurried out the tent. Angel Boy just stood there trembling—but his brown hide boots were bravely rooted to the ground.

  I turned my attention to Jenséa. “Why do you hide from me?”

  Before she could answer, Angel Boy blurted, “I hid her from you. I felt her calling, needing, crying, screaming. I followed that call, and I found her in that tent where you abandoned her. I brought her here so that the women could help her deliver your babies.”

  I said to Jenséa, “I’ll be right back.” I rose and stepped toward Angel Boy.

  He stepped back and gulped, assessing my punishing eyes.

  I said, “You found her? You brought her here? You did not have such powers—” I smiled, remembering how I’d dropped him at the volcanoes as he sniveled and whined, “—when last I saw you.”

  “I . . . I had help,” he said stopping at the tent opening.

  I searched his mind, but found it blocked. Who was aiding him? Diego? Aruka? Perhaps as a ploy to brighten the play? I asked, “Who helped you?”

  “I won’t tell you who.”

  I stepped closer, our faces almost touching. My orange eyes turned red.

  Jenséa cried out, “johnny, come here.”

  I looked over my shoulder. Her arm reached out to me.

  “It’s okay, André,” she said, “you can leave us for a while. He won’t hurt me. Or you. I promise.”

  “I’ll wait outside the tent,” he said, “if you need me.”

  He backed out of the tent slowly, and none too soon. His thundering pumper made me salivate. I repressed the urge to lunge at him with flared eyes and Dragon face, and dig my claws into his scrawny chest. Oh, to feel his pumper in my palm, on my tongue, in my body. Oh—to repress the urge!

  But, first things first, I suppose. I forced my attention back to Jenséa. I must sustain the illusion of fondness.

  I looked to her. Her body contracted. A whimpering squeak sounded from deep in her throat. I went around to her back and sat cross-legged. I rested my hand on her hip, captivated by her pain. Was the pain sharp and bold, or was it like a thousand stabbing pins? Was the pain deep to the core of her being, or was it contained in her surface body?

  When her body relaxed, she sniffled a little and said, “It really hurts.”

  I loved her saying that. I must know more. I slipped my hands under her arms, grasped her ribcage, and hoisted her into my lap. Her head fit in the nook of my shoulder and her legs curled on the floor around my knee. I held my little teacup short and stout. I could smell the mint the women had washed into her hair. I kissed her head and my mind flooded with hauntingly beautiful memories of long ago with her as a goddess in the Constellation of Seven Sisters. But
the memories were far away and without emotion—like a false thing that could never have been true. Even so, maybe it would be better for me to think of her as Jenséa, for Diego’s anesthetizing was there. Besides, I had a feeling I had loved Panacéa more.

  “Oh johnny,” her puffy hand squeezed my forearm. “Hold me tighter.”

  My name echoed in my head, johnny. I was having a real problem with names lately. I didn’t want her calling me johnny. I was Ixion again—almost. However, I did hold her tighter.

  She turned her head slightly up to me. “Are you happy, johnny, that soon you’ll be a father?” Before I could answer, she begged, “Please say, yes. Just tell me, yes. I need to hear that. I’m so afraid.”

  “Umm hmm. You are my world.” Or the ticket to it anyway. I let my head drop toward her swollen face and inhaled. The scent of a mother in labor excited me almost as much as blood, but in a different way. When I slurped up this pain, I beheld the collective energy of birthing everywhere.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “Are you toying with me?”

  “No, Ma chère.”

  She closed her eyes and snuggled close. In a way I wasn’t toying with her. Of course, in a way I was. My wanting her to suffer sprung from mixed sources. I was somehow pleased that she would suffer to birth my offspring. It was about love I suppose, not me loving her, but her loving me—enough to birth a part of me. Yet, I knew if I loved her, I really wouldn’t want her to suffer. I didn’t used to want her to suffer, I mean, when I did love her. However, now I wanted her to suffer—for me. After all, had I not suffered for her all these millenniums, and indeed over the last year?

  Knowing that, I became more excited about her labor process, anticipating the greater suffering to come. May it be agony unrivaled!

  She grabbed my arm and squeezed hard, sensing my lust perhaps. “Do you love me, johnny? Do you really?”

  “I do,” I said, gratified to know I didn’t. “How far apart are your contractions?”

  “About eight minutes, I think.” She squeezed my arm again, “Will you love our babies?”