Angels & Patriots

by Salina B Baker

  Henry pummeled them with his fists. “YOU ARE HURTING ME! GET OFF ME!” He tried to attain the leverage to get to his knees by digging his heels into the cold, damp ground and twisting his body.

  His attempt to escape only served to intensify the demons’ lust.

  Robert watched their frenzy with delight, and shouted, “Serepatice! It is time!”

  The demons scurried away from Henry and reformed their circle.

  Henry Hereford, the man, scrambled to his feet. An old woman holding a bow and arrow appeared before him. She looked into Henry’s eyes and said, “Say my name, boy!”

  Henry realized there was no escape from this horrifying situation. Everything he had accomplished in his life—education, military advancement, Member of Parliament, and homeowner in the wealthy London West End district of Mayfair—was about to be obliterated.

  The old woman raised the hand holding the arrow. The fingertips on her three middle fingers were wrapped in dirty strips of cloth. She knocked the arrow, raised the bow, aimed, and snarled, “Say my name, Henry Hereford!”

  “Fuck you!”

  “My name is Serepatice, and if I had my desires, you would do just that!”

  When the arrow pierced his heart, Henry flinched more from disbelief than from pain. Confusion clouded his wide brown eyes. He crumpled to the cold ground and clung to life long enough to beg God to save his soul. In the woods of a foreign land in which he had no memory of entering, Henry Hereford drew his last breath.

  The thrum of a single beating drum arose from the ground. A bell accompanied the steady drum beat, joined by a powerful throbbing rhythm. Voices prayed in Latin. The sounds swirled and blended and rushed on a current in and around the demons.

  Robert stepped through the circle and straddled Henry’s body.

  The demons maintained their circular formation and crawled toward Henry’s body. They rose to their knees and clasped hands.

  Yellow-green light flashed like sheets of heat lightning in the sky. The celestial display was visible throughout the northern hemisphere.

  Robert raised his eyes and arms skyward. The demons did the same. Fire burned hot and intense in their eyes.

  Robert spoke loud and clear. “Now it came about, when men began to multiply on the face of the land, and daughters were born to them, that the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful; and they took wives for themselves, whomever they chose.”

  The demons chanted, “They will die in eternal darkness.”

  Yellow-green lightning flashed.

  Robert continued. “The Nephilim were on the Earth in those days, and also afterward, when the sons of God came in to the daughters of men, and they bore children to them. Those were the mighty men who were of old, men of renown.”

  The demons repeated, “They will die in eternal darkness.”

  The yellow-green light disappeared from the sky.

  Robert said, “For if God spared not the angels that disobeyed, but cast them down to Hell, and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto judgment.”

  A bolt of yellow-green light seared the dark horizon of the night.

  “He will be forced to choose,” the demons said.

  Robert smiled and pronounced, “And spared not the old world, but saved Noah the eighth person, a preacher of righteousness, bringing in the flood upon the world of the ungodly. And the angels who kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.”

  “He will be forced to choose,” the demons repeated.

  Henry Hereford’s body glowed with yellow-green light. The demons cast their eyes down to behold their leader’s return. Their arms fell to their sides. Robert stepped from the circle. Henry breathed.

  “Dress him,” Robert ordered. He walked east toward the stream and faded into the black woods.

  The demons dressed the eternal body of their overlord, and then sat upon the ground and waited for his resurrection.

  When the waning gibbous moon dropped below the horizon, Henry Hereford arose strong and virile.

  Joseph watched yellow-green sheets of heat lighting flash in the sky. He suspected that what he was witnessing was an inaugurate beginning to the end of the family of angels, whom he had become a member. He recognized that the allegiance was not restricted to Colm. It was a catholic kinship of love and devotion stronger than any he had ever experienced. And Joseph was deeply devoted to his fellow Sons of Liberty and their collective cause.

  He thought of his beloved children, and the time he had sacrificed with them for the cause of American liberty. Yet his strong convictions to protect the rights of colonists drove him to stand under this ugly yellow-green sky and face demons God had created in all forms.

  “Joseph, ya need rest.”

  “You are not resting, and do not tell me your body does not need rest. I know it does.”

  “My body isn’t what’s exhausted.”

  Joseph looked at Colm. “Your body is tired. You cannot help them if every particle of your being is weary.”

  “Do ya hear ya own words?”

  “Now that this has begun, I will get little sleep. I need to ensure Mercy and my children are safe. My colleague, Dr. Elijah Dix, agreed to give them refuge in his home in Worcester.” Joseph rubbed his forehead. “None of the Sons of Liberty dare return to Boston. We will be arrested on sight—probably hung. I have no means to dispatch my children to safety.”

  “I’ll send Brandon to do whatever it is ya need to do. He can take some of his men from the Roxbury watch.”

  “No, I will not endanger lives.”

  “Someone has to go who can fight demons, if necessary. If Brandon gathers volunteers, then they go knowing the stakes.”

  “I would be greatly relieved,” Joseph admitted. He looked skyward. “The eerie light is Henry, is it not?”

  Colm followed Joseph’s gaze. “Aye,” he said. “The demons have killed the human, Henry Hereford. They’re performing a ritual so the leader can take possession of Henry’s dead vessel permanently without decaying it; or until it wants a new vessel.”

  “Do you know what the ritual entails?”

  “No.”

  “Have they done this before?”

  “Only once, in Ireland, over four hundred years ago.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “Aye.”

  “As am I. Not for myself, but for the future.”

  Dim silver light flashed in Colm’s tired green eyes.

  The dim light made Joseph think of Ian’s dissipating aura. “Is there no way I can help Ian or Liam? Are their deaths inevitable?”

  “Damn ya, Joseph! Why do ya make me talk about these things?” Colm sighed. “Before I met ya, I would have said that their deaths were inevitable. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  Yellow-green light bolted across the night’s horizon.

  “It is three o’clock in the morning,” Joseph said. “We need sleep. The dawn will awaken us soon with demands that we carry out another day.”

  They turned and walked to the barn. Once inside, they laid their weary bodies in the hay near four sleeping men: Gordon, Abe, Rufus, and Tatoson.

  Joseph woke when the sun was halfway to its noonday apex. He was disoriented until he saw Colm asleep in the hay a few feet away. He got up, walked to the stream that ran behind the barn, and washed black gunpowder from his hair and hands and face.

  The smell of food floated on the breeze and reminded him that he was hungry. He heard Seamus rousing Colm. Joseph walked to the farmhouse, crossed the porch, and entered the kitchen. Colm and Seamus came in behind him.

  Abe, Rufus, and Tatoson stood around the fireplace eating from bowls. Liam sat at the table drinking beer. In the living room, Michael and Gordon were immersed in a muffled argument.

  Jeremiah took a bowl off the mantle, handed it to Joseph, and pointed at the black kettle hanging over the fire. “Help yourself. Brando
n scraped together enough fixin’s ta make stew. There’s a keg of beer on the table.”

  “Where is Brandon?” Joseph asked after he had filled his bowl. “I need to speak with him.”

  “Him and Patrick is above stairs with Ian,” Seamus said. Then, he said to Colm, “Your brother’s holdin’ a grudge against Gordon, and there’s gonna be a fight.”

  “Let them fight,” Colm said. “Go fetch Brandon.”

  Colm filled a bowl from the kettle and sat at the table. He saw that Liam’s aura was still bright green.

  Joseph sat beside Liam. “May I examine the wound on your forehead?”

  Liam sought Colm’s approval. Colm nodded.

  Joseph examined the deep furrow caused by a musket ball. There was no scabbing. It looked raw, as if the wound was fresh instead of a day old.

  Joseph sighed and turned his attention to Colm, “Do angels not suffer any physical pain? You were shot, yet you sit there as if nothing happened to your body.”

  “I told ya, I wasn’t shot by a demon.”

  “And the ball lodged in your breast?”

  “It will dissolve eventually.”

  “And what of your wound, Liam?” Joseph asked. “It was inflicted by a demon. Will it fester?”

  “It will kill me,” Liam said candidly.

  The kitchen door swung open. Brandon and Seamus stepped through.

  Colm said, “Brandon, Joseph needs ya to get his children and their nanny out of Boston and to Worcester. Do what he tells ya. Get some of the men from the watch to go with ya, and be honest about what ya are up to. I’m giving ya command of this mission.”

  Brandon saw the blood on Colm’s shirt. “Have you been shot?” he asked, wide-eyed.

  “I’m fine. Now, acknowledge the order,” Colm warned.

  Brandon swallowed his fear and nodded.

  Abe placed his empty bowl on the table, and said, “I will go with you.”

  Rufus Williams glanced around the kitchen. He had pledged his allegiance to Joseph Warren and the angels yesterday and intended on keeping that vow. He said, “I will go.”

  “Me too,” Jeremiah said.

  “Are you fine with me goin’?” Seamus asked Colm.

  Colm didn’t like the idea of Seamus going with his purple aura shining like a beacon for the demons to see. It would endanger the others.

  Joseph sensed Colm’s hesitation. “Colm, please allow Seamus to go. I know you think that he will attract demons, but I am more concerned with the evil patrolling the streets of Boston under the command of General Gage.”

  Ya know I can’t say no to ya, Colm thought. He gave Seamus a nod. Then he said to Joseph, “Before ya leave, come talk to me. I’m going above stairs to tend to Ian.”

  Colm rose from his chair. “Tatoson, come with me.”

  “Do not order me about, archangel,” Tatoson retorted. “I am not a Christian.”

  Silence plunged into the kitchen.

  Jeremiah shelved his empty bowl on the mantel. He turned and squeezed Tatoson’s right shoulder. “You cain’t be denyin’ the existence of this archangel,” he seethed.

  Tatoson threw Jeremiah’s hand off his shoulder. “I am not. What I am saying is that I do not revere them as you do.”

  “Well, that’s the trouble. Colm ain’t orderin’ you as a servant of God. Whether or not you’re a Christian don’t make no difference. He’s orderin’ you as a man. You’re a man ain’t you?”

  Tatoson frowned and narrowed his dark eyes.

  “Understand somethin’,” Jeremiah said, “if Colm wants you ta go with ‘im, you will. He don’t see no difference between you or me.”

  Tatoson crossed his arms over his chest in defiance. He stole a look at Colm. You are beautiful, Tatoson thought. He remembered thinking the same thing about the angels when they were reunited yesterday afternoon on the road from Concord. He wanted to dispute Jeremiah’s claim, but could not.

  Colm pushed the living room door open. Tatoson followed him through the door.

  Michael had left the living room. Gordon sat at the big round table, sketching. He didn’t look up when Colm and Tatoson passed on their way to the stairs.

  The narrow stairs creaked and groaned as Colm and Tatoson’s boots punished the risers. Above stairs, they entered the largest bedroom in the house. Ian sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands as Patrick looked through the single window in the room. The window afforded a view of the barn, the stream, and the woods beyond.

  “Michael’s run off into the woods,” Patrick said without shifting his gaze from the window. “He thinks Gordon is intrudin’ where he don’t belong. I cain’t convince him otherwise.”

  “I’ll go after him if he doesn’t come back soon.”

  Patrick turned away from the window and walked to the bed. Colm heard wings rustle when Patrick said, “Ian, I know you feel horrible. We ain’t gonna let you die. Colm ain’t gonna let you die.” Patrick kissed the top of Ian’s head.

  Colm pulled Ian into his arms.

  Ian rested his head on Colm’s chest.

  “Does ya body hurt?” Colm asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Are ya in pain?”

  “Yes.”

  “I won’t let ya die.”

  “I’m dirty.”

  “I know,” Colm whispered.

  “Help me.”

  “Do ya need Sidonie?”

  Ian nodded and cried.

  “Go to Concord and fetch her,” Colm said to Patrick. “Take Tatoson with you.”

  Tatoson remained silent. He intended to obey the archangel.

  When Patrick opened the door, Colm released his aura to comfort Ian. Green light lit the bedroom.

  Tatoson moved to leave the room with Patrick. He stopped to take one last look at the archangel’s celestial magnificence. I hope I shall be blessed with seeing you again, he thought as he closed the bedroom door behind him.

  “I’m so tired, Colm,” Ian said.

  “I know.” Colm held him closer.

  Joseph opened the bedroom door, crossed the room, and sat on the bed beside Ian.

  “Ian, do you remember me?” Joseph asked.

  Ian’s pale blue eyes shifted toward Joseph’s voice. “Joseph Warren.”

  “Good. Do you remember my occupation?”

  Ian closed his eyes. “Doctor,” he whispered.

  “Why’re ya asking him these questions?” Colm asked.

  “I want to see if he is mentally aware. May I touch him?”

  Colm nodded.

  Joseph cupped his left hand under Ian’s chin. Ian’s skin was soft. There was no beard stubble.

  Ian opened his teary eyes and looked at Joseph.

  “I want to see his wounds,” Joseph said to Colm.

  It took Colm several minutes to coax Ian from his arms, pull off his shirt, and lay him down. Erratic, thin, and shallow lacerations, from the attack he had suffered under the demon’s knife, covered Ian’s chest and stomach. They were healing. Joseph and Colm’s eyes met in surprise.

  The bedroom door opened with ghostly placidness. Jeremiah, Brandon, Liam, Michael, and Seamus watched silently from the doorway.

  “I heard my wife’s voice,” Ian said.

  Colm tightened his jaw and covered his mouth with one hand. He sighed, and let his hand drop from his mouth to stroke Ian’s hair. “What’s her name?”

  “Ailbe.”

  “Did ya see her?”

  “No, I heard her speak to me,” Ian said.

  Colm pulled Ian into his arms.

  Ian rested his head on Colm’s chest and said, “I have children.”

  “What’re their names?” Colm asked.

  “Diareann, Fianna, and Quinn.”

  “She is his wife. They are his children,” Colm said gently.

  Ian cried.

  “The human soul who occupied the body of Ian Keogh is still there,” Colm said to Joseph.

  “That’s possible?” Joseph asked.

  Col
m looked at Jeremiah and the angels. Then he looked at Joseph and said, “It wasn’t intended. The angel who came to escort the man’s soul to its egress must have called his reaper after Ian’s spirit took possession.”

  “Why is Ian dying now after six hundred years?” Joseph asked.

  “The demon attack must have awakened the human soul, and it fused with the angelic spirit. A human soul infused with the essence of an angel is blessed. An angelic spirit infused with a human soul is crucified.”

  Wings rustled in the doorway.

  “He’s been copulating with Sidonie’s human soul and body for twenty- four years. Perhaps they have created some kind of spiritual—”

  “—don’t say Nephilim,” Colm warned. “They didn’t spawn children.”

  Ian reached for Joseph’s hand.

  Joseph accepted Ian’s grasp, and stroked his face. “Does my touch comfort your body?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do my hands comfort your spirit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you sleep?”

  “I’m too dirty to sleep.”

  “What should I do to wash away the dirt?”

  “I don’t know,” Ian said. He sobbed.

  “Colm, I must go,” Joseph said as he let go of Ian’s hand. “I have things to attend to that cannot wait. The battles that occurred yesterday have changed everything.”

  Colm didn’t look at Joseph.

  Joseph stood up. “Colm, look at me.”

  Colm complied.

  “I must do my part to see that this country achieves liberty from tyranny. I must ensure that we are not enslaved at the hands of King George III, the British Parliament, or any entity that would chain us. I must see to it that my children have a future in which they can reap the benefits of their labor without fear of it being taken away. Can you not understand that?”

  “Why can’t ya see that I have been trying to understand?” Colm asked quietly.

  Joseph’s allegiance was torn between his patriotic duty to his family and lifelong friends, and the archangel whom he knew only a short time. However, his relationship with Colm seemed eternal.