by Deena Remiel
Emma sat up as well, faced him squarely, and took his hands in hers.
“It is quite an awesome responsibility, Michael, I agree. But I have confidence in your abilities. I’ve known you for six years, and you’ve been a phenomenal principal, always making right choices, the hard choices, for the good of the school community. I’ve no doubt you can handle this, too.” She turned toward the window. “Hey, look. The sun is rising.”
She rose from the bed and walked to the enormous picture window that looked out onto the mountains. He followed behind her, and surrounded her with his embrace. They stood together in silence for a few prized moments. “It’s stunning, isn’t it, the way the sunrise makes the mountains appear different minute by minute? I never get tired of watching it change its hue. I hope the guys are able to take it all in, as well. It’s a strong reminder that hope, faith, and goodness still prevail in this world.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself. I do believe you were meant to be one of us. I think it’ll be good to have a mother around all these men, you know.”
“Please don’t tell me I’m the Brethren’s ‘Wendy’, like in Peter Pan. I don’t think I could handle being a mother of nine ‘boys’ who want bedtime stories!”
“The only one you’ll be telling bedtime stories to is me!” Michael asserted and started ravishing her throat with kisses. She squealed, and he found her chin, then her lips. She turned into him, the playfulness forgotten, replaced by his growing need. But that need was going to have to wait. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other Brethren beginning to make their way back to the house from all corners of the property.
He reluctantly stepped back from her and simply pointed out the window when she gave him a puzzled look. She pouted when she saw the men coming. She turned back to him and sighed.
“Reality sure has a funny way of interrupting a really good dream,” she contemplated.
He wrapped his arms around her again. His lips pressed against her hair. “This isn’t a dream, Emma. What we have is real, what’s happening to us is real. Prophecy dictates it so. Lucky for you, I like ya a lot.”
“Oh, really? Well you’re lucky I like you a lot, too,” she retorted and nipped his chin with her teeth, then soothed it with her tongue. “I guess we should wake up Hannah. I almost hate to since she hasn’t slept this long in months. But I know we have a busy day ahead of us. Duty calls. Let’s go wake her up together.”
They quickly washed and dressed, then went to her room. Nothing could have prepared them for what greeted them as they entered. Rather than still sleeping as Emma had thought, Hannah was up, dressed, and at her play table, drawing fiercely on a tablet of paper with her crayons. Her face had taken on a much more intense and mature look. She finished the drawing, tore it away from the tablet, and tossed it vigorously to the floor, to join the dozens of other pictures littering her carpet and bed. All the pictures were of monsters and demons. Sometimes they were lined up like army platoons at the base of a mountain range, the Superstition Mountains to be exact. Some of the pictures were of those very platoons setting fire to the towns around the mountains.
Hannah was so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn’t stir when the two entered her room. Michael picked up her drawings to get a closer look. Emma peered over his shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. He touched her hand and sent waves of comfort to ease her mind. The drawings he held were frighteningly explicit and detailed, with people drawn as though they were on fire themselves, running from houses and buildings that were already ablaze. In another set of pictures, she saw the Brethren warriors, dressed in black leather pants and wings unfurled, fighting against creatures that were half human-half demon in appearance. He picked up a final set of pictures where the Brethren were losing the battle against these creatures. Angels were lying on a battlefield of sorts, their bodies sluiced open and their innards oozing out onto the ground.
Emma spotted one last picture peeking out from under Hannah’s bed. This picture disturbed her most of all. She had drawn Namirha standing imperiously over an altar, with his arms in the air, holding a bejeweled knife with its blade pointed down over a body. Not just any body, Hannah’s body, lying on the altar, like a sacrificial offering. A woman was drawn at the base of the altar reaching up in futility to stop the sacrifice. She had drawn her mouth open as if she were screaming. A man, an angel, had also been drawn lying face down next to the woman, his back bloodied. Beside him was one bloodied wing. The other was being held by none other than Agremon. He had been drawn with the wing in his hands, plucking off the feathers and an evil, triumphant grin on his ghastly face.
Emma was clearly distraught by what she’d seen, but before she could get her daughter’s attention, Michael drew her out of the room and into the hallway. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand and sent energy currents down the threaded connection they had forged during the night.
“Listen, Emma, I know this is very disturbing. But, it’s also great news. Hannah has tapped into her powers of intuition and is seeing into Namirha’s plans.”
“Tell me it’s not the future we’re looking at here.”
“I can only say that it is one of many possible outcomes of plans being made by Namirha. Today, we’re going to make sure the warriors work on honing her skill. Her pictures are great, but we need specific details on the plans he means to carry out on his ultimate mission. This is very encouraging, however disturbing it may be.”
“It’s frightening, you know? It’s horrifyingly frightening that this could be what’s ahead for all of us.”
“That’s why we’re here, honey, to make sure those pictures don’t come to fruition. If you’re ready, put your best smile on and let’s say good morning to your daughter.” She secured a wary grin on her face and nodded.
They walked back into the room, and Hannah instantly turned around in her seat with a smile of her own and stood up. Her face had thankfully returned to her normal cherubic glow of a child.
“Good morning, Mama!” She jumped up into Emma’s arms to give her mother a hearty hug and kiss. She leaned over toward Michael, so he took her into his arms. She gave him a hearty hug and kiss as well. Then she wriggled out of his hands and started gathering up the pictures. “These pictures are scary, Mama, so if you don’t want to look, that’s okay. I’ll put them away until later.”
Emma tried her best to stifle her laughter. “That’s okay, honey. I think I can handle it. Why don’t you tell us about them over breakfast?”
“Okay. But it’s a scary story, too. I just wanted you to know.”
As they made their way to the kitchen, the Brethren were coming in from their overnight watch. They were loud, they were brash, they were hungry, and their very presence filled up every ounce of space available. One might be claustrophobic at such a time, but not Emma. She was safe, secure, and comfortable. As the men washed up and changed clothes, she and Michael got breakfast ready. Hannah was fiddling with her pictures. It looked to Emma as though she was putting them in some kind of sequence. When the men returned, they immediately saw the pictures and abandoned the bountiful breakfast. They swept her off to the family room where they could lay the pictures out on the floor. Michael and Emma quickly followed behind.
Kemuel spoke first. “Hannah, please tell us about these pictures, and how you came to draw them.” She walked over to him and sat down on his lap. She had taken him by surprise and he gave an awkward cough. It didn’t seem to faze her in the least to think him a good seat to sit on. She started playing with his eyebrows, raising and lowering them, then moved to playing with his cheeks. He frowned at her and she beamed back, molding his frown into a toothy grin and other silly gestures.
“Well, I woke up this morning and felt like I really wanted to draw something. I got washed and dressed, like a big girl, too, and I took out my crayons and paper and started drawing. The funny thing is, when I started drawing, pictures came into my head like a movie. I started drawing lik
e I never did before.” She paused and got off of Kemuel’s lap.
As she walked away and started pacing, she immediately appeared different from the Hannah of only moments ago. And as she spoke, her voice had become deeper, more mature. The Ancient Warrior’s soul had somehow come forth.
“Kemuel, Michael, all of you. These pictures are what Namirha has planned. He has amassed an army of monumental proportions. Demons, monsters, and mortals are assembling to do his bidding. The Homecoming tomorrow is a smoke and mirror ploy to gather his mortal flock. By the sixth of June, all will have arrived at The Source’s headquarters waiting to descend upon the surrounding towns, including Prophet’s Point. The pictures show his intentions to destroy the towns and their people who have not been turned. He intends to destroy the Brethren, as well, rendering the rest of the mortal world completely vulnerable to his desires and at his mercy.”
“You left out the fact that he also plans to gain your powers by killing you on his altar. He had no plans to keep you alive as his surrogate daughter,” Michael fumed.
“Then we go ahead with our plan to infiltrate The Source tomorrow.”
“No Kemuel,” the Ancient Warrior countered. Kemuel raised a quizzical brow. “Your plan will not work as it is, not without Michael, my mother, and me going along with you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I need to be with my warriors, Mother, to fight. The Protectors need to be close, to provide shielding, and you and the rest of the Saviors will be needed for healing. If we’re going on the offensive, then we all need to go, together. It’s Prophecy, and it’s the way we’ll win.”
“Michael, what do you think?” she asked. “Can you shield her enough so that Agremon and Namirha can’t detect her? Because that’s the only way I would even contemplate letting her go, Prophecy or not.”
“Well, we can shield her, no problem.”
“But do we really want to? What I mean is if Namirha wants her, maybe that’s how we can draw him to us, by letting him know she’s there.”
“I hate to say it, Kemuel, but you’ve got a great point. As much as I don’t want Hannah exposed, maybe by doing so will flesh him out.” Michael took a moment to contemplate options. “We can shield her at will, so we’ll start out with her shielded and when it suits us, when we’re ready, we’ll drop them.”
“Don’t worry, Emma,” Gabriel said, reaching out and patting her hand. “She will be well protected. Brethren, tomorrow, when we go, no doubt we’re going to find that the followers are under some kind of mind control. Let it be until after we’ve settled in. Then, Saviors and Protectors, you can go around tent by tent healing and helping the people leave safely. The fewer mortals we have to fight in the end, the better. Mind you, when we’re actually there, we’ll have a better feel for what needs to be done. Be ready to change plans at a moment’s notice. Warriors, you will guard the Ancient Warrior.”
“Agreed,” the rest of the Brethren concurred. As if in unison, they all made their way to the kitchen to eat a breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, and coffee. Now the only one without an appetite was Emma. She took her coffee mug and went out on the back porch. Hannah followed.
“Mother?” Hannah called. She still had that maturity to her voice, and as she walked towards her mother, her stance was that of a great warrior, not of a little girl. As she got closer, right before Emma’s eyes, she changed back into the daughter that jumped into her arms just a short while ago. “Mama?”
Emma grabbed her into a fierce hug, then pulled back to take her all in.
“For a moment I thought you’d outgrown that name for me. I don’t think I could have handled that, sweetie. No matter what you evolve into during this time with the Brethren, you need to know that I am always your Mama. No matter if you’re an ancient soul or a very young one; I will always answer to ‘Mama’ and come running.”
“Oh, Mama!” Hannah hugged her tightly and for a moment, looked at a loss. Then, she gained her footing again. “I need to try and explain what I’m feeling, because I am changing. It’s a little scary. I feel like the little me is sometimes being pushed into a corner or box while the big me takes over for the warrior stuff. I don’t really mind, for now, because I’m a lot stronger when the big me is out. I really want Agremon and Namirha to go away forever, and the big me can make that happen. I’m afraid the little me is going to be put in the corner for a long while when we go to the headquarters tomorrow. But Mama, when this is over, I want the little me back all the time. I hope I don’t forget who the little me is.”
“I won’t let you forget, then,” Emma pledged with a strained smile, and fought back the tears that threatened to expose her own fears. She put one hand over her heart and one over Hannah’s. “I promise I’ll make sure you come back to me, the way you want to be.”
It was a promise Emma hadn’t the slightest idea how to keep, but one she was determined not to break.
Chapter Seventeen
The heat of the Arizona summer came on early and strong. By mid-morning, the warriors were drenched from training with swords and mixed martial arts, and had come inside to tackle Hannah’s mind. Raphael and the other Saviors trained Emma at the intermediate level of their healing arts, and now she was practicing the meditation required to help her call upon her powers at will.
Michael, Gabriel, and Urie required a more intense meditation session. They needed to be in perfect condition, and meditation enabled them to check, repair, and enhance their powers. Eventually all the Brethren would need to go through the same process. Manifesting and staying in human form had one drawback, the necessity to monitor and keep their corporeal bodies working in synch with their immortal powers. When facing battle, meditating was crucial to keeping both in harmony. Luckily though, while in human form, their bodies were impervious to injury. That is, any injury that could be inflicted by a human. The Brethren could still be injured by other immortal beings like themselves. So, Michael created more protective talismans for everyone.
The only time anyone stopped during the day was when Emma pushed to eat lunch and dinner. Everyone knew better than to go against the Great Savior Mother, so they dutifully congregated around the kitchen table to feed their bellies while the rest of the day was about training and feeding their souls.
***
Further on down the road, other plans were being perfected. The Source’s Homecoming event was tomorrow, and Namirha knew this would be the last and strongest push to fortify his minions for the ultimate battle that lay ahead. Everything seemed ready. The tents were erected, the brochures printed, and the scripts memorized by his elite group of followers, known as the Inner Sanctum. Nothing more need be done except…securing Hannah Livingston away from her mother!
Namirha ranted in his limousine, terrifying his driver. “Imbecile! Good-for-nothing son-of-bitch! I should have known better than to trust the former Brethren. I bet he’s been deceiving me all this time, making me think he’s one of mine, but really still working for the Brethren! Agremon!”
Agremon’s grotesque body immediately appeared on the seat across from him. “Yes, my lord?” he answered nervously. He knew why Namirha had called him. He had not produced the girl.
“Agremon, I’ve determined that your usefulness to me has ended. Since you’ve failed at bringing the girl to me, you will now reside in my home in the mountains, in my dungeon, actually, having your skin torn away from your body and reattached at regular intervals for the rest of eternity. Now, don’t get all mushy on me. I know it’s not every day I let people stay in my home, but given all you’ve done for me over the years, I figured you’re a special case.”
Agremon pleaded for his immortal life. “My lord, you can’t do this to me! I am so close to finding a way around the protective shield! I know I can get her to you before Thursday! Trust me!”
“Enough! I can’t afford to trust you any further, you sniveling idiot! Be gone!” With a wave of his hand, Agremon disappeared from the li
mo, and reappeared in a dank, dark cell, within the home Namirha had made out of an abandoned mine deep in the Goldfield Mountains. His wrists were chained to the ceiling, his feet chained to the floor. The air was cool around him, and the walls were dripping with a coppery, noxious liquid that surprisingly made him want to gag. As the flaying began, he screamed, “You will die by my hands alone, Michael! I will find a way out of here, and you will surely die!”
Agremon’s roar echoed throughout the chamber each time his skin was torn away, and when it reappeared moments later, giving him a few minutes to recover, his mind conjured up bits and pieces of a plan to escape Namirha’s wrath and exact revenge on Michael. After awhile, he began to revel in the pain. Every time a piece of him was torn away, it strengthened his determination to get out and exact his revenge.
After what felt like hours, Agremon had steeled himself against the incessant pain and began to enter particular followers’ minds; those whose minds were very open to his suggestion. He called to them. One answered immediately, one in particular who had been doing his bidding for a while now, Jared Sikes.
Jared was a lost soul until he was found near death from shooting up heroin outside one of The Source’s mess halls about six months back. When he was brought to Agremon’s attention, he could see Jared was one of your basic losers, but Agremon could also discern that with the right guidance and incentive, he could turn Jared into the perfect grunt. So after stroking Jared’s self-esteem and feeding his addiction, Agremon began using him.
Agremon called to him now, and with what little energy he had left, flashed Jared away from the headquarters and straight to his cell. Yes, Jared had answered, like a lamb to the slaughter. Little did he know, he was to replace Agremon as Namirha’s tortured plaything. That’s exactly what grunt work was sometimes, wasn’t it?