Phoebe Wren and the Vortex of Light

by Julie K. Timlin

  “Cosain is right,” said Lasair, “The Enemy will be enraged – he does not take kindly to defeat!”

  “It is our job now to get you all safely back to Ireland tomorrow,” continued Cosain, “Because once there, your parents will have an integral role in launching the Celtic Justice Mission – CJM – which will change thousands of lives right across Ireland and eventually the world. You don’t have to look very far to find injustice in the world, but it is closer than you might think from watching your television. All over Ireland and beyond the Enemy has been working, and there is a great need, one that may not be so clearly visible, but exists nonetheless. Injustice is rife and is peddled by those who have the power to stop it but prefer to ignore it. Phoebe, your parents have a calling to bring light and hope to those who need it, and the Enemy hates this. You both have been chosen as Light Bringers. You will have the capability and skill to defeat darkness, although this will not happen without a fight. We must expect opposition at every turn – but now that we are on to the demonic schemes, we can be better armed and ready for them. You should not underestimate the effect that the Celtic Justice Mission will have for good. It will become a world-renowned organisation, one which governments will turn to for advice and moral direction. Change for good will come about through this mission, justice and equality will be promoted and brought about. This will be big, beyond your parents’ imaginings at this stage, but they will learn not to despise small beginnings.”

  Cosain smiled at the bewildered teenagers before him. Although young and innocent in so many ways, they had brave, fearless hearts and both possessed a strong faith that, he was certain, would carry them through.

  “We have, for the time being, warded off the ‘welcome committee’ at the airport, but by now that one-armed sentry – Schnither – will have reported back to the Enemy, and they will be regrouping and preparing for their next assault.”

  “Schnither?” asked Demetrius, intrigued that the gnarly beasts had names.

  “Yes,” confirmed Cosain. “He is the Captain of the Dark Army, and is a formidable foe. You should not assume that the loss of an arm will subdue him or make him any less dangerous. In fact, he will be all the more enraged, I should imagine. Revenge will be at the top of his agenda.”

  “How do we know where Schnither and his cronies will strike next?” asked Phoebe, her heart thumping so hard in her chest that she felt sure Demetrius would be able to hear it.

  “They have failed again to take your life, so now they will move to eradicate the opposition posed by…”

  “My parents!” gasped Phoebe, the horror of realisation dawning on her face. “Cosain, we need to get back to the hospital – fast!”

  Always one step ahead, Cosain was already issuing commands to his troop. Solas, Dilis, Trean, Croga and Lasair nodded their understanding, then took to the air en masse, the swoop of their powerful wings blowing Phoebe’s hair round her face as they took to the skies on their captain’s command.

  “Neam,” ordered Cosain, “You remain here. You know what to do. The Enemy will not leave the airport unwatched. You must be alert, and stay hidden – we do not want them to get word of your presence.”

  “I understand, Captain,” responded Neam, his clear blue eyes sparkling with an intensity that told Phoebe he had no intention of letting those heinous demons get the upper hand.

  “I will watch their every move and report directly back to you.”

  And with a salute to his commander, Neam spread his enormous wings, and was gone Heavenward in a streak of brilliant ethereal light.

  “Come,” Cosain’s voice had a contained urgency to it. “The Enemy will not procrastinate, and neither must we.”

  Phoebe and Demetrius fell into line with the Heavenly warrior and the trio despatched with renewed vigour for their destination – Medical Miracles Hospital.

  CHAPTER 11

  In the darkest underbelly of the earth, the surviving one-armed demon from the failed attack on Phoebe and Demetrius limped up to gargantuan black doors that were closed across the entrance to a cavernous room. Two hideous beasts stood guard, each holding enormous spears, which they crossed over the doors as the demon approached.

  “Halt!” snarled the first guard. “Who are you and what is your business here?”

  “I am Schnither, Captain of the Dark Army, reporting back from duty,” hissed the gnarly black being. “He will be expecting me.” The ‘he’ to whom Schnither referred was Abaddon the Defiler, undisputed boss of Schnither and his cronies and feared Master of the Mooar Mountain, the dark nerve centre of all things evil. Abaddon was a fearsome ruler and neither Schnither nor any of his fellow demons dared to challenge his reign.

  “It looks like your mission wasn’t a rip roaring success,” sneered the second guard, gesturing towards Schnither’s dismembered limb and he sniggered, revealing a green serpentine tongue and razor sharp, pointed teeth. The stump of Schnither’s arm was still oozing a thick yellow liquid, but the indignation and fury at being outsmarted by those bright shiny angelic nuisances was causing Schnither more pain and discomfort than his impressive war wound.

  Schnither glared at the first guard, wondering if he should teach the flabby beast a lesson right then and there. The notion of wiping the smirk off the guard’s face appealed to Schnither, but he thought better of it – he didn’t want to cause an unnecessary uproar when the news he was about to deliver to the Boss wasn’t exactly as good as it should have been.

  “Just open up, minion” spat Schnither, unfurling his twisted body to its full height. At almost seven feet tall, and with a girth far exceeding that of the guards, he was a formidable sight, and the two sneering sentinels sobered up immediately.

  “Oh, uh… yes, Captain Schnither sir, right away. You should have said it was important…”

  The first guard’s voice trailed off as he realised that his babbling was not helping his cause in any way, and he and his fellow sentry heaved against the heavy wooden doors. The doors groaned open, and thick black smoke began to billow menacingly through. There was an eerie yellow glow about the room, and as Schnither stepped through the doorway, he paused to allow his red eyes to adjust to the gloom. He had scarcely acquainted himself with his creepy surroundings when a voice addressed him from out of the murkiness.

  “You! Captain Schnither. What news?”

  The unexpectedly dulcet tones broke through the darkness, a voice so low that Schnither had to hold his breath to hear it properly.

  “Master,” he stumbled over his words as he edged closer through the smoky gloom. “Our mission… it was, uh, not entirely a success.” Schnither was sweating, his hideous face contorting in terror.

  “Yes-s-s, I hear-r-r-d,”

  The faceless voice drooled the words and Schnither had to steady himself against the cold stone wall to keep from collapsing in a shuddering heap. Suddenly, the smoke burst apart, rolling furiously to either side as a dark form, almost nine feet tall, appeared only inches from Schnither’s quivering body – Abaddon, the feared Dark Master. Abaddon’s countenance was intense, unrelenting, and his features, while hard and cold, belied an ethereal beauty of aeons past – there could be no denying Abaddon’s glorious past as the Angel of Light, the Son of the Morning, and even now, in the deepest darkest recesses of the earth, through the dark around him and the dark within him, Schnither could see the physical traces of a beauty that once fellowshipped with the Atoner himself. Abaddon’s flint grey eyes bored relentlessly into Schnither, who was completely taken by surprise at the appearance of his Dark Master.

  “My Liege!” Schnither reeled back in shock and fear, tripping over his own feet and landing unceremoniously on his backside at Abaddon’s feet. Next to his Master’s imposing form, Schnither appeared small, feeble, and he was acutely aware of his own irrelevance.

  “You have failed me – again!”

  Abaddon’s once deceptively soft tones had become a ferocious roar, and in his accusatory rage he spat the words at S
chnither, leaning menacingly over his servant’s cowering body, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging and straining.

  “What should I do with you, eh?” Abaddon regained some composure, leaned back, away from Schnither, and a sinister smile curled across his face. It was more of a snarl, and although the roaring had ceased, Schnither now felt more dread than he had before. Somehow, Abaddon’s thunderous rage, terrifying as it was, was less intimidating than when he spoke in muted tones, which could so easily have lead his audience into a false sense of security. ‘The calm before the storm,’ Schnither mused.

  “What is the fate of those who let me down?” Abaddon pondered the question, and Schnither wondered whether it was rhetorical or whether in fact the Dark Master sought his answer. In the end, he decided it best not to speak – there was nothing he could say to make things any better and in all probability opening his mouth would only make things worse. Schnither shuddered. His instincts told him to get up, to run for his life, to fly as far away as he could get and never come back. But he knew that this was not a viable option – there simply was no escape, nowhere to hide for those of his kind who had sworn allegiance to Abaddon. The thought was sobering and Schnither clenched his jaw, causing the muscles along his jaw line to pop.

  Abaddon the Defiler now stood up straight to his full nine feet, his four black wings unfurled to a span of eight feet – he was a terrifying sight, and Schnither was sure that his fate had been sealed. He gulped, and closed his eyes – maybe it would be swift and he would feel no pain…

  “One… more… chance.” Abaddon’s voice was soft and compelling once again. “I will give you one more chance to get it right. Yours is not a difficult task – I ask you only to rid me of that pesky girl. She is a human, a mere mortal. How difficult can it be?” He paused as if the words pained him, then spat, “Phoebe Wren, and her do-good parents, and that boy who encourages her so. The Atoner has assigned seven of His finest. He obviously has big designs for that little girl. But He has not reckoned on what I have planned!”

  Abaddon’s face had contorted into a freakish mask of twisted glee, and his eyes blazed with zeal at the thought of scuppering the Atoner’s plans.

  “Now, Captain Schnither, go. Leave me. I have assembled a team – a stronger, smarter team – for you. They await your command. But do not fail me again. You will not find me so lenient a third time…”

  As quickly as he had appeared, Abaddon the Defiler vanished back into the gloom – it was as if he had been swallowed up by the murkiness, never to re-emerge. But Schnither knew better than to assume that Abaddon was ever far away, and he wasted no time in scrabbling to his feet and backing towards the massive doors of the Dark Master’s chamber. He scurried backwards, arms extended behind him, until he felt the unyielding weight of the doors behind him, then spun around, grabbing frantically for the door knob. Schnither heaved the door towards him with all his might and as it swung open, both guards tumbled through and fell at his feet.

  “Eavesdroppers!” Schnither hissed, and he wasted no time in kicking them both back out through the doors, which he pulled tightly shut behind him.

  “How dare you listen in on a private meeting!” Schnither raged. “I should have you sent to the Abyss for such an act of treachery!”

  Schnither lifted a clenched fist and struck one of the guards square across the side of his head. The beastly figure, who had been struggling to his feet, went flying across the marbled floor, and thudded into the wall at the opposite side of the hall. Schnither was about to exact the same punishment on the second guard, when loud footfall heralded the arrival of his new troop of demons, who marched up to Schnither, halted sharply a few feet away, and saluted their still fuming captain.

  “Captain Schnither, sir,” snarled the first fiend. “I am Lieutenant Garshwell. We have been despatched to your command to assist in overseeing the demise of Phoebe Wren and her interfering parents. What are your plans, Captain?”

  Garshwell was intense and unwavering, his bulbous eyes fixed on Schnither, awaiting his Captain’s command.

  Impressed by the efficiency of Lieutenant Garshwell, and with his ego suitably stroked by such respect, Schnither was full of his own importance, and entirely believing of his own hype. How quickly his re-inflated pride helped him to forget the humiliation he had felt in Abaddon’s chamber!

  “Follow me,” Schnither commanded, his voice sounding more confident than he felt, since in the pit of his stomach he was still smarting from his encounter with Abaddon the Defiler. “We will put a stop to this hope and redemption nonsense once and for all.”

  And with a whoosh of his powerful black wings, Schnither bolted upwards and exited through the ceiling with his evil cohorts following obediently behind.

  CHAPTER 12

  There was an unmistakable sense of urgency in the speed at which Phoebe, Demetrius and their Heavenly escort were moving towards Medical Miracles Hospital. Although the hospital was not far away, it felt to Phoebe that she had hundreds of miles to go. Ordinarily, she would have enjoyed her surroundings, taken time to appreciate the beauty of the sky and the trees and the wildlife around her, but today she barely noticed these things and was focused only on reaching her destination as quickly as possible.

  “What if we’re too late? What if they get to Dad and Mum before we do? What if they’re already there?” Phoebe’s questions jangled off her lips in quick succession, and she felt strangely disappointed by her own lack of faith – had she learned nothing from the peculiar events of the last few hours?

  As if he could read her thoughts, Cosain spoke. “You must not be so hard on yourself, Phoebe. The happenings of the last few weeks are extraordinary for you; these things do not just happen every day in the human world. I think it would be more unusual if you weren’t wondering what is going on. But you cannot live in the ‘what ifs’ – they serve no purpose but to unsettle your spirit and divide your mind. But do not worry, Phoebe, we will not be too late this time.” Cosain’s confident words reassured Phoebe, and she felt the rising sense of panic begin to disperse and in its place began to grow a calm that was entirely contrary to circumstances.

  The anomalous group continued their fast paced journey until Medical Miracles Hospital was in sight. Phoebe could see her parents’ blue Jeep sitting in their reserved parking space, and the sight of it somehow reassured her that with the angelic troop on their side, things would be okay. She and Demetrius ran ahead through the hospital’s automatic glass doors, and the familiar sounds and smells of the hospital filled Phoebe’s senses. Behind a clear screen Doris, the kindly hospital receptionist, looked up from her paperwork. She peered over her half glasses at Phoebe and Demetrius, and then broke into a sincere and welcoming smile.

  “Excuse me, Doris.” Phoebe spoke to the pleasant receptionist before she had a chance to greet the teenagers. Doris had worked at the hospital since the day it opened, and to her the role of receptionist was more than just a job. She made it her business to put everyone who came through the hospital doors at ease, and with her kind smile and motherly nature that was something she did extremely well.

  “Oh hi, Phoebe honey,” Doris smiled. “Are you looking for your folks? They finished up just a while ago and have been loading up the car. They’ve been up and down in that elevator a dozen times, I’m sure! They’ll be exhausted! Do you want to go up to the office, or wait here and I’ll call them for you?”

  “Maybe I’ll just go up if that’s okay?” replied Phoebe, who was already halfway across the reception floor.

  “Sure, Honey, you know the way,” Doris winked and smiled again. She had gotten very used to seeing Phoebe about the hospital during the last few years, and would miss the Wrens. They were a lovely family, and Doris had valued their friendship as much as the hospital had valued the surgeons’ skills.

  “Okay, thanks, I’ll stop in again before we leave, I promise,” Phoebe called over her shoulder.

  Phoebe and Demetrius walked quickly toward the h
ospital’s sole elevator, and were only ten feet away from its metal doors when an eerie whistling sound stopped them in their tracks. The whistle got louder and faster until it became an unmistakable wail, like the sound of a high-speed jet, and the closed doors across the elevator began to rattle and vibrate.

  “Phoebe, jump!” Demetrius yelled at the last second, half pushing and half throwing his friend across the reception floor. With an almighty crash, the elevator doors buckled and exploded outwards, and the elevator car within folded like an accordion as it shot down the last stretch of the elevator shaft and smashed into the ground floor.

  “Dad! Mum!” Phoebe screamed, as she struggled to her feet and ran towards the wreckage. How could this be? How could she be living this nightmare again? Through the billowing dust and debris, Phoebe’s eyes desperately scoured the wreckage for signs of life. It slowly dawned on her, however, that not only were there no signs of life, but, thank God, there were no signs of anyone having been in the elevator. The car that had just plummeted to the ground floor had been empty. Phoebe heaved a sigh of relief, and wiped a wayward tear from her dusty face with the back of her hand. She felt that her knees may buckle beneath her, and grabbed hold of Demetrius’s arm to steady herself.

  “Phoebe? Sweetheart, are you okay?”

  Phoebe spun around in the direction of the gentle familiar voice, and ran into her Dad’s arms. Despite her resolve to be brave and inconspicuous, she could not hold back this time, and she cried frightened, vulnerable tears that made a dark damp patch on her Dad’s shirt.

  “It’s okay my darling, Mum and I are okay. You don’t need to cry, we’re here,” Jack soothed his daughter as he gently kissed her head. His assumption that his daughter was crying in fright at the elevator crash was entirely understandable, and Phoebe was glad to have the excuse to give in to her emotions.