“Brothers!” Cosain shouted over his shoulder, “Draw your weapons! Prepare for battle!”
The Heavenly warriors drew their glowing swords almost in unison, their faces set like flint and a steely determination in their expressions. They were only seconds out when Craven happened to look up briefly and saw, to his horror, the avenging angels approaching en masse. Craven had been working independently of his terrible comrades, pulling and twisting the screws on the plane’s fuselage in an effort to create a fault with the avionics. Inside the plane, terrified passengers could hear a commotion but could not see anything, and were at a loss as to what was happening. Craven’s eyes widened reactively and he steadied himself on the plane’s enormous wing then screeched to the demonic battalion, “NOOO!! It is the Heavenly Host! They have found us out!”
Craven’s face had contorted into a ghastly mask of hatred and fear, but as his howls whipped into the wind, his foul cohorts did not hear his warning and continued in their mischief making unchecked. This was just the fortuitous lapse that the Heavenly Host needed, and they did not waste the opportunity. The angelic troop swooped on the enemy like an unprecedented bolt out of the blue, and as they shot into the midst of the furore, swatting demons as if they were flies, Schnither looked up and beheld Heavenly light blazing from within the swarming, undulating cloud of demonic creatures and realised too late that the plans he had thought to be foolproof had been thwarted. Schnither wretched as a sickening sense of déjà vu pervaded his senses, then quickly regained his composure and flew towards the epicentre of the pandemonium. He had no alternatives, no ‘plan B’, he simply could not allow Cosain and his petulant brothers to gain the upper hand – what Abaddon would unleash on Schnither if he failed this final time was unthinkable.
The unanticipated arrival of the Heavenly Host had caught all of the demonic horde off guard. So sure were they that their plans had been undetected by the forces of Heaven that they had not bothered to appoint watchmen to keep an eye out for opposition, nor had they devised a back-up plan. As a result, Schnither and his henchmen had been thrown into utter confusion, flying this way and that with no apparent direction or notion of how to regroup and return fire.
Cosain and his band of Heavenly brothers sliced through the swarm of demonic beings with intent, making full use of the element of surprise which had enabled them to eradicate at least half of the screeching cursing creatures in the first wave of their attack. Those who remained had now regrouped enough to be on the defensive, spurred on by their fury and indignation, and now the battle began in earnest.
Schnither reached the epicentre of the skirmish in milliseconds, and did not hesitate in shooting headlong into the upheaval. To his left and right, he could see his band of demons being decimated as the Heavenly warriors despatched one screeching creature after another into the Abyss, and the sight enraged him. Fiery blades slashed and destroyed, and the angels seemed to parry every blow aimed at them. In a peculiar sense, Schnither felt a twisted sense of pride swell in his chest as his minions threw themselves into the furore without hesitation, although he was aware that they, like him, probably preferred to take their chances in battle than return empty handed and defeated to face the dreadful wrath of Abaddon the Defiler.
Driven on by immeasurable fury, Schnither’s own blade had been drawn and he was keen to show the angelic warriors that he was a force to be reckoned with. Schnither’s sword, though dull in hue, was nonetheless deadly and its razor sharp serrated edge made it a formidable weapon, as several angels had found out to their expense during previous battles. Schnither had to weave around his dastardly colleagues as twitching demon body parts soared past him before exploding into a million pieces and vanishing into the atmosphere in numerous puffs of black smoke. His battalion was taking a hiding and there was now a mere scattering of demons left, battling on with all their might while still in full flight and trying desperately to keep pace with Araco Airlines flight 454.
Schnither could see that Cosain had turned his attention to Craven, who had engaged the Captain of the Host in a fearsome sword battle. Sparks flew as their blades connected again and again, and Craven’s lime green eyes were fixed on Cosain, his jaw clenched shut so that the muscles in his face bulged through his leathery skin. Craven looked as though he was almost enjoying himself, and the fact that it was the Captain of the Heavenly Host at the business end of his sword was obviously not lost on him.
Schnither left Craven to his battle, and turned to find Solas and Dilis engaged in battle with Malva, a ferocious and particularly ruthless demon whose dark eyeless face and six powerful black wings were the stuff of nightmares. Despite his apparent ocular affliction, Malva’s aim was true and his senses heightened to such a degree that his inability to see was no disadvantage whatsoever. His ferocious nature and the tenacious desire for annihilation were forces to be reckoned with, as Solas and Dilis were discovering.
On the other side of the plane, Trean, Neam and Croga were deep in combat with six gnarly demons who obviously thought that they had the angels outnumbered and were cackling and snorting like deranged pigs. Transa, Gutbu, Naarli, Jitha, Krake and Gmobb were imposing demons in their own right; all were fierce and strong, with twisted jeering faces, who possessed not unimpressive swordsman skills. But they were haughty, and underestimated their foe entirely, and therein lay their downfall. As Schnither observed the nine figures participating with macabre grace in their deadly dance, he could see that the demons were over-confident, puffed up with their own exaggerated sense of victory, and before he could bark his warning, Trean, Neam and Croga descended from over their heads and dealt the final blows which despatched Transa, Gutbu, Naarli, Jitha, and Gmobb to the Abyss. The demons realised that they had been too hasty in their assumptions of victory a split second before their demise and screeched in indignation and rage as the angels’ swords found their marks. Only Krake survived the Heavenly attack and wasted no time in retreating to the skies, leaving the aeroplane and the ferocious battle far behind him.
Schnither felt a growing sense of despair and foreboding grow in his belly, and could quite readily have allowed himself to wallow in certain defeat, but anger began to displace his despondency and soon the Dark Captain was overcome with a rage that spurred him onward and drove him around again to where Lasair was battling, having just despatched two dark creatures to their doom. Lasair was unaware of Schnither’s approach as he loomed menacingly closer with fiendishly evil intent. Taking out even one of these Heavenly warriors may not be enough to allay Abaddon’s wrath, but it would serve to make Schnither feel better.
Suddenly, from the skies above, Cosain’s voice sounded out loud and clear, “Lasair! Behind you!” But it was just a split second too late. As Lasair spun around, Schnither raised his serrated blade, and before the Heavenly warrior had time to react, Schnither’s sword found its mark, plunging deep into Lasair’s right side through the joins in his armour. The mighty angel’s face crumpled with pain and disbelief as the realisation of what had happened spread over his face like a mask. He let go of his glowing sword and staggered a few feet along the top of the plane before dropping to his knees, his hands clasped to the wound in his side, desperately trying to stem the torrent of blood. Schnither sneered cruelly, unable and unwilling to hide his delight, and advanced rapidly along the aeroplane to finish off the job. He knew that there was no time to lose and raised his sword once again to slay Lasair as he lay bleeding on top of the plane.
“You might win this battle, Schnither,” gasped Lasair through the searing pain in his side. “But you will never – never – win the war. You and your dark hordes are doomed, your fate is sealed in Eternity, there will be no respite for you!”
“Be that as it may, Lasair,” hissed Schnither with a lecherous sneer etched across his face. “But your fate is sealed now, for eternity!”
As Schnither swung his sword, Lasair felt a peace descend throughout his being and he smiled as he closed his eyes for the inevitable. But
the fatal strike never came, and as a tormented scream reverberated across the sky, Lasair opened his eyes to see Cosain duelling with Schnither, who was frothing and foaming at the mouth in unbridled frustration and rage. His red eyes were blazing and despite the obvious disadvantage posed by having only one arm, Schnither was proving a formidable opponent as he parried hard against Cosain’s onslaught. Several minutes passed, and Lasair could see that Schnither was tiring – the muscles in his one remaining arm were tight and burning, and he longed to be able to rest for just a moment. Eventually, as it became apparent that Schnither faced imminent destruction, the Dark Captain seemed to wrestle momentarily with his options before he instantaneously extended his wings like parachutes and allowed himself to be trailed backwards into the sky while Cosain and Lasair hurtled onwards with Araco Airlines flight 454. It briefly crossed Cosain’s mind to pursue Schnither, but he thought better of it, and descended immediately to Lasair’s side. The angel’s already pale skin was now almost translucent, and his earnest green eyes were growing dim. Cosain knelt beside the wounded warrior, and lifted him gently into his arms. He could feel the life ebbing out of Lasair’s limp body, and feared that the end may be near for his brave comrade.
“All is well, Lasair,” soothed Cosain. “You must not fret. You’re going to be alright.”
The Captain of the Host held tightly to Lasair to keep him from tumbling off the top of the aeroplane, and they waited for help to arrive. Suddenly, from below the aeroplane, came streaks of light that heralded the arrival of Solas, Dilis, Trean, Neam and Croga. The noble beings came to rest beside their Captain and knelt alongside Lasair, who was growing weaker with every passing minute. Lasair’s robes were stained bright red with blood, and the deep wound in his side still oozed, although the worst of the bleeding had now stopped.
“Lasair!” gasped Croga, his compassionate brown eyes filling with tears of disbelief and sorrow. “What happened?”
Lasair was barely conscious, and life receded from his body with every breath. Despite his best attempts to remain calm for Lasair’s sake, Cosain’s voice trembled as he spoke.
“Schnither,” he whispered, as if the very name pained him. “He attacked from behind, Lasair never saw him coming…” Cosain’s voice trailed off as he fought to hold back the tears that threatened to overflow down his perfect features.
“Let me help him!” Dilis cried. “My sword healed your wound without trace, Cosain.”
“I am afraid it is too late, Dilis,” whispered Cosain, and he looked up kindly at the youngest of the angels, knowing that he would do anything he could to save Lasair.
“I must try!” insisted Dilis, and he gently lifted Lasair’s tunic and set his sword broadside along the gaping wound. Despite his deteriorating condition, Lasair winced in pain, then opened his eyes and smiled at Dilis. “Thank you, brother,” he whispered weakly. Dilis looked at his sword, which was still glowing red, but to his horror he found that Lasair’s wound had not knitted together as it should have, and remained open and raw. Dilis looked questioningly at Cosain, who anticipated his thoughts.
“We must get him to the Celestial City,” said Cosain. “To the Rapha Fountain, it is his only hope.”
“But Captain,” said Neam, his face serious, “If we bring Lasair back to the Celestial City, what will become of Phoebe and her family? The Enemy is gone for now – but this flight is far from over. We cannot risk leaving the humans alone, they would never survive!”
“You are right, Neam, which is why we must split up.” Cosain’s suggestion sounded so implausible that the angelic warriors barely seemed to process it, until Croga spoke.
“Captain, it took all our combined strength and skill to ward off the Enemy just now. We were victorious – but only just. If we separate at this stage…” Croga’s voice trailed off and he furrowed his brow.
“Be that as it may, but we really have no choice,” Trean spoke up, and the other warriors realised that he spoke for all of them. They all knew that the strategy was a risky one, but leaving Lasair to bleed to death was not an option. “We will do as you command, Captain.”
“You are brave and noble warriors,” Cosain surveyed his team with pride. “Now, Dilis and Solas, you will carry Lasair back to the Celestial City and oversee his recovery. Trean, Neam, Croga – you will stay with me. We will accompany this flight for its duration. God speed, warriors.”
Dilis and Solas hoisted an unconscious Lasair up between them, his floppy arms slung around their strong shoulders. In an instant, the angels were airborne and heading back to the Celestial City, leaving Cosain, Trean, Neam and Croga astride Araco Airlines flight 454 as it made its way toward Ireland’s green shores and home.
CHAPTER 40
Inside the afflicted aircraft, the wave of panic which had spread throughout the cabin had dispersed somewhat, and passengers seemed to settle considerably as the plane’s heaving and lurching began to subside. Flight attendants tentatively loosened their seat belts, and two of the bravest unclipped their buckles and gingerly made their way from the front to the back of the cabin, regaining their professionalism and checking in on passengers to ensure that everyone was alright. Both flight attendants were seasoned flyers with hundreds of flights under their belts, but Phoebe could see the trepidation that they were working so hard to hide written all over their ashen faces – yes, she could tell that this turbulence was like nothing either of these crew members had ever experienced before.
“Are you okay Honey?” Eva’s voice was barely audible across the aisle as the cabin had filled with a cacophony of voices all struggling for supremacy and demanding that their questions be answered – “What was that?” “What happened?” “Are we going down?” “Is it over?” “Don’t stand up, it’s not over!” “I think I’m gonna throw up!” Question after jumbled question assaulted Phoebe’s ears, and rather than shout over the din she smiled weakly at her mother and confirmed that she was alright.
“Look Phoebe!” Demetrius shouted suddenly, right in Phoebe’s ear. She jammed her finger in her ear and started to protest at his loud proximity, but was instantly silenced as her gaze shifted to where Demetrius was pointing. There, right outside the aeroplane, she could see Dilis and Solas bearing Lasair up between them, his tunic stained crimson red beneath his bronze breastplate and his head drooped, face pallid, eyes closed.
Despite everything she had witnessed during the last few days, the sight took Phoebe’s breath away and she gasped in spite of herself. “Lasair!” she gasped. “Whatever happened out there must have been hideous!”
“Look!” Demetrius pointed beyond the angelic trio, and Phoebe could see a small black gathering of demons, apparently in retreat. From this distance, they looked like an angry little storm cloud, billowing and undulating – had she not known what they were, she would have thought them almost graceful.
“That must be the tail end of those things,” said Phoebe, her eyes still wide with wonder. “I wonder where Cosa…” Her words trailed off as her sentence was answered and Cosain, Trean, Neam and Croga came into view through the plane’s small oval window. “Cosain!” she shouted, banging on the window with her clenched fists, and promptly received an elbow in the ribs from Demetrius. “Ow!” Phoebe protested. “What was that for?”
“Phoebe, you’ve got to keep your voice down! You and I have a vague idea what’s going on out there, but you must remember that no-one else does. If you start yelling random names out the window, people are gonna wonder what you’re up to!”
“Oh… yeah, I got a bit carried away I guess,” Phoebe shrugged, and returned her attention to Cosain. He was standing astride the aeroplanes extensive wing with Croga at his side. Phoebe glanced across the aisle and out through her parents’ window, and found Trean and Neam in similar formation on the other wing. She could see that the warriors were alert, on their guard, their eyes scanning the horizon. As she looked back through her own window, Phoebe’s eyes met Cosain’s as he turned to look at her. His go
lden eyes seemed to carry many cares in their depths, and she imagined that he must have much on his mind.
“Phoebe.”
“What is it Dem?” Phoebe asked, turning her head towards her friend but never diverting her eyes from Cosain.
“Huh?” Demetrius barely acknowledged her question.
“Phoebe.”
“Dem – what do you want?” Phoebe turned around in her seat, agitated. She wanted to see what Cosain and the other angels were doing. Why did Demetrius insist on calling her?
“Phoebs, I didn’t speak. You’re hearing things, Bird.”
Given the gravity of the situation in which they had just found themselves, Phoebe didn’t think that Demetrius would joke around, and one look at his serious expression told her that she was right.
“Phoebe, I’m out here.”
“Seriously Dem – you didn’t hear that?” Phoebe enquired, but Demetrius merely shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
“Didn’t hear a thing Phoe…” Demetrius stopped mid sentence. The realisation of who the voice belonged to dawned on him at exactly the same moment that Phoebe caught on too.
“Cosain?” she whispered. “But how?”
“Phoebe, you need to listen to me.” Phoebe’s eyes locked on Cosain’s again, and she realised that despite the fact that his lips were not moving at all, he was communicating with her and she could hear him as plainly as if he had been standing beside her. Cosain needed her attention.
“Go on,” she murmured in hushed tones, and was immediately aware that she felt very self conscious talking to the window. She blushed a little, but forced her awkwardness inward and concentrated intently on Cosain.
Phoebe Wren and the Vortex of Light Page 15