I scream out again to Liv, but there is no answer. I can hear her struggling in the distance though and this assures me that she is still there, alive. I try again to pull my head up, but it is again forced against the ground. My only view is upwards, through the trees that scrape across the hovering moon. A dark mist swirls into the shape of a head and shoulders of a figure. It seems to be looking at me, almost studying me. It makes jerking motions back and forth over me. But not like a man would, its neck seems to bend too much. More like a snake.
Then it speaks, though it has no mouth. Its speech is lispy, like a hiss. It says, “Speak not the words.” Other voices from around me join in. “Mustn’t speak the words.”
Under the strain of the invisible weight, I breathe shallow wheezing breaths. They’re enough to keep me conscious. But I struggle to form them into words, let alone, cry out, which is what I want to do. “What,” I say in a weak, raspy, whisper. “What do you want?”
“Mustn’t speak the words, mother,” the voice says again, this time referring to me as mother. “Not the words.” “Not the words.” “Not the words.” The others echo in.
“What words,” I breathe.
“Mother’s words,” it replies. “We keep you from speaking the Mother words.”
“No words.” “No words.” “No words.” The others again echo.
“I don’t know any words,” I say, mustering strength. “Let us go.”
“No more speaking,” the figure says. It’s voice trailing off in a long exaggerated hiss. It cocks its head and the pressing becomes stronger. I begin to scream out, but they press on my throat and nothing comes. I can’t breathe. I struggle more, but without breath I only tire faster. Soon my body is unable to move—unable to resist. Despite my brain screaming at my body to breathe, it has given in and I lay still. My vision begins to narrow. I can feel the blood pounding in my temples and I know that it won’t be long before I lose consciousness.
The only thing I can think of is that Liv is going to die because of me. I shouldn’t have come with her. I shouldn’t have put her in this danger. Then a distant memory, clouded in pain comes to mind. It’s my foster sister. She is in her little night gown, carrying her worn and ragged rabbit. The way she always did when she came to my room, scared of the boogie men, both imaginary and real. She looks up at me, her eyes full of fright. She wants to come with me but she can’t. And I can’t stay with her. There is hurt in her voice as she asks, “Why did you leave me?”
“I didn’t want to,” I plea.
She does not seem satisfied with this, bowing her head, sadly. “Why didn’t you take me with you,” she says.
“I wanted to take you with me, but I couldn’t. They wouldn’t let me.
Looking up again, this time with a dark anger, she screams, “You lied to me. You said you’d come back for me. You said you’d come back.”
Then the darkness encloses. I call out to her, but there is no response. The darkness has overtaken everything. Only despair remains. In that moment I have one last thought—a plea to the invisible God I have hated for so long. Help me. It’s then that the light comes.
Faint at first, like the flickering of a flame, then brighter and brighter as it throbs outward from some unseen source. The light breaks the darkness like the rising of the sun breaks the night. The dark figure looks toward the light in fear as its brilliance dissolves the creature away, and with it, the weight on my chest. They seem to scatter back toward the rock face, disappearing into the darkness.
I breathe in deeply, and immediately my deprived body soaks in the desired oxygen. A feeling of relief spreads over me and the fear is dispelled. Rising up on my side, my head spins and vision blurs. Dazed, head pounding, I try to stand, but I am still weak. A hand helps me up. It’s Liv. She draws me up to my feet and steadies me.
“What happened?” I ask, still incoherent. “That light. Was that you?”
“No,” Liv says. “It was him.” She points to the middle of the clearing. There, sitting hunched over in a carved out crater, is a man. From his back extend white iridescent wings. They fall over him, dissolving into a thin white shroud glistening in the moonlight. Other than the shroud covering him, he is naked.
“Who is he?” I ask, turning to Liv.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
A groan comes from him and he lifts his head toward us. His eyes are bright, emanating an intense white light, which slowly fades, revealing his face. It’s the stranger. He lifts slowly off the ground, trying to stand, but his legs are unsteady. He staggers to the side before swooping towards me. Reflexively, I hold out my hands to catch him, but from my earlier encounters with him I do not expect anything of substance to hold to. However, his weight pushes against me, nearly dragging me to the ground. Liv puts her arm under him to help me hold him up. It’s then that I realize he is not an apparition or figment of my imagination. He is real, living and breathing.
Before dropping completely into unconsciousness, he looks up, but not at me. His expression is mournful as if his whole soul is racked with guilt. In a weak, unsteady voice, he says, “Forgive me, I have fallen.”
Chapter 9
Liv and I help him to his feet; the shroud clings closely to him, still glistening as if it’s emanating its own light. “Are you hurt?” I ask. He seems incoherent. Still, he is able to shake his head, indicating he is not hurt.
“I am just weak,” he says in a quiet raspy voice.
“Where did you come from?” Liv asks. But he doesn’t respond.
“Maybe we should get him back to town,” I say, trying to distract her from the obvious truth that he is an angel, a truth I can’t deny anymore. Well, at least I’m not crazy.
The woods are dense and we’re afraid of going back the way we came, for fear that we might run into the hounds again. The angel may be able to fend off some shadows, but I don’t think he is in any shape to fight off a pack of demonic dingoes. We wander in the darkness with only the slight light of the angel’s shroud to light our way. As we walk along, he seems to regain some of his strength, making his steps more sure. Still, he does not talk, and only follows our movements. His head lumbers on his shoulders, swinging from side to side with each stride. His eyes open partially, but then close again, slipping away into some sort of semi-consciousness.
“I think we’re lost,” Liv says. Her voice reflects her nervousness.
“We’ll find a main road eventually,” I say.
“How do you know? How do you know we’re even walking in the direction of town?”
“We’re going downhill,” I say, trying to sound convincing like I know what I am talking about. “When we ran from the dogs, we ran up hill.” The fact is, we’re lost, and I know it. And the odds of us finding a main road or any road at all, is slim to none. Our only hope is that the angel might regain enough consciousness that he will be able to help us find our way back. That is, if the hounds don’t get us first.
“I can’t carry him anymore,” Liv says. “We have to take a break.”
Seeing Liv’s little frame tucked under the angel’s arm, I am surprised she is able to carry his weight at all. “We’ll take a break then,” I say. We slowly lay the angel down and sit on the ground next to him. Liv is looking up at the sky above fractured by the jetting pines. Stars dot the expanse. I have never seen so many. In contrast to the darkness around us, they are like flickering candles. It is quiet with the exception of the breeze blowing in the unseen bows of the trees.
“I had heard the townspeople talk about the shadow people here and there, when they thought I wasn’t listening,” Liv says, “But I thought they were just a town myth. You know how people can be. Superstitious and all.”
“Who are the shadow people?” I ask.
“I don’t really know,” Liv says. “I’ve heard some townspeople say that they had seen them in the woods after dark. We were always encouraged to stay out of the woods, especially after night fall. I just figured that the
y didn’t want us getting lost.” She peers at me through the darkness. “You don’t think they’ll come back for us do you,” tears glistening in her eyes, reflecting the light around them.
“No Liv,” I reply. “They won’t be coming back.”
A small grin pulls at the corner of her mouth, resisting the quivering of her chin. She wipes her eyes. “You’re a good liar, Kyra,” she says.
We sit there in the quiet of the night, listening to the nothing and finding comfort in it. I think of the possible outcomes to our present situation. We are not going to be able to carry the angel back to town. Even if we did get him back, what would we do with him? But we can’t just leave him here either. Besides, conscious or not, I feel safer with him then wandering the forest alone.
As I am weighing the options, I notice the slight glint of light in the distance, little reddish-orange ember floating in the black. My heart begins to sink. The hounds are back. They’ve found us. I put my hand on the angel’s arm, trying to shake him awake, but it’s no use. Liv sees the lights in the distance and begins to panic. “What do we do?” she whispers, desperately.
“I don’t know.”
“Should we run?”
“We can’t run with him,” I say defensively, making it clear that I will not be leaving him behind. I think for a moment. “They’re after me,” I say.
“You don’t know that.”
“Trust me, I do know,” I reply, raising to my feet. Liv looks at me confused. “I will go out and try to lure them away. They should leave the two of you alone. When it gets lighter, he should be stronger. You both head back to town and get help.” I begin walking toward the lights.
“You can’t go by yourself,” Liv calls out.
“I’ll be fine,” I lie and continue walking toward the red embers in the distance. My heart pounds furiously in my chest. The lights are moving erratically now as I stare at them in the distance, closing in on me. I feel something touch my hand. I glance down to see Liv scooping my hand in hers.
She looks at me with an unsteady smile. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Together we stand, silent as statues, awaiting what is to come. I can feel a tremor from Liv’s hand and I put my arm around her to calm her. In the distance, the lights get closer and we can now hear sounds of movement through the brush. Then we hear a voice. It’s calling out something. “Liv,” it says. Then another. “Kyra.”
The lights are not the eyes of the hounds, but lanterns of those searching for us. An exhilaration of hope comes over us. “We’re here,” I exclaim. Tears of gratitude rush to my eyes.
“It must be the townspeople,” Liv says.
We call out some more. They seem to hear us as their pace quickens towards us. Soon the light of their lanterns surround us as a handful of men come into view. Two of the men I recognize as Jeff and the pastor, the rest are not familiar to me. “Kyra,” Jeff exclaims.
“Daddy,” Liv exclaims as one of the unfamiliar men breaks from the others. He grabs Liv by the arm, not with love but with harshness. By the expression on her face, I can tell his grip hurts her.
“What were you thinking,” he says angrily. Though I am a distance away, I can smell the stench of alcohol. “You know you don’t wander into the woods after dark.”
She lowers her head fearfully, muttering like a frightened animal, “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry.”
The pastor steps forward, putting his hand on the angry man’s shoulder. “Now, now, Roger. She’s safe now. There’s no reason to get upset.”
He looks at the pastor with the look of death. “Don’t tell me it’s safe. You know as well as I do it’s not safe. I’m leaving this place and suggest all of you do the same.” He takes Liv and drags her off into the darkness. A few of the others go with him.
Jeff turns to me. “What would possess you two to wander into the woods at night?”
“We were chased by a pack of dogs,” I say, though I don’t suppose anyone will believe me. “It was the shadow people.”
A laugh erupts from the group, except the pastor who maintains a stern look. “Did Liv tell you about the shadow people,” Jeff says. “It’s just an old wives tale.”
“It’s true,” I insist.
“Now, Kyra,” Jeff says. An expression of disappointment on his face. “Don’t lie. I thought I could expect more from you.”
“It’s alright,” says the pastor. “The woods can play tricks on the mind at night. Maybe thought they did see shadows moving in the woods. Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.” He looks around at the other townspeople. They begin to laugh.
“You don’t believe me. I’ll prove it to you,” I say, defiantly. “There was a man there. An angel.”
“An angel,” the pastor exclaims. He seems more surprised than amused.
“Kyra,” Jeff says in a dissatisfied tone.
“He’s over here,” I say, grabbing Jeff’s arm and dragging him along. “He was too weak to walk.”
“Must have been a long flight from heaven,” someone says. I take no notice of it, certain that I would have my proof to put them to silence. However, as we move to the spot where we had laid the angel down, it becomes quite clear that there will be no last laugh for me. He’s done it to me again. There is no sign of him anywhere. This is just getting mean, I say to myself, knowing how insane I must look now.
“This is enough nonsense, Kyra,” Jeff says, his patience obviously worn. “We’ll talk about this when we get home.” He takes me by the hand, his is not a harsh grip though. I don’t know that Jeff could ever know violence. It’s against his disposition. As angry as he may be, he still remains gentle. As we pass by the pastor, he says to him, “Sorry for all this.”
The pastor nods. “Nonsense. We are just glad they are safe.”
Together we head back toward town in silence. A few of the men meander behind and their roars of laughter can be heard from time to time. The pastor watches the woods around us nervously, swinging his lantern from one side to another. He stops occasionally to tell the others to catch up. Assuring that he does not allow anyone else getting lost tonight.
As we reach the edge of town, the way is lit by torch lamps, flickering in the night. They are hanging from the poles that the workmen had installed earlier in the day. They line the whole edge of town. It’s strange for a town to still use open flame lamps. But after what we just experienced, my spectrum of weirdness has expanded. The pastor stops at the lamp pole, waiting until all have come. He looks one last time into the darkness behind us and gives a sigh, as if relieved.
Jeff and I don’t talk on our way back to the house. I’m sure Jeff doesn’t know what to say and I have no desire in striking up a conversation. As we get closer to the house, we can hear Liv and her father. They are standing at their door. She seems to be trying to explain something to her father, but from his appearance, he is not willing to listen.
“You’re lying,” he yells at Liv, not caring who hears. She makes more appeals to him too quiet to be heard. “Shut up,” he screams. He takes her hair in his hands and rips her head back. Pointing a finger in her face, he says, “there are no angels and I don’t want to hear anymore about your mother.”
The sight sickens me and I can’t bear to see it. I look to Jeff in hopes that he will do something, but he pretends not to see. I turn to say something, but he has already let her go. Seeing her sobbing, he must have let her go as if he realized what he was doing. “She’s dead,” he mutters, barely loud enough for us to hear. “There’s no coming back. You’re a fool to think any different.” He goes inside, leaving Liv on the step crying.
“Are you okay,” Jeff calls out.
Liv jerks her head up, startled by Jeff’s voice. She wipes her eyes quickly, as if embarrassed that anyone had witnessed the scene, even though it was not her fault in anyway. But that’s the problem with the abused; they always seem to blame themselves and never the one who should be blamed. My lower lip quivers with anger and hatred toward
her father. It’s not the first time I have met men like him.
“I’m fine,” Liv says in a forced nicety. “Just a little shaken up that’s all. I’ll be fine.” She stands and goes in, not allowing a response.
Sensing my concern for her, Jeff assures, “She’ll be fine.”
“You believe that,” I say coldly.
“It’s not our concern,” Jeff replies. “Roger gets a little gruff when he’s had too many, but he doesn’t do any harm.”
“Not our concern,” I scream. “He’s abusive. He’s going to kill her.”
“He doesn’t do anything serious,” he says. “He mostly just yells and then it’s over. Besides, Roger’s been through a lot since his wife died.”
Angel Realms 01 The Dawn of Angels Page 9