by Han, George
Leo Kenyon had been her best. She found him when he was just a boy in a poor neighbourhood of Chicago. He looked just like any other kid on the street, but there were characteristics common to only Kings—that quiet strength, faith, and sense of purpose. Now he was gone. The manner with which he was taken away underlay her emotional imbalance.
She crossed her chest and murmured a prayer. Marz winced in empathy, and she stroked his head in return. They shared a telepathic chemistry that dated to the first day the wolf had been adopted.
“Good old friend.” Maganus had joined them and patted the white wolf on the head.
“Were you alerted by the cross?”
Maganus was referring to the golden cross carried by all Guardian Angels. The cross acted as a sensor to detect the presence of darkness and the location of demons and will glow upon the detection of darkness.
Gwyneth nodded.
“I was in the Acadian forests in Canada when the Golden Cross glowed. It was a heavy green. Then there was a subtle prick in my heart”
Gwyneth remembered it was like her inner reservoir of power, silent and asleep in the depths of her soul, had been disrupted and waves began to churn. Once the inner tranquility was disturbed, her powers were also significantly enhanced. This was paradoxically a gift and a curse. Her powers, when disturbed, could be amplified and become a potent weapon against the enemies.
In the fraternity of Guardian Angels, they were all individually blessed with powers associated with the seasons and weather. Gwyneth had hers linked to the winter and the snow. Her emotions were intertwined with her ability to manipulate the snow and wind. Through the centuries, Gwyneth had been learning techniques on the mastery of her negative emotions of grief, anger, and displeasure, very much like taming wild horses.
If she failed, and there had been notable incidents of failure, it could bring a climatic catastrophe that ranged from bouts of snowing to a cataclysmic snowstorm that could last for days.
Hence the snow.
Gwyneth usually masters her emotions well. However, of late, the emotional disturbance had intensified and that meant only one thing - the ascendancy of darkness.
The Demons might be returning.
Although the Demons had been incessant in their efforts of subversion of the human race, their battles had always been behind-the-scene, conducted in the arena of the hearts and minds of man. Outright attacks had been rare in the past three hundred years, since the contest for Europe in the nineteenth century.
The Demons chose their targets with caution. If they undertook a blatant attack on the Kings, it was only because these Kings would frustrate the Demons’ efforts to control the realm of Earth, domain of the human race.
Leo Kenyon has been deemed to be the key to the future of the human race and by his elimination, a key link in the train of events leading to a certain positive outcome in history would be eliminated. History will be rewritten and the balance between good and evil gravely upset with unimaginable consequences for the realm of Earth.
Gwyneth could remember two recent examples—the assassination attempts on Ronald Reagan and John Paul II, when the Demons orchestrated attacks on the Kings to further their cause. Both the American president and Catholic pope went on to bury Communism and relieved millions from unimaginable catastrophes.
Historians have written hypothetically on the change of the course of history brought about by the triumph of capitalism. Little could they imagine the consequences for humanity had the two Kings of Men failed and Communism was allowed to continue. Human civilizations would have faced cultural and economical stagnation within decades.
After the Demons were defeated in a major battle with the Angels in the previous century, such outright attacks had ceased. What will be the significance of this sanguinary attack now? War between Angels and Demons going to return?
“You must not let your feelings get ahead of you.”
“My emotions are hard to manage at times. Wild mares. The insights are like vapour.” Gwyneth looked around. “Moreover, you can see what they have done.
Maganus shook his head. “We have seen worse and we triumphed. I know Leo Kenyon was one of the most promising Kings, and you had watched over him since he was a child.”
“Maganus, it not just my emotional attachment to Leo. I fear for mankind. Do you know the significance of this attack? They are going for all the kinglings.”
Maganus put aside his pipe and, as he always did, stroked his plaited hair while he dispensed advice. His mannerism smacked of nonchalance. However, it was actually a deep-seated confidence and equanimity, traits he possessed because he was less emotionally attached to the kinglings.
Kinglings collectively referred to the young of mankind who had been chosen to be Kings of Men, leaders of the human civilization. They would be specially mentored, trained, and guided. A special destiny, a train of events would be designed as a baptism of fire, mapped specially to develop those individuals. To prevent subversion by the Demons, they were mostly born into obscurity, away from the wicked eyes of the Demons until they were old enough to fend for themselves.
“I worried about a pair of kinglings. Earlier I had met the defenders, the Bellators and they have set out to find a pair of siblings.”
“Siblings?”
“They were under my charge. Strangely after Kenyon’s death was known, they were on my mind. My intuition tells me things are not that simple.”
“War over two kinglings?”
Gwyneth hesitated. The chill returned
“I fear the worst.”
“Fear is our greatest enemy. It was fear that led many a king to switch to the
dark side. It was fear that drove mankind to the brink of destruction. It was fear that created the malaise of confidence that retarded the progress of civilization. We must not let the same dark feeling take root. Never.”
Gwyneth took a deep breath.
“Breathe, if you must. A puff, I can offer?” Maganus lifted his pipe but Gwyneth only smiled. Maganus’s humor was always the light to drive away darkness, and bring hope to her despair and spring to her winters.
Gwyneth mulled.
“What moulds humanity?”
“That’s obvious.” He was smug “Ideas.”
Gwyneth nodded “Notwithstanding human leaders steered the course of civilization, aided by us, it is ideas that drove these Kings, and attract followers to their cause.”
Gwyneth paused.
“Within the next fifty years, mankind will arrive at a critical juncture of their evolution when confusion and moral decline is prevalent. New ideas that evoked memories of the golden ages will be needed to revive human civilization and drive them forward.”
“And the siblings are going to be part of it…” Maganus mumbled.
“Obviously somebody from the dark side knew about them.”
There was a stony silence and the Guardian Angels exchanged looks
“It is someone we know.”
Gwyneth smiled at their telepathic chemistry. It amazes her. A heavy silence followed. Maganus spoke first, his walnut-sized eyes narrowing into slits of contemplative light. “I have not seen him for ages.”
Gwyneth was silent.
“Let waste no time.” Maganus turned to Pologus. “Help me, my friend.” The fowl nodded and darted off like a thunderbolt through the window and into the night.
Pologus was a celestial being that had served the cause of the Angels and Kings since the Dark Ages. It used to be a war fowl of a noble German chieftain and served in numerous battles against the dark forces of Demons. However, Pologus was killed when the barbarians massacred the entire tribe of its master.
Maganus found the carcass and raised Pologus from death with his breath. The hawk possessed the ability to trace sources of danger and track down the presence of Kinglings.
Pologus returned soon and circled the air, then with a shrill rested on Maganus’s arm. The fowl whispered in his ear, and Maganus turned to Gwy
neth and Father Bellator. “Pologus failed to find anyone. We will need more help.” He then dug into his tunic bag and pulled out the Celestial Compass, the complector, a trusted tool.
It looked like an ordinary compass. The cover was metallic and bereft of design. But once it was flicked open, the ordinariness stopped. Compasses were used to locate bearings and plot directions, but the Celestial Compass was used to track the location of the Kings and reveal the presence of Demons.
There was only one needle, but it did not point north. Instead, the needle indicated the location of the Kings. On the edge of the compass, in place of the bearings, there were twelve golden beads that glowed to indicate the strength of the presence of Kinglings or Angels. The minerals were harnessed when the first continents were formed from the larva of the grand volcanoes.
After much scrutiny, Maganus spoke, uncertainty laden in his voice. “The needle is unstable and oscillating between the southwestern and western sectors.”
“The Demons have jammed our compasses.” Gwyneth muttered.
Maganus winced. “They came prepared.”
“My instincts were correct then,” Gwyneth said.
Maganus said as stroked his beard. “A fight is imminent.”
They threw their glance to the horizon and kept a brooding silence.
Chapter 9
Primus Inter Pares
In the depths of the nature reserves, the near full moon draped a cloak of pallid tranquility over the terrain. From the unseen excess, a ripple of force, an oppressive presence resonated through the atmosphere, followed by a strong gale, which sent the woods into a mad sway for several minutes.
The birds awoke and disturbed animals cried out. Lightning shot through the darkness and a portal opened up in the midst of the pitch black. Tongues of fire licked outward in all directions, and a figure materialized at the rim of the portal.
The domineering figure donned a smart suit of black and red, and his broad shoulders lent a commanding and intimidating presence. He was every bit the cocky banker who had stepped into the wrong environment.
His first step carried such enormous power that it rolled down a carpet of dark burning vibes which scorched the surrounding grasses and laid waste to all life forms.
The gale died down and silence resumed.
He surveyed the spot around him. He sniffed and tried to pick the ambience of the lands. It was the spot. He could smell the history of the place. Despite the thick forests, he could tell the site used to be the center of an ancient but extinct civilization whose people were cruel and dark in their disposition.
Beneath the serenity, the lands were damned, ideal for him to raise his bastion of darkness—Castle Valmar.
Lord Barbatos, Duke of Demons, Commander of thirty legions of Demons, master conjurer of the human mind, stood at the brink of a bold enterprise that was designed to wrestle total control of the human civilization. As he surveyed his new domain in quiet satisfaction, a familiar flapping of winds, and the accompanying vibes of darkness, drew his attention.
A winged creature descended and landed with a heavy thump. The wings folded and the gigantic frame knelt in front of him. In a low drone, the creature whispered in servitude, “Master.”
“Eberhard, do you bring good tidings?”
“Master, you sense it?” The gargoyle was in full glee, his tusks glimmering with bloodlust.
“Yes, I sensed that.”
“The mission has been completed.”
“Excellent, my friend!”
“Master, I broke his chest.”
Barbatos circled the beast and smirked.
“Good, Eberhard. Your act will alert the Angels. Shock and panic will spread. With the human race under threat, the Angels will respond.” He spoke in an authoritative voice as Eberhard remained on his knees.
The gargoyle, huge like a bull, stretching to two metres at full height, did not move, like an obedient pet. Armed with powerful limbs, razor-sharp claws and teeth, and indestructible iron body, Eberhard was a killing machine with a reputation that pierced the hearts of many in the arenas of Heaven and Hell.
Raised from the dead souls of evil warriors who were steeped in the darkest of cultures, Eberhard was the epitome of dark power, immoral, and ruthless. He was gifted with the powers to crush a speeding locomotive or demolish a skyscraper but in front of Lord Barbatos, he was a meek lamb.
There was a long pause before Lord Barbatos spoke. “Rise,” He’d deliberately made Eberhard waited. He enjoyed the sadistic satisfaction of manipulating these lesser beings who that craved his approval like fishes for water.
“Master,” the gigantic gargoyle snorted, his head lowered - an unbecoming pose for a fearsome demon.
Barbatos pointed to his environment. “My fear, this piece of forestry is alien and dark; and those humans spent millions to preserve these woods?”
He raised his right arm and, in a suave twist of his wrist, summoned ominous clouds over him. The moon was blocked out and the cacophony of insect noises went silent. Then the trees in the perimeters withered and died away. Dark and willowy trees rose to take the place of the thick greenery.
“Master,” the gargoyle said.
Barbatos roared. “Witness my creation, Eberhard!” He swung around and raised his arms over his head with grace and ease. “Atrum vox orior oriri ortus! Rise, Rise, Dark Power!”
A tremor shook the ground as the earth was torn asunder as if it were paper. All proper forms of life, trees and birds of sorts, crumbled away as if the earth had chewed them up. As the dark essence rippled across the natural habitat, all living beings melted away in the midst of a cacophony of cries and shrills.
A web of cracks ate into the ground and from recesses spewed armies of spiders, insects, and snakes.
The phenomenon had Eberhard’s jaws agape. “Master …” he was amazed like a child.
Barbatos continued to chant in intensive tones. The power of his voice resonated through the woods like seas of dark energy.
Then the ground behind them, by the valley, broke like crumbled clay. Gradually a structure broke through, like a monster struggling to be born. It rose in dramatic motion until a four-towered castle stood like an awkward giant, totally out of sync with the surroundings.
“It’s Valmar.”
“Yes, Valmar, our prized castle and our key holding position.”
“Master, you brought your armies from hell?”
Barbatos nodded.
“I beg your pardon for my ignorance, Master, but armies from hell?” Eberhard snorted his query.
Barbatos nodded. “I could not bring the legions. My powers are limited and the Guardian Angels are still guarding the borders of human civilization. However I have three legions which will support my efforts.
“A new war on humanity!” the beast repeated.
“Yes. This time we are here to stay. No longer will we be involved in isolated skirmishes and lived in sickening deference to soldiers of heaven. The time has come to for us to renew our war with our Angel friends and claim the victory that should be ours. ”
“A new battle?” Eberhard’s bulb-like eyes lit up in flames as a wicked grin drew across his face.
“Don’t you long for this moment?” Barbatos teased as the beast grunted his approval. “This is a plan that will take years for fruition, Eberhard. However, the first step has been taken and our scheme is unfolding beautifully.”
“Do we need more legions for this war?”
Barbatos shook his head in irritation. “No, no, Eberhard. I had not elaborated but this is not just a war. The legions I used served the purpose of a red herring. A distraction.”
“Distraction?
Barbatos nodded and wagged a pedantic finger. “Watch me, my friend.” Barbatos patted Eberhard on his shoulder. “I shall show you a magnificent victory, the hatching of a major scheme that will allow us to tighten our control of the human civilization.”
“Yes, Master.” Eberhard’s glee came with lustin
g mucus dripping to the grounds.
“The time has to come for us to claim dominance of the realm of Earth. This is our domain. The tug of war between the Angels and us must come to a conclusive end. It is time once again to bring these humans to their knees and herald an era of absolute domination.”
“Master …” Eberhard salivated with bloodlust.
“Welcome to our castle, the frontline position in the battle against mankind; the decisive battle against the Angels,” Barbatos pronounced as his eyes ignited into fires of deep maroon.
Chapter 10
Death and Resurrection
BC 80, Southwest England
Snow had always been special to her. It had a peculiar effect on her vibes. Like the winter that freezes the lake, the wintery chill turned her into a glacier. Her verve and warmth hibernated once the snow arrived. In place of the vibrancy, an inexplicable calm that gave her the clarity of mind and a sense of lightness that goes beyond words. In sync with the snow and rhythm of nature, Gwyneth felt she was part of the greater wintery climate.
She was born and raised as Gwyneth Vitulus, the eldest of five children and only daughter of the chief of a local Celtic tribe, Cathaor, a heavily bearded man. The Chieftain was nearing sixty and renowned in the lands for his benevolence and tolerance. Her four brothers, aged eighteen to four, were handsome and well-built, gifted with their family’s blue eyes and fair complexion.
The tribe dwelt at a plain near the head of the Thames River of what is today Cheltenham. The Romans were still decades away from conquering the British Isles. Pockets of Celtic clans resided along the green hills and the banks of River Thames.
Gwyneth was twenty years of age, seven days short of her twenty-first year, which was recorded to be the tenth day of the tenth lunar month on the ancient Celtic calendar. It was planned, as instructed by her father, that her birthday would be an occasion for celebration. All members of the tribe, all ladies born the same day would also participate in the celebration. Her mother, Cerdwin, has been keen to find a man for her daughter. Men of eligible pedigree, age, and looks were invited to the event.