by T. M. Lakomy
He planted a kiss on her brow and released her. “I will tell you, then. I have passed that dark door that we all dreaded, those of us that fell in our pride and were robbed of our glory, for glory belongs to God, and he took it back from us. Broken, I was, a wounded spirit, less than the demons and bleeding into the all-consuming void. And my god spark writhed in agony within me, and it was offered up, wretched and ill–formed, by the Angel of Death to the feet of the almighty throne.” Antariel seized her hands and held them fast, his eyes arresting her as he spoke.
“I stood there, wretched and decayed, and my soul burned and was seared by the thrice holy light. It was consumed and destroyed, and I was gone from myself, stripped of myself and reduced to nothing but a divine spark that the holy breath had formed from careful thought and love. The throng of the heavenly court was loud, and the accusing angels loomed over me and presented their case before the throne; my sins and treasons and the evil spirit that I had become. Their voices were cold as the red fire that shaped them, bitter and all-consuming, devouring the gloom and charring the fingers of the evil creations. They condemned me and bound me by the laws I had violated, the decrees divine that I had scorned. And I was doomed beneath the watchful gaze of Dumah.
“But the angels of mercy took their turn and pleaded for me, their blue fire rising like a tumultuous yet glorious sea of fire and mist. Their voices, fierce yet fair-minded, nurtured my broken spark. They spoke of my torment and my regrets, my yearning to rejoin my heavenly abode, and how the prince of the world had defiled my mind and ripped my soul to bleeding shreds. The throne was silent and then Ariel spoke, he who had known me and watched over me before the choir of creation. Casting down his spear before the accusing angels, his glorious wings blocked the endless contest of voices, and he spoke to the throne softly on my behalf. At length the voices abated, and a silence reigned, deep and pristine—a sacred silence where I was alone, but alone in God.
“‘So be it,’ and so it was. I was extinguished, dismantled, and fragmented into a million pieces across the primordial void. But mercy was his divine countenance, and his fingers were justice, and he wrought me anew, giving me back my light and my soul. My dreams and worldly aspirations he returned to me, and he showed me the baleful chessboard where Samael challenged him.
“To return to the heavenly hosts once more was denied me till the end of days when Lucifer and Samael are hauled in for the last reckoning. But to join the chessboard and join in the divine fight against them was my choice. To travel the skies and lend succor to the angels was granted me. My voice and sight were restored and my doom lifted, and now I can traverse the lower heavens and earth till the end of days, watching the battle unfold.” Antariel’s voice stopped abruptly, and Estella was suddenly aware that the rain had halted and that her hands had grasped his tightly. She smiled ruefully and released one of his hands, touching the left eye that had once been defiled.
“You merited forgiveness,” she said. “Now I see; you have nothing of the evil you once had. Unless this is some profound trickery that I cannot see beyond, it seems you are washed clean, and perhaps even reluctant to think of what you once were.” Estella’s bemused smile was mirrored in Antariel’s face.
“I must have made such a tumult yesterday when I emerged like a comet across the skies. I came to find you. I know the game they seek to entrap you in, and I have learned a thing or two from the cursed mind that twisted me. I am ashamed, deeply and sincerely,” Antariel spoke somberly as the memories played before him.
Estella nodded, turning her head away. She saw that they were on the outskirts of the town. Huddled together neatly before her were many bundles of cloth and packages bulging with provisions. Following her gaze, Antariel nodded.
“It took the whole day to extricate you from that mess you were in and to gather the provisions and clothing you will need. You escaped a danger with that prince, but it is not averted. The trapped demons were released, and now they will find their way to the cardinal. A great evil is coming, and you most of all will be in dire peril.” Antariel’s tone was unusually austere, but underscored with care.
Estella looked down bashfully and saw the brown and red outfit she was wearing; rider’s high brown boots, soft suede trousers with a silken red shirt, and a black cloak with a clasp of glittering garnet. A shadow passed her face and she paused.
“Why have you chosen to return to me, of all the other creations? Your doom began with me and ended with me—surely there is another reason.”
Antariel sighed, his whole body heaving. To her astonishment, he lowered his gaze meekly and bent to his knee, kneeling to kiss her foot. She protested shrilly, backing away, but he held her fast gently, his blue eyes beseeching.
“The ugliness of my sins I cannot hide, but I promise you, I will make amends. Know that now that the distortion of my lust has been lifted, I have nothing but love for you, and that cannot be denied me. I will always protect you, wherever you go, forever.”
Estella blushed and covered her mouth with her hands, turning her face away.
Antariel relinquished her and rose to his feet, dimples emerging in his face. “So let’s go then, shall we?”
“What about horses?” she asked tentatively, relieved to change the subject.
“Ahhh, we have those waiting in the forest, hidden from mortal eyes behind a cloud,” he said, his eyes twinkling merrily as he led the way ahead. Estella followed in his wake, her cheeks still flushed.
NIGHT HAD FALLEN, but they pressed ahead, their horses docile and accustomed to arduous travel. Antariel led the way speedily through the trees, stopping every now and then to glean the temperament of the night, searching for danger. Estella had recounted to him the events of her sojourn in the cloister, and what had transpired with the prince. Antariel had nodded, deep in thought. She learned from him that the Saxon kingdoms had long been trading with the Levant realms in sacred artifacts and mystic objects through the machinations of King Wulfric. He had hoarded them and sought to unravel their secrets out of lust for power, hoping to wield them through the land and establish himself as a holy emperor.
But inadvertently and foolishly he had been enticed by the spirits within the sealed lamps and urns, and they corrupted his spirit to the will of Lucifer. With the guidance of the cardinal, the king’s mind was bent towards domination, and he forsook the path of God. He yearned to become a mighty king, revered and loved as a god on earth. Through the urging of the evil spirits, he sent for a certain box containing many bound demons. Mercenaries from the Holy Land had also received deceptive dreams from Lucifer masquerading as God, urging them to pillage certain monasteries and hidden places. They would then steal the treasures that contained bound demons. Soon a vessel bearing them would be headed towards Britain, and the Twilit world would be under dire assault. Lucifer was mustering armies of the legions of hell and converging upon London. Between the puppet king and the cardinal, Estella was lost as to what Lucifer truly intended—and what role Samael played in the game.
Estella’s own escape had been meticulously planned by Antariel, who had left the heavens the day previously. He had seen the trap that was being laid for her. The prince was aware of the spirit within him, and had invited it in thinking it would give him great power. When he realized it would not, he had sought to rid himself of it. When Estella had cast it out, the prince saw that this was the woman the cardinal had been searching for, and he had intended on handing her over to him.
Antariel, upon taking over Estella’s mind, had revealed the demons festering within each person in the manor. They had screamed and assailed him, trying to overtake Estella and attach themselves to her soul. It had descended into a contest between Antariel and them, for they hated him and cursed him. But eventually they had fled, discerning the holy fire within him. Then Antariel, controlling Estella’s body, had slipped out and stolen a maid’s outfit and sold the golden cross to buy provisions. Meanwhile the prince, crazed and furious that he had been thwarte
d, had sent search parties for her. The demons he had unleashed previously raged within the town seeking her.
“What plans do you have when we reach Britain?” Estella queried. “I am a persona non grata there, and always had few friends. I think I might as well pay a visit to Rosalind Constance, who adopted Dolly. She was my greatest ally in the dark times, and she would never sell to anyone. I cannot return to the manor without putting myself in danger,” she sighed moodily.
Antariel nodded. “You should consider your future moves carefully. Cardinal Pious is lusting to cut out those eyes of yours that see the heavens and the chessboard through the sight of God. It is about survival now, yours or his own. There will be no messiah in this age, and you are the bride of the ages, chosen by the Sophia to usher in a renewal. And somehow, though I cannot see how, you will end up being the guide to a new messiah, bane of Samael.” Antariel’s face was devoid of the lust and desire that had once marred it in his fallen state. Now his wholesome, noble appearance watched her with an expression of mingled pity and understanding.
“You do not comprehend the gift you were blessed with,” he said. “Within this dreadful game you are no slave to the world, but stand there with the choice of rendering succor to the divine hosts and the holy orders of men. You are like a lonely light in a sea of still darkness, where the only illuminations are dull and dim.”
Estella narrowed her eyes, drawing in her horse close to Antariel. “Fancy hearing such wisdom from you,” she said. “Only in these very woods were you my enemy. I see you and Mikhail would have a delightful time together, he shares similar views to you, but expresses them in less eloquent words.”
A flickering pang of guilt and anger crossed over Antariel’s face briefly as he scowled in disdain, admonishing her by deploying his wings and startling her horse into a gallop.
“I have nothing in common with the petty musings of mankind, Estella. You should know that by now.” His own horse caught up with hers, and she saw his proud back and neck stiffen.
“Why did you come after me knowing all of this, Antariel?” questioned Estella. “Surely you aren’t eager to face Lucifer again after the last time.”
Her voice stung, and Antariel abruptly pulled back his horse’s reins and turned to face her. The beauty in his face dripped away to reveal a cold harshness and naked resentment, his eyes incandescent with a deadly fire.
“I came back to have a purpose within creation alongside my betters. And I came to you to take back what was taken from me—my dignity. I was humiliated and reduced to a petty demon. I wish to thwart Lucifer as he thwarted me. Then I’ll depart for places you will never see, even after death.” In silence he rode behind her, his presence rebuking her wordlessly.
Soon Estella found herself growing weary, but each time she made to stop, she felt his presence urging her forwards silently. Finally, balanced on her horse precariously, she nodded off to sleep. She woke every now and then slipping from her horse or when a branch smacked her in the face.
Endless hours they rode in this manner while the forest yielded no clearing or glade, and the trees stood tall and stately like a sea of masts. Moths and other nocturnal insects flitted by them, and the forest was awake with a strange watchfulness. In the moments she dozed off, she felt it clearly, as if the trees had eyes and observed her. When she stirred it would diminish, lingering in the background, and it disconcerted her.
“We aren’t alone here, Antariel. Are we to expect trouble tonight?” she inquired, half expecting him not to respond.
“Yes and no. Yes, we aren’t alone, but no, there is no trouble here. You must sense her, the Lady of the Crossroads, guardian of the forest and of the people that revere her—someone who truly knows you,” he said, his voice light again as he spoke.
“I see. Well then I might press hard till dawn. I do not fancy any guests,” she said, urging her horse forward, much to Antariel’s amusement.
“Run towards her hurriedly—that she would appreciate indeed,” he smirked, but his mockery was lost on Estella as the disquiet chafed at her fraying nerves.
The night had unfurled its mighty robes across the skies, and the moon shone amid a cluster of flowering stars. Their piercing flames washed pallid lights across the forest. The summer triangle constellation and the plough shone radiantly in the pristine velvet firmament. Watching them, Estella felt peace and yet a tender sadness. Antariel was right, after all, for the further they sped into the night, the more closely the presence followed her. At length she realized she was heading straight for it while it waited for her patiently.
It felt ancient, laden with cares and concerns and ever watchful, mindful of everything from the countless lives of mortals to the acorns dreaming of becoming a tree. They rode towards it full-on. As they neared that patient watchfulness, the dawn was emerging in the east, gentle and feeble at first, and the birds awoke and proclaimed the new day. Gradually the night ceded to the dawn, withdrawing like a lofty queen carrying a myriad of stars in her train. Then alone the moon endured within the lightening sky as the first shafts of the chariot of the sun marched across the skies and chased away the shadows. Morning broke and life awoke.
Estella found herself entering a clearing. The green grass stretched far into the distance, bedecked with lilies and harebells. Already the bees were about their business, buzzing from flower to flower seeking nectar. The dawn lit the glade with a pure light. Then Estella saw her, taking in the morning light.
She was seated upon a broken log beneath the shadow of an old elm. Wizened and with pale skin stretched taut, she clasped a tall, shapely, bone-colored staff in her hand. She was draped in black with a heavy hood hiding her face, which was lifted towards the sun, and she beckoned Estella with her free hand. Estella dismounted slowly and gave her reins to Antariel, who encouraged her with a wink. Then she approached the old woman while Antariel lingered behind.
The old woman looked up as Estella approached. Estella was struck by her brilliant, pearly white smile, which overshadowed all her other features. She appraised Estella in a motherly way, and her inky black eyes were undimmed with age but keen and hard as nails. Estella could tell she would have been exceedingly beautiful in her youth, for the perfect rondure of her cheeks and the sharpness of her jaw were still apparent, as well as the smoothness of the skin around her deep-set eyes, which were twin pools of twinkling blackness. Estella found herself leaning forwards to greet the extended hand that the old woman held out for her. She was leaning on her bleached bone staff expectantly, and firmly holding onto Estella’s hand.
“Good morning, child of mine,” the old woman’s face beamed with genuine affection. “I have waited to see you for so long, and have been so eager! Please sit down and keep an old woman company, won’t you?” She led Estella by the hand to sit beside her. “I am so proud of you, my child. You have grown so much older now, and I can see worry has taken a big toll on you already.” The old woman’s eyes flickered with an innate flame as she perused Estella’s thoughts at leisure.
Estella returned her smile tentatively. “Thank you, good mother. I did not know you were waiting for me or I would have sped here faster. I feel like I ought to know you, and yet feel ashamed to ask. Why are you here waiting for me? For you seem to know me so well. Forgive me if I sound impetuous.” Estella quieted her frenetic thoughts as they burst into a million patterns of reasoning, screaming loudly at the back of her mind. The old woman cracked a smile even wider than the last, her stygian eyes chiding Estella knowingly.
“Of course you have never met me,” she said, “but then you do not need to in order to take a guess. You are much more cunning than that, famous Dancer in the Dark!” Her grip tightened gently and Estella’s smile slid off her face. “I am your thoughts incarnate—how you picture the Crone. Once I was a Mother, and before that the Maiden. I am the trinity, I am Astarte and Athena; I am valiant, proud, and fierce, defender of women. I am the goddess of the crossroads, dreadful to reckon with yet merciful. I am
the mother of the gods, and the bringer of plenty and prosperity. I am the Crone, Sheela na gig, and I bring you all back to the earth, my womb, to be immured. I am the full cycle and completion of life, and the soul of every land.”
She spoke lightly, with the nonchalance of someone certain of their inexorable place in the world. Her black eyes were placid and deep, and within them one could lose themselves and their reason, delving ever deeper into the secrets she harbored within her. Estella was silent in awe. She slid off the log, kneeling before the Crone, and kissed her hand reverently.
“I am honored to merit meeting you, oh holy Crone, mother of us all. I hope I have done no evil to warrant you seeking me out, and if so please forgive the errors of youth.” In the protective presence of the Crone, Estella felt calm and safe, as she had never felt in her life. And she wept softly as the ache and yearning she had for a mother welled with her. The Crone hushed her weeping, stooping to wipe her tears, her eyes tender.
“You do not have to fear my displeasure, little one, for you are alone in a sea of sharks, each waiting to glut their fill. But you are feral as a wild feline and have a spirit wrought of the finest fires. Do not fear death, for I shall come for you myself, and never shall I abandon you to the claws of Lucifer. No fallen son of the heavens shall come near my daughter in death. But ensure you do not fall and cede to him and his temptations, for therein lies your eternal perdition.” Her warning came sharp, and Estella hearkened earnestly.
“Do not fear being alone, for I am with you, and so are the countless legions of forest spirits, the immortal beings that were once wardens of these lands. And if it proves too dire for you, then flee to them, and I shall take you, and you will never again return to this cruel game between heaven and hell.” The Crone radiated the finality of death that quenches all life, inextricably bringing every creation to their unmaking.
“I am so alone,” Estella burst out, “and never felt as if the world felt what I felt, knew what I knew, and endured what I do. There is nothing in this world that gives me solace, nor joy. I feel trapped between two dismal forces, each vying for my soul to break and wield against each other.”