by Laury Falter
“Right…London tonight,” I muttered to myself.
“The Black Plaque,” she said, again amazing me at how much she knew of my past. “That will be particularly grueling.”
“Looking forward to it,” I replied sarcastically upbeat.
She gave me a sympathetic smile and then watched as we reached my bike and took off for our house.
That night, I didn’t need Campion’s help getting to sleep. It dominated me the moment I pulled the covers up and within seconds I found myself in the Hall of Records. Without wasting any time, I pulled my scroll from its pocket and found the next name in my span of lifetimes. Moving my finger over the name Anna Willowsby yanked me in the same method as the night before, into the body I used during my lifetime in London, England.
I found myself walking a long hallway lined with doors beside a man in an unkempt white coat. His hair and face were dirty and his eyes were tired, keeping watch on the nurses racing along the hallway passed us.
I sensed but, again did not have the motor control to confirm it, that Campion and Eran walked behind me.
“Our nuns have fallen ill,” the man was saying to me. “We are unable to care for the dying, much less those who are arriving each day. There appears to be no end to this…this disease.”
I placed my hand on the man’s shoulder, hoping he would find some consolation from it.
He choked back a sob, recovered, and continued. “Relatives are abandoning their loved ones. Lawyers refuse to visit the sick and draw their wills. Mortuaries, monasteries, hospitals, ours included, are overwhelmed…” He paused and, eyes filled with tears, turned to me. “You are the messenger for the dead, correct?”
“Yes,” I replied meekly.
He slumped forward, shaking his head, helpless and desperate. “Life after death…I’ve always considered to be fictitious, a fabrication the ill cling to when death arrives. It is in direct conflict with all that I believe…all that I’ve learned. Yet, I stand here, having called for you, to ask for your help.” He stifled a sob. “If you can truthfully speak to the dead…ask them…” he pleaded, “what on this earth is killing us…”
He opened the door that we stood before to find the bodies of the dead lining the vast room beyond, so many that some were without sheets. On the ones closest to us, I caught sight of the black spots and swellings that had become known as key symptoms of this plague.
Noises came from Eran and Campion behind me, neither of which was comforting.
The doctor continued, his voice breaking, “Ask the dead so that we may save ourselves from extinction.”
Terror rose in me, my heart thudded in my chest, and my body trembled uncontrollably. I pushed these reactions back but I couldn’t fight the weeping. My eyes scanned the bodies again and I screamed “Fleas!” Yet, no one heard me, my mouth did not move, and no sound emerged. I realized that back then, when I occupied this body that I was seeing through now that no one knew it was the flea-infested rats transmitting the plague, myself included.
“I will, doctor,” I heard myself mutter, swallowing back my tears. “And I will bring you the answer.”
Still despondent, yet with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes, he closed the door.
Suddenly, I was yanked away and deposited again in my body sometime in the recent future.
Night was arriving quickly now. The shadows were creeping longer, like gnarled fingers reaching for each other and intertwining across the city. Dampness clung throughout the narrow cobblestone streets, aided by a thick fog that had begun to roll in from the River Thames. Along the streets, windows were now lit with flickering yellow candles warding off the darkness and the cold. In the distance, harsh coughs mingled with the howls of loved ones lost to the mysterious condition overtaking London.
As I turned the corner, my feet scuffed across the stones making a noise that I knew was too loud. I kept the flap of my cloak tightly wound to me, doing my best to minimize my appearance. I was just five feet tall but even at that height I was too conspicuous. Ducking lower, I kept moving. My eyes scanned the buildings ahead of me, and as best I could, behind and to the sides. I hadn’t seen them yet but there were still a few streets to go before I reached my destination.
A howl rose above the rooftops and I stopped. It was a sound familiar to me and it caused the hair at the back of my neck to stand up. My hands began to shake and small beads of perspiration rose up from my brow.
It was close. Very close.
I began to run, paying special attention to quieting my footsteps as I made my way through the labyrinth of London’s corridors.
The street that would take me to safety was only a few yards away and then my skin prickled worse on the back of my neck, the hair there standing straight out now.
Glancing up I found it perched on the roof of the building ahead. What appeared to be claws dug into the edge, its body cocooned in thick, black wings. Its head was tilted down so that it could watch me better.
I didn’t stop this time. My pace became a sprint and suddenly the gas lamps dimly lighting each side of the street blended in to one and the moist air on my exposed face collected and fell like raindrops down my cheeks.
The thing gave a brief shudder – a sign of excitement at the prospect of murder – and unraveled its broad wings. With a single pump, the wings lifted it into the night sky. It hovered for only a moment and then dove towards the earth, towards me. It made no sound other than the wind whistling over its fluttering wings.
We were now on a collision course unless one turned and fled the other direction. This, I knew, would not happen.
Fleeing, at this point, was not an option. I leaned forward, the balls of my feet barely touching the ground as I increased my speed.
I looked at my attacker, watching as a wicked smile of stained, jagged teeth stretched beneath its gleaming, eager eyes. My own eyes were now narrowed, mustering every conceivable prowess I had in me. I would need it.
The collision never came.
From a side street emerged a movement so blindingly fast it was indistinguishable. The winged being and my defender slammed into a building wall, becoming a mesh of entangled limbs, crumbling brick dislodging from the force.
“Eran,” I screamed, though it came out a whisper.
“Stay…back…Magdalene,” he struggled to warn me.
Without thought, I tore the cloak from my shoulders and joined the fight.
My wings had already surfaced and were being used to stabilize my assault. I attacked from the side, again noticing how this body’s swift and powerful capability was far beyond anything I’d experienced on earth.
A grunt escaped from it on impact and I felt somewhat satisfied.
I prepared for another strike only to realize that Eran was maneuvering it away from me.
I sighed in frustration. This was as much my fight as it was his.
Their bodies were now tumbling along the side of the wall, leaving indents in the brick structure. I trailed them looking for an angle in the blending of bodies and limbs.
Eran struck it from all angles, pummeling it with such speed that I couldn’t deny the admiration I felt. His attack was so fluid that I never saw his final maneuver coming.
They had nearly reached the end of the building when it released a dazed groan.
Eran took that moment to spring off the wall to a lamppost behind him, breaking off the encasing, shards of glass shattering to the street below.
He was suddenly on the beast again, pressing it against the wall.
His fingers, wrapped around the burning metal fixture, shoved it into its heart and penetrating so deep Eran’s arm was lost inside it.
Instantly it was engulfed in fire, falling to the street below. It landed with a thud, bent forward, flames licking the sky until its body turned to dust seconds later.
Eran, barely panting, turned to me. “Are you hurt?” He flapped once to land beside me where his wings retracted.
“I’m fine,” I n
odded woodenly, lowering myself to the ground.
My wings sank into my back then. I noticed they felt like soft, uneven limbs, as if they were simply my arms withdrawing into my body, while the area where they had emerged tingled slightly.
“What are you doing here?”
“You don’t sound happy to see me,” he feigned offense.
“Of-Of course I am,” I said, not wanting him to even consider it. “It’s just that I haven’t seen you in so long.”
“Since you fell,” he agreed.
“That’s right. So I’m wondering why you are here now.”
“You were in danger.”
I felt like we were doing a verbal dance around the actual truth.
Sighing, I said, “I mean that you came to my rescue as if you were my guardian. I’m slightly confused.”
He smirked lightly. “I can see that.”
“Eran…” I started to grow angry.
“William,” he corrected. “My name is William this time.”
I rolled my eyes. “All right, William…are you going to tell me why you are here?”
“I have the instinct that you won’t like what I’m going to say.”
“Tell me anyways,” I demanded.
He moaned and ran his fingers through his now untidy hair. How could he look so handsome after such a virulent fight?
“I came to your rescue because I am now your designated guardian,” he announced slowly as if he was hesitant to speak the words.
“Designated guardian? I’ve never had one before and I certainly don’t need one now,” I said, picking up my cloak and started down the street towards home.
He followed my quick pace effortlessly. “Have you considered that I might actually be of some assistance?” he replied plainly.
I ignored that suggestion. “Who appointed you as my guardian?” I spun around, borderline incensed.
“I volunteered,” he answered calmly, watching me closely.
My shoulders slumped and I shook my head, bewildered. “But why? I can take care of myself.”
“If you’re asking me to quit I won’t,” he countered. “It’s not in my nature.” That was a commendable trait to have in a guardian, I knew. In fact, he would be a fine guardian. He was alert, skillful in combat, understood our enemies. More so, he was a cerebral fighter. He thought through his actions and then executed them in the precise, rapid sequence in which he’d planned.
The truth was I rejected his offer as my guardian knowing that our relationship as such would prevent us from ever being more…and I wanted more, much more.
He stepped forward, closing the gap between us, causing the excitement in me to turn from anger to anticipation. “I can see that you can take care of yourself. I’ve known you for some time now. But in the case that I am present and your enemy is present…I might be of some help,” he offered.
“Listen,” I said, avoiding his striking blue-green eyes or I’d be unable to finish my thought. “I could have defended myself back there…I was ready to defend myself. Now I don’t mean to dismiss your position as my guardian but if I am attacked or if I have the opportunity to attack I won’t be compelled to wait for you.”
He leaned back, a smile lying beneath the surface. “Now what makes you think I’ll be late?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I simply want to set the ground rules now. And while we are on the topic,” I continued without allowing him to respond. I needed him to understand how I envisioned our new relationship to be. “I will not rely on you to protect me, I will not reject a fight, I will not cower from my enemies, and I will not flee. I will use the abilities I know…combat abilities…if the need should arise.”
“I would expect nothing less. Any more ground rules I should be aware of?” He seemed to be taking this lightheartedly, which frustrated me.
“I want to make it very clear…”
“You don’t require a guardian,” he finished my sentence.
“That’s correct. I do not.”
“I understand.”
“Good.”
We stood facing each other, both uncertain on what to do next.
“I’m glad we’ve made that clear,” he implied.
“Yes,” I responded firmly.
From inside this body, I stood in awe. I had just witnessed the very moment that Eran had become my guardian.
Without warning, I was again yanked away and deposited into my body later in this life. I knew this because I was now inside a carriage racing down a rutted path, aggressively jostling me from side to side. I nearly slipped off my seat and Eran responded instantly with a helping hand and a humorous smile. Campion sat beside him, appearing as if he were actually enjoying the ride.
As we seemed to turn down a smoother path, I peered out the curtained window to find that we had just reached the outskirts of an estate. The grounds were impeccably manicured and the manor house ahead was impressively designed. Apparently it had just rained as the air smelled damp and everything I saw seemed to shine.
The carriage pulled up to the main entrance and stopped at the feet of a young man. He opened the door and we stepped down to follow him inside.
The manor was well appointed with paintings of the family lineage mounted down the hallways, stained glass windows detailing family victories, and light shades covered in jewels.
We reached a study where a man stood, smoking a pipe and gazing into the flames at the hearth where he stood. His mood appeared somber as if something was troubling him.
“Mr. Snowdon…your guests have arrived,” said the young man before closing the door behind us.
“Come…Come in,” the man welcomed, motioning for us to enter the room and to take a seat on one of the luxurious chairs where he also then sat. Campion remained near the door while Eran sat beside me. I had the sense that he was staying close as a measure of protection though we all seemed to be at ease with our host.
“Have you been well,” asked the man.
“As good as can be expected,” I replied. “And you?”
“Winter is approaching but the disease appears to be lulling.” He turned his eyes towards the hearth, his expression pensive. “This is good.”
Eran and I nodded our agreement.
“A doctor in the city has concluded it was initially transmitted by rats…until it spread to the people.”
Eran glanced at me, knowingly, before inferring, “That is the conclusion we’ve all come to.”
“Catherine didn’t fall ill from rats,” he declared. “It was the chambermaid who brought it back from the city.” It was easy to detect the blame in his tone and I thought a change of subject may help redirect his thoughts.
“How is your daughter feeling?” I asked gently.
“The cloths we wear over our faces frighten her.” He swallowed. “I’m-I’m afraid…that Catherine’s time is near.”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“Mrs. Snowdon…She’s not accepting this well. With Beverly having already been taken from us…”
My chest swelled then at the pity I felt for them. It wasn’t fair for any family to endure what they had.
Mr. Snowdon appeared to overcome the undisclosed thoughts afflicting him and lifted his eyes back to us. “Thank you for coming.”
“Certainly…of course…”
“I understand you’ve been making other house calls…delivering messages for my neighbors as well,” he surmised.
“Yes, we have.”
“I’m sure they appreciate your help,” he said weakly.
“I do hope so. Did you want to send another message to Beverly?” I proposed.
“No…” He turned his head back to the fire, his eyes again glossing over in a daze. “No, I called you here for another reason.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Eran bristle.
Then the hair on the back of my neck stood up, pulling vigorously at my skin. “William…” my voice said, addressing him by his name
in this lifetime, sounding distracted and in terror.
He was already on his feet, his wings were extended, and Mr. Snowdon was bowing back over the arm of his chair in fear of Eran.
My own fear had rapidly turned to panic but was now intentionally being submersed by a wave of calm. I had closed my eyes against it, drawing in a deep breath, allowing my body to relax. Instantly, my senses came alive. I smelled the alcohol used for sterilization drift through the room. I felt a cool breeze making its way into the house from a crack in the wall. Most of all, I heard the wings of those coming for us beating the air, fast and rhythmic, and rapidly approaching. When I reopened my eyes, I found Campion now hovering above us, his wings also extended, facing the windows in preparation.
“They’re here,” my voice stated with absolute composure.
Then the windows exploded inward, spraying shards of glass at us, shredding the drapery and destroying the wall tapestries.
Only Mr. Snowdon ducked.
The rest of us faced our enemies.
The three attackers entered the room and lingered, wings outstretched, each one teaming up with Eran, Campion, and myself.
Although they were familiar to me, it was Eran who addressed them.
“Abaddon,” he said, almost cordially, to the one directly in front of him.
The man responded with a brush of his long, oily hair from his shoulder, his scowl never wavering and his narrowed eyes never widening.
“I see you’ve convinced Sarai to follow you,” said Eran nodding towards the Indian girl with flowing hair the color of coffee and exquisitely smooth swarthy skin. “Did you inform your daughter that she’d be living an eternity of retribution?”
Sarai opened her mouth to speak but Eran didn’t allow for it. “Elam, however, I’m not surprised by.” He glanced towards the genteel, older man who was facing Campion. “You always were a follower.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Snowdon unexpectedly screamed in dread. “They-They promised to help save my daughter.” His repentance complete, he returned to cringing in the outer corner of the stone hearth.
Without turning away, Eran informed him, “The only help they can offer your daughter, Mr. Snowdon, is to kill her and condemn her to the same fate as they face…incarceration in the worst kind of prison or absolute and eternal death. By agreeing to this deception you have affectively ensured your daughter never visits heaven again.”