02 Eternity - Guardian

by Laury Falter

  Eran did the same and met Abaddon before me.

  It was a pummeling, a fight that would have made Ms. Beedinwigg proud. Still, in the midst of it, I heard a hideous snigger from Abaddon just before he launched skyward, freeing himself.

  He flew through the forest, winding around tree trunks with narrow but precise calculation, glancing back at us, leering, as we pursued him.

  Reaching the forest’s border, we entered a field populated with wildflowers. Despite the color, it wasn’t what struck me.

  I was focused on the chateau at the end of the field.

  Apparently so was Abaddon as he aimed for it and flying directly through a window when reaching it, stained glass exploding into the room.

  Eran, being faster than me, reached the window before I could and entered it. I followed and found that we’d entered a vacant but immaculately decorated hall.

  Tapestries hung the length of one wall while a row of stained glass windows ran the opposite side. Leather chairs were positioned in groupings down the center.

  Abaddon was nowhere in sight.

  Eran was now hovering just inside the room, halfway between floor and ceiling, flapping his wings only when needed to stay aloft so as not to miss any sound Abaddon might make.

  I lingered directly beside him. My hair was still on end so I knew that Abaddon was nearby.

  The door at the end of the hall opened then and Marco stepped inside, his expression alert, cautious.

  “H-Hello?” he called out.

  This was not the conceited, aggressive man I remembered from school. He was meek, unsure of himself. The dagger he held at the end of his extended hand shook.

  Eran and I waited until his head was turned and we dropped silently to the ground.

  Slowly, Marco crept into the room.

  “Hello?” he called out again.

  He was the only sound or movement until Abaddon rose from behind a chair.

  Wings sunk back into his body, he looked like nothing more than an intruder.

  Marco swung his dagger in Abaddon’s direction.

  “Who are you?” he demanded though it came out more along the lines of a whimper.

  “My name is Abaddon,” he replied evenly. “I mean you no harm. I’ve simply lost my way.”

  Marco’s brow furrowed. “Lost your way? Where were you going?”

  Abaddon stepped forward.

  “Don’t come any closer…” he said in a rush of words, though to his credit they sounded stern. “I would be forced to use my weapon.”

  “And we wouldn’t want that,” said Abaddon, not the least bit threatened.

  Eran spoke up then from the other side of the room. “Marco, leave the room,” he commanded.

  Marco’s head snapped in our direction. He drew in a quick, troubled breath when seeing me. “No, I won’t,” he stated, a bit more firmly now. “Not until I see Mademoiselle Lafayette to safety.”

  Simply from his conduct, it was easy to discern that Marco had already become infatuated with me.

  “She is safe…Leave now.” Eran’s tone left no room for argument, yet Marco did not budge.

  Abaddon scoffed. “Marie, you really do have multiple admirers.”

  “Leave him be,” I shouted, the vehemence in my voice echoing down the hall.

  Abaddon tilted his head then as if he were figuring out something complex. Ignoring me and addressing Marco, he asked, “And who are you?”

  “Marco LaRoche, Mademoiselle Lafayette’s personal security here on the estate,” he said with an air of superiority.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Abaddon cordially.

  “Thank you, as it is for me. Now…I must require you to leave promptly or suffer the full weight of the law as it will surely be on my side.”

  Examining Marco, judging him and the demand he’d made, Abaddon replied, “No, I’m not inclined to obey your request.”

  Offended, Marco stated, “It is not a request, Monsieur.”

  “Marco,” said Eran. “Leave the room…Now!”

  Refusing, Marco stood his ground.

  “Please, Marco,” I heard my voice call to him, desperate. “Please leave.”

  “No, Mademoiselle Lafayette, I cannot oblige.”

  Eran had likely come to the same conclusion as me: Abaddon was far too close in proximity to Marco for us to deflect any attack. By the time we reached that side of the room, Marco would suffer mortal injury. Being without any knowledge of what he faced and without any training to contend against it, Marco was an easy target. The only solution would be for Marco to willingly leave the room before the tension escalated and a fight resulted. With Marco acting as security for me and his clear inexperience, Abaddon would not deter from taking his life first.

  “Please, Marco!” I begged.

  “I will not,” Marco shouted back, bordering on insult.

  Abaddon, enjoying this display of loyalty, asked, “Would you give your life for Mademoiselle Lafayette?”

  “Yes,” said Marco, tilting his chin up proudly.

  “Are you in love with Mademoiselle Lafayette?”

  Marco hesitated, glancing in my direction. “Yes,” he said softly, submissively.

  “Do you want to be with her until the end of time?”

  “Yes.”

  Even from our place down the hall I could see the desperation in Marco’s expression. He clearly had no idea what was coming next.

  “Then allow me the honor of giving it to you…” said Abaddon, drawing a blade from behind his back, slicing it through the air and across Marco’s throat.

  “No!” I heard myself scream, long and in despair.

  Instantly, Eran was darting across the hall, his wings moving with powerful intent, closing the gap as quickly as possible between himself and Abaddon.

  “No,” I said under my breath and fled across the room.

  Wings now out, fluttering in the air, Abaddon spoke down to Marco who had collapsed to the ground. His instructions were simple and repulsive. “When you die, fall back to earth. Come find me, my friend, and we will make Mademoiselle Lafayette yours forever.”

  Abaddon turned then and fled through the window closest to him, disappearing across the field.

  Eran reached Marco before me, kneeling at his side, unable to stem the blood streaming from Marco’s wound.

  Landing at his side my hand clasped around Marco’s.

  Gurgling against the blood now filling his lungs, he squeezed my fingers and shuddered. His eyes, locked on me, were filled with confusion as he drifted away and fell silent and still.

  “No!” My scream released deep in my throat, leaving it raw from its fury, resounding against the walls again and again.

  I was yanked then, away from this body, and dropped into it later in life.

  Marco was gone but the scream still lingered in my mind, like the echo down a deep cavern.

  I had truly appreciated him, I sensed, and I was melancholic in knowing that there was nothing that could be done now to avoid the way life had evolved.

  Learn, I told myself. That is what you are here to do.

  I refocused on my surroundings and found that I faced another row of windows. This one overlooked a city below. It was early morning and fires raged across the horizon, burning structures and sending hazy smoke into the darkness. Somehow, in the deep recesses of my memory, I understood what I was looking at to be the city of Paris.

  From behind me, I heard the door open and turning I found it was a page boy.

  “Madame Lafayette,” he said in French, closing the door behind him, “your guests have been assembled. But…but not all of them stayed.”

  I felt my head tilt to the side. “Why is that?” I asked in the same language.

  “They…Some of the nobles didn’t feel they should wait in the same line as the bourgeois…the peasants is how they explained it.”

  My expression remained stoic and my voice did not waver when I answered. “That is their cho
ice. Please begin sending them in one at a time. Thank you, Monsieur Desmoulins.”

  “I must warn you, Mademoiselle…you put yourself at great risk assembling so many on your estate and when chaos is at your doorstep.”

  “I am aware…and I thank you for your concern. They will stay.”

  Monsieur Desmoulins appeared fearful and in disagreement but his final comment on the subject was not contentious. It was in support. “I simply wish they knew all that you, as a noblewoman, have done to provide for them, to protect them.”

  My lips lifted in a kind smile. “What little I’ve done was not intended for reputation.”

  He turned to the door again but hesitated and looked back. “It was not little, Mademoiselle… and I would feel most comfortable if you at the least had your dogs by your side.”

  “That will be fine.”

  Appeased, he nodded. “I will fetch the dogs and begin sending them in.”

  My body moved then towards two chairs in the center of the room. They faced the door so that when I sat and the door opened I knew who was coming through.

  Monsieur Desmoulins appeared again a few minutes later, releasing two French mastiffs into the room. Watching them from this body, I recognized them instantly and called out their names in silence. Annie and Charlie, tails wagging, bounded towards me to nudge their noses in my palms for a brief petting and then curled up at my feet.

  For the next hour and a half, I took messages for the people who had come to the estate wishing to communicate to the dead. Some were thankful, others remorseful, and still others showed little emotion. Of this last kind, many of them were peasants suffering through the tumultuous time of what would become known as the French Revolution.

  From inside this body, I desperately wanted to console them, tell them that all they were enduring would end soon and that the sacrifices they’d made would not be in vain. But, I had no control over this body.

  I was simply a passenger.

  When I had taken my last message, I walked to the window for another look at Paris, Annie and Charlie following loyally.

  More fires burned now. A gathering of tricolored cockades marched through the streets, most carrying weapons.

  The door behind me opened again but this time my body remained in position, my awareness was so tuned to the streets.

  The dogs’ tails began thumping the ground excitedly as I listened to someone cross the room. He stopped directly beside me.

  An earthy scent reached my nose and I knew instantly who it was. Not a second went by and I began to calm down and feel the cocoon of safety that only Eran could bring.

  “There is talk of storming the Bastille,” he informed me quietly in French.

  “It appears that is where they are headed now.” I gestured towards the assemblage in the streets. “Is there anything we can do to stop it?”

  “Nothing,” said Eran wistfully. “Nothing at all.”

  Eran suddenly turned towards me, appearing restless, clearing his throat and straightening the jacket he wore. He then began to speak, hesitantly. “I-I have something to tell you. Admittedly, it may not be the best time but…that point…that point may never come.” I was now facing him, drawn to him as he anxiously struggled through his words. I had never seen him in such emotional turmoil before. In an attempt to make it easier for him I intentionally kept my expression impassive as he continued. “When we met long ago in Germany I had a sense of the kind of person you were…a remedial sense. I can…I can liken it to spotting a rainbow but only seeing one color of the spectrum while knowing there are more. And then…then as I spent time with you, acting as your unwarranted guardian, I learned who you were and my respect for you grew. By the end of that brief life on earth, I had developed devotion…” He thought for a moment. “Not devotion, it is too pale a word. Honestly, I’m-I’m not sure I can sum it up in a single word. But what I felt for you then grew stronger in London when I became your appointed guardian. From then, I-I recognized that my feelings for you…” He appeared more uncertain now, nervous as to how I might react. “I knew my feelings for you had gone beyond that of a guardian.” He swallowed hard, glanced out the window without seeing anything, and then refocused on me. “I’m not sure how it happened. I tried to prevent it; ignored myself, for the most part; dedicated myself to the single objective of protecting you. That dedication gave me purpose and…and alleviated some guilt in being your guardian while feeling the way I do…And still…” His gaze fell and for a moment he appeared defeated. “And still it is not enough. What I feel for you is not dissipating. It is growing, intensifying.” He drew in a shuttered breath and ran his fingers through his hair. When he spoke again, it was quiet and tender. “What I’m trying to tell you, Magdalene, is that I am in love with you.”

  The tension that slowly built in me as he spoke exploded at his final words. A burning sensation coursed through my body, my breath caught, my skin prickled with excitement. The realization of what had just happened swept over me.

  Eran had confessed his love for me. Against all rules, despite all obstacles, unforeseen by either of us, love had developed.

  From this body, I knew that all I wanted was to throw my arms around him, pull him against me, and confess my love in return. But, this body of mine was unable to react because something or someone, more precisely, had activated my radar.

  “I understand,” he uttered mournfully, turning away to stare out the window. “You-You don’t feel the same.”

  “No, it’s-” I began but never had the chance to finish.

  The hairs on the back of my neck had bristled and I shifted to watch the door. My senses were suddenly engorged, drawing in every part of my surroundings. The chants from the townspeople in the city below reached my ears. The fires from burning structures enflamed my nose. Most of all, I heard the footsteps approaching down the hallway outside and stopping at the door.

  It blew open a second later.

  Eran spun to face it, drawing his sword, his demeanor returning to vigilant defense.

  Marco strolled into the room, his boyish mannerisms gone and now replaced with sinister arrogance. Wings now protruded behind his back, long enough to drag along the floor.

  Annie and Charlie barked ferociously and sprinted towards the intruder.

  “Come,” Eran shouted, his voice reflecting the nervousness in allowing them too close to Marco. To my relief, they obeyed.

  Behaving as if he owned the estate he’d now trespassed, Marco stopped in the center of the room, gripping the handles of two scythe-shaped kama weapons.

  “Draw them and I will attack,” Eran cautioned.

  “Reserve your words. I am not here to speak with you,” he said. His tone was defiant as he switched his concentrated interest to me. “It’s good to see you again, my love.”

  “I am not your love,” I seethed.

  “That is not the welcome I deserve, not after giving my life to protect you…” Initially he seemed hurt but he quickly returned to leering.

  “I did not ask that of you.”

  He shrugged, carelessly. “What is done…is done. I no longer fault you.”

  “Fault me?” I scoffed, offended at the insinuation.

  Eran’s hand moved to rest on my hip, intending to calm me.

  Marco appeared not to care that he had insulted me, instead altering the course of discussion to center on him. “These years that have passed, I traveled far – the Orient, the colonies in America, throughout the Muslim territories – and I experienced many women. Some willing…others not as much. But, what I found was that my affection for you has not subdued. I still long for you, Mademoiselle. And with my new-found…abilities…Eran will need to step aside.”

  Now Eran was offended. He scoffed loudly which rolled in to mocking laughter. “That is not going to happen, Marco.”

  “Then I will kill you and she will come with me,” he stated without any acknowledgment that he’d just iterated an absurd belief.

  I open
ed my mouth to tell him just that but Eran beat me to it.

  “Marco…she doesn’t love you,” he said sarcastically.

  “That’s right. I don’t,” I confirmed in a rush of words, which continued without any cognitive thought by me. “I’m in love with Jacques.”

  Eran turned to me and blinked. “But that’s my name.”

  Clearly, I had no plan to speak those words. They came from the heart, uninhibited and honest. They had been waiting there all long until I had the courage to confess them. When I did, there was a release in admitting them, a burden that had lifted confirming that I too had been fighting the truth.

  Still, I could not allow myself to validate that Eran was the one. Doing this would put Eran in far more jeopardy as the Fallen Ones would use him to get to me. That, I would not allow. Attempting to camouflage who my heart belong to, I reinforced my statement in a more imprecise way.

  “I could never love you, Marco. My heart does not belong to you. It belongs to another.”

  None of this mattered to Marco, however. This became clear when he impatiently stated, “Simply having you by my side will do just as well.”

  As if he’d had enough of the delay, he drew both kamas from his waistband.

  “I warned you,” said Eran, unforgiving.

  Before this body could react, Eran and Marco met in the air, their wings keeping them aloft, their weapons clashing, the dogs leaping to snatch at Marco’s feet.

  I shrugged the coat I wore to the ground and lifted into the air, the specially-designed petticoat opening in the back to allow my wings their freedom. I then closed in on them, my sword also drawn.

  Eran grunted, deflecting Marco’s sword.

  The maneuver flung them apart.

  Grinning wickedly, Marco informed us, “If I can’t have her, no one will.”

  “Wishful thinking, Marco,” said Eran before re-engaging.

  They fought ferociously for several minutes, my body floating from side to side, looking for a way in, an opening to inflict Marco harm before he could harm Eran.

  Eran’s combat skills were evident as he moved effortlessly around Marco, often leaving him clueless as to where Eran had gone. It would have been comical to watch if Eran’s life weren’t in danger.