HAGEN: 1. Revelations

by Jadhe HAMILTON

  Emily approached her:

  “Relax, we're not going to eat you.”

  The gladiator and the blind man laughed which made Tara think otherwise. Exasperated, the teenager grabbed her arm and turned towards them:

  “Stop it! Can't you see that we're frightening her?”

  “She has every reason to be frightened,” interrupted the gladiator.

  “Hugo, please be serious,” said Emily sharply. “Tara, it's an honor to have you here today. We’ve been waiting for you impatiently.”

  Still very worried, she didn't know what to say.

  “My dear Tara,” continued Van der Worthen, approaching gently, “do you believe in angels?”

  Tara became livid. She wasn’t mistaken: she had indeed fallen into the hands of a bunch of fanatics who were about to sacrifice her, convinced they were acting on divine will.

  “No,” she replied curtly, ready to fight for her life.

  “There goes the spark!” cried the old man contentedly.

  Tara didn't understand his remark. Emily continued:

  “You're not going to have a choice. You see, you happen to be an angel yourself.”

  Her words echoed in Tara’s ears like a death sentence. She could already imagine them stabbing her in the heart with a spear and offering it to their god.

  “She doesn't know!” explained the old man, whose enthusiasm was rising uncontrollably. “She can't see! We must show her...”

  “Do we really have to come to that?” interjected the teenager who was still holding her arm.

  “It all depends on our friend,” said Emily, turning to Tara with hope in her eyes.

  She stared at her for a long time, as if trying to read her mind. In the end, Emily seemed disappointed and sincerely apologetic:

  “We're not going to have a choice John. Mark,” she continued, turning to the tall blond man who was standing behind her. “Bring Tara to the room.”

  The man did as he was told. Tara felt a pair of strong hands locking her arms against her body and lifting her off the ground. Terrified, she struggled with all her strength, screaming as loud as she could, while the man took her down a long dark corridor.

  “Shut her up!” cried the old man as he stood up, following Mark's lead. “I'm getting old, I can't work in these conditions!”

  Hugo opened the door to a large dark room, allowing Mark to enter as he held Tara firmly in his grip. Knowing that her time had come to an end, she screamed and cried in despair. She didn’t want to die this way. When the light in the room was switched on, Tara discovered a torture chair sitting in its center. Her screams renewed with intensity as she fought to escape. Mark sat her down firmly on the hard, cold iron seat. Without hesitation, he ruthlessly attached her arms and legs to the chains that were welded to the chair.

  She knew there was nothing she could do as she wept uncontrollably. She blamed herself for having followed this seemingly harmless woman. Now, she would give anything to turn back time. She felt horribly remorseful.

  Emily entered the room and lit the dozens of candles that stood alongside the walls, before turning off the light. They all gathered around Tara, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Nina dutifully entered the room, passing in front of her. With a look of disappointment and sorrow on her face, she took her place in the circle with her companions and closed her eyes.

  Tara could hardly breath. She was so terrified she couldn’t even utter a word. The old man stood in front of her. He knew exactly where she was even though his eye sockets were completely hollow. The morbid sight of him was enough to annihilate her. Around her, everyone was silent, as if absorbed in deep meditation.

  Solemnly, the old man seized a long knife from the wooden table next to the candles. He cleaned it and then staggered towards her. Tara cried out with all her force, in the hopes that the neighbors would hear and come to deliver her from her fate, but to no avail. The old man approached her slowly but surely, the knife pointing in her direction. She could see the blade slowly advancing towards her as her tears flowed abundantly. She knew that she was doomed but continued to scream with intensity all the same. Alas, she felt the cold blade against her blouse. The old man exerted gentle but constant pressure. He seemed to be aiming for something specific. Then, she felt the blade against her skin. Her relentless screams became more and more piercing as they rose from the depths of her being until finally, the blade pierced her skin. A sharp pain seized her, but it was nothing compared to the pain she felt when the knife tore into her abdominal muscles. She no longer dared to cry as every movement she made caused the knife to go deeper and deeper. She remained as still as possible as the blade tore into her skin and muscles before grazing her organs.

  Then, with one harsh movement that made her cry out in agony, the old man removed the weapon from her body. She felt her blood flow abundantly as the warm liquid, once so full of life, left her body. Sad to be dying this way, Tara let herself slowly fade away as she thought back to the unwarranted curiosity and naivety that had led her to her fate. While she could sense the life gushing out of her body, her eyes gradually closed, plunging her into a deep sleep...

  It was the joyful cries of those around her that brought her out of her lifelessness. When she reopened her eyes, her pain had completely disappeared, and she discovered three winged individuals who were bent over her. Tall, with light hazelnut wings, they were dressed in short white togas and looked at her with immense joy. She thought she recognized Hugo's angel among them, but she wasn't sure.

  Almost immediately, an angel with big orange wings came running to her:

  “At last!” she exclaimed, as she affectionately joined her hands together.

  Tara immediately recognized Emily's face although her angel looked much younger than she had. Her long, wavy red hair with orange highlights fell gracefully onto her shoulders. Radiant with adoration, her emerald green eyes were filled with emotion as she contemplated Tara.

  Still, Tara's gaze was irresistibly drawn to another angel who stood aside from the group, towards the back of the room. It was a male angel with an exceptional aura and gigantic hazel-colored wings spotted with orange and red. Because he was adamantly staring in the opposite direction, all she was able to see of his face was his black disheveled hair.

  Captivated, she felt immediately drawn to him when suddenly, a sixth angel appeared before her, plunging his enchanted gaze into hers. His hazelnut-colored wings were much smaller than those of the angel with the spotted wings. When she saw him, Tara immediately recognized the features of the old man who now seemed much younger and far more powerful than he had earlier.

  She could hardly believe her eyes. Nonetheless, while she continued to wonder why they all seemed so happy to see her, she was astounded to find herself feeling oddly free. She no longer felt pain and she was no longer afraid. Encouraged by Emily’s benevolent presence, she rose and was surprised to feel the power that was emanating from her being. Moreover, without even knowing them, she felt that her own aura dominated that of all the other winged beings in the room. The only exception was the angel with the spotted wings who continued to turn his back turned to her.

  When she finally stood before them, the angel of the old man bowed his head slightly in a sign of respect, followed by the other angels. He who had had the power to push the knife through her stomach now seemed harmless in comparison to the power she felt vibrating within her. Hardly daring to believe it, she stepped forward and turned towards the torture chair where her motionless body sat, bathed in the blood that had flowed so freely from her body. The scene that lay in front of her eyes turned her stomach. She was outside of her dead body. Petrified, she focused deeply to make sure all of this wasn’t just a dream, when suddenly she felt them: heavy, powerful, rising between her shoulder blades.

  Trembling, she looked towards her back and saw them. Red as blood and still folded, waiting for her to take flight, were her huge angelic wings. They were nothing less than majestic, their shimmering
feathers overwhelming with power. Even folded, Tara knew that her wings were much larger than those of the hazel-winged angels. They were also slightly larger than the wings of Emily’s angel. Only the angel with the black hair seemed to have wings of a similar size as hers, as well as a similar force.

  Just as she was just starting to understand the world around her, the angel of the old man waved his hand to let her know it was time to go home. In agreement, Tara nodded as she reunited with her lifeless body, still chained to the metal chair.

  Chapter 7

  “Cousin Madeleine! Why are you refusing to play with us?”

  At the age of eight, the eldest of the Des Prés girls questioned her cousin, as she leaned on the stone ledge of the castle window looking out. Madeleine sat on a mauve velvet meridian surrounded by silk cushions and contemplated the duke's gardens with melancholy. Her eyes were sad as she curled up in her beautiful blue and white muslin dress. The eleven o'clock sun illuminated her milky complexion and emphasized her delicate chin, resting against her palm. Her golden hair, barely attached, slid delicately down the nape of her neck, stopping at her lower back. Silent up until now, she breathed a deep sigh before turning peacefully towards her cousin Eve:

  “I don't have the heart to play right now,” she explained mournfully. “Leave me alone.”

  Discouraged, she turned to the gardens again and immediately forgot about the two little girls. Since her departure from Paris, she had not yet received a mission from the Sphere, the angelic world from which she had come. Worse still, she had almost no contact with her legionaries who had remained in the capital. Isolated from her own, she felt guilty for no longer serving her army properly, cloistered in a castle in the south of France, hundreds of miles away from her soldiers and her enemies. As if They resented her for having left Paris, the city where They had ordered her to incarnate and mount her army, the Decision-Makers, the supreme Chiefs, had not contacted her for weeks.

  Moreover, she felt that her life as a simple human being began to severely affect her spheric mission. Who was the handsome Marquis de Villiers? For the first time in her life, Madeleine felt her heart leap in her chest for the beautiful eyes of a man. She, who had been stirred only by war and blood for millennia, now felt her entire body tremble at the thought of a mere mortal... Leaving Paris had undoubtedly disconnected her from her angelic mission.

  Faced with her prolonged silence, Anne, the youngest of her cousins, grew impatient. Only knee-high, the little girl came to her and cried out:

  “Cousin Madeleine, I forbid you to be sad! Don't be like Cousin Benedicte! You great ladies are always sad for nothing!”

  “What do you know of my sadness, sugarplum? Let your cousin suffer in peace.”

  “But why are you so sad cousin Madeleine?” said Eve miserably. “Aren't you happy that we've come to live with you here?”

  Her question was pronounced with such innocence that Madeleine immediately understood the impact her sorrow had on her cousins. She instantly felt guilty and became determined to put her grief aside for their sake. She would think about all this later.

  Simulating a smile, she knelt down beside them:

  “How would you both like to play some music?”

  “Oh no! Let’s throw stones in the fish pond instead!”

  “Or look for ladybugs!”

  “Or play the piano,” insisted Madeleine, while staring at Eve. “You'll play the piano. Anne, you’ll sing, and I'll play the violin.”

  “I prefer the violin,” replied Eve.

  “Well, then I'll play the piano!”

  With these words, she headed towards the large living room, followed by the Des Prés girls. Around them, the servants were busily at work, cleaning the palace following the huge reception given the day before by the master of the house. Ornaments, tapestries, cutlery, everything had to disappear in order to clear out the large living spaces.

  “How beautiful your dress is for such an ordinary day,” remarked Eve. “In who’s honor do you wear such a beautiful outfit?”

  “For my husband the duke,” replied Madeleine amused.

  “He's very lucky to have such a beautiful wife,” continued Eve, admiringly.

  “You don't say!”

  Madeleine wanted nothing more but to escape and think about something else. Fortunately, it was easy to entertain the children and hide one's grief simultaneously. Music. She already knew what she wanted to play. She was engulfed with a sudden and irrepressible urge to vent her pain by means of music. Immersed in her thoughts, she sat down and played the instrument mechanically, her fingers running along the keyboard as if they knew their way by heart, while her mind ventured far away from the castle.

  Eve promptly stepped forward to join her on the violin. Her movements were frail and inaccurate on occasion, but she knew the melody by heart. It was only after the piece had taken shape that little Anna began to sing. From then on, Madeleine was at peace. Now and again, she gave a look of encouragement to little Eve, who had made great progress, and smiled tenderly at Anna, who was desperately trying to match the talent of her older sibling.

  They played for a long moment; a time that alas, had seemed much too short to the duchess when suddenly she sensed an annoying presence inside the palace. Come back down to Earth. Duke De La Fortelle had returned.

  When he entered the drawing room, Madeleine stopped playing immediately. Her rare and sacred moment of escape was instantly shattered by his mere presence.

  After gallantly greeting the Des Prés sisters, the duke walked towards his wife in a much more guarded manner. The blissful atmosphere of moments before, gave way to an unpleasant and disturbing atmosphere, generated by the duke’s selfish and crushing presence. Nonetheless, he seemed proud, as much of her as of himself. Madeleine felt it. Intrigued, she allowed him to kiss her hand, as if to congratulate her:

  “You caused quite a stir at the ball last night my duchess...”

  “Really?”

  So that was it. He was self-satisfied. He had shown her off to everyone as though she were a trophy he had brought back from Paris. She hadn't disappointed him. After all, he could well rejoice in these vanities, for she would never give him the pleasure of possessing her in his bed. They had an unspoken agreement. They would cohabit in private while pretending to love each other in public.

  “They speak of you as the "Pearl of De la Fortelle", ” he said, not without a certain admiration for the one he had fallen in love with, despite the danger she represented. “Your arrival in our region did not go unnoticed. I can assure you that many women are envious... Countesses and marquises are already asking for you.”

  “Marquises in particular?” asked Madeleine with an innocent voice.

  “Yes, several, but you'll see for yourself. You have aroused the curiosity and wonder of the entire countryside,” explained the duke, as he walked to the window.

  Turning his back on his wife and the Des Prés girls who were drinking in every word he said, he continued with pride and love:

  “Tonight, the Baroness Du Chantelan is throwing a small party. Only women are admitted, and she wishes to have you by her side. This is an honor she does not bestow onto everyone, and you must take advantage of it, for the good reputation of our estate.”

  Chapter 8

  Tara spent the rest of the week in Emily's apartment, resting in a room equipped with medical materials and supplies. Hugo, the young gladiator, was a surgeon in the service of his fellow comrades. Despite his young age, his skills were no longer to be proven. He had transfused her with blood of her own type, which proved that their acts had been premeditated, and he had skillfully stitched up her wounds. For the first few days she was in a strange lethargy, only able to vaguely distinguish the people who had come to her bedside. Still, she remembered the odd sensation of having been surrounded by love and kindness. After only a few days, her wounds were completely healed, and her scars were barely visible.

  When she finally opened her eye
s, Nina was the first person she saw. She looked at her worriedly as she sat next to her. Without realizing it, Tara smiled, happy to see her so close. But when the coach realized she had been uncovered, she frowned and left the room without saying a word. She came back a few moments later with a carafe of water and a chocolate yoghurt that she set carelessly down on the bedside table, not consenting to look at her.

  “Have you been by my bedside this whole time?” Tara asked, touched.

  “No, not at all,” she lied, “I have better things to do.”

  “We know each other,” continued Tara, smiling.

  “Everyone here knows you. You've been leading us for centuries,” Nina answered dryly. “The body you chose for your incarnation seems to have made you very ignorant.”

  Tara frowned, hurt by her words. As for Nina, she lost her patience and left the room, leaving her alone.

  With a feeling of shame, Tara remained silent in her bed, wondering what she had done to provoke such a reaction. A few seconds later, it was Emily’s turn to enter the room:

  “So, my little Tara, how do you feel?”

  Tara didn't know what to say. She had been stabbed by these people and they were addressing her as if nothing had happened. Without waiting for her answer, Emily took her hands:

  “Three hundred and eighty-six years ago, you were the one who came to find me when I was lost. Now, it’s an honor for me to help you in return.”

  Tara was tempted to let go of Emily’s hands, the famous redhead with the fuchsia umbrella who had led her to her death. But she realized that ever since she was stabbed, her sensitivity had increased tenfold; holding Emily’s hands now, she could feel the extraordinary power and generosity that emanated from her. Instinctively, she knew that Van der Worthen would never hurt her again.