Phoebe Wren and the Vortex of Light (22 page)

Unaware of what was transpiring in the stratosphere, Phoebe had flicked through the aeroplane TV channels and found a movie she thought might interest her. Her parents were still deep in conversation, and Demetrius had nodded off to sleep almost as soon as the plane had taken off. ‘
Probably exhausted with all those difficult farewells,
’ Phoebe thought sympathetically, and she smiled at her sleeping friend as she placed the headphones over her ears and adjusted the volume. Phoebe was tired too, and as she watched the movie her eyes grew heavy and within a few minutes she too had dozed off.

Phoebe couldn’t tell how long she had been asleep when she woke abruptly from her nap. She had no idea what had wakened her, and looked round at Demetrius, who was still totally unconscious. Her parents had obviously finished their conversation, and Jack was scrolling through pages on his iPad while Eva looked utterly riveted by her novel. Phoebe realised that she had hunched up her shoulders again, and was sitting stiffly upright in her seat. She conscientiously relaxed her shoulders down again and leaned back into her seat. ‘
It’s okay,
’ she assured herself. ‘
We’re en route and everything is okay
.’

THUD!
Phoebe sat bold upright and peered out through the small round window beside her as the plane jolted. ‘
What on earth? Not again?!
’ She looked nervously at Demetrius and then her parents, and was surprised to find that neither they nor any other passengers for that matter appeared to have noticed anything untoward. Perhaps it was just a pocket of mild turbulence, nothing to worry about.

THUD! BANG!
No, that definitely wasn’t turbulence! Phoebe’s stomach lurched and she thought she might throw up. Her parents had stopped what they were doing and were looking at each other with concern written across their faces.

“Phoebe, what’s going on?” Demetrius was just coming round from his slumber, and he rubbed his eyes and straightened in his seat as the next
thump
assailed the aeroplane.

Phoebe did not have time to reply as the pilot’s voice sounded abruptly over the tannoy,
“Passengers, please return to your seats immediately. Fasten your seatbelts securely, and adopt the brace position”
. His voice was trying to sound calm and reassuring, but Phoebe had heard that tone before – and she knew that things had not ended well on that occasion. “
We are experiencing some, uh, moderate turbulence,
” the pilot continued, sounding more flustered and less professional than he should have, “
Please stay calm everyone, this will pass.
”

“Who is he trying to convince?” Demetrius whispered to Phoebe as the teenagers brought their arms up across their faces and leaned forward into the brace position. He could see that the flight attendants had made a hurried check to ensure that all passengers were buckled in and had now taken their own seats and strapped themselves in, which, despite his lack of previous experience with flying, he did not think could be a good sign.

BANG!!
A woman screamed and a baby started to cry somewhere behind where Phoebe was seated as the plane shuddered violently this time and lurched sickeningly to one side.

“Demetrius!” Phoebe gasped, grabbing his hand. “It’s happening! Where’s Cosain? Why aren’t they stopping this?”

“They’ll be here, Bird, I know it.” Demetrius was making a supreme effort to keep his voice level and calm, but Phoebe knew him well enough to know that he was anxious too. “Do you remember what Cosain told us to do at times like this?”

“Yeah,” stammered Phoebe, her green eyes filling with tears of terror and disbelief. “We’ve gotta pray.” She looked again out through the cabin window but could see no sign of the demonic trouble makers she was sure were there.

Demetrius squeezed her hand, and as the friends offered up their silent prayers they found that their fear began to diminish and in its place began to grow a peace that neither could explain.

Outside in the stratosphere, as the demonic onslaught grew in intensity, Cosain’s sword began to glow a fiery red. “They have remembered, they are entreating the Atoner,” he whispered as he and the Heavenly Host raced towards the stricken aeroplane. “And with the Atoner’s help, we will overcome.”

As Cosain, Solas, Dilis, Trean, Neam, Croga and Lasair hurtled towards Araco Airlines flight 454, it quickly became very apparent to them that the aircraft was already in trouble. From a fair distance out, the angelic warriors could see the band of demons wreaking mischief on the plane, some banging and thumping on the exterior with their fists, others pushing one another into the sides or hanging off the wings and screeching with glee. The pulsating cloud of darkness almost consumed the aeroplane so that from the angels’ vantage point it looked like a giant swarm of maniacal bees, undulating and buzzing and entirely committed to the job at hand. Cosain could feel a righteous anger rising in his chest, and the imposing weapon at his side radiated a fiery crimson. He and his Heavenly brothers were almost at the beleaguered aircraft, and as yet their approach had been undetected as the demonic beings who were intent on causing as much chaos and confusion as possible.

“Brothers!” Cosain shouted over his shoulder, “Draw your weapons! Prepare for battle!”

The Heavenly warriors drew their glowing swords almost in unison, their faces set like flint and a steely determination in their expressions. They were only seconds out when Craven happened to look up briefly and saw, to his horror, the avenging angels approaching en masse. Craven had been working independently of his terrible comrades, pulling and twisting the screws on the plane’s fuselage in an effort to create a fault with the avionics. Inside the plane, terrified passengers could hear a commotion but could not see anything, and were at a loss as to what was happening. Craven’s eyes widened reactively and he steadied himself on the plane’s enormous wing then screeched to the demonic battalion, “
NOOO!!
It is the Heavenly Host! They have found us out!
”

Craven’s face had contorted into a ghastly mask of hatred and fear, but as his howls whipped into the wind, his foul cohorts did not hear his warning and continued in their mischief making unchecked. This was just the fortuitous lapse that the Heavenly Host needed, and they did not waste the opportunity. The angelic troop swooped on the enemy like an unprecedented bolt out of the blue, and as they shot into the midst of the furore, swatting demons as if they were flies, Schnither looked up and beheld Heavenly light blazing from within the swarming, undulating cloud of demonic creatures and realised too late that the plans he had thought to be foolproof had been thwarted. Schnither wretched as a sickening sense of déjà vu pervaded his senses, then quickly regained his composure and flew towards the epicentre of the pandemonium. He had no alternatives, no ‘
plan B
’, he simply could not allow Cosain and his petulant brothers to gain the upper hand – what Abaddon would unleash on Schnither if he failed this final time was unthinkable.

The unanticipated arrival of the Heavenly Host had caught all of the demonic horde off guard. So sure were they that their plans had been undetected by the forces of Heaven that they had not bothered to appoint watchmen to keep an eye out for opposition, nor had they devised a back-up plan. As a result, Schnither and his henchmen had been thrown into utter confusion, flying this way and that with no apparent direction or notion of how to regroup and return fire.

Cosain and his band of Heavenly brothers sliced through the swarm of demonic beings with intent, making full use of the element of surprise which had enabled them to eradicate at least half of the screeching cursing creatures in the first wave of their attack. Those who remained had now regrouped enough to be on the defensive, spurred on by their fury and indignation, and now the battle began in earnest.

Schnither reached the epicentre of the skirmish in milliseconds, and did not hesitate in shooting headlong into the upheaval. To his left and right, he could see his band of demons being decimated as the Heavenly warriors despatched one screeching creature after another into the Abyss, and the sight enraged him. Fiery blades slashed and destroyed, and the angels seemed to parry every blow aimed at them. In a peculiar sense, Schnither felt a twisted sense of pride swell in his chest as his minions threw themselves into the furore without hesitation, although he was aware that they, like him, probably preferred to take their chances in battle than return empty handed and defeated to face the dreadful wrath of Abaddon the Defiler.

Driven on by immeasurable fury, Schnither’s own blade had been drawn and he was keen to show the angelic warriors that he was a force to be reckoned with. Schnither’s sword, though dull in hue, was nonetheless deadly and its razor sharp serrated edge made it a formidable weapon, as several angels had found out to their expense during previous battles. Schnither had to weave around his dastardly colleagues as twitching demon body parts soared past him before exploding into a million pieces and vanishing into the atmosphere in numerous puffs of black smoke. His battalion was taking a hiding and there was now a mere scattering of demons left, battling on with all their might while still in full flight and trying desperately to keep pace with Araco Airlines flight 454.

Schnither could see that Cosain had turned his attention to Craven, who had engaged the Captain of the Host in a fearsome sword battle. Sparks flew as their blades connected again and again, and Craven’s lime green eyes were fixed on Cosain, his jaw clenched shut so that the muscles in his face bulged through his leathery skin. Craven looked as though he was almost enjoying himself, and the fact that it was the Captain of the Heavenly Host at the business end of his sword was obviously not lost on him.

Schnither left Craven to his battle, and turned to find Solas and Dilis engaged in battle with Malva, a ferocious and particularly ruthless demon whose dark eyeless face and six powerful black wings were the stuff of nightmares. Despite his apparent ocular affliction, Malva’s aim was true and his senses heightened to such a degree that his inability to see was no disadvantage whatsoever. His ferocious nature and the tenacious desire for annihilation were forces to be reckoned with, as Solas and Dilis were discovering.

On the other side of the plane, Trean, Neam and Croga were deep in combat with six gnarly demons who obviously thought that they had the angels outnumbered and were cackling and snorting like deranged pigs. Transa, Gutbu, Naarli, Jitha, Krake and Gmobb were imposing demons in their own right; all were fierce and strong, with twisted jeering faces, who possessed not unimpressive swordsman skills. But they were haughty, and underestimated their foe entirely, and therein lay their downfall. As Schnither observed the nine figures participating with macabre grace in their deadly dance, he could see that the demons were over-confident, puffed up with their own exaggerated sense of victory, and before he could bark his warning, Trean, Neam and Croga descended from over their heads and dealt the final blows which despatched Transa, Gutbu, Naarli, Jitha, and Gmobb to the Abyss. The demons realised that they had been too hasty in their assumptions of victory a split second before their demise and screeched in indignation and rage as the angels’ swords found their marks. Only Krake survived the Heavenly attack and wasted no time in retreating to the skies, leaving the aeroplane and the ferocious battle far behind him.

Schnither felt a growing sense of despair and foreboding grow in his belly, and could quite readily have allowed himself to wallow in certain defeat, but anger began to displace his despondency and soon the Dark Captain was overcome with a rage that spurred him onward and drove him around again to where Lasair was battling, having just despatched two dark creatures to their doom. Lasair was unaware of Schnither’s approach as he loomed menacingly closer with fiendishly evil intent. Taking out even one of these Heavenly warriors may not be enough to allay Abaddon’s wrath, but it would serve to make Schnither feel better.