Phoebe Wren and the Vortex of Light (7 page)

“Now brothers!
Attack
!”

Cosain’s voice cut through the unearthly shrieks like daylight through clouds, and with the speed and ferocity of a lightning bolt, the seven angelic warriors shot towards the evil assailants, who did not stand a chance against Heaven’s finest.

In her terror, Phoebe remembered Cosain’s words –
“That is what you must do, Little One. Speak with the Atoner.”

“Abba…” her voice was a squeak, barely audible. “I’m so scared right now. Help us. Please…”

Phoebe’s cry to the Atoner was cut short by an ear shattering screech, and looking up she saw the first of the four demonic beings disappear into red smoke as Trean removed its head from its body with one deft swoop of his fiery sword.

“Abba…” It was Demetrius who took up where Phoebe left off. “Thank you that You are for us and not against us. Thank you that You have good plans for us. And thank you that You command Your angels to guard us. We trust You. And we will do whatever it takes to see Your plans fulfilled.”

More shrieking and roaring filled the air above the teenagers. Phoebe and Demetrius stood wide-eyed and terrified as Cosain and his troop battled hard against the three remaining beasts. Croga and Solas despatched two more of the demons to the Abyss, their bodies disintegrating into smoke as the angels’ swords met their mark. The final creature, realising it was hopelessly outnumbered, made a bolt upward, but not before Cosain had left his mark, severing its gnarly left arm just above the elbow. The creature howled in pain and rage as it flew out through the ceiling leaving a trail of obscenities and yellow ooze in its wake.

“We’re not finished with you or your precious mortal, Cosain! You have not won this battle, not by a long stretch!” The creature spat the words back at Cosain as it fled with its life if not its dignity.

Cosain and his troops alighted and regrouped quickly around Phoebe and Demetrius, who had found a quiet corner where they hoped they would not be too conspicuous.

“Are you both okay?” asked Cosain, his countenance concerned.

“Y-yes,” stammered Phoebe, her eyes still like saucers. “But Cosain, those creatures
really
wanted to get at us. What’s so special about me and Dem?”

“Come,” said Cosain, “I will explain something of the task at hand for you, Demetrius and your family. Then you will begin to understand. We are rid of that little attack team, but there will be others. The Enemy will not give up that easily.”

Phoebe’s mouth was dry, and she had to remind herself to breathe as she and Demetrius followed Cosain and the other angels out of the airport, their swords still drawn and smouldering from the battle.

Outside the airport terminal, Phoebe and Demetrius found a bench and collapsed gratefully on to it. The friends looked at each other for a moment, unsure how to respond to the spectacle they had both witnessed. A few moments passed in silence before Phoebe could contain herself no longer and erupted in a ripple of nervous giggles. Given the severity of the situation, she was pretty sure that laughter was not an entirely appropriate reaction, but as she sat in the heat of the African sun, her giggles turned to chortles, which turned to giant belly laughs, until tears of mirth were rolling down her cheeks. Demetrius looked at his friend as if he might chastise her for being so silly and immature, but then his own face creased into laughter and they sat for a full five minutes laughing uncontrollably before they could regain their composure.

“Oh Dem,” gasped Phoebe, “I know it’s not funny – it’s not funny at all! But considering everything that has happened in the last twenty four hours, I couldn’t help it!”

“It’s okay Bird,” Demetrius reassured her, “It’s not every day you travel through time, meet seven winged giants sent from Heaven to help you, and get attacked by those… what were those things? Bats? Hell hounds?”

“You are not so far wrong in your assertions,” Cosain interjected, and immediately the teenagers remembered who they were with as they sobered up and their laughter ceased. “The demons you saw were sent by the Enemy, and you should have no doubt that their plan was to kill you and Phoebe. They thought their job was complete when the plane crashed on July 15
th
, and now that Phoebe has been given this chance to put things right, they will use every trick and every weapon in their arsenal to make sure she does not succeed.”

“Cosain is right,” said Lasair, “The Enemy will be enraged – he does not take kindly to defeat!”

“It is our job now to get you all safely back to Ireland tomorrow,” continued Cosain, “Because once there, your parents will have an integral role in launching the Celtic Justice Mission – CJM – which will change thousands of lives right across Ireland and eventually the world. You don’t have to look very far to find injustice in the world, but it is closer than you might think from watching your television. All over Ireland and beyond the Enemy has been working, and there is a great need, one that may not be so clearly visible, but exists nonetheless. Injustice is rife and is peddled by those who have the power to stop it but prefer to ignore it. Phoebe, your parents have a calling to bring light and hope to those who need it, and the Enemy hates this. You both have been chosen as Light Bringers. You will have the capability and skill to defeat darkness, although this will not happen without a fight. We must expect opposition at every turn – but now that we are on to the demonic schemes, we can be better armed and ready for them. You should not underestimate the effect that the Celtic Justice Mission will have for good. It will become a world-renowned organisation, one which governments will turn to for advice and moral direction. Change for good will come about through this mission, justice and equality will be promoted and brought about. This will be big, beyond your parents’ imaginings at this stage, but they will learn not to despise small beginnings.”

Cosain smiled at the bewildered teenagers before him. Although young and innocent in so many ways, they had brave, fearless hearts and both possessed a strong faith that, he was certain, would carry them through.

“We have, for the time being, warded off the ‘
welcome committee
’ at the airport, but by now that one-armed sentry – Schnither – will have reported back to the Enemy, and they will be regrouping and preparing for their next assault.”

“Schnither?” asked Demetrius, intrigued that the gnarly beasts had names.

“Yes,” confirmed Cosain. “He is the Captain of the Dark Army, and is a formidable foe. You should not assume that the loss of an arm will subdue him or make him any less dangerous. In fact, he will be all the more enraged, I should imagine. Revenge will be at the top of his agenda.”

“How do we know where Schnither and his cronies will strike next?” asked Phoebe, her heart thumping so hard in her chest that she felt sure Demetrius would be able to hear it.

“They have failed again to take your life, so now they will move to eradicate the opposition posed by…”

“My parents!” gasped Phoebe, the horror of realisation dawning on her face. “Cosain, we need to get back to the hospital – fast!”

Always one step ahead, Cosain was already issuing commands to his troop. Solas, Dilis, Trean, Croga and Lasair nodded their understanding, then took to the air en masse, the swoop of their powerful wings blowing Phoebe’s hair round her face as they took to the skies on their captain’s command.

“Neam,” ordered Cosain, “You remain here. You know what to do. The Enemy will not leave the airport unwatched. You must be alert, and stay hidden – we do not want them to get word of your presence.”

“I understand, Captain,” responded Neam, his clear blue eyes sparkling with an intensity that told Phoebe he had no intention of letting those heinous demons get the upper hand.

“I will watch their every move and report directly back to you.”

And with a salute to his commander, Neam spread his enormous wings, and was gone Heavenward in a streak of brilliant ethereal light.

“Come,” Cosain’s voice had a contained urgency to it. “The Enemy will not procrastinate, and neither must we.”

Phoebe and Demetrius fell into line with the Heavenly warrior and the trio despatched with renewed vigour for their destination – Medical Miracles Hospital.

In the darkest underbelly of the earth, the surviving one-armed demon from the failed attack on Phoebe and Demetrius limped up to gargantuan black doors that were closed across the entrance to a cavernous room. Two hideous beasts stood guard, each holding enormous spears, which they crossed over the doors as the demon approached.

“
Halt!
” snarled the first guard. “Who are you and what is your business here?”

“I am Schnither, Captain of the Dark Army, reporting back from duty,” hissed the gnarly black being. “
He
will be expecting me.” The ‘
he’
to whom Schnither referred was Abaddon the Defiler, undisputed boss of Schnither and his cronies and feared Master of the Mooar Mountain, the dark nerve centre of all things evil. Abaddon was a fearsome ruler and neither Schnither nor any of his fellow demons dared to challenge his reign.

“It looks like your mission wasn’t a
rip roaring success
,” sneered the second guard, gesturing towards Schnither’s dismembered limb and he sniggered, revealing a green serpentine tongue and razor sharp, pointed teeth. The stump of Schnither’s arm was still oozing a thick yellow liquid, but the indignation and fury at being outsmarted by those bright shiny angelic nuisances was causing Schnither more pain and discomfort than his impressive war wound.

Schnither glared at the first guard, wondering if he should teach the flabby beast a lesson right then and there. The notion of wiping the smirk off the guard’s face appealed to Schnither, but he thought better of it – he didn’t want to cause an unnecessary uproar when the news he was about to deliver to the Boss wasn’t exactly as good as it should have been.

“Just open up,
minion
” spat Schnither, unfurling his twisted body to its full height. At almost seven feet tall, and with a girth far exceeding that of the guards, he was a formidable sight, and the two sneering sentinels sobered up immediately.

“Oh, uh… yes, Captain Schnither sir, right away. You should have said it was important…”

The first guard’s voice trailed off as he realised that his babbling was not helping his cause in any way, and he and his fellow sentry heaved against the heavy wooden doors. The doors groaned open, and thick black smoke began to billow menacingly through. There was an eerie yellow glow about the room, and as Schnither stepped through the doorway, he paused to allow his red eyes to adjust to the gloom. He had scarcely acquainted himself with his creepy surroundings when a voice addressed him from out of the murkiness.

“You!
Captain Schnither.
What news?”

The unexpectedly dulcet tones broke through the darkness, a voice so low that Schnither had to hold his breath to hear it properly.

“Master,” he stumbled over his words as he edged closer through the smoky gloom. “Our mission… it was, uh, not
entirely
a success.” Schnither was sweating, his hideous face contorting in terror.

“
Yes-s-s
, I hear-r-r-d,”

The faceless voice drooled the words and Schnither had to steady himself against the cold stone wall to keep from collapsing in a shuddering heap. Suddenly, the smoke burst apart, rolling furiously to either side as a dark form, almost nine feet tall, appeared only inches from Schnither’s quivering body – Abaddon, the feared Dark Master. Abaddon’s countenance was intense, unrelenting, and his features, while hard and cold, belied an ethereal beauty of aeons past – there could be no denying Abaddon’s glorious past as the Angel of Light, the Son of the Morning, and even now, in the deepest darkest recesses of the earth, through the dark around him and the dark within him, Schnither could see the physical traces of a beauty that once fellowshipped with the Atoner himself. Abaddon’s flint grey eyes bored relentlessly into Schnither, who was completely taken by surprise at the appearance of his Dark Master.

“My Liege!” Schnither reeled back in shock and fear, tripping over his own feet and landing unceremoniously on his backside at Abaddon’s feet. Next to his Master’s imposing form, Schnither appeared small, feeble, and he was acutely aware of his own irrelevance.

“You have failed me –
again!
”

Abaddon’s once deceptively soft tones had become a ferocious roar, and in his accusatory rage he spat the words at Schnither, leaning menacingly over his servant’s cowering body, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging and straining.

“What should I do with you, eh?” Abaddon regained some composure, leaned back, away from Schnither, and a sinister smile curled across his face. It was more of a snarl, and although the roaring had ceased, Schnither now felt more dread than he had before. Somehow, Abaddon’s thunderous rage, terrifying as it was, was less intimidating than when he spoke in muted tones, which could so easily have lead his audience into a false sense of security. ‘
The calm before the storm,
’ Schnither mused.