moving story.

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Jarrett the dreamer

     Jarrett sat upright in his hotel room bed. The dream about an angelic battle during World War II woke him from an unsound sleep.  It was a dream he wouldn’t soon forget.  His pulse raced when he saw the Angels battle, as if he had something to do with the female with black wings who had lost.  He wanted to help the woman. Something inside of him made him feel protective toward her, a feeling he had never felt about any woman before.

     When she dove, he felt the wind against his own face.  When she went to parry her opponent’s blade, he felt anticipation.  When her wing had been injured, he wanted to step in and fight for her.

      The woman with black wings intrigued him.  He saw her determination during the battle.  He now looked back at the dream, and thought about her.  The angel with black wings had the finest figure Jarrett had ever seen.  She had wings, which was odd, and he was dreaming about World War II, but . . .  something made his pulse race when watching her.

     Now he sat there in bed, his mind had forced him to wake up at 2:00am on a Tuesday morning, he had only a few more hours of sleep before his workday started.

     He laid his head back down on the pillow, maybe he was being a bit fanciful, it was just a dream after all.  He lay there thinking a little bit more about the dream before drifting off to sleep.  Another dream a bit more pleasant than the first came to him.

A Predictin

“I must tell you this, so listen closely.”  The older woman said, her eyes glazed over as if in a trance, “What if there was a life you could not let go of, a man whom you would give your life for but his abilities make him a threat to human and Daeva history.”

     “There would be no such man,” Irti replied.

     “But there is and you will find him irresistible.  His wit and caring nature, will be for you.  He will calm the rage burning in your soul.”  The older woman paused briefly, “What are you willing to give up for your true mate?”

     “If I am understanding you correctly, I will love a human?”

     “Yes,” What a simple answer from the woman’s mouth. 

     Irti got up from where she was sitting.  “I think I will wait by the door.”

     “What bothers you so?”  The older woman asked. 

     “You, to think I will love a mortal, a human, preposterous.”  Irti turned.  “Mind yourself old woman.  For what you say will get me banished from my people.”

     “If that is your choice, then make it.  Happiness is fleeting, don’t throw it away with both hands when offered.”

     A chill went up Irti’s spine. Maybe the woman was right.

Time for Tea

     The older woman took the tray over to the corner of the room and set it down on a table covered with multiple scarves of various layers.  “Please come and sit.  Sip some tea while you wait.”  The older woman sat in the corner, then gestured to a chair across from her. 

     Irti took her seat.  She watched the older woman pour the dark liquid of the Russian Tea.  The smell of oranges, cinnamon and nutmeg permeated the area.  Silence hung between the two women as Irti sipped her tea.  Then, she placed the teacup on the table.  “You did not answer my previous question, you just repeated a history that was drummed into my head when I was a wingling.”

     The older gypsy woman smiled, “The safe house has always been my home.”

     “Oh, I apologize.”  Irti gave a slightly guilty look.  She picked up her tea cup to sip some more of the delicious tea. 

     The older woman sat for a moment then said, completely out of the blue, “You have not a mate?”

     “How?  Well, I have dated many of my peers but none approve of my career choice being a protector of humans.  Many thought that job was clearly for males.”  She did not know why she divulged so much information, she felt safe with this human.

     The older woman smiled at her in a knowing way, “A fatherless daughter following in the unknown father’s footsteps.  You think you need to be him?”

     “No, I just think it is wrong to save people who should not be saved.  The last man who was supposed to be assassinated and was rescued, whom I failed to prevent interference from the Ahriman, caused the Jacobin Revolution, the bloody phase of the French revolution.” Irti said in disgust, “That one human caused even more deaths.”

Sanctuary

She looked up.  She was half way around the building.  The darkness and pouring rain obscured her view.  The sanctuary was across the side courtyard under a Paris manhole, but she still needed to see her father before she left the protective side of the building.  A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky.  He was there above her head pointing toward the place she needed to find.

     Her father sat where he had fallen to an Ahriman.  He was a stone statue, what the human world called a gargoyle.  Tears welled up in Irti’s eyes, she knew he had been transformed to stone by a grievous injury.

     She cursed the Ahriman that gave her the injury she suffered now.  She had not completed her mission.  Now, she knew it would be a long time before she would get her next assignment.

     She walked across the courtyard toward the manhole cover that hid the sanctuary.  She got to the cover only to see a light from a slightly open doorway.  A short stout woman hung just outside the open door.  “Daeva, I need you to come to me.”

     Irti barely heard the woman.  The rain and wind obscured much of the sound.  “I must find my own kind.”  She shouted back at the older woman.

     The woman ignored her, motioning with an arm for Irti to walk forward.  Irti did, for some reason the older human made her feel safe.  There were some humans who knew of her kind and helped.  Maybe the older woman was one who knew. 

     A shiver raced up Irti’s spine as she approached the woman.  The woman opened the door wider to a lushly decorated space.  Some tables were scattered about full of Notre Dame memorabilia. The shop also smelled like freshly made Russian Tea.  A tea with a hint of oranges.  Very rare at this moment in time, at least rare in Paris.  Irti walked over to a little table in the back of the store.

     “Your kind will be here shortly to take you home.”  The woman stated.  This time Irti got a good look at the flamboyantly dressed woman.  The woman wore a purple skirt that fell to the floor.  She had a red patterned scarf tied around her waist.  Her shirt was a simple white peasant blouse that was slightly off the shoulder.  Her peppered black and white hair was tied up under a brown kerchief. 

     “What do you know about my kind?”  Irti asked. 

     “Young woman please sit down.  As you know, my people traveled great distances across Asia and Europe to settle in the large cities.  My people know a great deal about this world and the next.  You are from a place we humans have never seen before.  One group, the Ahriman, meddle in human affairs.  The other group, the Daeva, stays out of human affairs and tries to prevent the Ahriman from interfering.  The two halves of your culture have been at war since before civilization started.”  The older woman ended her commentary.  Irti watched her leave the front of the shop. 

     The older woman came back with a tray filled with two cups, a streaming hot tea pot, with a couple of cucumber sandwiches.    The aroma of the tea assailed Irti’s nostrils.  She started to feel as if she had not drunk anything for days.   

Finding Sanctuary

The consequences of the injury did not escape her notice.  Her wing started to stiffen; this arthritic pain was the first sign to any Daeva that their person was being taken by stone.  She pushed up off of the sand.

     Irti looked at the half stormy sky.  The sun happened to be behind her.  The storm ahead of her could be a flight problem.  She had to try.

     Opening her wings she awkwardly entered the air.  She felt like an albatross; a big bird that had to run and flop into the air.  When she was in the air, she could not keep her balance very well.  It was sheer will that kept her aloft.  The storm still raged above her.

     Somehow she made the short distance to Paris.  At that time Paris was under a curfew.  Residents had to be home from their various jobs at a specific time due to the German occupation.

     Crossing Paris had its risks.  “Come on girl, you can do it,” Irti cheered herself on.  She pulled herself upright tucking her wing as gently as she could behind her back.  She had to make it to Notre Dame.  Around there was a safe home, where individuals would help her get home.

     She inched her way along the streets of Paris ducking into the shadows when she saw a German patrol.  For heart pounding moments she feared being found.  Germans shot first then asked questions later, only because this was a time of curfew.  Irti knew she took a great risk coming to the occupied city. 

     Death is a fate immortals don’t really face.  It simply did not happen.  But for a small few, when a time of conflict happens and severe injury occurs, the immortal turns to stone.  Irti stood at the base of Notre Dame, panting and injured.  She bent her wing again, and she felt it stiffen.  She knew she needed to find help. 

     She looked up at the stone building, then walked toward it. She went around to the side of the building.  Touching the cold stone of the grand cathedral she prayed, “Please let the sanctuary still be there.”  

Fleeing from the fight

Her heart fell as she saw who had sliced her wingtip off.  Daryush hovered above her, a cruel smile on his face.    

     She barely recovered from the fall.  She heard the laughter of the two Ahriman behind her as she only just kept herself from touching the volatile waters of the English Channel.  She reached land twenty minutes later. 

     She flounced onto the beach.  This was not her day.  She called out to her people.  None heard her. 

     The storm was abating in this area of the world.  She knew she was in France.  It was the closest country to England after all.  The closest safe home for her was in Paris. 

     She lifted her injured wing assessing the damage with her hand.  A cry of pain bubbled into her throat.  The tip of her wing had been removed cleanly and the blood only coagulated around the tip of the wing.  The damage was not as bad as she supposed.   She let go of her wing.  She needed to move from the beach.