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.

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.”  

Air Combat

     From her side view came the female.  Irti turned quickly mid air to confront the angry Ahriman.  She saw the other woman brandishing a bronze sword.  Reaching behind her back, she pulled the sword she had in a sheath strapped between her wings.   She parried the first blow the woman did, and then she recognized her.  “Peri, you don’t have to fight,” Irti shouted out over the wind that had picked up from behind her.  

     A snarl came to the other woman’s lips.  Then, her white wings opened to their full eleven and a half foot length.  Irti knew then she needed to gain altitude because the woman was about to ram herself and the sword into Irti. 

     Irti bolted up.  She parried another blow.  The swords clashed as both of the winged women climbed and climbed, striving for height.  They were a match in strength.

     Peri, the younger of the two, tried with all her might to out maneuver and out speed her older, more experienced opponent.  Irti watched her flapping her wings almost too quickly, leaving trails of air swirling from the desperately beating feathers.  Irti leaned backwards, opening space between herself and her foe, letting the younger woman tire herself.

     Irti heard her snarl in triumph, and saw her foe aggressively climb, now her foe was just above her, and again they dueled with swords.  Irti spun in the air, allowing a leg to spin toward her surprised foe.  It connected with her foe’s womb, bringing a cry of pain and rage.  But the unexpected maneuver cost Irti altitude.

Talking to Daryush

     She lifted her head to the sky as she heard the first of the bombers fly overhead.  She looked down to see the Ahriman look directly at her. 

     Irti jumped into the air.  Her black wings unfurled spanning their full Twelve-foot length.  They beat a couple of times, hovering over the alleyway.  She swooped down, diving at the man.

     He gazed at her.  “Irti, we should talk first.”  He lifted his wings and flapped a couple of times to gain altitude.

     “My claws are not out yet.”  Irti responded.  She slowed her descent to let him come close to her.

     He smiled at her, “I can see that.”

     “We can talk over the channel, and get away from the humans,” Irti suggested. She waited patiently for yet another response.

     He smiled at her once again; at one time she could read his looks.  “Okay, but . . . ”

     “No buts . . . You have no idea what will be those humans’ fates.  And we are charged with no interferences.  I would like an explanation.”  She said sweetly. 

     “That I will give to you.”  He flew by her letting a white wing brush her own. 

     She followed.  This was the first time in years that she had seen him.  She had fought and maimed many of his kind over that time.  But him, he was the leader, a person of interest to her council. 

     She watched him flying straight east of the city toward the English Channel.  She was thinking about the council of elders, with judgment of the most important of her kind.  She knew she would be omitting from her report that she talked to Daryush Hatef.

A beginning

Irti leapt from the building, and covertly unfurled her black wings.  She glided to the next roof, landing on her feet, and turned to see if she was still being followed.  Sure enough, there they were, three white-winged males, all brandishing swords, and all with only one thought-her death.

     She scoffed at them before leaping down from that roof.  Her large twelve-foot wingspan opened quickly to catch the rainy wind.  She reached around her back with her right hand to grab the hilt of her sword.  If only she did not have to fight such dire odds.

     Her black hair whipped in the wind crossing over her eyes, diminishing her ability to see. This temporarily knocked her a little bit off balance.  She steadied herself by lifting a few of her feathers to control her glide to the next roof, where she landed again gracefully on her feet.

     She was a Daeva, a black angel.  What humans called a demon or helpers of the “devil.” Humans were mistaken.  First, her kind had never heard of the “devil.”  Second, her kind only wanted to stop the Ahriman from interfering with the history of the humans.  Humans thought of the Ahrimans as “angels“ or helpers of God.  This disgusted Irti.

     The rain fell cold against the bare skin on her back.  She mused about why she was out there, it was August 14, 1792, and she had just failed in her mission.  The Ahriman had foiled some human assassination attempt.  She didn’t know why, but she would find out.  She drew her bronze colored sword, and scowled at them, “Why did you stop those Girondists?”

     The one in the center, stocky with black hair and swarthy skin, spoke, “We were saving a life.  Maximilian Robes Pierre must survive.  And for your interference, you must be eliminated.”

     With that the two others, one tall and skinny, but also swarthy, the other short and vaguely Irish looking, moved forward and to the sides, trying to encircle her.

     Glancing about, she saw a large chimney, not a perfect defense, but at least something to put her back to.  She darted quickly to it, and moved her sword in small circles, flexing her wrist.  They moved to trap her there.