Light in the Black

pestis

Weak, strained coughs echoed in a one-room shack, boarded up and shunned from society. Edward Britton shook violently in his makeshift bed of dry hay and the hard dirt of the ground, but his hand never released its hold for comfort that came from his angel. His fingers had gone numb long ago, making it impossible to tell how hard he was his visitor's hand. But the angel did not complain. She simply ran her free hand through the dirty-blond hair plastered to his forehead and hummed a lullaby, content at his side.

In his haze of illness and paralysis, Edward had a lot of time to appreciate the beauty of the angel that sat so dutifully at his side. He would often lock eyes with her soft blue irises as her wavy blonde hair fell graciously over her shoulders. Whenever he found the strength to, he would reach up and stroke the long locks, and he'd be reminded that though the beauty beside him was delectably pale, her unblemished features were as tanned as a foreign trader when compared to his sickly form.

They mostly remained silent, enjoying one another's company as the world outside the shack continued on, seemingly oblivious to their existence. But there were times where Edward could no longer stand the silence, and though his voice was raspy and hard to understand, he spoke anyway.

"Mum and Dad are with the Man in the Moon?"

"Martha and Elizabeth, too. They're waiting for you, Edward."

What convinced Edward that his angel was a princess was the tiny tiara nestled in her hair. The diamonds were shaped to imitate flowers and leaves, glittering like the silk gold he had once seen the king and queen wear during a festival celebration. And his angel was just as beautiful as the Queen of England, if not more; he'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

"Angel?"

"Yes, Edward?"

"I'm scared."

"I know. But I won't leave you."

"Does dying hurt?"

"It's as painless as falling asleep." A small sigh escaped her cherry-colored lips, though her contradicting smile was able to relieve some of his worry instantly. "And when you wake up, you'll be in paradise."

Edward let out a shaky breath as the hurt in his chest started to dull. "Will I see you there?"

"One day, I suppose."

Edward nodded, feeling too tired to continue the light conversation. He could feel his heartbeat slowing down, his eyelids becoming heavier with every blink. His breaths were slowing and relaxing. Falling asleep was always a scary experience anymore, unsure if he would ever wake up again. But his angel was right; he would simply fall asleep and wake up in paradise as long as she remained by his side.

"Do you have a name, Angel?" Edward whispered, his grip beginning to lax.

"Johanna," she gently responded, tightening her grip slightly and leaning closer to him. "Johanna Aegle."

"Johanna..."

And in the tense silence that followed, Edward's eyes slid closed and his hand relaxed completely. Johanna began softly humming the lullaby she'd sung to so many children before, releasing his hand and leaning forward to give him a soft kiss on the forehead before she stood to her feet. She wouldn't leave him just yet. She had to make sure. He could have simply fallen asleep.

"Ah, Lady Joan Plantagenet."

Johanna peered over her shoulder, frowning at the cloaked figure that entered the room, bringing a dark and foreboding presence with it.

"You know that's not my name anymore, Ankou. What business do you have here?"

"This child has passed," he told her bluntly, though his eyes showed her empathy as she felt a pang in her heart. "I'm simply here to do my job as you have so eloquently done yours."

"You promise you'll take him to Father?"

"As I've done for all of the children before."

She watched in discomfort as Ankou approached Edward, his boney hands reaching out to collect the poor child's soul. Ankou's thin, white hair fell from under his hood as he knelt, a sharp contrast to his black robes.

"You know this isn't a pleasant thing to witness, Johanna. I suggest you take your leave; you've done all you can for Mr. Britton. The pest you seek as long left."

Johanna allowed herself one more glance at Edward's still figure before quickly retreating to the dirty, desolate streets of London. Just outside the shack sat Ankou's cart, his pet owl perched in the front seat. Johanna didn't know its name or if it even had a name. The owl observed her for a moment before letting out its Banshee's Howl of a screech, telling her Edward was now truly passing on. Suddenly feeling much lower in spirit, Johanna felt unable to stay to see Ankou off.

She moved slowly though the slums of London, listening intently for the sounds of lonely children or the telltale signs of the pest's whereabouts. In the near distance, she could see the Tower of London standing tall and proud, which held her few memories of her mortal life. She could see glimpses in her mind of the king and queen wishing her well in their farewells whenever her eyes caught sight of the intimidating structure. She'd quickly learned from Ankou that her lack of knowledge of her previous life was uncommon in spirits, but she'd always been afraid to ask her creators for any information.

When Johanna had first awoken as Moon and Nature's child, she found herself in the charred remains of a once grand castle overlooking a distraught, sickly village in what she later learned was the country of France. All she'd known was her spiritual name and whom her creators were. It had been from Ankou that she learned of her mortal life, and he had warned her to not let her mother know that she knew the truth.

"You are a Guardian of Childhood," Mother Nature had told her as she led her from Plantagenet Castle and pointed towards the pest's last known presence. "Born from fire in the brightest moonlight. You are the warmth of comfort, the light in the Great Plague. You will be the fire that burns the pest from existence."

"You were chosen because of your demise," Ankou offhandedly told her in their third meeting, after the third child she'd stay with had died.

"I don't care much for your riddles, Ankou."

His blunt answer had chilled her to the core, the only time she'd ever felt cold as a fire elemental.

"Young Princess Joan, the pride of England's crown, stolen away by the very plague she now comforts dying children through, the very plague she is asked to destroy to save the children of the world."

Though the mortals couldn't begin to see it, that very plague was beginning to subside. She had followed the pest throughout the world, spreading hope and comfort of the warmth that destroyed the pest's instilled fear in it's survivors, weakening the grip on the next generation that whispered of an angel of fire sent by God to be their salvation.

It left Johanna wondering what her purpose would be, once the world was finally rid of the pest. There would always be an ill child somewhere in the world, and she could easily sit with them wherever they were, as adults were unable to see her. But the reason behind her resurrection had been the plague. And as the pest began to tire out, she could feel herself tire out, too.

But as she watched the sun set against the tower she used to call her home, she set her sights back on the name that she would whisper into every fire until she burned the holder of the name itself.

"Yersinia."