When the Angels Fell

Chapter 11: Visitor

Abigail awoke with a start, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. The dream faded, but the roaring sound remained; gradually receding into the distance. It took several seconds for her fatigued mind to register the sound as a motorbike engine.

Daniel

Feeling her thudding heartbeat slowing, Abigail slowly rolled out of bed. Her bare feet sank into several inches of soft carpet; a nice surprise compared to the cold wooden floor she had been expecting. Light filtered in through thick curtains, throwing gold beams across the blue fabric. Dust motes danced languidly in the illumination, drifting down from the timbered ceiling.

Abigail stumbled over to the curtains, her tired limbs slow to respond after such an abrupt awakening. Somehow she managed to throw the heavy fabric aside, shielding her eyes as bright daylight flooded the room. When the harsh glow faded, she could see the room in all its glory. What was revealed made her jaw drop in surprise.

The massive four-poster bed she had just vacated dominated the centre, made of sturdy oak and hung with thick silk drapes. It sat on a blue carpet that looked thick enough for Abigail to completely sink into. The walls were done in rich, crimson red, edged with a black spiral pattern. Abigail felt herself being lost in its curves, spending long minutes tracing the intricate spirals with her finger. Tearing herself away, she turned to the massive, gilt-framed portrait that took up most of the wall opposite her bed.

It was an oil painting reminiscent of those she had seen in Victorian art museums. A tall, coldly beautiful woman stood atop a cliff while a flock of ravens circled overhead. The sky was a calm blue with barely a cloud in site. It was done with considerable skill and Abigail found herself searching for the artist’s signature. She found it in the bottom-left corner, written in a tight white scrawl:

My dearest Aurelia

I dedicate this to you

Your eternal love,

Myrdin

The small smile that formed on her lips was quickly dispelled when Abigail remembered Daniel’s story. The way he had told it and the things he had shown her afterwards made it instantly believable. A lump formed in her throat and she quickly turned away from the painting. The light dimmed as a cloud passed over the sun and the room suddenly felt unbearably oppressive. Abigail ran to the door, practically forcing it open in her haste to escape.

The upper floor was cold, the candles burnt down to stumps of melted wax. She padded softly down the stairs, almost jumping out of her skin when Saecar emerged suddenly from a doorway. He looked cleaner than the previous night, his hair combed and his body encased in a tight-fitting black body robe that totally failed to hide the sheer amount of muscle underneath.

“Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake,” he chuckled, flashing a tooth-filled grin.

“So it seems,” Abigail replied with a smile, his easy sense of humour calming her nerves. “Last night really tired me out”

“He told you then?” Saecar asked, the grin dropping from his face. “Can never be easy for the poor lad, dragging up the past like that”

“No,” Abigail agreed. “It can’t”

She brushed past him and had almost reached the nearest door when Saecar called down the hallway.

“Oh, he left you a note…by the fireplace I think”

Abigail nodded and waited for Saecar to disappear before she opened the door. The ash from the fire had been blown across the floor, coating the planks in a thin layer of grey. The aforementioned note was pinned to the fireplace, a single scrap of paper no bigger than her hand. The words looked like they had been written in a hurry, the black untidy scrawl hard to read at first. Eventually Abigail seemed to understand Daniel’s handwriting and re-read the note properly:

Something’s come up that needs my attention so I won’t be with you for the day at least.

Expect a visitor named Aelion at around noon. And do try not to be surprised when you see him.

Keep safe and do not go beyond the estate’s boundaries for any reason whatsoever.

I’ll be back as soon as possible.

Daniel

Right on cue, Abigail heard a loud knock at the door. Leaving the note to drift gently to the floor, she hurried into the hallway. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the heavy door open. For the second time that morning, her jaw dropped in surprise.

To describe the man before her as handsome would be a gross understatement. Long blonde hair flowed gracefully to his shoulders; shoulders that were thick with muscle. Despite the clear muscle definition, he still carried himself with a noble, feline grace that would fool any distant observer. Two shockingly bright eyes the shade of winter ice glittered with their own inner light above a mouth that seemed permanently curved in a half-smile.

“You must be Abigail,” Aelion said, his voice like notes of ethereal music that demanded the ear’s immediate attention.

“Err…yes…that’s me,” Abigail stammered, all coherent thought erased from her head.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear Abigail,” Aelion smiled, taking her hand and gently brushing it with his lips. “Now won’t you let me in?”

“Oh…sorry,” Abigail muttered, stepping aside as he swept gracefully past.

She trailed behind Aelion as he entered the living room, shaking his head disdainfully at the scattered ashes. Collecting them in the palm of his hands, he deposited them back into the fireplace. Then, without warning, he turned and Abigail caught a flash of silver beneath his cloak.

“Why are you carrying a sword?”

“Gods take me for a fool,” Aelion proclaimed, unsheathing the weapon with a theatrical flourish. “Here I am, appearing suddenly without even explaining the purpose of my visit”

He flipped the weapon towards her and she managed to catch it by the handle, the metal strangely warm. The blade itself, slightly longer than her arm, was deceptively thin and tapered to a slightly curved point. The cross guard formed a simple bar of beaten gold, ending in two elaborate curves towards the hilt.

“That, my dear, is an elven combat sword,” Aelion explained, retrieving the weapon and returning it to its sheath. “Forged from Eltherian blazesteel in the heart of my homeland”

“And you have it because?”

“Because, my dear,” Aelion smiled sadly. “I’m here to kill you”