The years seemed to pass by in a mere flash of brilliance as
the children grew up and Isabel grew older. One early morning, in
the fall of her forty-fifth year, Cael watched her as she lay beside
him, sleeping peacefully. Gray streaks were now prominent
throughout her chestnut hair, and her face showed her years through
the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. She was no longer as
energetic as she had been in her youth, and much more reserved, but
it made no difference to Cael. In his eyes, she was as beautiful as
she had ever been. She began to awaken as he was watching her and
he smiled softly, then kissed her cheek and said, "Good morrow, my
beauty. Didst thou sleep well?" She looked at him sleepily and
chuckled. "Beauty? Why, I've turned into a crone and ye haven't
aged a day since we first met. I must find that fountain of youth
that you've been sneaking off to." He laughed softly with her, but
her words pained him terribly, knowing that he could not restore her
youth to her and that he could do nothing to stop or even to slow
the progress of her aging. Trying to put the thought aside, he
changed the subject. "So, when are Charlotte and her young man
going to be here today? They wanted our help in planning their
wedding, aye?" Isabel nodded, then sat up and replied "Aye. They
should be here later this morning. We also must plan Elise's
debutante ball, and I believe Llew and his wife are stopping in to
leave the children in our care for a few days." Cael put his hand
on his head and theatrically fell backwards in bed, saying in a
voice full of mock-anguish "Oh my! What a full day! Whatever are
we to do? I shall pass out from exhaustion before brunch is
served!" She laughed gaily, the sound like sweet music to Cael's
ears, and then threw her pillow in his face, saying with a voice
full of laughter, "Oh stop being such a drama queen—you're beginning
to frighten me with your foofiness!" Laughing, he tossed the
pillow and rolled to his side, supporting his head with his hand and
looking at her teasingly. "Just how am I beginning to frighten you,
my love?" he asked playfully, and she replied while still
giggling "I'm beginning to worry that perhaps I'm not your type, and
that mayhap you like boys instead of girls!" With that, he flopped
backwards onto his back in a mock pass-out and she picked up her
pillow and pummeled him with it until he lifted all his limbs
protectively into the air and shouted between his bursts of
laughter "That's enough! You're going to beat me to death!" She
laughed and, tossing the pillow aside, flopped down beside him and
pulled him close to her, embracing him tightly. Returning the
embrace, he smiled warmly, then climbed out of bed and offered his
hand to her. Smiling warmly at him, she took the offered hand and
stood, and he pulled her close for a moment, kissing the top of her
head softly and then resting his chin there. He sigh-whispered to
her "I love you", and she pressed her cheek against his chest and
replied, "I love you, too." They then let go of each other,
stepping into their own dressing rooms and changing out of their
bedclothes before going downstairs to breakfast.
Their day was full indeed, as they tried to manage their
grand-children; Maggie, age two, and Evan, age five; help Charlotte
and her fiancé, Steven, plan the details of their wedding, that was
to be held at the keep, and Organize Elise's debutante ball, which
would be later that week. By noon they had given up hope of
managing Llew's unruly children and turned them over to Charlotte
and Steven to care for while they finished the details of Elise's
ball. They felt they could put the minor details of the wedding
aside for the time being, for it wouldn't be for another moon. They
were both exhausted by dinner that night and went to bed early,
Isabel falling into a deep, dreamless sleep; Cael falling into a
nightmare-filled one. In his dreams he met his worst fear, which
was Isabels' death. In the middle of the night, he sat bolt-
upright, his body covered in a cold sweat and his heart racing.
Panting, he climbed out of bed and went to fetch his pitcher and
bowl, pouring some water from the pitcher into the bowl and
splashing his face with it. He stood there for several moments;
head hung low, hands gripping the marble countertop as he tried to
still his racing heart. He knew that her time wasn't near yet, but
the thought still frightened him beyond all reason. Finally
regaining his wind, he walked back into their chambers and slipped
quietly back into bed with her, holding her close to him and
trembling uncontrollably. The thought of her impending death
haunted him, and he tried to shut it out of his mind. He spent the
rest of that night in an uneasy, quite wakeful state, trying to
force the thoughts from his mind and sleep, but wondering with much
fear about when exactly her time would come.
. . .
That time came in the spring of her sixty-third year. He
awoke early one morning and, because Isabel had been having trouble
ascending and descending the stairs as of late, he decided to take
her breakfast in bed. Since he had awakened before the rest of the
house did, he opted to cook breakfast himself, making enough for
everyone. Leaving most of it on the kitchen table when he was
finished, he took only enough for her upstairs on a tray. Quietly,
he entered their quarters and nearly dropped the tray when he heard
her breathing. It was horrifically different from what it had been
when he left the room; it was now shallow and ragged—a sound that he
had never heard before. It was still quite dark, so he set the tray
on her nightstand and lit an oil lamp. When he saw her face, he
gasped. She had an unnatural pallor about her and her lips were
blue. His eyes widened with terror, and he placed his hands on her
shoulders, shaking her gently. "Wake up, Bella! Oh please, wake
up!" His voice was pleading and urgent. Thinking he had already
lost her, tears began to roll silently down his cheeks, and though
he wanted to cry out, wanted to do anything that would awaken her
from slumber, no sound would issue forth from his mouth. He stood
over her for a few moments, hands still on her shoulders, his tears
falling onto her cheeks. Her eyes suddenly fluttered open, the
light slowly fading from them, and, seeing Cael, crooked the corners
of her mouth in a somnolent smile. Slowly, she lifted a shaking
hand and touched his cheek, her palm cold and the pulse slowing
noticeably within it, and spoke to him in a hollow voice, "Why do
you weep so, my love? Do you cry for the eyesore that is the hag
before you?" Regaining some of his composure, he swallowed hard and
answered her in a voice filled with grief: "No, I see no hag before
me; I see only the beautiful woman that I have loved for so long.
Please don't say things like that, Bella." She took in a long,
laboured breath, then spoke, her voice becoming more taciturn with
each word. "Please, do not weep for me, my love. It was you who
gave me my life. You believed in me when no one else did, and when
I could not believe in myself, you made me believe. I would have
been nothing in this life without you." His tears became
unmanageable when he heard her words and, his shaking now
uncontrollable; he sat down on the bed beside her. After taking in
a sharp breath, he managed to speak in a small, grief-stricken
voice, "But you…are everything to me…" With that, he seemed to lose
himself in his misery, watching his beloved slipping away before his
very eyes.
An ethereal glow began to emanate from him, and his wings
emerged slowly from his back. They arched gracefully, the long
feathers spilling over the edge of the bed. Isabel's hand moved
slowly and shakily from his face and touched a wing, her hand taking
in the warmth and softness of it, and her smile broadened. "I knew
it", she said quietly. "I knew it from the time I was a child that
you were an Angel. I assumed that was why you could not marry me,
and why we could not consummate our affections, but I loved you just
the same. How could I feel any different? I know that you love me
with all of your soul, and I always have. And I love you with all
that I ever will become." With that she closed her eyes and sighed,
resting for a moment, as the strain of speaking was draining her.
Cael took her hands in his, holding them gently, and kissed their
backs before leaning closer to her and kissing her closed eyes.
Softly, he kissed her lips. He straightened, still watching her and
began to speak, his voice hoarse. "Oh, my Bella, I'm so glad you
understood." She smiled again, her eyes still closed, and asked,
her voice nearly a whisper now, "So, Guardian Angel, don't you think
you took your time in saying, `hello'?" A spark of recognition
flashed in his eyes, and he smiled through his great sadness and
touched her face lovingly. "Only long enough for some small talk,
darling" he replied quietly. She then opened her eyes and, letting
her hand slip down his wing and come to rest on the bed, she asked
in-between ragged breaths, "…Will I have wings like that in
Paradise? They're so very beautiful…" With that, he placed his
right hand over her heart and his left hand over his and closed his
eyes. The glow around him intensified, and she began to glow as
well. Within a mere few moments, his wings vanished from sight, and
he opened his eyes. "You have my wings now—they're attached to your
soul. You will be able to use them in the next world." He then
smiled haplessly. "It seems that I have forgotten how to fly…" She
opened her faded eyes and smiled wearily at him. "Thank you, Cael
my love…for everything…" And with that, she closed her eyes and
stirred no more.
Suddenly, he heard a sound akin to quickly approaching hoof-
beats that sounded as if they were coming from an especially large
animal, and not long after, he saw the source. An enormous creature
that resembled a kelpie leapt through the bedroom window; it was the
colour of moonlight shining through thick fog and had talons instead
of hooves and long, dragon-like fangs. Its eyes were the colour of
dried blood, and looked more like the eyes of a venomous serpent
than like any horse's that he had ever seen. The rider wore a trench-
coat made of leather dyed darker than despair, and leather pants,
gloves and boots to match. In his left hand, he wielded an enormous
scimitar that glowed an eerie blue, its pommel jeweled and engraved
in the unholy number, the mark of Hell; 666. His hair was darker
than raven feathers, and his eyes radiated a cryptic green glow in
the dimly-lit room. Caels' eyes widened as he noted the shape of
his face, his build and height, and came to the unnerving
realization that he was staring at a near-mirror image of himself.
He straightened, his face somber, and stood; his grief turning into
anger. "Well, they always told me that Death rides a pale horse",
he said sarcastically. "You must be the twin that mother talks
about. Look, I'll make a deal with you; take me to Hell and return
her soul…" The rider silenced Cael by shaking his head slowly. "My
name is Cerastes, and I have my duty to perform. This woman is on
my list, so I must take her soul and return it to the Wheel of
Life. If you're patient, you'll see her again in another form, and
somewhere within her soul she will remember you. Besides,
Celestial, you have to return to Avalon and be tried for your
crimes. You see, you have forever altered this woman's soul by
giving her your wings, and in so doing shamed yourself." He then
chuckled cruelly, and added with a sneer of contempt, "It's as my
father always said: `Angels are idiots.'" With that, Cerastes bent
over the side of his mount and shoved the scimitar's blade deep into
Isabel's chest, the blade's glow brightening momentarily. Pulling
the blade out (and leaving no wound, for the blade merely harvested
the souls of the dead) he spurred his beast, and it leapt across the
room and skidded into a turn, then leapt back out the window from
whence it came. Falling to his knees, Cael balled his hands into
fists and screamed after Death himself, "You bastard! I don't care
how far I have to go; I will hunt you down and take your miserable
head!" With that he turned back to Isabel's cold, lifeless body
and, taking her rapidly stiffening hands in his, He laid his head on
the bed, grief-stricken, and wept bitterly until well after sunrise.
