Hadassah's Watchman Trilogy, Evangheline Farcas [red scrolls of magic .txt] 📗

/> He searched among them for Raphael, panic rose like bile in his throat when he didn’t spot him. Everyone seemed to be out. No one else was coming. These captives were hurriedly ushered by Hadassah and the triples and even the Swedish guard who had joined them, to the vans.
Damian had reached the entrance just as he heard loud popping sounds echoing from somewhere deep within that pit of darkness. A very thin Ionatan ran out and stumbled back. He ran past Damian, colliding with Hadassah, falling to the ground.
“Hadassah,” Ionatan gasped, “go run back! Now! They’re coming!” He urged getting up and pulling her up with him.
It was then that Raphael emerged carrying an unconscious woman and Damian sighed audibly. With adrenaline pounding through his veins he was instantly beside his brother, taking the woman from him, so he could be free to run.
“Run!” Damian ordered.
But he failed. He knew it the moment he heard the thunder of the gun going off in the night, and the more sickening sound of it finding it’s target. He knew it when he heard the agonizing cry that seemed to come from two people. He knew it when the ground became stained with ruby red blood. He knew it because the sound of that gun kept repeating again and again, the noise of it filled the universe. He failed, and yes, the cost was too high.

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Sobs filled the auditorium as they felt the sting of death. They knew a last breath had been given, because even across the vast distance this army had become one.
“No!” cried Zipphorah.
She wanted to question heaven, for how could this possibly fit heaven’s plan? How could this be perfect? Was it possible for the heavens to be defeated? It felt like it.
This body, this multitude felt as if a limb had been permanently detached from them. A member’s life was snuffed out like a candle blown out by a furious, angry wind.
Still they persisted. Not every life was lost, captives still remained to be set free. So, no matter how excruciating it was to remain on their knees with lifted arms, still they continued their struggle against the principalities, against the deepest, most evil darkness.

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Somehow the Prince had slipped into a troubled sleep, with his face on the ground, still in a position of supplication. He woke with a start. He thought he heard a loud bank. But nothing followed, except for cold silence, yet his chest hurt.
“Pray now, do not sleep, but pray, the hour is at hand.” whispered a still small voice he was coming to recognize.
Obediently the Prince submitted, not knowing what to pray for, or who to pray for, he only groaned incoherent words, words meant only for heaven and its angels.


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I gasped, I felt pain.
But it was not my own, it was just a reflection of the pain I always picked up on from the one whom I was mandated to watch. Somehow that pain was worse, knowing it was not me hurting, but one so much more precious… and not just one.
Ionatan had hit the ground with a loud gasp, yet though his pain was as sharp as knives, with blood seeping out of his chest, still he crawled to where she lay. He took her in his arms. Her eyes were closed, but they flickered open when he held her in his arms trying to revive her.
She looked at him, as if from a vast distance, then she looked at me and I rushed to her. It couldn’t be.
“Lets move her, now.” I began.
“No,” she rasped.
I shook my head vehemently.
“They’re coming you foolish watchman, go and leave me, I see him, I’ll be safe in His arms.” she struggled so hard to say each word, as if each word was so important.
Damian tugged at me, no, he dragged me away, with tears streaming down his face as he looked back and saw the officers already nearing us. But what made us cry was a more fearful figure that was bent over where Ionatan was still cradling Hadassah. They were both weakening, and the angel drew his sword casting away the Dark Ones who tried to take claim of these pure souls. We saw him take hold of them. As the van doors slid shut we saw another one join the Angel of Death, this One was arrayed with all of Heaven’s splendor, yet bore many scars of torture. We saw them as they met the Savior. We saw Hadassah, who was as promised, chosen by the King.

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EPILOGUE


Absentmindedly he paced the enormous library. Every few minutes he’d stop, pick up a book then place it back unread. Try as he might he couldn’t focus. The Royal House was in an uproar of constant activity, ever since news had filtered in from Romania a few days ago. Hadassah’s mercy mission had been fairly successful, refugees would be arriving in Stockholm this bitter cold morning. Romania itself was unstable, divided, with protests filling the country. Rumors of deaths and shootouts also were whispered, the thought of which sent chills through Philip. For those who had escaped, it would be special, their newfound freedom would be celebrated within these palace walls. They would each reside here the first few days, something to be marked in history as a first. Here they would also be interviewed by story hungry reporters, but at least it was a story of triumph, not loss.
Philip himself felt like a child awaiting Christmas morning, he couldn’t wait to see her face. Her sweet, fearless face that was imprinted on every fiber of his being awakened such longing in him. Yes, before she would utter one word, he would speak his heart, he would insist on no interruptions. First, he would make it clear that she would become his wife. Second, he would scold her thoroughly for not giving him the change to be a help in the salvation of her people. Third, well, third he would embrace her and he wouldn’t guarantee that he would ever let her go. He looked at the grandfather clock that ticked away the time all too slowly.
As minutes passed, he continued his faithful pacing, but stopped abruptly as he heard a tangle of anxious voices on the other side of the doors. He was ready to sprint towards them, but the doors opened reluctantly. The first thought was disappointment that the person entering was not her, he couldn’t think past that. It was him, without her, which was unusual because where there was Raphael, there was always Hadassah. Instead another person accompanied him, and before he was ever introduced Philip hated him.

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Damian and I entered the library. Bittersweet memories assailed me, making it hard to breathe or even stand, but Damian kept a steady hand on me to support me as if I was an old man.
My eyes locked with Philip’s and I knew he didn’t know, still, there was a question demanding an answer reflecting in his eyes.
“Raphael, welcome back,” he said, “and who is this?”
Clearing my throat I introduced Damian, but then I was at a loss for words. How could I possibly speak the unspeakable?
“So then,” began the Prince, shattering the silence, “have you safely brought back your refugees?”
Nausea filled me, but still I answered.
“The ones with Damian and I have arrived, we are still awaiting Seraph’s small group, they’ve been delayed in Hungary.” I reported in what sounded like and official cold tone, though I didn’t mean it that way.
“Is Hadassah with them?” fear stained every part of the Prince’s features.
“No.” I said simply.
He just nodded, it seemed he was reluctant to ask the only question he sought an answer to.
Slowly I made my way to him, “Philip, lets sit down, there’s more you must know.”
His bent head shot up and his eyes flared but he obeyed, briefly looking at the unread letter neatly folded in his hands.
I looked at Damian for support but he averted my eyes. He looked around at each corner of the library in what looked like awe at the grand surroundings, but I knew what he was thinking. I knew that what he saw was simply a place where she had walked and laughed and dared to dream. The place was filled with her ghost, it was a place where an orphaned girl had learned she was loved by a prince. Was. What a horrible word, I thought.
But I felt more from Damian, his sentiments radiated from him no matter how he tried to cover them, he had fallen for her, now he grieved for her, he was as always a gentleman, and it was only the gentlemanly thing to do to fall in love.
“Where is Hadassah?” the Prince finally demanded.
So the horrid truth still insisted that it be given words, words that I chocked on, a tear preceding each one.
“Hadassah, she, s-she was shot by the Securitate. She saw a prisoner who was their intended target, she took the bullet for him. Neither made it, she wouldn’t let us stay.” Waves and waves of meaningless words, unreal words, that’s all they were, and they didn’t even make sense to me.
The Prince spoke all too calmly, too controlled, “What do you mean `wouldn’t let you stay’? Do you mean to say you just left her there alone? My Hadassah was left to die alone?” his voice rose with each pronounced syllable.
I would have replied, but Damian, ever the brother’s keeper came to my defense.
“We wouldn’t have left her alone for all the world. We loved her as much as you, but if you knew her, then you would know that when Hadassah asks you to do as she pleases, then you do as she pleases, especially if it’s her last request,” Damian paused for only a moment, “she said go, to save the ones remaining who stood a chance of being saved, and she said one more thing…” his voice trailed off, both the Prince and I waited to hear what else, for even I didn’t know there was more.
“Hadassah was not alone, she told me she saw someone, an awesome Being, and I saw him too. But with her last breath she said to tell you ‘It’s not what it seems’ and she loved you, she really did, she said you were her Aragon.”
Damian kept his voice as stone, but his hands were formed into tight, trembling fists.
We waited for the outburst to follow, but none came, only a whispered “Leave me.” Although it was the last thing we wanted to do, we did. As I reluctantly closed the doors behind us, I saw the Prince begin to read the unread letter from his beloved.

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Dear Philip,

There is a journey ahead of me, of which I am both excited and scared of. It must be made without you. I can only pray you will not hate me. There is no telling of how this journey