Ahe'ey - 1 Beginnings
Read Ahe'ey - 1 Beginnings Online
Authors: Jamie Le Fay
AHE'EY
1. BEGINNINGS
Jamie Le Fay
Sky Falling
Thirty-four years ago - Ahe'ey
Sky saw horror reflected in her mother's eyes as their front door was abruptly knocked down by a sharp blow. She could hear her newborn baby sister crying uncontrollably. The baby was tightly wrapped in the cotton sling that hung over her mother's chest. Ten-year-old Sky tried to control the fast thundering of her heartbeat as four Hu'urei surrounded them.
At first, Sky's mother, Gráinne, did not react to the men. The Yi'ingo finished braiding Sky's wild copper hair. Then Gráinne placed her fingers on Sky's chin and looked into her eyes. With her eyes, the mother pointed to the open window that stood a few meters from the young girl. Sky stood frozen, processing her mother's silent command. The girl's eyes were wide, her lips squeezed between her teeth.
Before Sky could react, Gráinne stood up, dagger in hand, carrying her youngest on her chest. The man that stood between Sky and the window fell as Gráinne slashed his throat with a single swipe. The girl watched nervously; she feared for her mother. Gráinne was faster and more accomplished in battle than any Hu'urei in the land, but she had given birth just the night before.
"Go Sky! Fetch help." Gráinne screamed as she placed her body between the rest of the Hu'urei and Sky. The Yi'ingo held her dagger in front of her baby, commanding the full attention of the men. Sky hesitated, watching her mother stumble and nearly faint. She was weak, too weak to fight three men with a child in her arms.
"Don't kill them. We need them alive," said Iblis, managing the rage of his men, angered by the death of their companion. The three Hu'urei unsheathed their swords.
Sky ran toward the open window. She dived straight over the window-sill and rolled on the ground into a standing position. She looked back to meet her mother's eyes. The curls of her blood coloured hair covered her face and hid the panic in her chestnut eyes.
"Leave the girl," ordered Iblis keeping his eyes set on Gráinne, "she's not yet of fertile age." The three men surrounded the woman, Iblis' sword pointed towards her baby. "Yi'ingo, drop your sword or the child will die."
Sky raced as fast as she could, ignoring the blood gushing from a scrapped knee caused by the impact of the fall. I'll come back for you, mother!
Viviane waited as her sister, Luna, caressed the golden hair of her six-year-old son. Bastian was sleeping soundly as his mother kissed his forehead. The two Ange'el women walked together to one of the external pavilions that surrounded the Sacred House.
"I think my Bas will leave Ange'el to become a Ma'asai. He spent the entire day planting melons and squash at the farms. I struggled to clean the clay stuck under his fingernails," Luna said.
"He has a deep connection with nature. Your child is too wild to care about the mysteries, knowledge and crystals of the Sacred House. He will thrive at the farms."
"I can't bear to part with him. He'll have to stay with me for a few more years."
Luna's husband, Lucas, sat outside on the floor in front of the pyre of fire that burned in observance of the summer solstice. The sisters did not interrupt his meditation; they sat beside him, attempting to connect with the elders that no longer roamed the Earth.
With her eyes closed, Viviane asked her foremothers for the most precious gift—another child; a pure-blooded descendant of the Royal bloodline. A sibling to her son, to help safeguard and propagate the powerful genes that Viviane and Luna had inherited from their ancestors. At the age of seventy-eight, she was still very young, and she hoped to bare two more royal children.
Deep into her prayer, her mind wandered into the realm of those who no longer had a physical body and in that state, she did not see the danger that lurked a few metres away. The largest of the Hu'urei kicked Lucas in the head twice before the Ange'el had a chance to open his eyes.
"Sathian! What are you doing?" Viviane cried as she recognised the perfect features and poise of her royal kinsman. In his eyes, she saw only madness. Sathian held Luna from behind in a tight embrace. He immobilised her arms, and almost choked her. The man lay her down on the ground by her neck and signalled to another man, who pulled his pants down and spread her legs apart. Viviane wrestled with Sathian's arm, attempting to release her sister. He turned to face her, and she looked into Sathian's eyes, pleading for mercy. His emerald eyes glimmered with the tears he held back, but a second later, his gaze was dry, cold and empty. He pushed her, and she fell backwards on the ground.
Luna wailed, realising her impending sentence. Viviane felt hopeless; she looked at the unconscious body of Lucas in despair. Inside her head, she could hear her other sister screaming. Gráinne, she thought, feeling her sister's agony. Luna kicked the man that approached her in the groin and used a branch from the pyre of fire to stab Sathian in the left eye.
Sathian screamed in anger and pain as he placed his hand over the hole that was once his eye. Furious and out of control, he grabbed Luna's tunic with one single hand and threw her on top of the bomb-fire. She screamed in pain as the fire devoured her skin.
"Pull her out!" he ordered as he attempted to recover from her attack, wiping the remains of his eye from his face.
"It's too late." The Hu'urei tried to pull Luna's body from the fire, but the Ange'el's dancing body of pain and despair was now fully consumed by flames. The screams of the Ange'el were deafening. Her song of torment and doom came to an abrupt end when Sathian pushed his sword through her heart.
Viviane lay on the ground, crying uncontrollably. She watched the men turn to her. The fear, the shock, and the smell of her sister's scorched body made her vomit. In her mind's eye, she could feel Sathian's feelings—his rage, his madness, his pain, his regret. She denied him compassion. Viviane, the purest of the Ange'el, refused to respond to his twisted torment. In all her despair, she became defiant. She knew what others didn't, she could feel the battle that raged inside him. She looked into his deformed face and waited for her doom. One of the men grabbed her long raven-coloured hair, pulling her toward him.
"Don't touch her!" Sathian said.
"But—" Sathian pushed his sword into the man's heart before he could finish his sentence. He kneeled beside Viviane, grazed his fingers along the contour of her face, kissed her lips and said, "You hold everything I love and lost. I leave all my treasures in your hands Ange'el." He got up abruptly and walked away, followed by the rest of his men.
Viviane stood there, paralysed with fear, weeping, her head sunk into her knees. His words echoed in her mind. She couldn't make sense of them.
A Surprising Reception
Present Day - 21
st
of November 2014 - New York
"Give me your hand Angel." Said the one-eyed man softly, extending his right hand to hold the hand of the two-year-old girl who sat comfortably on top of his left arm. The man held the toddler's hand and placed it under the fountain of water that streamed from the eyes of a weeping angel carved out of white marble. The creature's face was lowered into his hands and covered by long hair, its majestic wings pointed toward the sky, the only signal of hope present in the stone sculpture. The curly haired baby girl felt the coldness of the water and giggled with delight. She looked back, smiled and touched the face of the man, caressing the silver eye-patch that covered the left side of his face. He held her hand, kissed it and once again placed her tiny fingers under the gleaming stream, much to her delight.
Morgan woke up from her dream as she heard the flight assistant's announcement that the plane was about to land. She wished she could remember the face of the one-eyed man that had haunted her dreams since she was a girl. Morgan placed her hand on her right shoulder and massaged it, attempting to relieve the tension from a bad night of sleep. She was exhausted; she had been travelling for over ten hours.
As she was leaving the baggage claim area of the John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York, she saw a man holding a sign with her name on it. As she walked towards him, smiling, he looked puzzled. She was used to this reaction. She looked quite young for her age; they were expecting an older woman.
The man holding the sign smiled and said, "Ms. Morgan?"
She nodded.
"Welcome, madam. My name is James." He took her luggage, leaving only her handbag.
A group of three men walked towards her. The eldest extended his hand. She recognised him as the mayor of New York, Mayor Jack Dawkins. He had an enormous, open smile and laugh lines surrounding his eyes, presenting a welcoming face.
"Welcome, Morgan. I hope you had a safe trip."
She smiled, humbled by the unexpected presence of such a high-profile figure. She felt slightly self-conscious—he was wearing a formal, and undoubtedly expensive, black suit with a royal blue tie, and his white hair was perfectly combed and very shiny. In contrast, she was wearing her most comfortable travelling outfit, a white linen Indian-inspired tunic and matching pants. Her comfortable flat sandals made her feel quite small in comparison to the tall American men that followed the mayor and surrounded her in a circle. Thick, curly hair was half tucked in between her neck and the turquoise scarf that circled her shoulders. She quickly gathered her long dark hair and hopelessly attempted to smooth her curls, running her fingers through the unruly locks that reached her waist.
I might as well try to control a tropical storm;
she thought, amused by her rebellious locks.
A man stood just behind the group, and she couldn't help but notice him. It was clear he was part of the welcoming party, but he did not look, dress, or act like the rest. He stood at the back and looked directly at her with a kind, warm expression.
Heavenly
, she thought. He had a lean, strong body, his back was straight, and he held his head high, with an elegance from a different time.
I know you.
She felt slightly inebriated as she looked directly into his eyes. She shook her head and blamed the jet lag, while he lowered his eyes, eyebrows wrinkled with some troubling thought. She immediately focused her attention on the mayor, who was explaining that he was going to be travelling internationally that day but that he had wanted to come personally to welcome her and wish her a pleasant stay.
As he introduced her to her appointed driver and her personal assistant, she looked back in the direction of the handsome stranger. Then the mayor extended his arm to the other man, who approached the mayor with a warm smile. His dark hair touched his shoulders; the top part of his hair was gathered in a loose ponytail that left some wide curls waving in front of his eyes. A light goatee perfectly framed his face. The mayor put his hand on the back of the younger man.
"Morgan, I would like to introduce you to Gabriel Warren, who will be your host and guide during your visit to New York." His eyes, set on her, were like the sea, shifting between blue and green, reflecting the environment around them. He extended his hand to her and held her hand gently in between his for a brief moment.
"Pleasure." The top of her head barely reached his chin. As he talked to her, he bent his head and shoulders, and she looked up to meet his eyes. His voice was reassuring, and his words were sparse but polite. "We should start walking to the car. I'm sure Ms. Morgan is looking forward to getting to her hotel room." His British accent was very pleasing and charming.
The mayor nodded and, as they walked, he continued, "Gabriel's Foundation, Ange'el, is a major benefactor of many of our most prestigious New York City venues. They support the Metropolitan Museum and are involved in a variety of initiatives that support the United Nations and several medical research projects. I leave you in the best possible hands. My flight will be leaving soon. Please enjoy your stay in our wonderful city." He bowed his head to Gabriel, who bowed back.
Carl, the driver, and James, the personal assistant, walked ahead, followed by Morgan and Gabriel. She was still puzzled by the special treatment and the number of minders assigned to her.
