Overcomer - The Battle - Judy Colella (best love novels of all time .TXT) 📗

Celesta was an angel. A genuine eternal spirit-being. One of her responsibilities was to play music on the beautiful green hill at the Hub of Time. Without the power of that music, dark things – evil things – would make inroads into this most vital place, a place not on Earth yet connected to it by interdimensional spaces called Doors.

Within each Door were Portals leading to every possible moment in human history. Thus the past, present, future were one and the same because all existed simultaneously. Whoever controlled the Hub would have access to all of mankind’s moments of existence, and in this lay the opportunity for wide-spread destruction. After all, it might take no more than the death of a bumblebee, or the momentary distraction of a child’s attention, to cause a small chain reaction that could potentially affect all life on Earth, changing what should have been. Maintaining the Balance, therefore, was of the utmost importance, and to accomplish this, the darkness had to be kept at bay.

Normally another would be sitting there playing the music of Light that kept the Earth from colliding with itself. But at this non-moment, he was elsewhere and Celesta was keeping watch in his stead. This individual had become known by a variety of names and titles. To some, he was “The Croghan,” to others, simply, “Croghan.” To those who counted him as a mysterious but dear friend, he was “Gerald Croghan.” His chief title, however, was Keeper of the Doors, a job he’d held literally for millennia. Of necessity, he’d been changed into something no longer completely human.

A brief sparkle of brilliance flashed before Celesta, who was bent happily over the strings, her almost translucent fingers sweeping with joy across the shining silver strands. The Light within her detected this kindred crackle of energy and she looked up, becoming impossibly bright herself, her human-like form swallowed by her own blinding radiance.

A Voice spoke into her essence. “When our Keeper returns, you must send him back to the boy immediately.”

“Is something amiss?”

“Yes and not at all, dear Celesta. He is well, but has suffered what human warriors call a pre-emptive strike.”

“Ah.” She nodded, which in her case was more a thought than an action. “That dark creature thinks to intimidate the child, yes?”

“Indeed, but the boy is strong. He will see the attack for what it is and not be completely discouraged. He must be instructed in the Words of the Scroll immediately, as must the human girl-child, Celeste, and her sweet friend, Katie.”

Celesta agreed, making her assent known without speaking. She knew the Voice was referring to the only three human beings capable of effectively ending the reign of terror against mankind by Moloch. This creature was a high-ranking member of the One-Third, the spirit-beings who had defied the Great Magistrate, and followed the original Light of the Morning into a futile battle against their own Creator. Foolishly, they had believed the lie that darkness was somehow greater than Light, that a creation could defeat its Creator, and had paid dearly.

But so had mankind, and only by the Creator’s vast mercy and love did the human race eventually find a path to wholeness, an opportunity to rejoin the Great Magistrate as part of His family. That had been the work of His Son. But now someone had been chosen to fight Moloch, to send it into a deeper place of darkness from which it would become ineffective for a time.

That someone was a boy named Cian MacDara, the descendant of a Drunic priest. This ancestor had defied Moloch when the creature was masquerading as an Irish deity named Crom Cruach. Celesta had been shown that Cian would face Moloch one day, but would need several years to prepare. Taking him from his home in Donegal, Ireland in AD 535 when he was eight years old, the Keeper had brought him into the Hub and from there, the boy had traveled through time and across continents to learn how to wield a sword. He would eventually need to be proficient with the Sword of Light itself, a device which, when used in conjunction with a knowledge of the Scroll, could banish anything and everything dark.

But alas, Moloch had found Cian when he was still a child living in a newer century and different place. The creature had subjected him to six years of pain and torture at the hands of a family that was easily manipulated to commit such atrocities against a little boy. Only by Celesta’s interference did the child escape the worst kind of abuse, but he was nonetheless terribly scarred from many beatings, emotionally wounded from the lies and cruelties poured into his young ears over the course of those long, terrible years.

“What would You have the Keeper do, then?” asked Celesta, all such thoughts sweeping through her mind in non-time and thus taking no time at all.

“He must return to the place where Cian lives to assure the man – Joseph Geller – that there is no cause for alarm. He must then speak the ancient words of assurance and healing to the boy, who will sleep normally for a time, and be fully recovered upon awakening.”

Celesta made a sound like the echo of a sigh, her audible acknowledgement of comprehension and compliance. She smiled, her form solidifying once more to mask the brilliance that would have blinded mortal eyes. “He has returned, Glorious One – I shall convey your wishes.”

Another spark, this time filled with delight at the angel’s gentle obedience, and the Voice was gone. A moment later, a man dressed incongruously in a casual business suit under a large, dark blue coat, a red scarf around his throat, climbed the hill and knelt before Celesta.

“My beloved Croghan,” she said, extending a hand and stroking his dark hair. She was a huge being, much taller and impossibly more beautiful than any human, but her affection for this man was almost deferential.

“Celesta. I must tell you how overjoyed Donal Kelly was to have met you. Even now, he is probably still speaking of you to his wife.”

“Yes, the father of sweet Celeste is a man full of natural goodness. I enjoyed meeting him as well. But now I must ask you to return.”

Croghan frowned and stood. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes and not at all,” she replied, using her Creator’s term. Most angels were messengers, and all of them had a bit of the messenger in them. This gave them a tendency to repeat verbatim what they’d been told.

“How so?”

“His enemy, the one he must soon face, has entered the boy’s dreams and attempts to intimidate him into giving up before the real battle even begins. This will make him terribly weary, so you must be there when the dark spirit leaves him and speak the ancient words of assurance and healing.”

Nodding, the man bowed. “I shall do this. And when I return here, I will bring the Harper with me.” He was referring to the girl, Celeste Kelly, who had been chosen to be Cian’s version of the Keeper’s Celesta. She would play back the darkness of lesser evil beings while he did battle with the greater. The two had met only three Earth days before, but already the Keeper could sense a strong bond between them.

Celesta gave him a slow smile. “Yes, you shall, and with her you must also bring the Attendant, she whose friendship is meant to sustain the Harper at the end.”

“Ah, Katie.”

The angel giggled. “Indeed, dear Croghan.”

Loving her purely, the only way in which to love such a being, Croghan bowed once more and took his leave.

It was beginning in earnest, that which had been so long in preparing, and which had nearly been thwarted by the enemy. Still, goodness had prevailed, and at last the thing could be seen through.

Returning through a cleverly-hidden Portal that led into a basement storage area of the Mystic Seaport Museum in Connecticut, the Keeper – Gerald Croghan once more – stepped out into the frosty morning air of February, reaching his Jaguar a moment before the museum’s personnel began arriving. He thought about Cian, the young man upon whose shoulders had been placed the weight of a destiny of nearly unthinkable proportions according to human logic, but which in eternal terms, made total, dynamic sense.

The group foster home where the boy was now living was nearly an hour away from the seaport, but Croghan was in no hurry. He knew Cian would be fine, that there was still time until Moloch released him from the nightmare. After that, his greatest need would be rest. How to explain all of this to Geller, though – now that was another story! He gave this his full attention, at last deciding to use the psychology angle.

Cian had undergone a great deal of emotional suffering between the ages of ten and sixteen, not to mention the physical trauma evidenced by the brutal scars scoring his back, the newest ones still dark red with remembered violence. Yet somehow he’d maintained his basic goodness, choosing to empathize with, and care about, others rather than feed on the cruelty doled out to him in massive and undeserved doses.

Something the boy had said rang truest: the enemy had made a big mistake by hurting him this way. The smarter course would have been to leave him alone, and for one rather unusual but undeniable reason – Cian MacDara was arguably the most physically beautiful human being ever born. Yet the ghoulish foster-family that had raised him had torn away this reality from him.

Removing all mirrors and covering all reflective surfaces, they repeatedly told the ten-year-old that he was the opposite of everything he actually was. They insisted he was so ugly, so horrifying to look upon, that he could never go outside, never attend school, never be seen by others. He was made to look down whenever addressing or being addressed by his foster-mother and her two children. They also convinced him that he was incredibly stupid, and for that reason alone, school would have been a useless endeavor.

Eventually, they broke him. He grew up convinced of these lies, and only the hard work and diligence of those who rescued him when he was sixteen enabled him to see the truth. But the experience had been so deep-seated that he remained, and probably always would be, humble.

For some reason, Moloch hadn’t realized that allowing Cian to to grow up in a more normal environment would most likely have caused him to become consumed by pride and vanity – hardly a young man worthy or able to go after the very darkness he would have himself embodied. Cian recognized this, and had said as much to Croghan the day before while at the Kelly’s home. He and Croghan had spent the day explaining to the girl’s parents not only who and what Cian was, but their daughter Celeste’s purpose as well. It hadn’t been easy, but the couple had eventually been convinced, Mr. Kelly’s trip to the Hub finalizing his acceptance of the situation.

Turning onto the street where the foster home had been established, Croghan rehearsed his explanation once more, then pulled up in front of the huge Tudor house. He was ready for what was to come. His only concern now was that everyone else involved would be as ready as he.

*******

“That’s it – I’m calling the doctor.”

“No, Joe, it isn’t necessary. Please trust me.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with him, then?”

Gerald Croghan looked down at the sleeping boy, watching carefully for the sign.

“Gerald, please. He – he looks dead, for heaven’s sake! His skin is positively grey, and nothing we’ve done has gotten the slightest response.” Joe Geller turned away, clearly frightened, confused. “Why are you being so sanguine