Guardian

This would be the last night of my vigil. For the past week I had sat in the dark, alone, with nothing for protection but a crucifix and a wineskin filled with holy water.

My defenses had not yet been tested. No one had ever seen the nameless horror.

A shadow moved, my heart raced.

Perhaps I will be the first.

A shriek, and cat creeps into my vigil chamber, bottlebrush tail erect, back arched.

Perhaps not.

I am tired, so very tired. It would be death to sleep, but if I could just close my eyes for a moment…

I stand in the middle of a barren wasteland. The scorching sun beats unmercifully down upon me, the light reflected off the bleached sand sears my eyes. And the thirst…the horrible thirst. Burning me up from the inside.

A wineskin hung at my side, but when I tried to drink the liquid spilled onto the sand and turned to blood…

My eyes flew open, just in time to see the wineskin of holy water, and the crucifix wrapped around it, fall into the river that wound around the base of my tower.

Now it was only a matter of time. I was unarmed, ordinary weapons would not harm the creature of the night I guarded against.

She came without warning, a fleeting shadow of the night.

She was more beautiful than any human woman ever could be. Each limb was perfectly sculpted, exquisite in all its dangerous glory. Each limb shone silver in the moon’s stark light. Her hair was black as a raven’s wing, and the dark feathers that covered her powerful wings reflected no light. Her black dress entwined her with tendrils of gauze. Immediately I felt I would welcome death at the hand of this dark angel.

More than diamond-hard skin protected her from mortal weapons. No living human, male or female, would ever be able to strike a blow against such incredible beauty as was hers.
I knelt at her feet, a stream of incoherence pouring from my open mouth, desperate only to hear her voice, feel her breath stir the air, so incredibly blessed even to humble myself before her.
The tip of one cold finger beneath my chin lifted my face.

“You are not worth killing,” she spat, dripping contempt from every syllable.

A flurry of black and silver, the scent of winter, and she was gone, winging swiftly towards the town. A terrible yearning filled my now-empty heart. I crumpled and wept, head locked in my arms, rocking back and forth, sobbing. Gone. She was gone.

All through that night and into the next day I watched the town, watched her kill.

None of her victims died painlessly. Her delicate, translucent hands ripped an old woman limb from limb. Her powerful arms thrust crying children into the flame ignited by a dropped candle. She wrenched an infant’s head off, laughing as she tossed the small body into the raging inferno that had been my home.

Even knowing I had caused all these deaths, knowing that my family was being brutally murdered because of me, she enthralled me. Her every movement, even if she moved to kill, seemed to me like a dance. I only wished she would return to my solitary guard tower.
My most fervent wish was granted. As the orange sun rose amidst clouds of blood, a winged silhouette darkened the bright orb, flying swiftly closer.

She alighted at my windowsill, graceful as the wind, beautiful and dangerous. There was blood on her hands and her mouth, a smudge adorned each cheek, emphasizing the nobility of the high cheekbones.

Again, I knelt to her.

“Still?” she asked scathingly, venom filling her musical, deep, rasping voice, “Still you kneel to me? I burnt your wife alive. I tore your infant son limb from limb. I ripped out your mother’s throat. I pulled out your father’s intestines while he screamed. And still you adore me, grovel at my feet? You disgust me. You should hate me now, after what I have done. You should be clawing and biting at me now, not caring that you merely hurt yourself in your vain attempt at vengeance. Would you be kneeling now, I wonder, if I were scarred and twisted and repulsive? If my skin did not glow silver, if my wings did not shine black? You are like all men, seeing only an empty shell when you look at me. You care not for my soul, for my mind or my heart, you love only my beauty. At least the women hate me when I return covered in the blood of their loved ones! Think of how you dishonor your dead wife, kneeling at the feet of another woman, begging for another woman's favor, wanting nothing more than the touch of your wife’s murderer! Her body has not yet cooled, and already you have deserted her! How then, could you ever truly have loved her? How then can you call yourself faithful? Her last breath was spent in whispering your name, the very fact of your existence defiles her memory! I chose this life, and I never dreamt I would live to regret it, immortal as I am. But I never wanted an eternity of loneliness. But how can I create a companion for myself, if every man who gazes upon me sees only beauty, not strength or independence, but beauty? To you and me both, I think, death would be a blessing. My very nature denies me that deepest of sleeps. You deserve death, but I will not kill you. Life will be more a punishment than death for you, murderer and traitor as you are. Yes, murderer I called you, and I did not lie! You alone had the power to prevent those deaths; my nature forces me to kill! Had you not knelt to me, had you tried to fight, I could have killed you then, and left your village alive. I only needed one death tonight. You sealed their fate, not I, their blood should by rights taint your hands. I despise you, traitor and murderer. I will not kill you.”

Her great wings beat once, twice, and she was gone. Where she had stood was a single black
feather, razor-edged, and a frozen tear.