Of Kings and Demons (2 page)

Midnight. The
Bond Institute of Research, University of New Hampshire was
quiet like a cemetery
e
xcept in the dean’s office, where there was the incessant string of
furious tapping on the keyboard.

Oblivious to the late hour,
Professor Leo Kenyon sat glued to his laptop. By his side, his dinner, a turkey
sandwich and fries, six hours old, lay untouched. Kenyon had little care for
food or any other creature comforts. Important things in life weighed more
heavily than his personal welfare. Some had said Leo Kenyon was possessed by an
obsession to make history.

For six years he had researched
the bimolecular re-engineering technology—a field of study that he strongly
believed contained the very secret for the elusive cures to the deadly diseases
that afflicted mankind. His breakthrough research had already earned him
international acclaim and recognition.

The Brown University medical
science graduate was only thirty-five when he landed the deanship. He was a
regular on the lunch circuits with congressmen and senators from both the
Democratic and Republican parties. Just the previous year, the White House consulted
him on the subject of medical research.

His prominence and forthright
comments had earned him an appearance on the cover of
Time
magazine in
September 2017. Some had speculated that in time to come he might switch to
politics—aiming for the Senate, then the White House. It was an intriguing
prospect, but Leo Kenyon preferred to focus on the present, which meant laying
the foundation for building a better future.

To Kenyon, fame was never the
driver behind his relentless dedication to research. Born to a middle-income
family, he faced an upheaval in his teen years when a stock market crash wiped
out the family’s wealth. Kenyon senior was found dead on the street outside his
apartment block on Christmas Eve. He had jumped to his death.

That image of his dead father, firmly
imprinted in his memory, had spurred him to excel in school and career. Each
shining page of his life’s journey, achieved through sheer hard work and grit
was the result of that fear of failure.

Science and technology, he
believed, held the key to the resolution of the chronic depravation and
suffering of man; he believed that key was already in his grasp. In the summer,
a series of tests conducted by him and his laboratory team had yielded positive
results that firmed his convictions that he might have found the key technique
to repairing faulty DNA in human tissues, which in turn could be used to
develop vaccines for a range of debilitating diseases.

Kenyon had finished two volumes
and was just pages away from completing the third. Then it would be down to the
conclusion. Once that was done, he would be ready to announce his work. Everything
looked so promising. The prospect of a medical breakthrough fueled his drive to
carry on, breaking all fatigue barriers.

Kenyon paused for a bite of his
overdue dinner. He turned to the clock, which reminded him of his promise to
his wife that the family will spend that Sunday at the lake. He had to head for
home.

As he munched away, the only
accompaniment he had was the ticking of the clock. He returned to his typing
but was paused. In the background, there was a soft but constant beating of the
air, like the flapping of wings.

Leo looked around his office.
He found the door ajar. Had he not shut it earlier? When did he last visit the gents?

Then he heard another sound, something
has hit the wall. Maybe his secretary had returned, but that was unlikely
considering the hour. It might be the security guard, Pete.

“Who is there?” he yelled.

He heard no reply. Maybe,
fatigue had blunted his sensitivity. Leo opened the door and thought of dialing
security but curiosity had the better of him. He checked and found the lights
were on as he had always left them so when he worked late. He ran his eyes over
his secretary’s desk. It was clean as usual.

Fatigue has set in and he was
hearing things. Maybe it was time to call it a day. He returned to his desk and
begun to pack his laptop.

Then he heard it again. A flapping
of wings, the impact of air draughts. The floor beneath him began to shake. His
mug on the corner of his desk danced to the tremors and helplessly crashed to
smithereens.

Shadows appeared behind the
curtains. Before Leo could pick up the phone, the office window shattered as if
a bomb had hit it. The impact threw Leo Kenyon into a wall. As he fell, he
dropped his bag and the laptop crashed to the floor.

A crushing pain travelled down
his spine, and he felt his back about to crack. He took a few seconds to adapt
to the concussion, then struggled to his feet. However, his knees buckled and
he fell again.

The flapping of the wings grew
louder. Confused, Leo tried to steady himself and stand up but his knees failed
him. Looking up, his eyes widened in surprise and his mouth fell open. A large,
gargoyle-like creature stood over him. Its bull-sized head sprouted two pairs of
ram horns and large pointed ears. The forehead was long and narrow, covered
with warts. Its iron-gray complexion gave it a sense of unreality, like it was
a prototype for movie-filming but it was the wings that caught Dr. Kenyon’s
eyes. They were big and leathery, and lent an aura of stifling authority.

The creature edged closer, its
grotesque face just inches from Leo’s own. He could clearly see its murderous
eyes and sensed the pungent odour of a hungry predator. Splatter of his froth
dripped onto his chest.

“What are you?” Leo asked. Such
creatures did not exist in his world of logic and science. He made no attempt
to run away; Leo Kenyon had too much pride to run, his hands flagging like a
coward.

The creature pounced on him
with a deafening roar. Leo’s ribcage cracked under the crushing weight. Blood burst
through his mouth and nostrils and dirtied his chest.

With shivering sanity, Leo
stared at his murderer, eyes unflinching. “You, evil…”

He saw the creature’s arm coming
at him and his world went dark.

2018, United States, somewhere in
Pennsylvania

He stood perched on the thick branch of an
oak tree, agape and at a loss of words. His eyes roamed over the vast pan of
whiteness covering over miles of what originally was lush greenery. He searched
in vain for an answer, and searched for his tobacco leaves instead.

He stuffed his smoking pipe and lit it.

Snow?
Had they came just too early?

He scratched his red beard. He could be
forgiven for thinking it was the first day of winter, rather than the first day
of autumn.

For centuries he had witnessed the wild
vagaries of the weather and exceptional ones like this day were rare. Usually
there were forewarnings of drastic changes in the affairs of man, and they were
seldom auspicious.

As Guardian Angel of the Kings of Men—leaders
of the human race—he had been through the ebbing tides of the history of
civilization and understood extraordinary occurrences as such indicated events,
ominous and unpredictable, could be in store. He was worried and prayed he was
only being overly sensitive.

He had come on an investigative tour of
America, after being alerted by the dramatic change in weather. Saddled with
big questions, hunting for urgent answers, he knew something big was about to
happen.

Maganus, Guardian Angel of the Woods,
folded his robust wings, which merged into his back seamlessly. With caution,
he trudged across the grass, careful not to step on the small animals hidden in
the snow-carpeted grounds of the woods. Despite his doughty frame, Maganus possessed
the sensitivity to pick out the presence of any living beings, animals of all
sorts. Most of them were his friends.

  Pologus, his war-trained hawk and
long-time companion, had informed him that there were some humans stranded in the
woods. The snow had distorted the tracks and turned what was usually amicable
terrain into unmanageable grounds. The snowy vastness made it hard for him to
gauge his actual coordinates. He needed stronger validation. He whistled for
his trusty friends. A long moment lapsed before he heard a familiar voice call
out to him.

  “Maganus the Wise?”

  The Guardian Angel checked and found a
squirrel standing in his path, a grayish being, taller than its contemporaries
and armed with a strong, bushy tail and mature front teeth.

  “Your name?”

  “Jan, Lord Maganus. You are forgetful. We
met just a couple of years ago in these woods.”

Maganus stroked his beard as he tried to
recollect.
He chuckled as he
remembered.
“You will forgive
an old Angel. I have a number of forests, my friend. You are still a bag of
energy but the texture of your fur had paled? You are aging.”

The squirrel
whined.

 “Your sarcasm is worse than this winter
chill. You are much older than me.”

 “What tidings do you bring?” Maganus asked,
ignoring the comment on his age.

“Not good.”

“Pray you stay calm.”

“Sire, it is not easy for me, and troubling
the Guardian Angels is my last option. It always is my last resort but just
look around you,” Jan pleaded as his ears curled. “This snow is horrifying not
because of its occurrence but the suddenness!”

Maganus dug into his tunic bag and
extracted an aged smoking pipe as the squirrel blabbered on.

“Speak, my friend?”

“Many lives have been lost. A number of
species of lesser constitution have unfortunately succumbed.”

Maganus crossed his heart. “More will
follow,” he muttered under his breath.

“Yes, I am dead anxious. Do something, Lord
Maganus.” Jan’s eyes fluttered in worry. “You are the Angel of the Woods,
Friend of the Forests!”

“That explains my presence.”

“I am glad you are here.”

Maganus puffed away carelessly. “Stop the
nagging. Where are the folks?” he asked, referring to a group of trekkers,
teens and their teacher who had been lost for the last four hours in the depths
of the forests of Illinois.

“Can you guide me, Jan?”

The squirrel hopped around, then pointed in
the direction of the setting sun.

“You had better hurry, Lord Maganus. They
have been astray for hours. Their physical energy is fading, not to mention
their emotional strength.”

Maganus smiled. “You are eloquent under
strain, Jan.”

The squirrel’s eyes widened as he tried to
figure out the actual meaning of the words but the Angel had already got busy.

Maganus clasped his hands, shut his eyes
and murmured a prayer. Instantly a dead branch rose from the ground and eased
into his hands. It straightened into a rod and grew to almost five feet long, as
if life had been breathed into it.

“Let’s do some trekking, shall we?” he
whispered to his walking staff.

Maganus snapped his fingers and instantly a
shroud of light fell over him. From head to toe, his angelic white robes
transmuted into the contemporary gear of a nature ranger. He knew the full
accoutrements of an Angel might frighten a group of anxious trekkers. As a
casual traveler, he would avoid causing unnecessary alarm.

After making his way down the trail for a
good hour, Maganus found the lost travelers—an adult lady and half a dozen kids
seated around a huge tree, by a boulder. They greeted Maganus with smiles of
relief as he neared.

The adult spoke first. “Sir! How are you?”

Maganus offered a hand. “Hello there. Trekking
this part of the woods? Morris is my name. What is yours?”

The lady voice quivered as her hand shook Maganus’s.
Maganus thought he had touched ice.

“I’m Sandy. I’m a teacher and the kids and
I were out on a trek. We didn’t expect this.”

“You look weary.”

“I’m afraid we’re lost.” The teacher
swallowed hard and began to tear up. “We’re so glad to see you.”

“What happened?” Maganus asked, looking at
the tired faces of the four boys and five girls.
They must be at least three
hundred yards off the main path. Nobody sensible would venture this far. They
are really lost.

“It’s been two hours and we can’t find our
way. Can you help?”

“Well, yes. I have been around for quite a
while. Have a cabin further upstream.”

The children murmured to each other relief
and exchanged looks of relief.

“Let me try to find a path. You wait here,”
Maganus said and started off alone. When he was sure he was out of sight, he
clasped his hands and shut his eyes. In an intense fashion, he murmured a
prayer. Slowly a wind picked up, and the snow melted away to yield a mossy path.

He called out to the trekkers. “There,
there it is. Is that the trail you are looking for? Didn’t you see that?”

In delight, Sandy and the kids gathered
around Maganus.

“This is a miracle. A miracle.”

“No, it is not. Your eyes might have played
tricks on you. I’ve been hanging around here for the thirty years, and know
these hills quite a bit.” Maganus smiled, his congeniality illuminated the
fleshy cheeks, bushy beard, and beaming eyes.

“Continue down this path. Go easy on the
snow, nobody wanted it this way. Have faith. You will find your way.”

“Sure thing, sir. We are grateful,” the
teacher said.

“Stay at home once you find it,” Maganus said.

“The weather had not been this bad for a
while. Hope it goes away.”

Maganus looked around at the vast span of
snow. “Yes, it will. Don’t fret, my dear. It will.”

After the lost travelers were out of sight,
Jan emerged from a shrubbery and leapt to the side of Maganus.

“Lord Maganus, you are truly an Angel.”

“This is not a time to wring our hands. I
think we need to move fast.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Maganus snapped his fingers and the white
robes returned. He frowned and in a pensive tone said, “We need to find
Gwyneth.”

“Lady Gwyneth? Commander of Snow?” Jan’s
ears shot upright. “Why?”

“Just find the White Angel, good Jan!” Maganus
enunciated then puffed animatedly as the squirrel stood to full attention.

“Find her?”

“Yes! Find her!” Maganus repeated, then
placed his fingers to his mouth and wolf-whistled for Pologus.