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Ice and Fire
Jantallian
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'This little babe, so few days old, is come to rifle Satan's fold ...
His camp is pitchéd in a stall, his bulwark but a broken wall ...'
This Little Babe, Robert Southwell
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'The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.'
Ferdinand Foch
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He was not going to get home tonight, that was for sure. He was still miles away heading in the opposite direction, the weather was freezing fast and he had not even completed his self-appointed task, let alone started out on his return journey.
And it was Christmas Eve.
Jess and Traveller drew to a gentle halt by mutual consent. They had been climbing steadily up the steep slope of an escarpment, Traveller sure-footed as always, even though he now went shod, and despite the growing dusk and treacherous conditions. Occasionally his hoof would strike a stone and the sound, sharp as the resulting spark, rang like a thin bell in the still air. For the most part their progress was as silent as the land around them.
"Hard frost tonight, Trav." Jess leaned forward and gently pulled the ear which flicked back to acknowledge his voice. They would rest here momentarily in the silence amid the waking starlight.
Rime edged every rock and stone. Every blade of grass was sheathed in velvet hoar. The contour of the ridge was a jagged belt of shining silver. Far below the tips of the trees were thick with frost and scintillated as if they were topped by the very stars whose glittering light called them into being. On the downward trail, mirrors of ice shone with the same burnish.
It would be a tricky descent, but there was not far to go now. Jess knew the terrain well enough to have chosen this shorter route, rather than follow the stage road along the valleys although, to complete his mission, he would have to use it on the way back. He had also developed a healthy respect for Wyoming winters and knew just how much care would be needed as they went down into the forest below. He slid cautiously to the ground, opting to let Traveller pick his own way, unencumbered by a rider, at least for the first part of the descent.
In the valley below was the little settlement he was heading for. It was not much bigger than the Sherman Relay Station, since besides the original ranch-house, barn and accommodation for the hands, there were just a couple of dwellings belonging to a timber merchant and a fur-trapper. The only other building was the battered remains of a tiny chapel, the very first construction to be erected on the site when it was initially settled and which gave the place its name, Kirk Bluff. It was half hidden in the trees behind the barn, but not forgotten. Though the Catholic priest who had built it was long gone to his heaven and the present inhabitants were of a far different persuasion, they would still furnish its roofless interior with occasional flowers on the block of stone which once served as its altar. It was an unexpected place of tranquillity and, when he was in the vicinity, Jess liked to spend a few moments quiet within its aged walls if he could.
The place he'd come from was even smaller – just a family ranch like the Sherman one, which didn't have a chapel or any other trading folk. But home, the settlement and the Jameson ranch all had one thing in common – they acted as relay stations for the Overland Stage.
Jess frowned as this fact came to the forefront of his thoughts again. He was here, on this mission, because he worked on a relay station for the stage-line. Because he knew the teams and the drivers and the shotgun guards. Because, as he had settled into the job and the place – like a stake driven firm into good ground, as Slim put it – he had become part of the extended family stretched out along the roads across this territory. Because now he cared and now he shared their griefs as well as their joys.
He recalled Kirstin Jameson's tumbling words as she hurried out from the little ranch house to greet him. She had been expecting someone else. "Jess Harper! It's a treat to see you again, my dear, but tell me quick – did you not pass anyone on the road as you came south? Our girl's coming home to us with the baby. You'll have heard about young Bill."
The route these smaller relay stations served was not as regular as the Laramie one and, since stages ran less frequently, men from stations along it often served as drivers and guards elsewhere to supplement their income. It was doing just that which had cost Bill, the Jameson's younger son, his life. He and his wife had set up home in Casper, sending back contributions to support the Jameson ranch and visiting whenever they could. But Bill had been killed in a botched hold-up of the stage he was driving, leaving a widow and a new-born son, whose birth had been brought on too soon by the shock of grief.
Jess had shaken his head. "Ain't seen no-one, Kirstin. I took a string of horses up to Casper and dropped in to wish Stede and Ann Rhodes the season's greeting. Then I cut across country. I was aimin' t' join the main road t' Laramie from here on. If I'd known Mairi was comin' home, I'd have taken the road and given her an armed escort!"
He was thinking that surely the family would not have let their daughter-in-law and so young a babe travel alone, even though every one of the stage-line employees, just like him, would have guarded her as their own.
"You would, I know, Jess! We can trust you and any of the boys for that, but the message only came this morning. She travelled with her cousin as far as Kirk Bluff, but she and the baby were exhausted, so they took her in there. I've no-one but a parcel of youngsters here today. William was away at first light, gone up to the top of the range to bring the yearlings down to shelter with Jed's two eldest. Jed drove the last stage through to Cheyenne and we'll be lucky if we see him for Christmas either ..."
Her strong, resolute face crumpled for a moment with the fear and grief she was carrying for her sons and her newest grandchild.
"I'll go get her!" Jess gave Kirstin a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then he hopped back onto Traveller.
"Jess, you'll not be thinking of taking her on horseback and she not long from a bed of labour!" Kirstin protested vigorously.
"Don't worry!" Jess reassured her with a grin. "Last time I saw Doug MacFerson from the Bluff, he was pickin' up a smart new buggy in Laramie. They'll be happy to lend it."
Kirstin nodded her assent, much relieved. "God speed! There's not many hours of daylight left."
"I'll cut across the ridge. We'll be back by moonrise."
And that was what he had done.
Now he and Traveller were carefully following the path down the mountainside from the bluff which gave the settlement its name. Frozen earth crunched beneath boot and hoof. Ice split with a protesting crack like a tiny gunshot where they could not avoid passing over it. Their breath hung about them in little puffs of cloud. There was no wind. The still air bit into Jess's cheeks, making him pull his bandana tighter across them and hitch the collar of his thick sheepskin coat up round his ears.
When he remounted far below it was in an ethereal forest. Frost had ensilvered the bare trunks and branches of the trees, glittering ever more brightly as the starlight strengthened. It was almost as light as if the moon had risen. The trail painted a dark line through the crisp crystal grass. Pale tendrils of mist hung between silver pillars, draping them in a ghostly shroud.
It took Jess's eyes a few seconds to catch up with his sense of smell.
Smoke! Smoke, not mist!
In all this ice-sculptured beauty, something was burning! It was not the homely scent of wood smoke from a chimney. Rather the bitter pungent wreak of timber and paint and tar and oilcloth and scorched stone. Of materials intended to protect, not burn.
At that instant of realisation, something strange happened in Jess. Strange and perhaps not very wise. Strange and unwise, but utterly understandable.
"Don't use the door! Get out the back! Through the window!" The great shout wrenched from his lungs and throat as if he had been seized with more than mortal strength. "Don't use the door!"
As he cried again, he spurred Traveller into a gallop, heading blindly down the winding way through the trees. They did not gallop very far. The horse, wiser than his distraught rider, soon slowed to a reluctant walk, unwilling to race straight into some conflagration. Then Jess's vision cleared and his mind began automatically to use long-honed skills, although his heart did not stop pounding.
They were very close to the settlement, but trees still surrounded them on all sides. Like black gashes in the shining earth beneath them, hoofmarks showed where a band of horsemen had joined the trail Jess was following. They had come out of the forest and the wild mountains to the south and west. Jess halted to consider the marks and the tale they told. At least ten riders. Not Indians, the tracks were too spread out, interweaving and crossing as if the riders were careless or over-confident.
Restraining an urge to shout again, Jess dismounted and hitched Traveller's reins up so that the horse would be free to move on his own if need be. Then he walked stealthily through the trees, leaving his faithful companion to follow at will.
He was passing down an aisle of massive white pillars. Between them strands of mist and smoke still hung in air. And shining through the veils were towering wings of brilliant light, brighter than silver, purer than blue, more glowing than gold – yet all of these. At the edge of his vision and deep in his spirit, Jess was conscious of them moving beside and around him. The light was piercing through him, the soaring wings lifting him with a power beyond imagination.
So he came to the settlement, to the small, insignificant place named for a sanctuary created by a nameless priest to honour another unique human being. He came out into the little square around which human life and family and home were anchored.
And the mighty wings came with him. Stretched to the heavens and bowed over the place. The air was strung with gold and silver and azure and amethyst. Feathers of fire and glittering starlight arched above, while the universe shone translucent through them. The ice of their presence stilled all motion, froze the flames and transfixed the blood.
Only Jess moved. The one living being free to act in this timeless moment.
He stared around him, shaken and confused, his heart turbulent with grief and fury, his mind grappling with the impossibility of what he was perceiving. Nothing moved. The flames devouring the ranch house. The dense smoke coiling from the barn. The figures silhouetted against the light. The shadows crumpled on the ground. All were utterly still.
Someone had not heeded his warning. A woman lay across the threshold of the ranch house. Jess's heart was convulsed with pain. This was a woman far beyond motherhood. Yet her still form belonged with the memory of the one who had never lived to attain such age.
Close to the corral, sheltered by the water trough – but not enough! - were slumped the bodies of two men. They were side by side. Had been fighting together.
Praying he would not find the bodies of any younger folk, Jess turned towards the barn. In the doorway was the broken and upturned frame of Doug MacFerson's new buggy. The horse was transfixed in its efforts to struggle free from the harness. Beside both, an elderly man sprawled in the straw-strewn dust.
"Jonesy!"
It could not possibly be, he knew that. But lives here were entwined with his own by the precious strand of shared community and purpose. As he reached out to touch the fallen body, Jess felt a sudden surge of power, as if lightning had run through his veins and earthed itself in their common humanity.
The old man rose to his feet.
Rose swiftly. Rose with the vitality of perfect youth.
His eyes met Jess's for an instant. Then he stretched his arms out to the over-arching wings of iridescent colour and from his lips a soundless shout of utter joy rang out.
Jess jumped back, shocked.
By the corral two friends clasped each other in a fervent hug, before reaching upward and outwards together.
In the doorway the woman stood, girl and matron and grandmother all at once, her face bright with expectation and her arms outstretched.
The bodies were lifeless, their days over. Above them the figures glowed and grew steadily stronger with a perpetual radiance.
"What the hell is goin' on?"
Jess's voice rang powerfully in the chill, still air. There was no heat and not a flicker of movement from the fires burning the buildings. There was no heat from the blaze of the mighty wings moving austerely as they filled the air.
There was no reply.
He spun round on his heel, rapidly assessing the surroundings, the suspended attack and defence, the fallen and their risen selves. He was unsure what to do, what part he had to play other than the warning shout he had given earlier. But he was not here by accident. He had come with a purpose. He still had a task, a duty to perform. He looked around again slowly, interrogatively, seeking an answer.
Beyond the wrecked buggy, in the shadowy doorway, there was a scrap of white. He bent and picked it up. It was a bundle of wool, a crumpled baby's shawl. Jess took a deep breath and plunged into the smoke-filled barn.
They could not be far. Surely they could not be far!
But they were nowhere to be found. Jess swiftly searched every stall and corner, even daring the ladder to the loft, but there was no-one. The horses had already been let loose and there were no other occupants, at least no human or animal ones. Yet the whole of the inside of the barn was also thronged with wings, completely hiding the rafters and the walls. Vast pinions of gold and scarlet and ochre and violet, scarcely moving, just being. And beyond them the coils of charcoal smoke and lurid flame.
In the very farthest corner of the barn there was a small door. It was standing open. Jess stumbled out into the starlight, coughing violently as he tried to clear his lungs of the smoke he had not been able to avoid breathing in. In front of him was a worn path leading into the trees.
It took him no time to reach the ruined chapel. At first it too looked empty, but almost immediately he found mother and child huddled between the altar stone and the broken wall.
"Mairi, don't be afraid." He stepped slowly over to her and knelt down, reaching out a cautious hand. The woman cradled tightly the tiny bundle in her arms. She was not conscious. Jess could see where the flames had scorched and charred her clothing all down the right side. Her face was unmarked, but the rest of her could not have escaped burning. Protected by her body, miraculously the baby was completely untouched.
Although she might not be able to hear him, Jess continued to talk softly, compassionately, as he worked out what to do. "It's Jess Harper, from Laramie, Mairi – I've come to take you to the Jameson's. Kirstin's waitin' and there's a lovin' welcome home ... safety for you and the babe ... an' peace ..."
He knew better than to try to remove any of the burnt clothing from the wounds, although they needed wrapping against the air. He had nothing. Not a bandage, nothing bigger than a bandana, and certainly nothing clean. In his hand was only the crumpled shawl. He wrapped it round her as best he could, then took off his coat to enfold them both.
"This is gonna hurt, girl, but I gotta get you out of here." His voice was gentle but determined.
He had no idea how he could transport the injured woman to safety when he had only his own horse. It was likely to be a vain attempt anyway, for in both heart and mind he knew she probably did not have long to live. This did not deter him. He manoeuvred carefully until he could lift her securely. Then he straightened so that he was standing upright, holding mother and child in his arms. The frost-gilded stone of the little enclosure surrounded them. The silver and gold and azure wings rose above them where the missing roof had once been.
Patience was not a virtue Jess often utilised in emergencies and the current one was no exception. Faced with the awesome immensity of some universal power, he simply followed his instincts.
"You gotta help!" he demanded, glaring at the wings. "They're gonna die if y' don't!"
The light became more intense, more golden, perhaps warmer, but there was no other response.
"You must be here for a reason. Ain't no use if y' not."
* You called us into being *
"I ain't called any –" Jess stopped, remembering the great cry of warning which had been forced from his throat. "Y' mean because I knew what was happenin'?"
* Because you desire passionately to give the aid you once needed *
That night he had cried out but no-one had come. "Why now? Why not then?"
* Eternity is the sum of all nows *
"You were there?"
* We are there as we are here *
"Then you know that this is Satan's work!" Jess jerked his head in the direction of the settlement and the silent, motionless flames. "If you can stop it in its tracks, y' can save this mother an' her child."
* We do not intervene Life is infinite. *
"You did once!"
The wings towered over him, their potency growing ever more brilliant, flashing from plumes of silver and gold and crimson and purple. There was no other response.
"You did!" Jess asserted vehemently. "In a dream. You told Joseph to take the mother an' child an' run for it. You warned him: 'Herod will seek the young child to destroy him.' We ain't got Herod's soldiers here – this is smaller an' meaner, but it's still Satan's work. An' a child still needs savin'."
No answer. Only a solemn, serene silence. Only immutable, illimitable radiance.
"For the sake of all those other children who died!" Anguish choked his voice, not for the story, but for his own little 'uns. "Y' must feel something?"
* We are made from the stars beyond the rim of the universe We are the fire of heaven We are messengers only *
"But you're here."
* We are Everywhere Always Now *
Jess was thinking so furiously he felt as if sparks must be flashing from his eyes. "You came because I called y' here," he declared fiercely, his heart on fire with burning need. "You wanna know why that was? It was for this little un."
And for all which this child represented. For the bonds of family, friendship, community. For the cruelty of suffering and the healing of compassion. For the precariousness and preciousness of life. For hope rising indomitable out of danger and death. For the love of that other child, saved from the brink of destruction, so very many years ago.
At last an answer came.
* The child remains The mother is on the threshold of life *
"That's not good enough!" Jess argued passionately. "Without his mother, this boy'll die. Die like all the others. He's too small, too fragile t' make it on his own!"
Silence. Consideration.
What else could he say? How did you influence messengers with no feelings, no physical being?
"Once y' brought messages of hope, tidings of joy, gifts the child and his parents needed. We're still rememberin' the messages. Still honourin' the story. Still today we celebrate Christmas."
* In eternity it is always Christmas It is all seasons The time of birth and death are one *
The pause seemed eternal too. The waiting infinite. Until suddenly Jess could feel energy flowing through him into the woman and weaving a shield of protection round the child.
"Help me take them home," he whispered.
There was a vibration in the cold air, a song almost beyond the range of human hearing. The flaming wings came closer and closer, enfolding child and woman and man. Unimaginable colours flared and blazed. Incandescent radiance pulsed with the energy of galaxies. The intensity of the light and sound and colour was so great it was painful.
Equally suddenly, looking down from an immense height, Jess could see everything. The raiders driven off by the defenders. The fires quenched. The burns dressed. Comfort given and received.
"Tell them why she's missing!" he yelled into the maelstrom of brilliance.
His words vanished into the vortex. For the split second between one breath and the next he thought he had died – that they had all died. It was only long after that he realised they had experienced the unbearable power of life.
In the next second, with his next breath, his feet touched the ground again. His whole body was shaking. He felt as if swords of radiance had pierced right through him. His arms were weighed down with his precious burden. In front of him was the Jameson's house. On the porch, Kirstin was waiting, wrapped in a fur mantle, a shawl over her head. Behind her the door opened and William's broad figure was silhouetted for a moment against the light within, before enthusiastic children poured out all round him.
And the second after that there was a flurry of greeting and rejoicing and carrying Mairi and the baby safely into the haven of the home. Grateful praise and thanks swirled and echoed around Jess as he stood by the hitching rail, absently stroking a somewhat disconcerted Traveller.
* You too can be home at once *
Jess came to himself with a start. "No, thanks! Once was enough! I'm ridin'. I'll be home by Christmas morning."
* /\ * /\ *
The road was smooth and lit by a thousand shining stars. Horse and rider travelled as if in a dream. Homesteads and relay stations flickered away into the shadows swifter than the wind. Laramie town, with all its raucous lamplit celebration, was gone in the twinkling of an eye. Only on the last familiar twelve miles did they recognise every bend, every dip, every rut in the road.
Finally, late on Christmas Eve, they splashed through the ford, its waters bright with heavenly light, and rounded the last bend into the yard. The painted letters of the relay station sign on the barn wall shimmered with a sheen of frost and maybe tears.
A tall figure wrapped in a heavy coat and muffled with a thick scarf was standing on the porch, keeping watch on the westward road.
"Welcome home," Slim said simply.
Behind him the door of the house opened and lamplight streamed out. Jonesy's tones of gruff affection came warmly on the chill air.
"Supper's waiting, boy!"
And Andy gazed at horse and rider silhouetted against the brilliance of all the stars in the universe. Light surrounded them with glittering blue and silver and gold.
"Why, Jess," he murmured softly, "you've grown wings!"
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Notes:
December 28th is the Feast Day of the Holy Innocents.
'The angel of the Lord appeareth to Joseph in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him.' Matthew 2.13
Acknowledgements:
Creative inspiration for this story was drawn from the wonderful descriptive poem, 'Angels' by Jan Dean, and from an ancient prayer for protection by them:
'Supreme Commanders of the Hosts of Heavens, we, the unworthy, importune and beseech thee that by thy supplications thou encircle us in the shelter of the wings of thine immaterial glory, guarding us who now fall down and cry to thee with fervour: As the great marshal of the heavenly hosts on high, deliver us from dangers of all kinds.' (The Synaxis of the Holy Archangels Michael and Gabriel and All the Bodiless Powers; Apolytikion in the Fourth Tone)
Although I didn't recognise it until I had finished the story, very similar pictures of angels exist in Elizabeth Wang's wonderful paintings which can be found at the Radiant Light website.
The great creative writing of the 'Laramie' series is respectfully acknowledged. My stories are purely for pleasure and are inspired by the talents of the original authors, producers and actors.
This is another story not betaed by Westfalen, because I've been posting stories in a rush this year. Not a good habit - resolve to do better in 2021! So mistakes are all mine.