Angelic Faith

By

Hitman Tommy Monaghan

©

Anya Petrova huddled against the cold night of the Afghanistan badlands. Dust and the smell of the animal pens at the edge of the village assaulted her nostrils as she tried to cover her face with a shawl. She shuffled quickly into the Church and placed her back against the wooden doors. She fought back shivers as she thought of the Frenchman. The thought of his hands inside her clothes and his lips upon her brought tears to her eyes. She moved forward toward the alter and fell to her knees before Christ seeing in his pain a mirror of her own. She thought of better days when Yuri had been alive. He had been a handsome, Soviet officer who kept her safe and protected her. Anya had always had someone to protect her. Yuri, her father, had both protected her, and once even an Angel.

*****************************************************

It had been when Anya was a child. She was playing near the hills where the sheep were herded. A group of men had come walking from the north torn and tattered. She had crept up upon these oddities wishing to study them. The men seemed to be arguing talking loudly and pointing at one another fiercely. Their unintelligible words accompanied by flying spittle and out flung arms. Curious Anya had crept forward to see better their odd clothes and listen to their language. She had heard a few words she had recognized like “Soviets” and “missiles” but otherwise the strangers were speaking an alien language and as children are wont to do Anya became more and more curious.

That was when the hands had grabbed her dragging her into the open from the bushes in which she had hidden watching. The men had been startled at first then began laughing at the kicking and screaming young girl. The largest one had yelled at her then when she simply screamed had raised his hand and struck her till she was silent. Anya had lain on the ground in pain while the men had begun setting up a rough campsite. One of them kicked her in the ribs till she had rolled over to a large rock to be bound. The men seemed to be nervous as night fell watching the hills and skies. Anya had supposed them to be hiding from the Soviets. She watched as they made a small fire and cooked food for themselves, never offering any to the young girl.

Anya had been crying quietly wishing for her dead poppa and thinking of her mother worrying at home about her dear little Anya when she saw the troll. A small but thick man no more than Anya’s height was squatting in the bushes watching. When he saw her looking he smiled at her from his misshapen gray skinned face exposing his few crooked teeth then held his finger to his lips shushing her. The little creature amazed Anya and her eyes grew wide then she hastily looked away when one of the men from the camp saw her reaction. The man gazed at the space she was looking at, but the little troll had disappeared. The man came over to her his western features red. He was shouting his gibberish at her and when she could only gaze uncomprehendingly at him, he struck her. Anya’s eye began to swell almost immediately. The man raised his hand again his eyes glossy from anger, preparing to strike her again.

That was when the Angel had arrived to help Anya, surely sent from Heaven he had dropped from the sky and grabbed the man’s wrist. He was garbed as a Knight, all metal and crosses. As he raised his sword it burst into flames. Just as the priest had always told Anya an Angel’s sword would. The flaming sword pierced the man’s breast as the Angel drove its point forward. The flames ignited the unrighteous man and sent him screaming to Judgment. The other men were screaming and the Angel dropped the sinner in his grasp. The rest were doomed. The Angel moved faster than any human and could leap into the air and be upon them with his flaming sword before they could even bring their weapons to bear. Moments later the men lay dead about the campsite and the Angel looked at Anya. Anya feared him. She had not said her prayers dutifully last night and Angel’s were agents of Heaven’s retribution her Mother had said.

The Angel moved toward Anya sheathing his flaming sword. He untied her quickly and with hands surprisingly gentle despite being encased in armor he lifted her to his breast and burst into motion toward Anya’s village. Anya was amazed that though she was moving more quickly than she ever had she was not jolted or tossed about. Looking at the Angel again she could see some features behind his faceplate this close and saw startlingly beautiful ice blue eyes. Upon reaching the village he had ran straight to Anya’s home. This amazed her at first till she thought about the lessons the priest had taught her. An agent of Heaven would know all. Anya was filled with a peace and Faith she had never experienced at that moment. Surely this was proof that Heaven looked after even its wayward children. Her mother had accepted her daughter back with tears in her eyes.

Anya stood amazed as the Angel removed his helmet and revealed his perfect features and blond hair. So rare in this part of the world. He spoke to them then. “The blessings of St. Dumas are upon you both. Know that Azrael has punished those defying His will, and that of his Order. Know that your service to the Order is known and rewarded.” With that the Angel had donned his helm and moved out of the home as rapidly as he had entered.

Though she had moved as quickly as she could to the door she never saw a trace of the Angel as he had moved on his way surely back to Heaven. Anya had begun visiting the Church daily after that and the priest had taught her as much as he could of the Faith. He had never heard of a Saint named Dumas but had told her Azrael was the angel of Death and had been quite angry to hear that Anya claimed to be saved by such a being he called it blasphemy and had punished her for saying it. Anya had held the truth in her heart after that, not speaking it anymore, just learning of Heaven and holding her bit of Faith in her own heart..

********************************************

Now Anya sat in the Church before Christ and prayed for deliverance once again from strangers from the West. The Frenchman had moved here selling his guns, after the Soviets were no more. The rebels came to town and bought them, making LeTrois a wealthy man, and thus a powerful one in the little village. Everyone called him The Frenchman and he ruled this little village as his own kingdom. He had set his eyes upon Anya lately determined to use her as he had the other women that caught his eye. She had spurned his advances, missing her Yuri and continuing to wear the white mourning dress as she attended the Daily Mass. She lit candles in his memory.

Yuri had left Anya enough money that she had not had to work other than her own garden for the rest of her years. Though she was only in her late twenties lives did not last long in this part of the world and she was provided for in her simple lifestyle. The Frenchman had tried gifts and invitations, which had been returned or spurned. The local priest had even suffered a savage bating explaining the mourning garb to the Frenchman and had refused to speak on it further. Tonight LeTrois and his men had caught Anya on the streets and pulled her into an alley where the Frenchman had torn open her clothes and groped her, promising her that she would be his even as she spit in his face. Feeling violated she had stumbled into her only haven, the Church. She kneeled feeling her eye swell as it had all those years ago when she was a child she prayed for another Angel. She knew the vanity of presuming she was worthy of such a gift twice in her life, but she needed succor from above as the mortal realm had failed her. The hot tears on her face spoke her need and her clasped hands and bowed head her humility as the candle before her carried her entreaties to Heaven. The Frenchman would find her soon. She left her problems in the hands of Heaven to decide as her Faith demanded.

She heard the Frenchman and his men approaching from outside laughing and talking of her body crudely. Anya remained still though her heart hammered. She was determined to keep the tenets of her Faith and place her trust in Heaven. The doors behind her were kicked open and slammed loudly against the wall.

“So my little Anya still you cling to your religion?” the Frenchman said with mirth, “Your Soviet husband would not have approved I think.”

His men guffawed at this mockery as they moved into the church. Blocking the exits they stood grinning as the Frenchman walked toward Anya. “The truth my dear is that I am God in this village and you’d be better rewarded submitting to me.”

This blasphemy spoken in a holy place caused Anya’s lips to tighten and her face to pale. “You mock God in His House?” Righteous indignation colored Anya’s question.

“Blasphemer.” The words were spoken coolly from the doorway of the church. They all looked shocked toward the doorway. Tears began running down Anya’s face at the vision framed there. He was a vision in red and gold holding a blazing longsword. The Angel she had prayed for had arrived.

“Your foul business brought me here LeTrois, but I will gladly punish your blasphemy as well.” The figure said as he leapt upward and the Frenchman’s minions opened fire with their guns sending chips of granite flying from the walls surrounding the doorway. The blazing sword darted at inhuman speed slicing guns in half as the Angel’s fists sent the men flying, unconscious about the church. In moments only the Frenchman, Anya and the Angel stood in the church. The Angel sheathed his sword and walked toward the pale LeTrois as he scampered toward the door scrambling for his gun. LeTrois pulled out the handgun and fired four shots into the Angel’s chest and Anya screamed.

The Angel stopped momentarily grunting in pain then quickened his pace to a run and hoisted LeTrois aloft with batting the gun from his grip. “You’re weapons kill children in the streets of America, they perpetuate unjust crusades, they comfort the unrighteous!” The Angel flung LeTrois out the doorway and onto the dirt outside knocking the wind from him. Then the Angel moved forward and pounced upon him “No More!” He grabbed LeTrois face and forced his face toward the blazing compound he had once called home. LeTrois remaining men fled the blazing ruins screaming of the wrath of Angels and moving rapidly toward jeeps to flee the village. The fear and anguish on The Frenchman’s face gladdened Anya as she watched. Then the Angels fist descended and brought unconsciousness to him. The Angel hoisted LeTrois up and over his shoulder as the village peeked out of their windows in awestruck silence. The Angel turned back toward the church and faced Anya who was weeping tears of joy and Faith.

“Know that Azrael has punished this man for his deeds.” The Angel spoke and Anya’s heart leapt, his garb had changed but the Angel had not, “Know that all injustices will be noticed. Know that you need not fear evil.”

With those words the Angel leapt into the darkness and was gone.

*******************************

The next day, men from an American corporation arrived. They said that their employer, a Mr. Wayne, had sent them. They repaired the damage to the church and cleaned up the remains of the Frenchman’s compound. Building in it’s place a school and library for the village and explained teacher’s from the Wayne Foundation would arrive within the week and begin classes for all who were interested. Anya watched the work proceed over the next few days and daily prayed her thanks for Angels and the Providence of Heaven. Anya noticed others from the village joining her more often in prayer lately and several of them signed up for classes at the new school including some of the bruised local men that had been employed by the Frenchman. Her Faith had been rewarded and Anya in the future was often comforted by her Faith as the village grew and the school made a better future for her and her neighbors. She often told stories to the children during festivals of the Angel Azrael and how he had come to save her twice through her Faith. Her final thoughts in life while praying many years later were of the Angel and his ice blue eyes.

The people of the village honored her death by renaming the church. They visited her coffin on display there. Weeping over the old woman in Our Lady of the Angels as they paid their respects, to the Lady who had been watched over by Angels.

Back to Hitman's Hangout