Winged Angels

Prologue.

Passed down through generations there is a story of old that deep in the heart of the Amazon rainforest, underneath the flowing fresh water of the Amazon river, in the underground caverns live the Anjos Aldos. Beautiful, copper skinned women who are said to have the wings of crows and the voice of a charm of hummingbirds. In their underground world, these women live off of the plants that grow at the riverbed and their sorrowful tears at night replenish the waters that flow through the jungle.

At every full moon, the Anjos Aldos gather at the water’s surface to be blessed with a baby girl to raise and restock their tribe from Mother Nature, the mother of the Anjos Aldos who wraps her wings across the globe. On this night, beautiful music will fill the humid, night air and soak into the souls of all the creatures that live there, saturating the life of the undamaged earth. But these were all just stories. Or so they thought.

…

I am not joking. This time I was going to break. I don’t know why I decided to go on one last exploration before I retired. I was retiring for a reason. If I decided to give up my life-long dream job it was because I was too old. Too old for this. I am pretty sure I felt my knee give up a few yards back and I am almost 100% certain that this lump on my neck was not here this morning.

I called ahead to the guys in front of me to take a water break. Really I just needed to sit down. Granted I was only 50, however once a man reaches 50 he tends to lose his youth quite quickly after, so the joint pain was as expected. But I would like to say I am still in very good shape for a man of my years of “experience” on this earth. Yes I do have the odd grey hair, well maybe a few more than an odd few but it adds to my rugged look. But thanks to my line of work, exploring the unexplored realms of the world, I have acquired quite a good physique; the youth might go as far as to called me jacked. However, good core muscle does not help when the bones beneath the muscle are creaking like that one floorboard no one bothered to fix.

After our “water” break we trekked uphill for another 4 hours until we made it to the top and from then on it was a flat terrain of luscious green trees and the frequent animal dropping. It was 7 o’clock so we set up camp and made ourselves some dinner. As I spooned the sweet potato soup into my cracking lips I tried to recount why I had decided to come on this trip when I could be in a 5 star resort playing volleyball and filling my plate up at the buffet. Smoked salmon on a toasted seeded cracker with a big dollop of cream cheese and chives sprinkled on top with a side of pickled cucumber in a sweet chilli sauce. Right then I had to physically pop the thought bubble that was growing to twice the size of my little can of soup.

I had come here for my last chance to see the Anjos Aldos. For 50 years I had heard their story and for 50 years I wanted to see if it was true for myself. I would finally be at peace. Granted I should have come with a more reliable crew; not that that these young chaps were unreliable, but they didn’t have the same enthusiasm to seek knowledge that I had at their age. Also the added fact that they eat through our supplies like wolves. We had been walking for 3 days now to get to the middle of the Amazon river for the full moon tomorrow night, if there is nothing there then I would have eaten soup that resembles sick, been bitten by an orangutan (don’t ask) and had to make small talk with four young men who didn’t seem to like me for 4 days for no reason. So I have a lot riding on this.

After 8 hours traipsing through the forest floor we finally made it to the riverbank. I scooped up the freshwater in my cupped hands and drank the cool liquid and let it run down my lips and neck. Again I bellowed at the young troops to set up camp behind the first layer of trees guarding the river so that we would not disturb their ritual. That is if there was a ritual going ahead. While they got some rest in the dying sun before the moon was set to rise I decided to have a quick dip in the river to cool myself off. Also if I was meeting a group of mythical creatures I don’t want to scare them off with the foul stench that evaporated off of my skin. Off came the shirt. Off came the trousers, the shoes, the socks but I decided against the boxers just in case my group decided they were going to become teenage boys again.

Wading in the river, I stretched out and felt the ripples collecting around me and the rushing water flew over my scars and bruises. It felt so soothing. Until I felt a change in the ripples and a current pick up in its body, like a surge of electricity shot through it. I stood up at the edge of the river, my feet barely touching the riverbed to have a nose around to see what could have caused such a change. Then I saw her. Then she saw me.

Her black eyes shone like chunks of coal in a crackling fireplace, her lips were a plump crimson like a juicy strawberry and her skin was as shiny as a penny in a wishing well. From her came a glorious set of black feathery wings that floated on the water’s surface as she glided through it. She was coming towards me. When she was two feet away I decided it wasn’t a good idea to just stand there and gawk at her with cartoon goggle eyes, so I decided to say something.

“Hello,” I began slowly in broken English with some sluggish hand gestures, “my name is Chris, who are you?” as I finished these words it dawned on me that she was a mythical creature not a God damned tourist. So I decided no words was probably the best approach.

She came up to me and stared me straight on. Intimidating if I do say so myself. Up close I could tell she was quite young, maybe late 20s, unless her kind age generously then she could be of old hag age by now. But she wasn’t scared, nor was she violent. She was curious.

Taking my hands in her soft, supple fingers she began to examine me. Wow I am glad I decided to keep the boxers on. Her hands began to touch every part of my body, she circled me like an eagle, checking my back more than once to see whether I was hiding a pair of fluffy wings under my skin. To her dismay the only thing under this sagging skin is broken pride. She came up close to my ear and started to sing a sorrowful song, no words were spoken but I understood what she was saying as if her words were feelings rather than any language spoken by mankind.

She had never seen a male before, she had only ever been in her underground cavern but finally had come of age to attend the ceremony of the full moon. She was curious about how I had found her and how she could get to know more about me. I wanted to reassure her that I would stick around for a while to answer her questions as long as she answered mine, but I didn’t fancy singing a scratchy tune in her pure eardrums, so I just nodded. Suddenly the music stopped. She stared at me with a longing in her eyes, I could tell she was a trouble back home. With her gorgeous, golden hair billowing in the soft breeze, she took my hands once more and gripped them tightly.

Now when a man makes a discovery like this you would expect this man to document it or ask more questions. Regrettably I am a bit rusty on protocol due to the loss of brain cells that comes with old age and so I decided to make a move. Moving my hand, and hers because she has the strongest grip I have ever seen, up to her cheek, I stroked my fingers along her jaw and prodded her chin with my thumb in a flowing motion. She closed her eyes and took a long inhale; I presume that is not a bad thing. Then I brought my face closer to hers and wrapped my lips around hers and ate the strawberry in small mouthfuls to savour the flavour of her fruity skin. Her hands fell to her waist as she embraced my sudden movement, I stroked my hand through her long hair and pulled it gently so that her head swung back in a wave like the river so that I could kiss her on the neck. Implanting soft kisses across her skin, she lifted her leg up to my hips and wrapped them around me. Granted I am a strong man but with the added weight of the wings I would have toppled over if it were not for the help of the river’s buoyancy.

After a few more moments of kissing her I lay her down in the water so that she floated on a bed of black feathers and then continued to lean over her. On top of her black coat I knelt and caressed her collar bones and her arms wrapped around my chest as I did so; a soft song came once more from those strawberry lips until we were done, and the song faded away. Her song had been joyous and hopeful, unlike her sorrowful tune she had sung moments before.

Suddenly, the waters erupted once more, and a chorus of voices chimed from the waters as dozens of beautiful creatures broke through the surface. I saw two women come forward into the middle of their circle, they held hands in a sisterly bond as the light of the full moon shone down on them. Suddenly distracted by the new arrivals, I fell off into the water once more and every copper face turned in my direction. Great, reflexes have also run away with my youth. The moonlight along with the eyes of every daunting women came my way. The beam shone down on myself, and my new acquaintance and I felt a pull from it. A force unlike any other I had felt before as if gravity had reversed itself. From the moonshine, came solid moonlight that encased a bundle like a cloth wrapped around a loaf of bread. It came down and landed in the girls hands beside me and suddenly the glimmer ceased, and we were plunged into darkness. The child had been given. But something was different.

The songs from the stories I had read exploded in the night air and the wordless melody seeped through my sodden skin. The baby created tonight was not like any other before. It was a little boy with stunning, pure, white wings and it was a product of the emotion that filled my young acquaintance. So many years of sorrow brought those creatures jet black wings to hang by their sides but this hope that had come from a brief encounter had given rise to a new baby who could be happy. In the pitch black I could see the light on her face as she gleamed down at her bundle of joy but not all were happy.

I saw an old, haggard woman glide towards us, through the water like a swan, with a look of disgust painted across her face.

“you are not welcome here son of man,” she spoke, “you have broken our bond of sisterhood. Be gone!”

With that a large black wing sliced the air and before I could say anything my head lay against a rock, and I could taste the blood that dribbled down from by brow into my mouth. I began to choke on myself, and bubbles of crimson blood flooded from my throat. I took one last look at the girl I had met, her face filled with that familiar sorrow, the boy who I had created and the chorus of angels that encircled me.

“Chris,” I stifled.

I took my last breathe.

…

The four young men woke in the morning to find their head of mission unconscious by the riverbank, with a little baby boy next to him. They rushed them back to the town by helicopter to receive medical attention, but the man didn’t make it. The little boy next to him had been sliced open on his back and managed to survive because of a lock of golden hair wrapped around him to apply pressure. An old couple decided to take in the boy because they never had any children of their own and brought him up near the riverbank.

No one ever saw the Anjos Aldos again, but the little boy always saw a beautiful women across the river staring at him with a crooked smile and black bush behind her. He looked up at this woman and reached his hand out to try touch her.

“Chris! Dinner time!”

He turned his head around to see his mum. When he peered back over the women had disappeared, so he went home humming a sorrowful tune.