Shadowhunter (Nephilim Quest Book 1)

by Leena Maria

  "Sounds interesting... What exactly do they weave?" I wanted to know.

  "You'll learn that soon," Mrs. Olanda assured me.

  "Well, I don't think I would be much of a Gatekeeper..." I bent my arm in a mock attempt to show my biceps. It wasn't a very impressive muscle, I can tell you.

  Jason chortled.

  "You might be good at Oriental fighting, if you gave it a try. I wouldn't be sorry to see you at the gym! And you will be there sooner or later to learn the basics of self-defense and Nephilim-killing. It is compulsory."

  He gave me a wink and laughed when I blushed.

  "Jason, behave!" Mrs. Olanda shook her head. "Close that for us, will you."

  We walked out of the room. I looked over my shoulder and saw Jason press the gate shut using his whole arms. It was done in a few seconds.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  31. Translating the Notebook

  Translating the notes in the sketchbook wasn't easy, because the Finnish text had been written by hand, and sometimes the handwriting wasn't altogether tidy. It became ever more cramped and crammed into odd spaces as the writer had filled up the book. But slowly, with the help of his language book and a dictionary, Mr. Donnelly made progress. He translated the first few sentences, and after that he was so exhausted from his intellectual work he knew he would have to take a break and put down his mechanical pencil. It was quite enjoyable, really, to let his brain work on something it new, but demanding.

  He quietly read through his translation again.

  "Elijah, where are you? I remember how we were watching the stars at night, next to the Nabta stones, and next morning when I woke up, you were gone. I tried to go back into the mists on my own, but I couldn't. It's as though you were never here. I know you would never leave me. So what has happened? Have they caught you? Have they... killed you? I don't know where to go. Nothing but desert everywhere and all I have left now is one bottle of water. I cannot wait for you any longer. I have to leave to survive."

  "Interesting," Mr. Donnelly mumbled to himself, "Elijah left Merit in the middle of the desert? Whatever for?"

  Suddenly the air seemed to turn electric. Familiar prickling lifted the hairs in his arms. Quickly he closed the notebook, attached the mechanical pencil to the rubber strap on the cover and put both the sketchbook and the Moleskin in the lowest drawer on his desk, under a pile of loose papers.

  When the Masters stepped through the door, he was seemingly deep in his studies on angelology, scribbling notes with an old fashioned ink pen.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  32. Leaving the Village

  I dug a little hole for the bee and dropped it there, patting the loose dirt carefully over it. I felt sad. The other bees buzzed around us still, and their voices... their buzz did not sound angry anymore. After a while they dispersed.

  Only then did Mut-Bity lift me up onto my feet. She pulled the cloth over my head again, and looked me inquiringly in the eyes. She seemed to be content with what she saw and nodded slightly. She pulled the fabric deeper over my face, covering it from the sun. She then made sure that my hands were covered right down to the fingertips, and after making sure I was completely hidden from the sun, she gave me a little tense hug. Then she took my hand, squeezing my fingers tightly through the linen sleeve and started walking towards the nearby village, across the cultivated land which our bees were helping to fertilise. Her hands were both sweaty and cold. This was strange, because her hands had always been dry and warm in the past.

  Mut-Bity did not speak, and her steps were so determined that even though I was full of questions, I did not dare to open my mouth. I just bent my head down, away from the blinding sunlight and watched my white dusty toes appear and disappear from under the hem, letting her lead the way.

  She saw a wealthy old man who was sitting in the shade. You could tell he was wealthy, because he had a small donkey by his side, dozing half asleep with its head down, keeping to the quickly diminishing shadow of the house. Its lower lip was hanging loosely, which meant that it felt content and safe. The man probably had servants and slaves to do the work of his fields and he could afford to sit and do nothing. Also his mud-house was well plastered and had a real stone doorway. Mut-Bity marched directly up to the man.

  "We must leave right away. I need your donkey to carry the beehives to the River."

  "What can you give me in return?" the old man asked, suddenly alert.

  I looked at the half-asleep donkey and wondered if such a small animal could ever carry the clay beehives on its back to the river. Or would it react to the bees by bolting away? It had been known to happen when a donkey had swished its tail to get rid of the insects and bees had stung. It did not happen often - unlike wasps bees died after they had stung. They were not malicious, they only stung when threatened.

  Mut-Bity had a little sack on her back, hanging from her shoulder, and she pulled a small pot out of it – it contained a hin of honey. I could see how the old man's mouth watered when he realized what was in the pot. He did not reach out for the jar immediately, however, even though I could see the greed in his eyes - there were three bees flying around Mut-Bity's hands. She always had some bees around her.

  "You shall have this jar of honey, once all the hives are safely by the river."

  Even I knew how valuable such a jar of honey was, bees had worked for weeks to make it, and that alarmed me. Mut-Bity was clearly scared and wanted to leave the village and the fields as soon as possible. And there was no other reason than that odd golden-eyed man.

  "Has anyone been here to ask about us?" she asked casually while the man yanked at the rope that hung from the neck of his donkey. I wondered why he needed such a rope – the animal in question showed no great eagerness to escape anywhere.

  "I don't know... I'm not sure, but I did see someone who was strange-looking."

  The man's eyes shifted just for a second and spotted my face as I peeped out from the shade of my head cover. I was looking directly at him so he saw my pale face and eyes, and I could see recognition in his face.

  "Like her, but eyes were yellow. Very odd looking. No color."

  "Oh? Where did he come from?" Mut-Bity started walking towards the field where our beehives were kept at a safe distance from the village. Her voice betrayed nothing; you could only hear mild curiosity.

  "I really have no idea..." The old man's feet patted on the path next to mine and the donkey trailed lazily behind us as we walked out of the village. We carried on down the slight slope of a hill that formed an island during inundation, when the River valley became a vast lake. I observed the contrast between his dirty, dusty brown feet and my own white toes. "One minute I was sitting by the wall and at a blink of my eye he just appeared out of nowhere. I must have dozed off."

  I heard Mut-Bity let out a hissing sound. It sounded like a sigh but it was her anger-hiss. I understood even less. Or rather – I did understand there that there was a lot more here than met the eye. She knew the pale stranger, and she hated him.

  Mut-Bity started walking even faster. The old man had trouble keeping up with her and had to yank his reluctant donkey by the rope to make it get a move on in the heat.

  "He did not speak to me, but I heard him talking to someone. Then he strode off towards the fields," the old man kept on talking.

  "Did you hear what he said?" Mut-Bity asked.

  "Something about a pale child... So he must have been coming to find you. He must have been one of your family, child."

  I took a few quicker steps to grab Mut-Bity's hand and did not look at the man.

  "Her family is not here, and I know this man is not of her kin, despite their similar skin." Mut-Bity said, "And a word of warning to you – if you ever see him again, try not to draw his attention to you in any way. You very life may depend on you staying unnoticed. He is dangerous."

  The man stopped in his tracks.

  "He is no longer here. He's gone," Mut-Bity said, before the man asked, "and I v
ery much doubt he will come back anymore. But still, keep away from the pale ones, especially if they have golden eyes."

  The man was obviously very nervous after this. He led the donkey to the side of the field and clearly wanted the deal to be done with as soon as possible.

  "You only have nine hives?" he asked. "That doesn't give much honey."

  "Here I have only these nine, yes," Mut-Bity said.

  Her little fire was still alive and she took a piece of dung that was smoking well. Then she stood and started humming with a low voice. The sound always turned my skin to goose bumps. While she hummed, she bound a special leather- and fabric saddle on the small donkey. It had two great pouches made of the coarsest linen, one on each side of the donkey, and thin ropes threaded over the top of the saddle, so that they hung freely on either side.

  And the bees came. They flew in a swarm through the air, and into the hives. All went in, none came out. Mut-Bity kept on humming until no bees were flying anymore, and then gently wafted the smoke around the hives and placed stops made of tightly wrapped linen in the openings. It kept the bees inside but let air through.

  Then she just lifted the hives, one by one, and put them in the pouches which kept them parallel to the little donkey's sides. She tied each hive to its place inside the pouch with one of the ropes hanging from top of the saddle so they stayed on top of each other - carefully twisting the loose ends around the hives and back up again. The ropes were long enough so that she could tie them back up to a special wooden knob at the top. I knew the frame of the saddle was made of wood, and the knob was attached to this frame.

  Four hives on one side, five on the other. The pouches themselves were carefully made to wrap tightly around the hives and so limited their movement, especially after Mut-Bity tied the pouches together with yet another rope, under the donkey's belly, which made the animal look at her with such a hilarious disbelief I started to giggle.

  "I have never seen such a thing..." the old man said admiringly. "You invented this yourself?"

  Mut-Bity nodded, but did not speak. Instead she kept on humming – and the bees answered. You could hear them buzzing to her. She raised her voice - they buzzed higher, she lowered her hum - theirs soothed to a sleepy hum too.

  The man did not know if he should believe his ears or not.

  "You... talk their language?" he finally asked.

  Mut-Bity only smiled.

  "You are a powerful magician!" the man almost bowed to Mut-Bity.

  He kept silent until the donkey reached the River, listening to Mut-Bity and the bees humming to each other. Once the hives had been lifted off his donkey and into the waiting boat - how Mut-Bity had known our boat would be there waiting I had no idea - and he received his precious pot of honey, he turned and began almost running back towards the village, turning once to glance at us with a scared look. His donkey trotted happily behind him, eager to get back to the village from the hot fields.

  I was certain that by the time the evening came, all of this would turn into a good story where he would be the hero who chased away a dangerous stranger and met a magician who spoke the language of the bees.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  33. New Age Shop

  She walked along the street as though she was on a catwalk, apparently oblivious to the admiring looks of the men. Then she saw the sign she was looking for.

  It was a little shop in a run-down part of the city, in a row of retail businesses that had all seen better days. The dusty window display included tarot decks and hanging crystals. The dark blue velvet on which the cards were displayed appeared to have been simply tossed down, with silver colored glitter sprinkled on it in an effort to be artistic and a crystal ball had been placed in the middle. Little angel statues peeked out from the folds of the velvet.

  "Fortune telling. Messages from the other side," the plaque above the crystal ball announced. It was decorated with the signs of the zodiac.

  Her expression showed the same pleasure as a cat viewing a cornered mouse. She opened the door and stepped in.

  The little shop sold anything new-agey. A violet pearl curtain hid the back room.

  She smiled. Perfect.

  "Can I help you, my dear?" an elderly lady came out from the back room. She wore heavy golden earrings; the bright colored scarf that covered her hair was tied into a knotty bundle at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was too dark - she was trying too hard to give the appearance of a gypsy fortuneteller.

  "I do believe that you can," said her visitor. Her seductively beautiful voice rang like silver bells, and she smiled down at the shopkeeper with half-closed eyes. "It is - about messages from the dead. I need your help for someone who has lost her dear friend tragically in a car accident. I would like her to be convinced that life continues after death, so that she can let go of her grief."

  Her smile vanished and a suitably sad expression replaced it.

  The lady tilted her head sideways and sighed.

  "If only people would be as understanding about these matters as you are, dear. You are a real angel to care so much for your friend."

  Her visitor smiled, and the shopkeeper thought her eyes were playing tricks for a second, because the young woman seemed to appear amused at what she had heard. But when she looked again, those same, beautifully light brown... almost golden... eyes were full of sadness and concern again.

  "Now, tell me what can I do to help?" asked the shopkeeper.

  "To begin with, maybe you could give me your card, so that I can pass it to my friend."

  "But of course!" the lady hurried behind the counter and picked up a visiting card, which she handed to the lovely young woman. "Now, might I offer you some spiritual help as well? I'm known for my messages from angels. Maybe you could get some advice from them regarding your grieving friend?"

  This time the girl laughed, clearly amused. The shopkeeper smiled politely. Then the young woman coughed and said:

  "Sure, why not. I've always believed in the existence of angels."

  Slightly baffled by her reaction the lady gestured to the room behind the bead curtain.

  "This way, dear."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  34. Hunters and Guardians

  "And now for the Guardians." Diana dragged me out of Mrs Olanda's classroom and into the corridor. "Let's go meet one. I just saw Aemilius walk past. I am sure we can catch him if we hurry."

  I saw a sturdy back disappearing through a door and we followed. This door did not lead to any classroom though - this was a fully equipped gym.

  "Aemilius!" Diana called to the man who was about to disappear into the men's locker room.

  When he turned I saw that he was middle aged, had an impressive scar on his cheek and a profile that could only be described as Roman. He looked like a gladiator in a T-shirt.

  "Diana," he bowed, "how can I be of assistance?"

  "May I introduce Dana to you - she is new. She is Layla's granddaughter."

  Aemilius bowed to me too.

  "Pleased to meet you," he said. "You should be proud of your grandmother. She is our best Hunter."

  "Yes, quite... Thank you..." I did not know how to reply.

  "Would you tell Dana what Guardians do?" Diana asked and Aemilius nodded.

  "We keep the Weavers alive," he said matter-of-factly and then fell silent.

  "Perhaps a little more in the way of description...?" Diana smiled.

  "We go to past with Weavers and protect their lives with our own. If the Weaver dies, the Time Walkers cannot return," Aemilius was not much of a talker and Diana took over.

  "Or rather - they can, but first another Weaver needs to find them, travel to them, connect to a Weaver here, and then lead them home. It has happened, you know."

  "Yes. Once we were stuck in England in the summer 1665, when the great plague was raging in city," Aemilius said.

  "I was there too. We had been vaccinated and had antibiotics with us, but it was horrible to witness how people di
ed like flies..." Diana's cheerfulness vanished at the memory.

  It began to dawn on me that travelling to the past was not just one big adventure for the people here. They really put their lives at risk.

  "Can I ask... Where are you from, Aemilius? Rome?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "Yes, we stole Aemilius away from the battlefield," I heard Grandma's voice from behind me.

  "Sheesh! How do you walk so quietly?" I swirled around with my heart in my throat.

  Grandma grinned back at me as she wiped sweat from her neck with a towel. "You can't exactly stamp around shouting "Coming to get you!" if you are a Hunter."

  Aemilius smiled too and continued in his broken English: "I should have died in Actium battle, but I had visited an oracle before and was told to observe my dreams. With this advice I was able to ah, dream lucidly. Before battle, someone who knew of my impending death approached me. He convinced me he was telling the truth and asked me to follow him in the midst of the battle. He appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the fighting, and I disappeared from the battle scene, and ended up here."

  "The oracle in question was of course one of our Time Walker members," Grandma ruffled her hair with the towel, "there wasn't much literacy around in those days. We got many good fighters that way. But not all chose to follow. Some had had what we call near death experiences and did not fear death anymore. Their experiences had been so positive."

  "But the Immortals follow us too when they can, and try to kill them or find another option for those we find valuable to our cause," Diana commented.