Shadowhunter (Nephilim Quest Book 1)

by Leena Maria

  The ring had been on her finger when she disappeared, smooth and shiny, new. And now it had appeared, clearly worn and scratched - here, to the very place where Merit knew he would come to say his goodbyes to her. Her wedding ring attached to the flower of rebirth. No one else would have known of this day, of the lily... no one but Merit.

  His hands shook and a deep rumble rose from his hidden wings. He reached back to the ledge and felt even deeper. There was something more. A small, flat box.

  He pulled it out and opened the lid. He was looking into what he knew was a very old metal mirror. The Egyptian goddess of love and music, Het-Hert, "House of Horus", better known as Hathor, gazed back at him from the top of a handle in the form of a papyrus plant. The formal wig framing her face, and the bovine ears on either side were unmistakeable attributes of the goddess. The mirror was made of... gold. Hathor, also called "the Golden One". He turned it over in his hands, not believing what he saw. On the other side was a lioness's face. Sekhmet, the destroyer and protector of the old sun-god Ra, the fierce side of Hathor. And the disk above Sekhmet was made of reddish colored metal, copper or bronze, representing the blood of humankind she killed.

  The round disks fitted together beautifully. He knew he was looking at an 18th dynasty object that was immeasurably valuable, because of the instantly recognisable face that had been used as the model for the goddess.

  Queen Tiye, the Great Royal wife of the richest Pharaoh in the history of Egypt - Neb-Maat-Re, also known as Amenhotep III. The mother of Akhenaten.

  He saw small markings on the handle and lifted the mirror higher into the light to see better. For a while he stared at the writing, completely still as though he had turned to stone.

  There was a piece of paper under the mirror with hand written notes on it. He lifted that out of the box as well, beginning to shake as he recognised the handwriting.

  "Elijah – how I wish I could tell you I am alive, and let you know where I am? I am not dead. We sit here by these great skeletons, resting, preparing to leave tomorrow morning. I have taught my rescuer some words in English, and she has taught me a few words of her own language. Soon we shall come out of the desert, I am certain. Then I can find a way to contact you again. I cannot wait, I would like to start walking already, but even with the light of the bright stars I know it is not wise. We shall wait until the sun begins to rise. We are headed straight towards it, to the East and..."

  The rest of the page had crumbled away. Then he noticed a little card, note card size, at the bottom of the box.

  "She wrote a notebook to you while she was still alive. The rest of her notebook is now hidden in a library in the City of Immortals. It was stolen from us when we tried to bring it back to you, and this page alone was found in the hand of the one they killed. But there was no way for them to understand the language at the time. We finally managed to get one of our own inside the City. We found the notebook and hid it inside the library. 18.England.Enquiry."

  That was all it said. No signature. There was only a picture of a stylized bee printed on the note card in such a light color it was barely visible.

  He stood there for a while, anger rising up his spine while his mind tried to understand. Why would anyone want to steal Merit's notebook? "While she was still alive" – so she really was dead now. Where was she buried? Who were the "we" who tried to bring the notebook back to Elijah?. What was the "18.England.Enquiry"? What the hell did this all mean?

  He had to fight to calm his mind. He put the mirror back to its box, and into his rucksack, together with the lily and Merit's wedding ring, crushing the lily in the process.

  He almost ran through the museum gallery, through the entrance door and down the stairs to the hall. No one at the desk. Impatiently he walked to the church hall, not hearing the beautiful music anymore. Then he saw someone appear from behind a corner and step behind the counter.

  "Who has been to the museum today?" His voice was angry and he made considerable effort to silence the energies of his wings.

  And older lady this time, clearly alarmed by his approach.

  "I am sorry," Elijah forced himself to be calm, "I had a meeting today at the museum, and when I went there, there was no one. I must have mistaken the time. Can you tell me who has been there?"

  "Well, no one, as far as I know," the lady answered politely.

  "How about the younger lady who was here? Would she know?"

  "A younger lady?"

  "The one who sold me the ticket to the museum, of course!"

  "I am sorry, there is no one here but me. No younger ladies working at this hour."

  The woman answered her phone and Elijah took a few aimless steps, looked at the people in the church, but only saw backs of heads - people who had wandered inside the church and stayed to listen to the choir practice. He could hardly go and ask them all if they had been up to the museum.

  He turned and walked out of the cathedral.

  "Has he left?"

  The woman was sitting in the wooden benches of the cathedral, seemingly listening to the music. She did not turn to look over her shoulder.

  "Yes, he has gone," her companion, another woman, said. She was watching the happenings of the hall in her hand mirror whilst she pretended to put her hair in place.

  "We shall wait for a while, to be sure no one has followed us." The older woman made no attempt to move.

  They listened to the beautiful music, seemingly oblivious to their surroundings. Their eyes darted around the church, however, observing everyone in their sight with keen interest.

  "It seems we have succeeded," the older woman finally said in a low voice.

  "Indeed it seems to be so," the younger one agreed. "Our long quest has finally ended. Our sisterhood can be proud."

  "No, it has not ended." The older woman gave the slightest shake of the head. "We have done what our founding mother told us to do, but the danger is far from over. He may find the way, but he will be followed by the dark ones on his quest for certain. The sisterhood must stay alert where ever we are along the Path of the Dead. We may be the only thing that stands between him and peril."

  The younger one nodded solemnly.

  "After thousands of years of waiting we have indeed reached our first goal, but we were not completely successful. We lost the notebook. But it can be retrieved."

  The woman who had been tidying her hair under her hat rose from her seat quietly and unobtrusively. A tourist couple walked through the doors of the church and the man held the door open for the ladies to pass. For a moment he wondered where these two deeply suntanned women came from. They did not look Scandinavian, being short and dark skinned. Their clothes were old-fashioned, their shoes sensible, they even wore summer hats that looked like something you'd find in a flea market, carefully shading their faces and covering their hair. Neither one wore any makeup. He thought they looked like nuns dressed in secular clothes.

  When the older one passed him by, he noticed three live bees walking on the woman's sleeve. She clearly saw them but was not afraid.

  "Did you have a look at them?" the man asked his wife. "Didn't they look like nuns?"

  "Oh they did for sure, very respectable," the wife shook her head. "You should have done something about them bees, though. They could sting the old lady!"

  "Looked more like pets of hers," he commented, "as daft as it sounds. Didn't you see how she clearly looked at them and let them be?"

  His wife snorted.

  "Let them be - that's a good one. Nuns with bees as pets? That would make them the sisterhood of the bees, eh? And the older one was the abbess then? The mother of the bees? Sounds like you've had a touch too much sun, it does."

  The man shrugged, amused, and they walked deeper into the cathedral.

  In five minutes they had forgotten all about the two women.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  40. Weavers

  That night I had a vivid dream again. I had not continued watching my fingers, or clock
s and asking if I was awake or not, but still I began to dream lucidly.

  I was standing in a mist, sensing a landscape around me, but nothing was really visible at first. I felt shadowy figures moving and even caught glimpses of them, but they were never close enough for me to make out what or who they were.

  Then a figure in the mist came closer. It was Kitty and she looked... scared. When she spoke, I could hear her voice this time. It was like listening to a bad cell phone connection.

  "...beware...angel..."

  She looked over her shoulder, turned, and vanished.

  I woke up with Diana shaking me.

  "Dana! Wake up!"

  "What is it?"

  "You were calling for Kitty, and you sounded frightened. What happened? Where were you?"

  I sat up and realised I had a nasty headache.

  "I don't know... I was in a foggy area, not very light. And Kitty came to warn me."

  "What about?" Diana looked at me, worried.

  Suddenly I could not say she had warned me about the angel – because the only angel around was Daniel. If Kitty meant I should keep my distance from him, it would be easy to do, as it was not like he showed much interest in talking to me.

  "I don't remember... But she looked scared."

  "Scared? That's not usual... Usually dead people look rather happy... They don't have much to worry about anymore, so she must be worried about you."

  "That would make sense - even I would be worried about me," I tried to say lightly, "what with all these buffer zones and time walkers and shadows and angels... maybe she was worried I'll go nuts here."

  "I suppose that's how we'd be categorised, if we spoke to anyone about this place outside..." Diana smiled. "And you need a pain killer," she continued, seeing my painful expression when I started to rub my aching temples.

  She went to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water and a pill. I gulped it down.

  "I don't think I can sleep anymore." I leaned my forehead against my hands. "What time is it?"

  Diana reached for her alarm clock and turned it so she could see it.

  "Five in the morning... You know – a Time Walker group is due back this morning. What do you say if went to have a look at their arrival? You haven't seen one yet, I suppose."

  "No, I haven't. And yes, let's do that."

  We got dressed, dragged a brush through our hair and tiptoed on our stocking feet to the stairway to the ground floor. There we put our shoes on and went down the stairs. Diana knew where the arriving group was going to enter and led us to the correct room.

  We weren't the only ones there. Jason was standing next to the gate, as was Mrs. Olanda and a woman I had seen before, but whose name I did not know. They nodded briefly in our direction, so obviously it was OK for us to stay.

  The gate was open in the middle of the room. Jason was keeping the other side like a curtain, and I could see a faint blue glow under his hand when the otherwise invisible side of the opening followed his touch. The misty opening in the air looked unreal against the sharp background of the room.

  "They are coming," the woman in the chair said.

  I was staring at her hands, because there was something very peculiar happening there.

  She sat with her hands on her lap, palms up. There was a misty ball of something wrapping her palms and fingers, and from that mist strings formed and flowed to her fingers like water in slow motion (or did the strings flow from her fingers?) and through the opening in the air. When she moved her fingers the strings would move too, weaving into each other in an intricate pattern. She seemed to be deep in her thoughts, but not in a trance. It was as if she was acutely listening to something the others could not hear. Everyone else seemed to be as quiet as possible, trying not to disturb her.

  The strings were not very bright, but clearly of different colors.

  We waited. Then - steps approached, without any echo, and a woman stepped through the opening, into the classroom. She was holding her hands in front of her and more strings flowed from her palms and fingers. They were directly attached to the strings coming from the hands of the woman sitting in the classroom, and while she approached her, the strings got shorter and shorter – it was as though the women were drawing the strings back into their bodies as the distance between them grew less.

  "Welcome back!" Mrs. Olanda greeted them.

  The women pressed their palms together, and when they withdrew their hands, the strings were gone.

  "What was that?" I whispered to Diana.

  "They are the Time Weavers - they find the path to the past, and direct the group to the correct place and time. Theirs is the hardest skill to learn, they are very rare, and so valuable they are all assigned at least one Guardian who is to be near them at all times. It seems they have to have some Nephilim blood in their family tree to be able to do that. The Nephilim themselves cannot weave through time, though. They can get in and out of buffer zone on their own, but not weave," Diana whispered in answer.

  "So only people can? That's odd."

  "Yes, people with Nephilim blood. Old legends tell of good Nephilim who could weave, but they were all killed in the past..."

  Diana stopped talking, when others came through the gate in the air. Six people in all. When they had all entered, Jason peeked into the buffer zone and said something quietly. After a short wait three more figures stepped in from the mist. They had similar body build to Jason. Other Gatekeepers, obviously, and all were carrying what looked like short swords. One was about the same age as Jason, the others were maybe ten years older. When they had come through, Jason quickly closed the gate with a few fluid movements. He had to use some force - I could see his muscles working, and there was a clear blue halo coming from under his hands - it seemed the gate had been open for a while. The translucent scar hung in the air for a minute or two, and then it was gone.

  I gazed at the six travelers with interest. Their clothes looked Victorian in style to me. The Weaver was wearing a black dress that looked rather costly. On her head she had en elaborate hat of lace, velvet, a few feathers and pleats. With her was a young man, whom I took to be a Hunter. An older man, who was also dressed in the style of a gentleman, followed them, and two servant-looking girls, and then someone I recognized. Professor Reginald Rowan - or maybe I should say Reggie, as everyone else did.

  "Ah, Dana and Diana." He bowed, squeezing a book tightly under his arm. "We've found it!"

  "What have you found?" Diana asked.

  "This!" Professor Rowan – or Reggie – lifted the book into the air like a victory sign. "It's a religious text from a nunnery library. And it's all about angels and Watchers and such. Maybe this is our clue!"

  He trotted out of the room almost chuckling to himself with glee. Diana and I stole a sideways glance at each other, and couldn't help laughing. Scholarly enthusiasm was rather a funny thing to observe.

  "Was it hard to find?" Mrs. Olanda asked the rest of the group when they sat in the chairs and sighed. Obviously they had been walking a long while.

  "Well it took some convincing before the nuns let us into their library." the Weaver stretched out her legs. "But a generous donation to the order made them more cooperative. Reggie pretended to be my scholar of a brother who was finally given permission to study their books – under strict observance, of course."

  "Of course..." Mrs. Olanda smiled.

  "You stole the book?" I asked.

  "We did. The bookshelves were guarded by a railing and a gate, with a very strict looking nun as the gate keeper. Reggie slipped the book under his waistcoat when the guardian of the library went in search of some other book. In its stead he put another book of similar size, so the numbers still matched, when he returned to his pile of books. I trust we were long gone before they noticed – if they noticed at all," the man said

  "Indeed," Reggie shook his head, " it seemed no one had bothered to put the books in place for quite a while – there were piles of them on the tables... Un
fortunately I could not go to the shelves myself."

  "Was that ethical? Stealing the book?" I asked.

  "Strictly speaking, no. But history records show this particular nunnery burns down in... well, we can't really talk about days anymore, rather hours after our visit...Its whole library will be destroyed. So you can say we simply saved the book. The only problem was to stop Reggie from taking anything else. Everything else, to be honest. He cannot tolerate the thought of books being harmed, can you? " The well-dressed man, grinned at Reggie. Then he changed the subject. "Are you the newcomer?"

  "Yes. I'm Dana," I extended my hand in greeting and he took it and shook it with both hands.

  "Welcome! I am Dieter. What's your speciality, then?"

  "We don't know yet," Diana answered on my behalf.

  "Have you seen shadows with your own eyes?" Dieter asked, placing his hat on the table and ruffling his hair with his fingers. "Have to get rid of these sideburns... I look like an Elvis-impersonator..." he then commented to the mirror on the wall and sang a few bars of Love Me Tender. Jason made a face and covered his ears with his hands.

  "Yes, I have seen shadows."

  "So you could be a Hunter..."

  "We could try weaving right now, " The Weaver who had been sitting in the chair got up and faced Mrs. Olanda, "to see if she's got the knack for it."

  "Shouldn't we fetch Mireille first?" the other Weaver in her black Victorian dress asked and started unbuttoning the bodice of her frock. "How women ever agreed to wearing these corsets, I'm sure I'll never understand!" she mumbled to herself. "But if you think it is wise, we could try the weaving. First I'll get rid of this horror, though... I'll be back in a minute, I want to change into something more comfortable."