Knowledge Protects

by D. S. Williams

  “And anyone who has got demon blood, but doesn't have the mark, gets the crap knocked out of them when they try to get past the gates,” Conal added.

  “It behaves as a powerful shield,” Ben agreed.

  Everyone lapsed into silence, and I tried to hold back disappointment. Even if this was a clue – how could it help if nobody could decipher it?

  “Yeah, but that's not because of the words over the top of the gates, is it?” Joe Reynolds argued, rubbing his thumb against the side of his nose. “I thought those sigils, the ones that are carved down either side of the gates are what stops us getting in. That bit in Latin up the top… well, that's just the warning, isn't it?”

  I could have kissed him.

  Chapter 30: Sigils & Nonny & Epi… Oh my

  “The answer's in the sigils,” I announced. “I think Joe's right – it's the sigils carved into the walls on either side of the entrance – they're the controlling factor for what gets through the gates.”

  “You could be right, Child.” Epi hurried across to study the sigils he'd copied onto the blackboard. “And yet I can't recall seeing any of these thirteen before now.” He glanced at his pocket watch, the heavy chain rattling when he consulted the time. “We need to research, discover their meaning.”

  Striker glanced up from the book he'd been flicking through. “Isn't that what we are doing?” he questioned, lifting a speculative eyebrow in Epi's direction.

  “Yes, yes; but we must intensify our efforts.” Epi flicked a hand through the air, moving half a dozen of the mess tables together and creating a single long row, adding them to where Striker, Marianne, and Nat sat with the pile of books they'd been combing through. With the additional tables, the row almost reached the counter where Nonny and her team would serve breakfast.

  “Wanna give us a clue how we're going to do that, old man?” Conal probed.

  Epi rolled his eyes. “How else?” He picked up his backpack, removing piles of books from inside, setting them in haphazard piles on the tables, even as chairs magically formed neat rows on either side. “We need more help. Many of these texts include information pertaining to sigils.”

  “Shit,” Striker groaned. “I thought these were all we needed to check?” He eyed Epi stonily, and I suspected he was contemplating throttling the old warlock.

  “Don't be ridiculous!” Epi groused, shunting the backpack along with one foot as he continued pulling out piles of books. Did you really think almost fifteen hundred years of research came from two dozen books alone?”

  “Course not,” Conal murmured. “Why would anything be easy?”

  Epi continued placing textbooks on the tables, urging everyone to stop what they'd been doing, and concentrate on searching for the new sigils. “Listen up! We need as many volunteers as possible to search the books, this is our highest priority! The first clue to deciphering the new information has been revealed!”

  I screwed up my nose, anxiety gnawing my gut. “Epi… what if we're wrong?”

  Epi came to a standstill, leaning halfway across one of the tables with a pile of books in his hands. “Have the spirits given any indication we're on the wrong path?”

  “Well, no—” Doubt was perceptible in my voice when I responded. We'd taken a huge leap, thinking the random sigils might be gate markings – if they were sigils in the first place. I still wasn't convinced anything I'd drawn related to our current predicament.

  “You doubt yourself, child, but this is the only way we have to move forward and be proactive. It might be incorrect, but what other choice do we have?” He scrutinized me closely. “You are tired. Go to bed, rest for now. We will deal with this.”

  I rested my fists on my hips, annoyed to be dismissed so abruptly. “What about the meeting?”

  Epi dropped another heap of books on the table. “The meeting will wait, this must take precedence.” He glanced up to see everyone else standing around and flapped his arms impatiently. “Hurry, hurry! This is now our priority!”

  “What would you have us do, old friend?” Goren questioned.

  Epi glanced across the tables at the small mountains of books. “Get help. We need to conduct a thorough search. There are enough chairs here for fifty.” With a flourish of his hand, a second row of tables moved into perfect formation, chairs sliding across the mess to line up on both sides. “Now we can manage one hundred. Leave what you are doing, and establish a roster. Go, go!”

  Nonny hurried over, her plaited hair bouncing in time with her annoyed footsteps. “Epimetheus, for goodness sake!” She launched into what I assumed were a bunch of curses, but she spoke them in fluent Spanish, so I couldn't be certain. The smirk on Conal's lips seemed to confirm my suspicions. “It's six twenty in the morning! We start serving breakfast in ten minutes!”

  “No time to delay, I'm afraid. Nonny, you must organize breakfast service around this new development.” Epi dove back into the rucksack, dragging out several more tomes.

  Nonny glared at Epi's back, before she twisted on the spot and stomped toward the kitchen, muttering none-too-quietly under her breath. “Molesto sapito, sólo podemos esperar que alguien se convierte en frogspawn, que el hombre irritante!”

  I glanced at Conal, amused when I recognized 'frogspawn'. Seeing my arched eyebrow he grinned. “She told him, and I quote: 'Annoying little toad, we can only hope someone turns you into frogspawn, you irritating man!' ”

  Matt chuckled, snatching up a second pastry. “I'm with Nonny on that one.” He took a bite of the sweet delicacy, swallowing it down with a swig from his coffee mug. “Go on; go grab some shuteye.” He surveyed the tables of books. “There's no way in hell you two can stay awake for this next exciting mission. I grabbed four hours sleep before you called us in. You haven't slept at all.”

  Conal reached down to collect Patrick and his cradle. “Let's go, Sugar.”

  I eyed the group, watching as they organized themselves. “Are you sure—”

  “Doctor's orders,” Jerome announced. “Get some sleep, Lottie. You'll be no use to anyone otherwise.”

  ≈†◊◊†◊◊†◊◊†≈

  I was at the villa in Tamekeel, sitting on the couch and sketching a drawing of Conal. Dressed in a Fae gown, I was barefoot, tapping my toes in a rhythmic pattern as I hummed softly. A little shading against one cheek, and a touch more definition to capture the darkness of Conal's midnight black eyes.

  The door crashed open, and Archangelo stood in the doorway, his white shirt dripping with streams of blood, pooling in scarlet red puddles on the floor beneath his feet. “What are you doing, my Angel?”

  I hurriedly closed the notepad, but Archangelo snatched it from my fingers, flipping the pages until he reached the sketch I'd worked on. Rage built in Archangelo's eyes and when he lifted his gaze from the page, I cringed beneath his cold glare. “He's dead, Angel. The wolf is dead. I drank his blood, killed him myself. All you have left is me. Me!” He knelt on the couch beside me and gripped my shoulders, fangs elongating before he bit deeply into my neck…

  Conal shook my shoulder, wrapping me in a gentle embrace simultaneously. “Charlotte, it's okay. It's just a nightmare, you're here with me, and you're safe—”

  I sat up, holding my hands over my mouth. Conal lapsed into silence, rubbing my back reassuringly, waiting for the shaking to stop. “What did you see?” he questioned.

  “It was a nightmare. Just a normal nightmare.”

  Conal watched me, his gaze intent. “It might not have been a vision, but it frightened you; you're still shaking.”

  I inhaled, the breath faltering in my throat. “Archangelo had… he'd killed you.” I rolled over to lean on Conal's chest and gazed down into his eyes. “He killed you.”

  “It's not gonna happen, Sugar. You and I,” he brushed his fingers through my hair, his expression serious. “We're going to end this, and we'll be together, for the rest of our lives. I won't let him ruin that.” He glanced at his watch and groaned. “We've had three hours of
sleep. It's not a lot, but I think we'd better go and find out if they've made any progress.”

  I was already scrambling to my feet and pulling on clothes, keen to put the nightmare behind me.

  ≈†◊◊†◊◊†◊◊†≈

  “Have you made any progress?” Entering the mess, it was surreal to discover the vast tent – usually full of noise with people laughing and chatting, the constant clatter of dishes and people working in the kitchen creating a racket – completely silent. It reminded me of the library at school, and how the librarian would hush anyone making too much noise. Except in this instance, a hundred people were lined up at the trestle tables and staring avidly at the books they were holding, switching their attention from the diagram of the sigils to the book pages, seeking answers.

  “We have located two of them,” Epi announced.

  Conal and I stopped alongside Epi, observing the copious notes he'd written on his pad. Two sigils – one a complex pattern of bold slashes and intricately weaved loops; the other an equally complex grouping of horizontal and vertical lines, creating a pattern of progressively larger squares – were drawn on the top sheet. Next to them, he'd written two words I couldn't make out 'Fairies' and 'Redcaps'.

  “What does that say?” I demanded.

  “Tell me, and we'll both know,” Epi countered. “Those words, I believe, hold the meaning of these two sigils.”

  I turned to Conal, established he was just as mystified as I was.

  “Do we have any idea? Is it another Fae language?”

  “No, Little One.” Goren glanced up from one of Epi's dusty, ancient tomes, one finger marking his place in the text. “It is nothing Arasinya, Nissa or I can recognize.”

  “Maybe one of the other groups in the Realm?” I suggested. “What about those Red Hats Nissa told me about?”

  “Red Caps,” Nissa reiterated from her seat opposite Goren. I wasn't certain, but I thought she rolled her eyes.

  “It is not Red Cap,” Gilborg announced, his sudden appearance startling. Judging from the damp hair and cleanly-shaven skin he'd just finished showering. “That is the Red Cap's language, I believe.” He pointed to the board with the names Nissa had translated from Antique Gnomish. They'd been written on the left of the board, and the right had a weird group of symbols, nothing I recalled seeing before. Curious, I glanced over to where Epi had taped my original drawings to a pole, only to discover those same symbols interspersed on both sides of the page. Epi had written them out like a grocery list, one word beneath the next – but not even one was translated.

  Goren hurried from his seat, joining us. “Gilborg? You are certain this is the language of the Red Caps?”

  Gilborg nodded, studying the board for a full minute before he spoke. “I cannot be certain, but some of the markings are exactly what I recall from a book my great-grandfather kept in his library. I saw them in my youth.”

  “Can you translate them into something we can understand?” I asked.

  “No, I cannot,” Gilborg demurred. “Red Caps keep to themselves. Of all the Fae, they are the most vicious creatures in the Realm; nasty things, with teeth sharpened to razor points, and claws that cut through a body easier than my arrows penetrate wood.” Like Nissa, he seemed to speak of the Red Caps with revulsion and fear. “They are an extremely secretive race – the only ones who can read and write their language are the Red Caps themselves. The book was of great interest to me, until my Great-Grandfather caught me working to translate the contents one evening. He punished me severely, and warned against reading something too dangerous to be permitted in the Realm. The book vanished the very same night, and I've rarely had time to think on it, until now. My great-grandfather was a lover of the written word, a keeper of the Fae's history for his own pleasure. I can only imagine he came across the book somewhere, and added it to his library for his enjoyment. Given what we know of the Red Caps, I imagine he came across the book illicitly.”

  “That would be true,” Arasinya agreed. “The Red Caps would not allow an outsider to experience their language, learn their words – not without harsh punishment.”

  “What of your great-grandfather, Gilborg. Does he still live?” Epi asked.

  Gilborg shook his head. “Even if he did, I doubt he would admit to owning such a volume. If it had been discovered that he owned something of that ilk, I have no doubt his punishment would have been severe.”

  “So how do we figure out what it says?” Conal asked, indicating the unknown words.

  Nissa shook her head. “I do not know. We don't approach the Red Caps for any reason; we keep away from their camps. They stick to the lands nearest to the caves of Abergel'dg – an area which other Fae avoid at all cost – and their home city, Karng'dg.”

  “Are they part of the united Fae Realm, under the Fairies rule?” I questioned. I'd taken part in any number of conversations regarding the Realm when I lived there, but I couldn't recall hearing anyone speak of these Red Caps. It seemed their conduct was notorious, and every creature in the Realm avoided them.

  “They are one of the five largest groups in the Realm, and considered under the ruling monarch's control, but no-one negotiates with them,” Arasinya re-stated. Repeating Nissa's actions, she shuddered delicately, as though the very thought of them instilled fear in her heart. “We leave them alone.”

  “What have they done, to cause such alarm?” Conal asked.

  Goren answered. “Their history is legendary, the kind of stories we were told as young Fae, a dire warning to stay away from trouble because you might find yourself delivered to the caves of Abergel'dg and given to a Red Cap who would devour you alive… or worse. Stories are told of them skinning their victims while they still live, chopping parts from the body and eating them, leaving the victim to scream in agony as they are eaten slowly, day by day. Nobody has contacted, nor negotiated with the Red Caps in my recollection.”

  “Nobody?” Ben questioned. “That's a long time to avoid a race of people.”

  “And it is best for everyone,” Nissa agreed.

  “That's all fine and well,” Epi pointed out, “but we need a translation for that,” he pointed to the board, “and soon. It may be integral to what we face.”

  “Then I'm afraid your cause is lost, old friend,” Goren announced. “Because the Red Caps do not assist anyone. They would rather slaughter you than look at you.”

  “I agree,” Gilborg said, his tone deadly serious. “They cannot be negotiated with, nor can they be trusted. And they would kill everyone in this camp, without a care in the Realm.”

  “There is nothing we can do about it now,” Epi said, although the tone of his voice suggested he wouldn't let the subject rest for long. “For now, might I suggest we continue our work and find the other sigils. Time is swiftly getting away from us, and this task is of greater urgency. The Red Caps must wait.”

  “Permanently, I hope,” Gilborg added darkly.

  ≈†◊◊†◊◊†◊◊†≈

  “That's the last one,” Epi said, drawing the final sigil and its accompanying meaning – still undeciphered – on the chalkboard.

  The mess had emptied out, after filling with the lunchtime crowd, followed by the dinner crowd, much to Epi's disgust. But as Nonny pointed out, three thousand people needed to be fed three times a day, and no matter what else was happening, she intended them to be fed – on time, every time. The little werewolf was perfectly capable of talking down one wizened old warlock, and I hid a smile, recalling the insults they'd traded all afternoon. Now, there were only Conal and me, Epi, Goren, Arasinya and the Tine Kiss congregated in the empty space. Everybody else had been dismissed, and in the case of many people who'd worked all day, sent to their tents to snatch much-needed sleep.

  “So, what do we think?” I questioned, staring at the board. Epi had painstakingly drawn each of the thirteen sigils, along with its corresponding and untranslated meaning.

  “It is clearly some form of language, something once used
by Nememiah's Children, but we've found no records,” Epi said, scratching his head vigorously. He seemed to be taking the situation as a personal affront – annoyed to discover some material regarding Nememiah's Children had escaped his attention until now.

  “I think we need a specialist in linguistics,” Conal suggested.

  “A linguistics specialist?” Epi repeated, eyeing Conal as if for the first time in their checkered history, he'd said something interesting.

  “Yeah. You know, someone who cracks codes.”

  Ripley and Ben stood up, joining us in front of the chalkboard. “A cryptographer,” Ripley said.

  “You think this is a code?” I asked, reviewing the thirteen items again.

  “Not necessarily a code, but see there?” Ben pointed to a letter which appeared recurrently. “A cryptologist could possibly deduce how that specific letter relates to the English alphabet, and from there, make other conclusions based on the whereabouts of specific repeated letters in the group.”

  “What if it doesn't translate into English?” I questioned.

  Striker came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Then, Lottie, I think we're probably screwed. Mmmm, you do smell delicious.”

  “Get off me!” I shrieked. The nightmare came crashing back into my consciousness.

  Conal drew me into his arms and I wrapped myself around him, shivering. “She had a nightmare,” Conal explained.

  “Aw, shit, Lott. I'm sorry.” Striker frowned, scrubbing his fingers through his long hair. “I didn't know.”

  Epi threw his hands up in the air. “That is extremely important! Did you not think we should be told of this immediately!”

  “Stand down, old man,” Conal growled. “It was a nightmare, not a vision – she just had a nightmare about Archangelo.”

  Epi's anger swiftly subsided, and Conal released me into Rowena's reassuring embrace. A few seconds later, a warm hand settled on my shoulder and I turned to see Acenith at my side. The anxiety reduced swiftly and I offered her a tiny smile. “I'd forgotten how good it feels when you soothe my emotions.”