Knowledge Quickening (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 2)

by D. S. Williams

  Conal and I arrived at the church on a simmering Sunday morning, to be greeted at the door by an excited and exuberant Epi. He opened the doors to us and stepping inside, I came to a sudden halt.

  “Epi – where's the furniture?”

  The church's interior had been transformed and I glanced at Epi, becoming aware of his clothes. Gone were the old-fashioned tunics and rough worsted trousers. Today he wore a navy blue tracksuit, which seemed incongruous on his tiny frame. I noticed he was wearing Nikes and stifled a smile.

  The church was completely devoid of furniture and every single inch of the floor, the walls – even the high ceiling had been covered in thick foam padding.

  “Today we begin practicing what you've learned,” Epi announced, his voice tinged with excitement. “You have learned the theory. We know you have Angel blood pulsing through your veins. Now we get to see how much power you really have.”

  “What's that going to entail, exactly?” Conal asked. He pushed the doors shut and locked them securely.

  “It is time to put the sigils to practice.” Epi handed the box containing the Hjördis to me. “Until now, you have only practiced the marks on paper. You are ready for the next phase and you must learn to draw the sigils on yourself.”

  Images of the scorched table immediately flew to mind and I gaped at him.

  “You're not serious?” Conal was aghast, staring at Epi as though the old man had finally lost his mind.

  Epi glared back at him, his eyes enormous behind the thick glasses. “Drawing the sigils on paper will not give Charlotte any powers. Marking them on her skin will.”

  “Did you see what this thing did to the table?” I questioned frantically. “It burnt the wood!”

  “The Hjördis is designed for this task, Charlotte,” Epi stated matter-of-factly. “That is what it was used for in times past.” He touched my shoulder, patting it gently. “You must trust me, child.”

  “No. No way.” I backed away from him, deeply disturbed by what he was suggesting.

  Epi turned away from me, gesturing to a group of pictures he'd pinned to the wall. Each one depicted people with their bodies painted in swirling blue symbols. I walked closer to study them and realized some of the symbols were familiar. I moved closer again and knew I'd learned them from the books Epi insisted I read. “What is this?”

  “They are a race of people known as the Picts. They existed in Scotland from about 7000BC through to 845AD.”

  I moved from one picture to the next, studying the designs they'd painted on their bodies, recognizing more sigils I knew. “They were Nememiah's Children?”

  “The first of Nememiah's Children. Their name – 'Picts', comes from the word 'Picti' in Latin, which is what the Romans called them. It means 'the painted ones'.” His eyes roamed over the pictures, a faraway look in his expression. “They were the very first of Nememiah's Children, given the task of protecting the world from the evils which were, even then, prepared to destroy and maim. Nememiah begat of his own blood to create the first of the Children. He provided them with weapons and abilities to protect the world from danger. The influx of demons from the Otherworld had spawned vampires, werewolves and other creatures. Nememiah gave the Picts the task of both monitoring these supernatural beings, and returning all demons to the Otherworld. This Hjördis,” he said, pointing to the box, “is the last one in existence. There are no more.” He lapsed into silence, studying the pictures almost reverently.

  I turned to Conal, asking a question silently with my eyes. The box with the Hjördis safely concealed inside it felt heavy, as if the knowledge of what it was, what it could do was weighing me down.

  “I can't tell you what to do, Sugar. It's up to you,” Conal admitted quietly.

  “Give me a second.” I called to the spirits and asked for their advice, gaining their reassurance. With trembling fingers, I withdrew the Hjördis from its box and it heated and vibrated in my hand. I glanced up at Conal. “Can you hold my arm?” Conal caught my wrist in his hand and I put the Hjördis close to my forearm. “What do you want me to use?” I asked Epi.

  “Let's start with agility.”

  I inched the Hjördis towards my skin, closing my eyes as it made contact and expecting to feel an excruciating burn. The sensation was uncomfortable, but to my surprise, there was little pain. It created more of a sharp, stinging sensation against my arm. I drew the sigil carefully, watching the skin beneath the tip of the Hjördis turn a rich, indigo blue. When I'd finished, it looked as if I'd inked an intricate tattoo into my skin.

  “Is that gonna stay there forever?” Conal asked, eyeing my arm with a frown.

  “No. The power of the sigil fades. Each one will last for a period, dependent on how much of that specific ability has been expended during battle. The sigil drawn on the skin will fade away to nothing.”

  I flexed my arm and rubbed at the mark, discovering it had sunk into the skin, exactly as a tattoo would. I had my doubts about Epi's assertion that it would fade to nothing, but it was too late now. I wondered what should happen next. “Am I meant to feel any different?”

  “The test of the sigil will be in the use of it,” Epi explained. “Hence the redecoration of my home.” He waved his hand expansively around the large room. “Today, we begin to train in earnest. Conal and I will be attacking you, and you must learn to fight us off.”

  I fought an urge to laugh. “Conal I can understand, but Epi…” I paused, choosing my words carefully because I didn't want to hurt the old man's feelings. “I think I could fight you off, even without the marks.”

  “Don't be so certain, young lady. I have been on this earth for fifteen hundred years and I still know a thing or two. As I keep telling you, physical attacks are not the only thing you must expect. There will be other forms of attack. Warlocks have many different powers, which we shall be trying to prepare you for.”

  “You think my enemy is a warlock?” I paused, my eyes widening. “Wait - you're fifteen hundred years old?”

  “Yes I am, and I should think that would mean I deserve a little more respect from you both,” Epi grumbled. “As to the idea your enemy may be a warlock – I do not know, child. But we need to be certain you are prepared for anything and warlocks are amongst the most powerful of all the supernatural.”

  Epi meant what he said. For an elderly man, even an ancient man, he had a strength I'd never expected and threw himself at me with abandon, overwhelming me with attacks both physical and magical. I was convinced the sigil wasn't doing a damn thing as I was repeatedly pummeled.

  “You aren't concentrating,” Epi said crossly, when I landed on the padded floor in a crumpled heap for the fourth time in a row.

  “It's so hot in here!” I complained, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. The t-shirt I was wearing was dripping, and clung to my skin, while the unpleasant trickle of perspiration was running down the back of my thighs.

  “The field of battle isn't going to be air-conditioned, you foolish girl! If you think the worst you will deal with is being a bit sweaty and uncomfortable, you are sadly misinformed! Battles are ugly, they're violent; your combatant isn't going to stand around waiting for you to cool off!” Epi was almost apoplectic with anger. “Now, try again! And believe in yourself!”

  He raised his hand and a wave of shimmering air raced across the room towards me. I knew it would throw me into the wall with substantial force as it had done repeatedly. I lifted my hand angrily and watched in surprise as the wave suddenly turned on itself and flowed swiftly towards Epi. The old man was launched into the air, hitting the high ceiling before he fell to the ground in a little heap of navy blue. I was horrified and began to run towards him but Conal had already reached his side and was helping him stand up.

  “Now that was more like it!” Epi announced cheerfully, smiling his toothless grin and appearing no worse for wear. “Conal, try a physical attack again.”

  Conal had stripped down to jeans during the workout,
his t-shirt lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. We moved towards the center of the room and Epi watched as Conal prepared to attack me. He moved quickly, more rapidly than any human could and had managed to pounce on me every single time. I took a deep calming breath, trying to concentrate on the sigil as I watched Conal for the first sign of movement. He launched himself at me with a wolfish growl. In the split-second when he reached me, I lurched gracelessly to one side; with speed I didn't know I was capable of. I turned to watch him fall harmlessly onto the floor, rolling catlike until he was on his feet again. He looked at me with admiration and grinned. “Nice one, Charlotte.”

  “Yes, yes! Wonderful! Now a little more practice like that, and we will add another sigil to the mix,” Epi agreed delightedly.

  With practice, I was able to hold off each man individually. As the day wore on, I could actively deal with them together. The progress came at a cost, my head ached and being slammed backwards continually was having an adverse effect on my muscles, making them ache with fatigue. Despite Conal wanting to stop when my head began to pound, I begged him to continue. I knew I was running out of time, although where the certainty came from, I couldn't tell. But there was a sense of urgency in my efforts, a feeling that I was going to need this and the time was rapidly approaching.

  “Excellent!” Epi shouted happily, when I again defeated the two of them with little effort. My arms were covered in sigils – Epi insisted I must overcome my predominantly right-handedness and learn to mark both arms. With practice, it was becoming easier – although my artistic side felt the marks on my left arm were far superior to my right.

  “So can we quit for tonight?” Conal asked. He was breathing heavily, his hair slicked back and the top of his denim jeans were darkened with perspiration, which poured from his torso.

  “Of course not. There isn't time to 'quit' as you put it. Charlotte has managed to defeat us, but we are not a true test of her abilities,” Epi snapped. “Although you appear to be attacking her with force, the truth is, you hold something back in yourself so you won't hurt her.” Epi looked from my face to Conal's, his blue eyes owl-like behind his glasses. “Charlotte cannot rely on the spirits alone. Nor the sigils. She must learn to handle weapons.”

  “Not tonight—” Conal began tiredly.

  “Yes! Tonight!” Epi shouted. “She must do this!”

  Conal and I glanced at one another and Conal saw determination in my eyes. “Okay, okay. What's next, old man?”

  Epi motioned for us to follow him and we walked to the other end of the long room. He waved his hand and the foam covering the wall disappeared, leaving the stone visible. I wistfully considered laying my face against the cool stone to cool down my overheated skin, but forced myself to concentrate on what Epi was saying. He pointed to a place on the wall. “See that stone?”

  They all looked identical to me and I stared at them for a moment, and then turned my attention back to Epi. “What?”

  “Look closely, young lady. Allow the stones to talk to you. Whilst this is a warlock's magic, you should be capable of seeing it.”

  Breathing deeply, I stared at the wall again, allowing other thoughts to drift from my mind like leaves scattering in the wind. As I concentrated, the most central stone shimmered a little. I turned to Conal. “Can you see that?”

  Conal was watching the stones, but I could see from his neutral expression that he couldn't make out what I was seeing.

  “He cannot see it because he does not have the ability,” Epi said quietly. “Only you and I can.” He motioned me forward. “Go, child and take what you find.”

  I slowly walked across to the wall, touching the shimmering stone. As my fingertips reached it, the stone block disappeared, leaving a neat open square.

  “How did you do that?” Conal asked.

  I shrugged. How did I do it? There was no explanation for my actions, only a knowledge of what needed to be done. I reached into the dark recesses of the square opening. My fingers closed over a neat package, bound with a leather strap and I pulled it from the hole.

  “What is it?” I asked Epi.

  “Weapons of the Angels. Like the Hjördis, these are the last ones left.”

  I pulled the leather strap holding the bundle and carefully unrolled it. Inside, I found two sharp daggers, their hilts encrusted with sigils and the shafts glowed brilliantly. They looked like silver, but I realized it wasn't silver; this was a different material – almost luminescent – and a glow seemed to come from inside the daggers themselves. I stared at them for a long moment before putting them aside and picking up the other two items. These were round and flat, covered with similar sigils and with five razor sharp blades spaced evenly around the edges.

  “They are the Katchet and Philaris,” Epi explained. “The weapons of Nememiah's Children. The daggers are used in hand-to-hand combat; the Philaris are useful for throwing from a distance. They can also be used in close combat, to strike down the enemy.”

  Conal reached for one of the daggers, but Epi gripped his arm firmly. “You cannot touch them. They will create the same effect as the Hjördis did when you touched it.”

  “Thanks for the warning, old man,” Conal muttered. He withdrew his hand.

  “I— I don't think I can use these,” I said quietly, staring at the weapons. I'd only ever used a weapon once in my life, when I'd been filled with the rage created by my family's murder.

  “You will learn to use them, child. You must,” Epi said.

  “What's she going to use them on?” Conal asked. “Us?”

  “Of course not,” Epi responded, his tone abruptly business-like. “Now you have to work together against a common enemy. Charlotte, there will be a belt with the weapons. Put it on and place the weapons in it. And then you have to mark Conal.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Epi shook his head impatiently. “I keep forgetting there are gaps in your knowledge. I truly wish you could read faster,” he muttered. “Charlotte, as one of Nememiah's Children, you can use the sigils on other supernatural beings. They cannot use the Hjördis or the weapons, but they can be marked, be given some of Nememiah's shielding. You are going to give Conal markings, to give him added protection.”

  “Is that going to hurt him?” I demanded. Instinct told me marking his skin might be more painful than marking my own.

  “Yes, yes, he will feel some discomfort,” Epi agreed, waving his hand to re-cover the wall with padding. He saw the skepticism in my eyes and shrugged. “All right. It will be painful. But it will give him extra strength to deal with the foe.”

  “Don't worry, Charlotte. I'll be okay,” Conal said gruffly. He held his arm out and I drew the Hjördis from my pocket, gripping his wrist in my left hand. I began a mark and saw the muscle tighten in his forearm as the Hjördis burnt the sigil onto his skin. I was dismayed when the smell of burning flesh wafted into my nostrils and stared into Conal's eyes, my own filled with tears. “Just do it,” he commanded roughly, his black eyes flashing with determination. He turned his attention to Epi as I worked. “So what foe are we talking about, old man? What have you got in mind?”

  I finished the sigil for agility and began the one for endurance.

  Epi was busy drawing something of his own on the padded floor. “Your foe is going to be a demon,” he stated.

  Chapter 30: Demons

  Conal and I gaped at Epi with remarkably similar expressions. Complete disbelief.

  “What did you say?” Conal growled.

  “A demon.” Epi looked up from what he was doing and pushed his glasses further up his bulbous nose. “Nothing too difficult to begin with. Perhaps a simple Valafar. Something that is difficult for you to kill, but easy for me to return to its Otherworld origins if it should get out of control.”

  “Well, that's certainly comforting,” Conal groaned, gritting his teeth against the burn of the Hjördis on his skin. “Are you nearly finished, Charlotte?”

  “Yes.” I drew the Hjördis away and bli
nked away the tears that brimmed against my eyelashes. “I'm so sorry.”

  Conal hugged me. “It's not your fault, Sugar.” The dirty look he threw at Epi left no doubt, who Conal blamed. “So, Vander – how can you bring one of these demons through from the Otherworld, if it's a no-no?”

  Epi looked ever so slightly chagrined. “It is for the greater good.”

  “You mean, nobody knows you're doing it,” Conal stated.

  “That is correct.”

  “Won't you get in trouble from the… Warlock's Union or something?” I asked.

  “No. I am only bringing through a small demon, virtually harmless. But highly necessary if you are to learn how to defeat them.” He stood up; studying the lines he'd marked on the stone floor. “And there is no Warlock's Union, you foolish child.”

  “What is that?” I walked across to the markings he'd made on the floor.

  “It is a pentagram,” Epi announced, studying his work with some satisfaction. There were sigils in four of the five triangular corners; the fifth was empty. “Traditionally used to call demons from the Otherworld.” The old man turned to Conal, watching him with interest. “You will need to transform into your wolf.”

  Conal sneered. “Werewolves only transform at full moon. We're not shifters.”

  “Oh, don't be so ridiculous,” Epi retorted mildly. “You're only repeating what you've been taught since childhood. Werewolves are not so different to shape shifters and they can transform whenever there is a requirement.”

  “I can't,” Conal growled angrily and for a brief second I saw the wolf-like curl to his lip. “We only transform during the full moon. Three nights. I can't transform with Charlotte nearby, I could kill her.”

  “That's because you think that's the only time you can transform,” Epi responded cheerfully. “And, might I ask, who is the smarter race? The shifters, who can change form whenever it is required, or the werewolves, who stick to their antiquated beliefs and only transform during the full moon?”