by D B Nielsen
Memory came back, not in patches and shreds like a dream, but clear and stark and whole. I had been in the Underworld, in the abyss in the woods. I was still in the abyss in the woods. Still in the cavern, but recognising now that I was both safely out of the path of the snowdrift and away from the shadows. But I was cold and damp. And I smelt awful; a mix of sweat and sulphur. I tried to get up, but my bones had turned to stone, feeling way too heavy and numb for me to lift.
‘Fi, are you hurt? Are you all right?’ Sage asked concerned.
Her voice wavered oddly. And, when I looked at her directly, she wavered too, losing focus at the edges, which appeared to darken like a photograph that was burning. I blinked her back into focus to see her face, pale with fear and close to tears.
‘I’m fine,’ I replied, dazed; repressing the experience I’d just been through, not wanting to deal with it just now. Putting on a false bravado, I continued, ‘Just frozen. And I stink. It’s like I’ve been swimming in a sewer like that guy in that film, The Shawshank Redemption.’
‘Ah, c’est bon,’ Gabriel murmured. ‘I’m not the only one who noticed.’
Sage threw him a dirty look that quelled any more opinions he might have hazarded to venture.
‘Fi, what on earth were you thinking?’ Sage questioned, shaking her head ruefully, as if in disappointment.
I felt my heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird, racing against my ribcage. Shame and pride warred within me. I pushed myself up, away from her, and blood surged into numbed limbs making them prickle painfully.
‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ I replied, fire sparking behind my eyes, ‘I was trying to recover the Scroll. Successfully, I might add.’
Sweeping my hand wide, I indicated towards St. John who reverently held the ancient artefact.
‘Fi,’ Sage touched my shoulder, looking at me reproachfully. ‘Why couldn’t you ... why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do?’
My hands fluttered in the air in a gesture of uncertainty, and I folded my arms tightly, pressing them against my body, trying to think.
‘I might have been wrong. And, besides, Gabriel was with me.’
Her voice rose. ‘Gabriel? But I’m your sister. I should have been the one to go with you.’
She seemed to be repeating that statement a lot in the last few minutes. Actually, she’d been repeating that statement a lot since Interpol and Lyon. I wasn’t certain what she wanted me to say.
‘Sage, don’t shout–’
‘Sage, calm down–’ St. John began at the same time as I spoke.
‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ Her voice was becoming hysterical, as she seemed to be forgetting the importance of the object held in her fiancé’s hands.
But it was Gabriel who managed to silence my sister.
‘Merde! C’est des conneries! Does it matter that Saffron went without you? Isn’t it enough that she has returned safely? And with the Scroll?’ Gabriel entreated my traumatised sister who had quieted in shock at Gabriel’s obscene language.
Then, proving an unexpected ally, he said to her more gently, ‘Chouchou, you’re hardly the one to tell your sister what she should or shouldn’t do. You have your life with St. John, now leave her in peace to have hers. Laissez-la tranquille!’
Unnaturally still and far too pale, her amber eyes intent on my face, Sage snapped out of her shock. In the next moment, hurling herself at me, she cried, gasping for breath, ‘Fi, oh, Fi!’
As she slammed into me, my jelly-like legs wobbled for a second, and I nearly fell with Sage in my arms. Then, locking my arms around her and holding her close, I asked with a mingling of confusion and relief in my voice, ‘Sage?’
I didn’t notice when the gasping turned into something more – I only realised Sage was sobbing uncontrollably when St. John handed the Scroll over to Gabriel and dragged Sage from my arms, pulling her onto his lap as he sat on a mound of fallen earth, uncaring of getting his outfit dirty. Sage curled into him and he rubbed her back in a gentle rhythm like one would do for a child, waiting for her to get control of herself.
‘Fi, I’m s-s-sorry,’ she blubbered, ‘I’m just ... s-s-so h-h-happy you’re okay!’
I sighed, feeling even more ashamed. ‘Sage, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.’
Now was not the time to tell her about my journey through the Underworld, I thought.
‘Of course, she’s all right,’ Gabriel huffed, offended, ‘I am here. St. John is here. Are not the Anakim looking out for both of you?’
That brought Sage up short and stopped the sobs.
She swallowed loudly. ‘Y-e-a-h.’
It sounded like a whine.
I shook my head at her feeble response which made Gabriel bristle in annoyance.
‘Well, I, for one, am really thankful that you guys were there to bail me out,’ I said in gratitude, trying to appease my guardian. He appeared slightly mollified – but only slightly. Then, considering the purpose of my quest, demanded, ‘Well, Gabriel, my man, hand it over.’
I gestured for Gabriel to hand the manuscript to me, my palm open and facing upwards. For a moment I thought he meant to hang on to it, but he seemed to be genuinely astonished that he was still holding it as he passed it to me.
As I took the Scroll from him, I understood his confusion. It seemed to weigh almost nothing at all, despite the fact that it looked quite thick and weighty. I’d harboured several fantasies about what I might find written on the Scroll, and it was with dawning wonder and tension that I held it in my hands.
The outer linen wrapping was as fragile and as brittle as dry butterfly wings, yet no one stopped me from removing it despite the damage I might cause to this antiquity. Luckily, the linen shroud remained intact and within it lay several papyri rolled together in a bundle.
I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t look very imposing. I thought it would be more like The da Vinci Code, more elaborate, like that wooden cylinder with the dials, you know?’
Sage, who had hopped off from St. John’s lap and drawn closer as I’d begun unwrapping the linen, murmured, ‘You mean a cryptex, Fi, where the cylinder slides apart so you have access to a hollow compartment which can hold a scroll of paper.’
‘Yeah, that’s the one,’ I agreed, looking down at the ancient manuscript in my hands.
‘I doubt da Vinci would even have gotten close to the Scroll, had he known that it existed,’ Gabriel mocked, raising a perfectly curved eyebrow. ‘Besides, for someone to have crafted such an object would mean that more people would have known about the existence of the Scroll.’
Sighing, I said, ‘There are too many secrets.’
Gabriel agreed with me. ‘Bah! Far too many. Yet some are so deadly, have so much power, that there are those who are willing to die to guard them, and those who are willing to die to uncover them.’
Beside me, Sage looked uneasy, mirroring my feelings.
‘Why papyrus scroll?’ Sage asked of St. John, eyeing the Scroll curiously. ‘It’s a lot thinner than, say, animal hide like sheep or goat, but it’s a lot less durable.’
St. John shrugged, hazarding a guess. ‘Papyrus was more common at the time. Relatively cheap. Easy to produce. In the dry climate of Mesopotamia it would have been quite stable and highly rot resistant. But, as you can see, over time, it becomes quite fragile. So be careful, Saffron, if you please.’
I looked from St. John to Sage. ‘I’m surprised you’re not suggesting we do this under laboratory conditions like in Conservation or something like that.’
St. John hesitated a moment, exchanging a meaningful look with my sister, before answering, ‘Not at the museum. Too many questions. Just look at the problems we’ve had with the Seed.’
I nodded, remembering the ongoing Interpol investigation, and cautiously proceeded as I realised that we were all too keyed up to wait till we got the manuscript back to the house before examining it properly. Ignoring the chill and damp and the smell, I knew the time was right. It h
ad to be now.
‘Wait!’ Sage exclaimed, halting me, ‘Are you sure this is safe? What about Louis and the Grigori? Won’t they know we have the Scroll? Won’t they be waiting for us to translate it and take it off us?’
‘I suspect it won’t be quite that simple but, trust us, we’ve got that covered,’ St. John mused, ‘Make no mistake, the Grigori definitely want the Scroll, but I believe that Fi can safely go ahead and make a cursory examination of it here.’
I took a deep breath. Reaching for the delicate edge, I exchanged one more nervous glance with Sage and then, slowly eased back the papyrus, revealing the lettering within.
The papyrus crackled beneath my gentle touch but did not tear, which I was incredibly thankful for. At one time, the papyrus would have been polished, but no longer. The ink was already faded in places, the papyrus yellowing with age.
Sage shifted her position so that we were standing side by side, like two children huddled over a Christmas present.
Curled within the outer layer were several more papyri in no particular order. The markings on these looked older somehow, their ancient wisdom encoded in sophisticated diagrams, algebra and geometry. As mystifying as the layers of papyri were, it was the symbols inserted in between the text that drew my entire focus.
I groaned.
‘Why? Why did it have to be maths?’ I lamented.
The others ignored me. Instead, St. John turned to Sage and Gabriel and in an almost reverent tone, commented, ‘Amazing, isn’t it? Do you notice anything unusual?’
Sage glanced up. ‘The sexagesimals numeric system, you mean?’
‘Sexy what? No way is that sexy!’ I stammered, looking at them with a strange expression. The mathematical equations and geometrical images depicted didn’t look remotely sexy to me. ‘I can’t see how maths could ever be considered sexy unless, of course, you happen to be Sheldon Cooper or Charlie Epps.’
‘Euf, I consider mathematics quite sexy. It has made me a very wealthy man,’ Gabriel mused, stroking his chin, his silver-grey eyes alight.
‘Not sexy, Fi,’ Sage commented, smiling as she pointed out the markings on the papyrus, ‘The sexagesimals numeric system was a powerful mathematical tool that the Babylonians developed and which is still in use today.’
I shrugged, unimpressed. Still boring old maths to me.
‘And?’ I prompted.
‘Well, put simply, it means that the universe is made of mathematics,’ St. John chimed in, obviously enjoying himself now.
‘Really?’ I slumped in disappointment, mumbling, ‘That sucks.’
‘It is sick, isn’t it?’ Sage responded eagerly, obviously not hearing me clearly. ‘Can you imagine what this means?’
Sighing in defeat, I replied, ‘That I’m going to have to study maths?’
Gabriel chuckled.
‘No,’ St. John contradicted, gesturing to the papyrus, ‘It means that there is only mathematics. That is all that exists.’
‘Seriously, you might want to rethink that one,’ I said to St. John.
St. John shook his head. ‘Let me phrase this another way. Let me ask you a question: What is real?’
The words surprised me.
‘Lol! Epic fail!’ I exclaimed, ‘You’re not going to go all Morpheus on me, are you?’
St. John smiled. ‘No, I’m not, but think about it, Fi. The universe is really nothing more than a mathematical object.’
‘And, according to some eminent scholars, every mathematical object is, in a sense, its own universe,’ Gabriel concluded.
They’d definitely lost it!
‘I’m sure that’s the plot for Star Trek or its sequel.’ I rolled my eyes at them.
‘We aren’t trying to pull the wool over your eyes, Fi,’ St. John countered, ‘Think parallel universes. Think multiverse. Go far enough out and you will find not only another Earth but another version of yourself.’
His words made me shiver, feeling suddenly ill, like someone had walked over my grave. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came. I felt queasy again, remembering the horror of the Underworld and the promise made by my twin self, but I quickly stifled those thoughts.
‘C’est incroyable! We can only speculate why the Creator did this,’ added Gabriel in awe, unaware of my reaction.
‘And that’s what makes this find so interesting on a number of levels,’ St. John said.
I looked away for a moment then back into his eyes.
‘I don’t think Richard Dawkins is going to like your hypothesis very much,’ I told them.
St. John merely shrugged. It was easy to dismiss a scientist of some repute when you were over three thousand-years-old.
‘If the Seed is a map that locates the Garden of Eden in time,’ continued Sage with enthusiasm, ‘and the Scroll locates it in space, then we can see how they’re connected together like the pages in a book.’
I was beginning to feel like a caged animal – the only sane one among them.
‘I still don’t get it,’ I insisted, ‘Why are you telling me all this?’
‘Because,’ St. John said, trying to ease the tension by smiling conspiratorially at me, ‘your role is to read the book.’
Feeling particularly dense, I pressed, ‘What book? The Scroll?’
‘Put it like this,’ he continued, ‘the parallel universes are like different pages in a book, existing independently, simultaneously, and right next to each other. And they all exist right here, right now.’
Remaining unenlightened, I looked at him in confusion. ‘And?’
‘And what St. John is saying,’ Sage clarified, ‘is that when you and I both read the pages of this book, we’ll be able to guide them to the Garden of Eden because only you and I can read the book.’
‘Map,’ I corrected.
‘Map. Book. Whatever.’ Sage waved an airy hand, dismissively.
My thoughts churned, wondering at their certainty. ‘But you don’t really know that, do you?’
‘No, it’s true, Fi,’ Sage insisted, ‘You can read the Scroll–’
‘No,’ I interrupted her, ‘not that. I mean, you don’t really know for sure if we’re the only ones who can read the map. We’re assuming that we’re the only Wise Ones, but what if that isn’t true?’
Gabriel looked at me sharply. ‘Tiens! Why do you say that?’
‘Because in all the myths and legends, there are seven sages,’ I said.
St. John nodded. ‘But that is ancient history. I have understood that there is only one Wise One.’
Again, I shivered, recalling my twin self’s words in the Underworld.
Don’t think about it! Just don’t think about it!
Persisting, I pressed again, ‘But there isn’t only one Wise One as you can plainly see.’
Sheesh, didn’t these people watch movies? Complacency could get a person killed. It was almost a cliché.
‘Look, now is not the time for this discussion,’ St. John advised, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. But trying to appease me, he said, ‘If it makes you feel any better, I’ll look into it, Fi.’
I supposed I had to be satisfied with that.
‘So then,’ Gabriel said, motioning to the papyri, ‘Let’s move on.’
Gathering my wits, I turned back to the Scroll, sensing the others leaning forward in anticipation. Carefully lifting away the first papyrus, I uncovered the text beneath. Focusing all of my energies, I studied the inked message. Waiting for the familiar surge that accompanied the stripping away of the glamour to reveal shimmering symbols beneath, I felt nothing. No spark. No energy. Instead, the text still looked like chicken scratches to me.
‘It’s badly damaged. Some letters have completely faded away,’ I said, beginning to feel frustration.
Sage edged closer for a better look.
‘Do you recognise it? It isn’t like the language on the Seed,’ she asked St. John, ‘I can’t seem to place it.’
I was surprised. I’d counted on Sage
to be able to identify the dull markings and her inability to do so meant that this was even more of a puzzle, more obscure, than the symbols on the Seed.
Opposite us, Gabriel looked ready to burst. Eager for his chance to see the text, he leant in, quivering with excitement, trying to see round St. John who partially blocked his view.
‘One of the ancient languages, perhaps?’ he volunteered. ‘Semitic?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sage whispered intently, focusing on the script. ‘It doesn’t look like it. And Fi is right, this papyrus is badly damaged.’
St. John never took his eyes from the Scroll. ‘It’s damaged but you’re missing the obvious.’
We turned in unison, staring at him.
‘You can read it?’ I demanded.
‘Not completely, no,’ St. John replied with a smug smile. ‘It’s a palimpsest.’
Beside me, Sage started in surprise. ‘Of course! How brilliant! I mean, one would expect that the text would have been written on the recto, the lines following the fibres, parallel to the long edges of the Scroll, but I didn’t guess it was a palimpsest. Now that you mention it, I can see the writing across the fibres on the verso.’
‘What the hell are you going on about?’ I scowled at my sister.
‘Well, to form the long strip that a scroll required,’ she explained, ‘a number of sheets made of papyrus were bound together – sort of mashed into a single sheet and dried under pressure. But each sheet was itself made of thin overlapping strips. They were placed so that all the horizontal fibres parallel to the roll’s length were on one side and all the vertical fibres on the other.’
Why did they always have to complicate things?
‘So what you’re saying is that this papyrus has been reused?’
‘Yep,’ Sage affirmed, ‘Oh! Now that I know what to look for, I can read the first few words!’
Gabriel crowded in excitedly. ‘Well, what does it say?’
Sage was still hovering over the script. ‘The top layer of ink is in Latin which, given the Church’s involvement, figures. A passage from Genesis, I think.’
‘And?’ I prodded.
Sage quickly translated for the rest of us, though I was certain that both St. John and Gabriel would have had no trouble reading the text themselves. ‘I think it says, “The Lord answered, ‘If I find in Sodom, fifty righteous people within the city, then I will spare the whole city for their sake.’” That’s right, isn’t it?’