by D B Nielsen
St. John nodded.
Confused, I said, ‘I don’t get it.’
‘It’s the story of Sodom and Gomorrah.’
‘Why the story of Sodom and Gomorrah?’ I asked, ‘Is this just a random bit of text or does it have some meaning?’
Gabriel spoke confidently, ‘It has meaning.’
St. John agreed. ‘Some scholars believe that this passage is the origin of the thirty-six righteous people in Judaism. In the Talmud, it states that there are thirty-six righteous people, special people in the world and, if it were not for them – and I mean all of them, if even one of them was missing – the world would come to an end. This is a mystical concept. And for that reason, the thirty-six remain hidden or concealed. In every generation, the thirty-six righteous “greet the Shechinah”, the Divine Presence or Creator.’
‘So why don’t the Grigori just wipe out these thirty-six righteous dudes and bring about the Apocalypse?’ I asked, incredulous, trying to get my head around this belief.
‘That would make sense,’ Sage agreed with me.
‘Well, tradition holds that their identities are unknown to each other,’ he continued with enthusiasm, ‘and that, if one of them was to discover their true purpose, they would die and their role would pass to another.’
‘So what’s their purpose?’ asked Sage, as curious I was.
St. John smiled. ‘In fact, the thirty-six righteous do not themselves know they are special. They possess mystic powers and, when the world is threatened, they must emerge from concealment to avert the disaster. Other legends claim that they don’t die but instead return to anonymity as soon as their task is accomplished to supposedly lead ordinary, humble lives.’
‘Well, this is all very interesting, I’m sure,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders, ‘but what does it mean?’
Gabriel answered, ‘It’s a message of hope. Should we fail, there might still be others who can save humankind.’
‘Well, that’s comforting. Glad to know I might be completely unnecessary,’ I replied, sarcastically. The others ignored me. ‘But what I want an explanation of is–’
‘Ah, the Underworld. Judaism,’ St. John interrupted, understanding my intent.
‘Yeah, that,’ I agreed, taking a deep breath and gazing out at the underbelly of the other world leering out from the shadows.
‘I expect it has something to do with the mithaq that you must restore,’ Gabriel answered.
‘I agree with Gabriel on this. As I was saying, there are thirty-six righteous people,’ St. John restated and I sensed he was finally coming to his point, ‘In Hebrew, the number thirty-six is composed of multiples of eighteen. Remember, Saffron? You were told to “Choose Life”, translated as “Chai” or, as in the gematria, the Jewish system that assigns numerical value to a word or phrase, the letters of “Chai” which add up to eighteen.’
Sage looked excited now. ‘I get it! The mithaq can only be restored through finding the Garden of Eden and bringing the Seed back to its origin. We have the power to blur the boundaries between time and space. And that’s all linked to the information in these papyri.’
St. John casually looped an arm around Sage, signalling his approbation. ‘Did you know that the word “gematria” is held to derive from the Greek? In English, the Greek word, “geo-metria” means “earth measurement” which is where we get “geometry” from. It all ties together perfectly. The path you chose, Fi, will lead the way to the two gardens in the spatial dimension. We can use these measurements to find the Garden of Eden.’
‘But that isn’t only what it says, right?’ I remarked, pointing back to the papyrus. ‘There’s more, isn’t there? Hidden underneath. It’s a palimpsest, after all.’
St. John was surprised. ‘Yes, there’s more. But to read the rest, we’re going to have to use technology. Looks like we’ll be taking a trip to Oxford.’
‘Oxford!’ Sage exclaimed, turning in his arms to look up at him.
I found myself glancing across at Gabriel, who winked conspiratorially. Excitement was building inside of me – any excuse to go to Oxford sounded good to me.
Turning back to St. John I asked, ‘Why Oxford?’
He looked rather smug. ‘Because that’s where we’ll find what we need.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘A diamond synchrotron.’
HUNTED
CHAPTER EIGHT
Trudging wearily back home through the woods, pale late afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of tree branches overhead, furthering the spring thaw. I had been deceived into thinking hours had passed whilst I’d been in the Underworld when, in fact, I had entered a realm of dead time where the seconds had trickled slowly through its hourglass in the real world.
St. John walked behind with Sage, in possession of the Scroll, discussing some university case study of ancient parchments using the diamond synchrotron which had been able to provide data on a parchment’s degenerative process through its non-invasive technology. Every now and again, I picked up a word or two such as “ink” and “drawings”, which normally I would have found interesting, but their discussion was just so much background noise.
Exhausted, I was glad that my companions didn’t feel the need to talk to me. Pain spiked in my temples and radiated through my tired body with every step I took; a result, no doubt, of suppressed shock, fear and relief. Shock and fear at what I’d experienced. Relief that I’d survived and was now back in the land of the living. But I couldn’t suppress the knowledge that I’d brought something back with me.
Gabriel at first kept his own counsel but, from the concerned glances he threw my way, he obviously wished to talk. I guessed the Nephilim were allowing me a little time to adjust to the role I was chosen to play, and to the horrors I’d experienced in the Underworld.
Ignoring the pain that continued to echo phantom-like through my mind since my return from the Underworld, I supposed St. John and Gabriel were all too aware of the choice I had made and what it meant – especially Gabriel who was the offspring of a fallen angel. They had advised me to embrace what I was, to accept my flaws and the darkness within me. But it scared me.
I took in a ragged breath and raked a grimy hand across my face.
‘C’est des conneries! You never asked me why I made you journey through the catacombs,’ Gabriel began as he walked beside me, slowing the pace of his strides to measure mine.
His words sliced through the pain.
‘What’s your damage, Gabriel? Why?’ I asked, glancing across at his face in profile, ‘Why did you do it? You could have gotten me killed. I could have been killed!’
‘You said you needed to know that you were capable of being the Wise One. You wanted proof. I wish there’d been an easier way, but there wasn’t.’
He sounded so certain, aloof, arrogant. It made me mad.
‘You’re twisted, Gabriel,’ I said, angrily.
‘J’ai compris! Mais la question n’est pas là!’ he stated with a Gallic shrug, remaining calm in the face of my insult. ‘You could’ve given up. You could have turned back. Made it easier for yourself. But you didn’t. Why, Saffron?’
I increased my pace, wanting to get away from him.
‘Leave me alone! I hate you!’ I hissed at him over my shoulder.
‘That’s it!’ he growled, almost in triumph, ‘You can feel it, can’t you? It’s like an itch beneath your skin that you can’t scratch.’
I looked at him in horror.
‘You’re really insane!’ I whispered, wondering why, with St. John’s super-hearing, he wasn’t putting a stop to this crazy conversation.
‘Oui, oui, oui, at first I thought it was hate too,’ Gabriel agreed, ‘I felt the darkness within; the darkness of my father’s race. The darkness in my blood taunted me, meant to drive me mad. Hate was all I knew, but I needed it to survive. I used it.’
Fascinated and horrified, I listened to his explanation.
‘It built my world, taught me
how to survive, how to live. I thought at first I'd die with all the darkness within, all the hate running through my veins. And the darkness imprisoned me. I lost sight of who I was – lost my own identity.’ Gabriel kept his voice low, and non-confrontational, but his eyes were narrowed upon my face. ‘But then something happened. It happened to me ... just as it happened to you.’
‘What?’ I stared at him with stunned disbelief.
Gabriel spoke carefully, cognizant of the fact that his words would have an everlasting impact.
‘You faced yourself, your own darkness. It took everything it could from you, but you pulled from your well of humanity to conquer your darker impulses. You thought in choosing Life, it was merely choosing to live, didn’t you?’ Gabriel asked, but didn’t bother to wait for my reply. ‘But it isn’t, is it?’
I quivered in response.
‘You found something within, when you faced the fact that you could be imprisoned there forever. You faced your death in the darkness, saw your very soul. You could feel it. Then the pounding in your blood quieted. You were calm. You brought it back with you.’
‘How could you know all this?’ I asked in a broken voice.
‘I told you, the same happened to me, though I did not need to venture into the Underworld to face my own hell. I can feel the darkness always. It is the legacy of the Fallen. I can feel their need, their pain, their desire to return home.’ He almost choked on the bitter truth his words held.
‘You feel them? The Grigori?’ My words sliced the air.
But Gabriel had readied himself for the question, and his answer came easily.
‘I feel their dark blood. It pulses within me.’
‘And St. John? Does he feel them too?’ I asked quickly, though what I really wanted to know was whether other Nephilim might feel the Grigori too.
He answered slowly, ‘No, St. John does not feel the tainted blood, our curse, flowing in his veins. He is, perhaps, the only one of us who is immune. For that reason, he was passed the mantle of Keeper of the Seed. But this darkness is the reason why some of us struggle with our powers; it would be all too easy to surrender to it. If we cannot control it, it will instead control us. It burns within us. It consumes our other half, our humanity, till there is only hatred left.’
‘What I saw in the Underworld–’ I began, but Gabriel cut me off.
‘Do not tell me. It is not for me to know,’ he interrupted curtly, but his voice held compassion. ‘A man causes harm, wreaks destruction, because he forgets to embrace his humanity, forgets to feel compassion and empathy, and to love peace. A man commits all manner of evil because he is blinded by his own fear.’
I briefly shut my eyes, the bile of self-hatred rose like vile ulcers on my tongue. ‘I’ve done terrible things. I’ve hurt a lot of people – people I really care about.’
‘Do you know what a crucible is?’ Gabriel locked his gaze upon me. Silver-grey, like light shining through the mist and fog, his direct look encompassed me.
‘Sort of,’ I replied, uncertainly, distantly remembering a chemistry lesson from way back. ‘Like some sort of container to melt metals?’
‘C’est vrai,’ Gabriel affirmed, showing his regard, ‘A crucible is a pot in which metals are melted down, usually in order to purify them by separating out baser elements that have become mixed with them. You’ve been through a similar process, but rather than separating the base elements, you have to acknowledge that they are a part of you. Think about your ordeal as a bonding, like metals welded together; that out of understanding evil, good might come.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ I confessed quietly, walking between the ancient oaks of the forest as my sister and St. John trailed behind in our wake.
Gabriel reached out a hand to guide me over the exposed tree roots.
‘I know it isn’t easy,’ he commented, ‘but try to see it this way – some theologians believe that it is only through sinning that humans can be redeemed.’
He was about to say more but his attention was diverted by dark, oppressive clouds looming in the distance. He came to a halt, eyes narrowing as he watched the storm clouds gathering.
Following the path of his gaze, I also stopped in my tracks.
‘That storm front seems to be moving towards us quite quickly. We’d better get moving, I don’t want to be soaked by the time we get home,’ Sage commented, pulling up the rear with St. John.
‘It’s not a storm front,’ Gabriel countered, exchanging a look with St. John. ‘It’s not behaving in the normal manner of storm clouds, it’s moving far too rapidly.’
I squinted into the distance, focusing on the darkened patch in the sky which was getting closer with every second we tarried in the woods. It drifted towards us like blackened smoke from a bushfire carried on the wind.
‘Is there a cave nearby?’ I asked, ‘I didn’t know there were bats in this part of Kent. They look similar to the fruit bats we used to see crossing over our house every night back in Sydney. You remember, Sage, there was a colony of bats in Lane Cove National Park?’
Sage nodded absently, as she replied, ‘I don’t think they’re fruit bats, Fi.’
‘What is it?’ I asked in a whisper to the others. Though, deep down, I feared I knew the answer.
But St. John and Gabriel gave no immediate response; their gazes were locked intently on the darkened sky. Before long, however, I could easily see for myself what was rapidly approaching.
There were four of the winged beings, flying at great speed; a wickedly widening cloud which was wheeling and circling, traversing the forest in search of something, someone. They were steadily drawing nearer to where we were partially hidden under the great canopy of oaks.
‘Hurry!’ St. John hissed, pulling Sage rapidly down with him into the shade of a great overhanging rock which protruded up from the ground covered in moss and lichen.
His urgent warning came not a moment too soon. Two Rephaim suddenly broke away from formation and swooped, flying low, towards the direction of the abyss from whence we came, straight towards us and the path we were taking homebound.
Frozen, I found myself roughly handled and didn’t have time to even protest as Gabriel shoved me under the thick, exposed roots of an ancient oak.
‘Lie flat and still!’ he warned.
Lying on my back in half-melted snow and damp forest soil, I crumpled up as small as possible, muffling the frantic rasp of my breathing. Between the gnarled roots, my eyes searched the skies above, as fearful as the Hobbits in The Lord of the Rings.
The two creatures passed overhead, their wings the span of an albatross, so wide and dense that their shadow followed them darkly over the ground below. Their black wings beat the air with a striking rhythm like a helicopter’s rotors, drowning out all the sounds of the forest. Then one harsh call was heard, the high-pitched cry of birds swooping in flight, hunting their prey. Even at such a distance, their impressive bulk diminished, I felt a chill pass through me.
Not until their shadows had dwindled into the distance did any of our group move a muscle, hardly daring to breathe. St. John was the first to spring up from his hiding spot and, thrusting the Scroll at Gabriel, searched the sky for the other two Rephaim.
‘Take the girls home! Keep them safe!’ he said, pushing Sage forward.
‘What? No!’ Sage exclaimed in horror, sensing his intention. Clinging to St. John’s arm, she begged, ‘No! St. John, don’t do this!’
Gabriel pulled Sage away from his brother, his hand like a vice round her wrist. With one hand he held the Scroll, with the other he half-dragged, half-pulled Sage along as she struggled to remain with her fiancé.
‘I can help! I can navigate through the woods like I did last time – when we were attacked by Louis!’ she begged, struggling against Gabriel’s hold.
‘It’s not going to work this time, Sage.’ He raked a desperate hand through his locks. ‘I wish I had time to explain this to you but the universe is in balance. Good and evi
l. Light and dark. They operate together. The universe strives to maintain this balance.’
‘The markings you saw before weren’t just there to guide you, they were there for Saffron,’ Gabriel said, urgently. ‘They were there to protect her, to allow her to find the Scroll. It’s over now.’
Sage met Gabriel’s hard gaze, assessing what he’d just told her, finding confirmation in St. John’s jade coloured eyes.
‘I’ll meet you back at the house,’ St. John said in parting. Pulling Sage close, he whispered, ‘I love you. Come what may. Toi et moi, ça ne changera pas. Mon amour pour toi est éternel. Be safe, mon cœur.’ and then, with enormous agility and speed, he launched himself into the forest in the opposite direction, a bright white beam of pure energy that danced along the treetops, which made us shield our eyes.
No longer feeling tired but fuelled with adrenaline, I grabbed hold of Sage, assisting Gabriel in towing her along the overgrowth. But my sister was sobbing incoherently, whilst Gabriel and I were trying to quieten her.
‘Putain! Ta gueule!’ warned Gabriel in a low voice – and I had never heard him use such a harsh and stern tone before – drawing her up close to face him, ‘Sage, if you don’t be quiet and start walking, I will be forced to render you unconscious and carry you!’
But if Gabriel was harsh, I was ruthless.
Drawing myself up, I grabbed Sage by her shoulders and shook her hard.
‘Bloody hell, Sage!’ I hissed, ‘God held me, but if you don’t shut up now, I’m going to slap you!’
Sage hiccupped in response, staring at me wide-eyed.
‘Pull yourself together, for God’s sake!’ I continued, letting go of her so suddenly, she staggered beneath her own weight. ‘We’re being hunted by a pair of Rephaim and you’re endangering us!’
The gravity of the situation finally struck her. Obviously her only thought had been for St. John, but now she realised the danger we were in. I stared her down and, finally, she nodded her acquiescence to indicate she was in control of her nerves once more.