Scroll- Part Two

by D B Nielsen

  But I didn’t have time to bend down and retrieve it as I was thrown sideways, the seatbelt jerking me back against the leather seat, digging into my chest, as St. John veered again.

  The driver of the car shadowing us immediately responded by swerving the Range Rover hard to the right, cutting carelessly across two lanes of traffic, in front of a fast-moving Peugeot, to the sound of squealing tyres and the blare of horns.

  ‘St. John!’ Sage’s voice held alarm.

  It was obvious to us all now that we were being pursued.

  Cursing, St. John slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The Audi roared to the increased speed, like a sleek jungle cat. The little needle on the speedometer rose alarmingly, climbing towards the far right.

  Somewhere, dragged from the recesses of my mind, I recalled my mother’s anxious words about adrenaline sports and racing against the Stig in Top Gear. She was right, I was nowhere near that good, I realised now. But St. John was – he would have given the Stig a run for his money. Weaving in and out of the heavy flow of London-bound traffic, St. John’s reflexes were astounding as he managed to find the tightest gaps amongst the moving cars for the Audi to duck between, in and out, like a sewing machine needle darting in a tight pattern of zigzag stitches.

  But, even with the additional burst of speed, the dark Range Rover kept pace behind us, chasing us down, never letting us out of its sights.

  I had never travelled at such speed before, not even on the German autobahns when Dad used to take us on working holidays between the Sorbonne in Paris and the Vorderasiatisches Museum in Berlin, where there were very few speed limits and all the cars were travelling at a similar fast pace. The blur of passed cars, steel guardrails, and the natural scenery viewed from the window of the Audi seemed surreal; simply streaks of colour and brief flashes of light like playing videogames on PlayStation. Though I usually enjoyed the adrenaline rush, my fingers were gripping, clawing at the leather armrest so tightly that I could feel several of my nails tearing under the pressure.

  The Audi screamed down the M40, pursued by the dark Range Rover. In the distance, the frantic wailing of police car sirens could be heard.

  ‘St. John! The police!’ Sage yelled.

  ‘We’ve got more to worry about than the police,’ he said flatly.

  I called out above the ruckus, ‘I think we’re screwed already!’

  Gabriel shouted at St. John in rapid French, looking over his shoulder at the approaching Range Rover that was, incredibly, gaining on us.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ I exclaimed, turning to look at Gabriel.

  But Gabriel’s head had whipped around as he cried out, ‘Fils de pute!’ and aimed another volley of rapid French at St. John.

  ‘I see them!’ St. John shouted, taking evasive manoeuvres.

  Moments later, I saw them too. Two more similar metallic black Range Rovers whooshed onto the M40 on our left, fishtailing as they drew up alongside the lead car, shooting past to flank us on both sides.

  Horns honked and sirens blared, the sounds immediately swallowed by the pinging of gunfire.

  ‘They’ve got guns! They’re firing on us!’ Sage yelled in terror; her face, in profile, a mask of white.

  A white Volvo in front of us spun violently out of control as its rear tyre was blown out, and narrowly missed hitting the Audi as St. John swerved hard to the left. I felt the blow, heard the crunch of metal, as the Audi’s rear fender clipped the Range Rover’s front nudge bar and was torn away.

  ‘Merde! Hang on!’ St. John shouted.

  St. John swerved hard, this time to the right, grinding against the other Range Rover, ramming them into the metal guardrails separating the London-bound traffic from the lanes travelling in the opposite direction. With nowhere to go, the Range Rover skidded into the barrier, flipping and tumbling from one side of the road to the other, across three lanes.

  ‘Bon travail!’ Gabriel shouted, patting St. John on the shoulder from behind in encouragement.

  But we weren’t out of the water just yet. The Range Rover behind us opened fire, shattering the Audi’s right side view mirror and rear brake light.

  Turning to stare at the Range Rover, I saw in an instant, through the open gap in the tinted window, the lifeless face of our pursuer and the flash of a black gun barrel as he leant out to take aim. The military-cut platinum blond hair and the cold, dead eyes, which always reminded me of a fish, were unmistakeable, and struck me with fear.

  ‘Oh my God! It’s Louis! Drive faster!’ I urged St. John.

  In response, the Audi whipped along the M40 with wild abandon. It shot underneath several overpasses and under road signs, never slowing, regardless of the speed limits clearly on display. Despite St. John’s evasive weaving, we were still trapped, with one Range Rover behind us and one to the left of us.

  ‘This is crazy! We’re going to be killed!’ Sage screamed, thrown back in her seat by the force of the Audi’s speed.

  Easy for her to say! I thought, resentfully. I was the only one amongst them that didn’t have the protection of extended life. I was the only one particularly vulnerable. The sense of exhilaration I might normally have felt as the car sped along the motorway was replaced with a cold dread. My eyes, wide with fright, stared out the rear window at the Range Rover to my left, virtually at my shoulder, with only the barriers of the metal and the glass of the car doors, and about an arm’s width of road separating us.

  Sage was right. This was crazy! I tried to make the Anakim see sense.

  ‘We can’t outrun them!’ I cried.

  Gabriel was growling in French, a string of profanities; some of which I recognised, others that would have made a sailor blush.

  ‘Where are we going? Into London?’ I asked to no one in particular.

  The Anakim didn’t bother to answer me. They just ignored me.

  ‘Fi’s right,’ Sage agreed, sticking up for me as she turned to face St. John in her seat. ‘Where are we going? Do we even have a plan?’

  ‘The plan is to get away from them,’ St. John replied, ‘We have to get you away from them. And we have to get the Scroll away from them. Now.’

  St. John’s eyes never left the road; he didn’t once look across at Sage to reassure her.

  ‘They mean to force us off the road,’ Gabriel confirmed grimly, switching back to English for my sake. ‘If they do that, we’re lost.’

  I might have responded but, in the next moment, a prickling heat seared across my skin and my perception of my surroundings dissolved as I felt my mind raked by an inhuman voice. Shudders savaged me.

  ‘Bring it to me,’ the unearthly voice ordered, mercilessly. It stroked against my nerves, overwhelming my senses.

  Gabriel, seated next to me, grasped at my arm and shook me roughly. My mind ripped away in scalding recoil from the voice.

  ‘Saffron, what’s wrong? What’s happening?’ Sage cried.

  But I was speechless, my mind reeling, lurching. There was an unnatural flux that crossed dimensions to coerce me into giving up the Scroll. I felt the same queer, sickly feeling I’d experienced in the Underworld but with a terrifying difference – this was some demonic power at work.

  ‘The Grigori,’ Gabriel replied.

  ‘What? How?’ I heard Sage’s cry, shrill with distress. ‘Is that even possible?’

  ‘The powers that the Grigori hold can drive a man to madness,’ he said pragmatically, feeling for my weak pulse, ‘They have targeted your sister. She’s the weakest link.’

  ‘Christ! You knew this would happen!’ my sister accused.

  ‘Tout doux! No,’ he qualified, his voice lacking any emotion, ‘we suspected that it might happen. We did not know for certain.’

  Sage turned anxiously towards her fiancé. ‘St. John, did you know that this might happen?’

  ‘I suspected that it would,’ St. John replied, his tone equally matter-of-fact.

  Gabriel snorted in amusement, though clearly he was not happy. ‘Mon ami, be honest.
They deserve the truth.’

  ‘St. John,’ she whispered, ‘St. John, what is Gabriel talking about?’

  ‘What St. John is reluctant to tell you,’ Gabriel intervened, when St. John refused to explain, ‘is that we were passed information that the Grigori would target your sister.’

  ‘Is this true?’ Her voice sounded low and pained.

  Sage put out a hand and touched him, and St. John half-turned from her, brushing her hand away as he manoeuvred the car. He nodded to her to sit back in her seat, but she hesitated.

  ‘Is it?’ she demanded.

  ‘Yes and no,’ he hissed. ‘I began to have my suspicions after Paris when I learnt that the Woods would betray us, betray you. Your sister’s obsession with Satis House and her attachment to the Emim, Phoenix, is dangerous.’ Then, with greater consideration, he said, ‘It’s putting you in danger. And it’s you I’m concerned about, you I care about.’

  ‘What about Fi? Don’t you care about her at all? Is she on your conscience, St. John? The Nephilim – all of you – seem prepared – willing even – to sacrifice my sister for your own agendas,’ Sage continued quickly, appalled.

  His only response was, ‘Of course, I care about your sister.’

  ‘Then why?’ Sage demanded.

  St. John said nothing.

  ‘Why? I don’t understand. You and Phoenix are enemies, aren’t you? Anakim against Emim?’

  This time St. John answered, his normally mellifluous voice harsh. ‘It’s more complicated than what you suppose. Sage, we don’t have time for this now. I’ll explain everything later. Don’t even think about it, do you hear?’

  Sage gave a sharp intake of breath, feeling rebuked.

  ‘Sit back in your seat, Sage. Things are going to get bumpy,’ he warned.

  Under the compulsion of his extraordinary will, she sat back in her seat.

  He was driving extraordinarily fast now, the needle showed two hundred and twenty kilometres. The Audi was flying along the pitted motorway and St. John still hadn’t turned on his headlights.

  ‘Who passed you this information? Was it Finn? What bargain have you struck with him?’ Sage persisted, suspicion and fear rising in her voice. ‘He said that you didn’t have a hope unless you placed yourself into his hands and asked no questions. What did he mean by that?’

  St. John didn’t give her a direct answer, instead saying, ‘Sage, you promised me that you would trust me; that whatever happened, you would stay with me. I’m asking for that trust now.’

  In my delirious state, I heard Finn’s voice resounding in my head. You need protecting ... you don’t know who to trust... The pain in my head increased.

  On either side, in the distance, shadowy monotonous factories and industrial sites leading into London were mingling with the gathering darkness. The other vehicles, which the Audi passed on the motorway, were turning on their headlights to fight the growing gloom.

  For a time, Sage said nothing. She stared through the windscreen at the blurred stretch of motorway ahead, confused and lost in a labyrinth of half-formed, doubt-ridden thoughts.

  ‘Why Fi? Why does it have to be her?’ she asked at last. ‘Why do the Grigori want her so badly?’

  ‘They don’t want her,’ St. John shouted suddenly. ‘They want her dead.’

  I recoiled in shock at his harsh tone and his equally bald statement. The pain in my head increased, throbbing severely, until I thought I might just pass out. It was simple fury that kept me aware.

  The bastards! The bloody bastards!

  My life might not be much – but it was my life!

  I felt a surge of white hot anger against the lot of them – the Grigori, the Rephaim, the Emim ... and, most of all, the Anakim.

  The Anakim. The very ones that were supposed to protect the Wise One. I was meant to trust them. They needed me as much as they needed Sage. They needed me...

  But I should have known. I should have known better than to ever have trusted them – they were only half-human!

  I felt a sluice of icy rage spill along my spine. I felt betrayed. This was such hypocritical bullshit! At least Finn had never pretended that I should trust him. But the Anakim...

  Yet in a strange way, a certain calm overtook me in that moment. I had always, subconsciously, known that my life would be the balance. I knew that in a heartbeat they would sacrifice me – because once I’d opened up to the Underworld, I invited whatever was out there back in. There was no turning back now. Gabriel was right. I saw the darkness. And the darkness saw me.

  I had always known. I could no longer deny it.

  Sage fell silent in shock, unable to respond to St. John’s abrasive words.

  ‘They want her dead, so that she can’t help us. They want her dead because, alive, she’s a threat. But first, they want her to give them the Scroll,’ Gabriel added, grimly.

  In the dusk, the landscape was black and cavernous, the oncoming traffic in the opposite lanes a shady haze, headlights like pinpoints struggling against the gathering nightfall like the lights of distant ships out at sea.

  St. John, increasing the Audi’s speed, swung out into the right-hand lane to overtake a slower-moving lorry. As he did so, the Range Rover beside us unexpectedly pulled out in front of the Audi, cutting across two lanes, so that St. John had to brake violently on the pitted road to avoid being forced into the metal barrier on his right like the other Range Rover which had skidded and crashed. Barely slowing down, the Audi continued its momentum, carrying us relentlessly forward. Forced to react, twisting the steering wheel, St. John jerked left hard and shot out onto the middle lane.

  Slumped in my seat, leaning heavily on the leather armrest, I listened in the darkness, for a moment scarcely conscious of anything except the horror in my mind, and the vanishing road before us. As the darkness encroached upon my mind, I fought against it, drawing upon my will to live and my anger at the Grigori’s desire to use me for their foul purpose and the Anakim’s knowing betrayal. With unexpected clarity, I knew what I had to do.

  As the dark Range Rover swerved in front of us, effectively boxing the Audi in between the two cars, I groped around in the darkness, reaching forward onto the floor in front of me, beneath Sage’s seat. My fingers stretched out further, seeking contact, even as the seatbelt dug into my chest, jerking me back against the leather. Locating what I was searching for, I gripped the object tight, placing it on my lap.

  That little exertion made me carsick. My head was aching terribly, so much that I could barely catch my breath. But I forced myself to concentrate.

  ‘Putain! Saffron, what the hell are you doing?’ Gabriel demanded, noticing that I was fumbling with the crisp edges of the linen wrap which had held its precious contents for centuries.

  ‘Creating my own fate!’ I said sharply, tearing at the aged, fragile linen in my desperation. ‘And saving our butts!’

  The linen gave way, falling to brittle pieces in my hands. The Scroll was barely visible in the dark interior of the car; flashes of illumination from the overhead streetlights and passing vehicles’ headlights strobed across the rear seat now and again. My hands looked ghostly in the dark, almost otherworldly. Sound and sight were becoming confused in the mad throbbing of my mind. I felt nauseated.

  ‘Fi! For God’s sake!’ Sage cried at the sound of Gabriel’s alarm, twisting around in the seat in front of me, straining her neck to observe my actions. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Giving them what they want!’ My eyes were hot and painful, little pinwheels of light spun crazily wherever I looked, but still I persisted. ‘You said it, Sage. This is insane. There’s no way we can outrun them. And, if you haven’t noticed, they’re trying to ram us off the road and have already shot at us.’

  ‘But there has to be another way!’ Sage protested, fear filling her voice at what I was intending to do.

  Gabriel reached over and grabbed my wrist. ‘Putain! Do you have any idea what you’re about to do, you little fool?’


  ‘Gabriel,’ I warned in a low, menacing tone, ‘so help me, but if you don’t take your hand off my arm, I will break your wings!’

  But he didn’t let go of his own accord. Instead, his hand was torn from my wrist as the Range Rover chasing us down rammed us from behind. The predators aimed to wedge the Audi between the two Range Rovers and, like an accordion, compress us to the point where the car would careen out of control and crash against the metal barricades.

  Sage screamed out, her head whipping around at the force of the blow, flipping her forward like a ragdoll until she slammed back against the front seat as the seatbelt retracted.

  ‘Bloody hell! Where are the damn airbags?’ I cried out as the back of my head banged forcefully against the side window.

  ‘I don’t know! They’ve been damaged or disabled! This car’s supposed to be equipped with the latest sensor equipment!’ St. John answered, taking evasive manoeuvres as he swerved onto the left-hand lane and onto the hard shoulder, paralleling the verge.

  We were now travelling on the buffer zone between the main thoroughfare and the edge of the road, and St. John still had not turned on his headlights.

  My heart was beating madly, my whole body shivering with cold and fear.

  ‘What are you planning on doing?’ he called out to me over his shoulder, unable to turn around.

  ‘Trust me! I know what I’m doing!’ I shouted back in desperation, not bothering to answer his question directly, as I extracted the palimpsest from the other papyri, dropping the rest back onto the floor.

  St. John veered back onto the road. He drove roughly now, his whole body tense with anxiety. Leaning forward, his elbows tight against his body, almost up against the steering wheel, he shouted over his shoulder at me, ‘Whatever you’re going to do, do it now!’

  I needed little more by way of encouragement.

  As we braced ourselves for another onslaught, I shouted at Gabriel to open his window, giving me access to the motorway. His silver-grey eyes flashed in the dark as he pressed the button on the console to lower the electric window.