Scroll- Part Two

by D B Nielsen

  I looked back over my shoulder at Finn. But he merely shook his head. I had the feeling he was holding something back from me, some colossal sense of sorrow or pleasure, or both, but nothing he felt compelled to share.

  ‘Why?’ I asked. And, strangely, my voice was calm, my tone even. ‘What was the reason?’

  ‘Sit down,’ Finn instructed, gesturing to the chaise lounge where I had sat on the only other occasion that I’d been in this room, when he had first begun telling me his tale.

  But I didn’t want to think about that particular time at this moment, so I pushed it back in my mind.

  ‘No.’ I crossed my arms stubbornly in front of my chest, partly as an act of defiance, partly out of the necessity to keep myself together.

  An indefinable look passed over his face.

  A very long moment passed in silence. I watched in shock and anger. Confused. The way his body shook, the way he seemed to struggle within himself, against something unseen, something overpowering, until he managed to master or repress it.

  ‘Fine, as you wish,’ Finn said, his eyes the darkness of midnight, ‘But, I warn you, you’re not going to like what you hear. Some truths are not meant to be revealed. The truth doesn’t set you free, Saffron; it imprisons you. Take it from me.’ He paused, his gaze sphinx-like. ‘Are you quite certain that you wish to know?’

  At my sharp, insistent nod, he continued, ‘Very well then. But you’ll be wishing you’d accepted my offer to sit soon. You’ll be wishing that you’d never asked.’

  I didn’t reply, but I didn’t back down either.

  ‘It was necessary, you see,’ he began coldly, his voice robotic, turning to stare back into the depths of the fire, ‘You were necessary to my plans – our plans. You are the Wise One, after all. The only one who could journey into the Underworld to retrieve the Scroll.’

  ‘But you must have known when I’d fallen into the chasm what was down there, what I’d uncovered,’ I said, bewildered, ‘I don’t understand why you couldn’t have retrieved it like the thief who stole the Seed from the garden, or made it easier on me if you wanted it so badly, since it’s obvious that you can read it.’

  ‘Clever of you to figure that out,’ Louis applauded, mocking me.

  A look passed over Finn’s face, quickly masked. ‘I warned you. I told you not to trust me – not to trust anyone. I warned you repeatedly. But you didn’t listen. You never listen.’

  The injustice made me flinch. That wasn’t true – he’d taught me to listen!

  ‘Poor Finn,’ Louis mocked, his tone gleeful with spite. ‘He did warn you. He meant to spare you your very human feelings. He wanted to protect you. But you wouldn’t listen. I often thought it might be fun to tell you, but that would have ruined our plans. A pity...’ Louis’ smile deepened wolfishly. ‘But we have made quite a game of it. You thought I was the evil one and that he would protect you. But really, you foolish girl, how can you trust an Emim? How stupid can you be?’

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Finn warned his brother, his tone slightly savage. His mask of indifference slipped a little then, as if he was fighting his own inner demons, and it made me feel a tiny flicker of hope.

  Louis gave a sadistic laugh.

  ‘Dear brother,’ he said, with his sly, beautiful lips curled up in a sinister smile, ‘her sort is not our concern. Besides, she doesn’t even know who you are. Do you think she’ll still care for you when she knows the truth? Is that why you have never revealed your true self to her?’

  They were talking about more than Finn simply revealing his wings to me, the non-mortal part of himself. There were undertones of something darker and more dangerous at work here. I shivered. This was some diabolical game between the two of them. I was merely caught in the middle. A pawn.

  Louis’ voice was silky as he turned to me. ‘Have you never guessed who your dear “Finn” really is?’

  Staring at the terrible beauty of the Rephaim before me, like one in a trance, I felt compelled to shake my head.

  ‘I told you to let her be,’ said Finn measuredly, taking a menacing stride in Louis’ direction.

  But if he meant to silence Louis, he never completed his purpose.

  ‘ENOUGH!’ With that one word, the world seemed to slow down to a series of freeze frames, to bullet time, and each occupant in the room was brought into sharp focus.

  The inhuman beauty of the voice brought me at once to my knees. I’d been felled by the sound which issued forth, filling all the spaces in the room and spreading further still. It was the voice in my mind. Haunting, lyrical. Heartbreaking in its purity, its clarity. And utterly devoid of compassion. The voice was filled instead with a cold authority and implacable power. The voice was everywhere and nowhere all at once; was and was not.

  Something stirred from where it was seated, as still as a stone statue, in the tall Wing Back chair that lay in the shadows. Detaching itself from the darkness, it rose to its imposing height.

  Sleek, graceful, its obsidian wings extended to touch the twelve foot ceiling of the drawing room, yet still they were not at their full span. Each feather fanned out like a deck of cards in perfect precision, their inky black beauty catching the light from the fire, glossy with a satin sheen.

  In terror, I scuttled back along the floorboards like a crab, retreating, still staring up at the creature’s wings towering over me. Heels digging in, palms flat against the polished wood, I crawled in reverse until I was backed against the chaise lounge and there was nowhere else I could go. Attempting to make myself as small as possible, I froze, eyes wide with fear, hoping that I was insignificant enough to be overlooked. But I could not tear my eyes away from the sight before me.

  Here was the true owner of Satis House, the one Finn meant to keep from me.

  If the Nephilim were considered beautiful, then the Grigori standing in front of me was breathtaking in his flawless perfection. It held the semblance of a man and, yet, it was not a man. No one looking upon this creature would believe it to be human. Even without its raven’s wings, its impressive height and form set it apart from any mere mortal. And it was wondrous in its otherworldly, dark beauty. Taller than Finn, with features so pale, almost translucent, that I could see through its diaphanous skin, see its bluish marbled veins as its muscles rippled in the firelight as it moved. Within those features, I easily recognised the stamp of Finn’s parentage.

  This was Finn’s father!

  I looked up to find the Grigori’s eyes upon me. They were the darkest eyes I had ever seen. Like falling into an abyss, I stared at him in hypnotised fascination, into his dark, glittering eyes. Eyes that burnt from within, like the embers of a dying fire, witch-black and watchful. He looked at me dispassionately, as a merchant in exotic wares or a plantation owner might appraise a chattel to assess its value.

  ‘Come to me, child,’ the Grigori beckoned. ‘Come closer.’

  Unwittingly, I felt myself rise, my feet move of their own volition, compelled by some unseen force I could not resist. I bowed to the insatiable will of a demon.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he purred.

  He did not touch me, but I felt like every nerve had been singed and scorched, as if I had been touched by a livewire. My body was burning with fever so that I was trembling with a cold heat, and the valley in between my breasts felt red-hot.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he repeated silkily, devouring me with his pitiless, darkly burning eyes. ‘These mortal women ... So tempting ... Do you smell her skin? Like dew pearling on an orchid.’

  Louis snickered somewhere in the vastness of the room, but I no longer cared, could no longer tell what time or day it was, or whether he and Finn were still there – my entire world became the creature standing before me.

  The Grigori was looking at me with something that might have passed for amusement, as if he could see how helpless I was, pinned there like an exotic butterfly, like one of the rare specimens of his collection.

  ‘See how her pulse flutters at the base of her thro
at? Like a moth trapped in its dying moments, such a frantic dance to survive.’ The voice was insidious, invading my mind, every pore, every cell, until I felt infected with it.

  Suddenly he turned on me, spearing me with his gaze. ‘Tell me. Do you feel cheated, my child? Betrayed? You, who have been fashioned in the Creator’s form, but denied your godlike capabilities. Does it make you angry at the injustice?’

  ‘Father.’ It was Finn. His voice sounded like it was coming from far away, over a great distance. Beside the arresting quality of the Grigori, Finn’s voice sounded hollow and weak, a mere mimicry. ‘We have to go.’

  But the creature in front of me didn’t even stir in response, ignoring his son.

  ‘Semyaza,’ Louis’ urgent, harsh voice intervened now, but it was the strangely familiar name on his tongue that made me jump in awareness and, somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, a little warning light was blinking on and off.

  ‘The Anakim are coming. The pale one’s blood calls to me to fight him,’ Louis cautioned, flicking his eyes sideways. ‘We must leave. The Rephaim can only hold them back for so long.’

  But the Grigori paid him no heed.

  ‘So fragile, these humans,’ Semyaza purred, his voice lapping at my mind. ‘So frail, so weak. See, my son? What is there to envy?’ His tone became cunning. ‘What is there to love? Surely not their mortality. Look, how brittle are their bones ... her lovely, delicate neck ... one snap and it’s broken. Pity.’

  Like the crash of waves on the rocks, I heard someone draw breath.

  ‘Father, please, we must leave,’ said Finn again with greater insistence, his voice terse.

  The burning fever consumed me, a pain so intense I would have fainted under normal circumstances but, instead, I leant forward, swaying towards Semyaza as he stretched out his hand; long, pale fingers reaching towards me, towards my throat. As I did so, the piece of knotted calico on the leather thong around my neck slipped forward.

  A great cry immediately filled my mind, beginning from a guttural plosive and gathering strength. The screech was deafening, reaching a shrill peak, an intensity that resulted in something like a sonic boom. It pierced the air and vibrated with the passion of an opera singer hitting a high note, shattering the windows of the drawing room. Yet I remained strangely immune, drifting out of time. I couldn’t tell whether it was coming from inside the room or not. It just was. A boundless sound that filled the universe and engulfed it.

  In that very same moment as the necklace made contact with Semyaza and the glass fissured in an intricate lattice that imploded into the room, I felt Finn’s hands come up to grasp my upper arms from behind; whether in restraint or to protect me, I couldn’t tell.

  Though the knotted calico had barely grazed Semyaza’s outstretched hand, he reacted with such violence that the hypnotic spell binding me to him was broken. Immediately, the immense pressure of a thousand needles being driven into my mind yielded, and I jumped back in alarm, bumping into Finn, horrified that I had surrendered my will to the Grigori, and was so easily overpowered and subjugated.

  ‘Where did you get that necklace?’ the Grigori demanded in a roar, holding his hand gingerly in front of him. ‘Who gave it to you?’

  I tried desperately to back further away from Semyaza’s magnificent wrath, the blood draining from my face. My legs felt boneless and I was quivering with fear, watching Semyaza like a deer watches a wolf, not knowing what he might do next, but dreading it.

  He was an angel once, I reasoned. How could any creature so beautiful be so deadly?

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Louis asked, agitated. ‘What has she done?’

  ‘QUIET!’ roared the Grigori, eyes snapping with a fearsome darkness, similar to standing on the edge of a precipice and looking down into the churning sea as it hurled itself upon the rocks.

  Louis subsided immediately.

  ‘Clever, little mouse,’ Semyaza said softly, flexing his hand, ‘The finger bone of Saint Sarah. I wonder if you comprehend what it is that you have been given by the Roma.’

  The gypsy fortune-teller had been right. This creature was the bringer of death. Her scrying had probably saved my life.

  Turning to Louis, Semyaza commanded, ‘Andromalius, prepare the portal.’

  Louis reached into his pocket and extracted a box of matches. He said nothing while he struck one – but there was a sadistic pleasure, a malice in his eyes. There was an instantaneous flare, violet-blue flame yielding to orange.

  Semyaza retracted his wings with a snap, the folds closing like a lady’s fan. Yet there was no mistaking him for human.

  He looked at me, the contact brief but searing, as he began to speak. It was as if he was instructing me on the finer points of a chess match, academic and coldly ruthless.

  ‘Phosphorous was discovered in 1669 by Hennig Brand, a Hamburg alchemist who was searching for the legendary philosophers’ stone. He believed that metal could be transmuted into gold by mixing it with an extract of urine. Using this method, he obtained a luminous substance that burned with an intensity and heat, such as had never been seen before,’ Semyaza related. His voice turned patronising. ‘Interestingly, within your mortal vessel, you have the elements needed to produce phosphorous. It is as if the Creator wished for each of you to find the spark that will ignite your soul.’

  Almost as if to reinforce Semyaza’s point, Louis flicked the lit match onto the floor. There was an explosion of spark and flame – brilliant, instantaneous, elemental – like a flash of lightning. Exposed by the blaze that ran its circumference was a perfect circle containing strange, occult symbols.

  ‘The human soul longs to return to the place from whence it came,’ the Grigori continued smoothly, his dark eyes glowing with inhuman pleasure. ‘When the soul flees its body, a brilliant tunnel appears. You may have heard of how the dying see a bright white light. It is like nothing you can imagine. It beckons the soul, revealing that which humans forgot the moment they were conceived, when the soul was brought down from the Guf; a path that allows them to regain the divine origin which they have lost.’

  An enormous crash came from outside, interrupting the Grigori’s monologue with the sound of crunching metal and a deep rumbling so loud that it shook the very foundations of Satis House.

  Finn’s hands automatically tensed, tightening their grip on my arms. ‘Father, the Anakim, they’re–’

  ‘They’re here,’ Semyaza stated calmly, gracefully crossing to the centre of the flaming circle. The awesome glitter of his savage black eyes focused upon me.

  ‘Well, I mustn’t bore you with my talk. But, I’m afraid, my child, that I cannot let you leave. Not now. Not ever.’ He was icily polite and intimidating, yet the sheer power of his voice held me rooted to the spot when every instinct screamed at me to run. ‘You were a brave girl to come here, though perhaps a foolish one.’

  The flaming symbols on the floorboards began to swirl and twist as a vortex of black smoke rose from within. In constant motion, writhing and snaking, the flames leapt higher and higher as the smoke began to encircle the figure of Semyaza in the centre.

  ‘My son, finish it. Kill her.’

  The cold, cruel words were implacable. It was an order issued by a general to his second-in-command, a father to his son. I knew that it could only mean one thing as firstly Semyaza, then Louis, loosely holding his pet, stood in the centre of the circle and vanished from my view.

  Immediately, yanking myself from Finn’s grasp, I turned to face him.

  ‘Finn, please,’ I entreated, staring at him beseechingly. Even now, I still believed he would help me, that he wouldn’t harm me.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head. His dark hair tumbled into his face and I longed to brush it back, but I didn’t dare touch him. Trembling, I wished I had the courage to close the distance between us, but a wall had been built between us tonight.

  He was Semyaza’s son. It changed everything.

  ‘Why did yo
u have to come? Why don’t you ever think before you act?’ he demanded, his voice hoarse, as if in torment.

  How could I tell him what I knew now to be true? I had thought. Foolishly, all I thought about was him.

  ‘Saffron, I’m sorry,’ he whispered, an odd tone in his voice. His trembling increased as he released me. He seemed to be at war with himself. Then something broke within him. ‘Forgive me.’

  And before I could say or do anything to stop him, it was over. He was gone.

  Like quicksilver, he’d managed to elude me. Faster than I could draw breath, he had jumped through the portal, which had roared to life behind him, sparking a raging inferno. Flames rushed the floorboards, raced over to the chaise lounge and started at the curtains, licking at the hems.

  Within seconds, the flames of the portal met those within the massive fireplace and, together, a great flaming wall sprang up, rising to the ceiling, a whirl of fire blazing all about me like the vision in my dream. The fire spread across the ceiling in violet waves, devouring the plasterwork in its path.

  As the smoke and the fire rose hotly, I was thrown back into the entrance hall. In desperation, I turned towards the front door and saw, before me, a lighted ridge of flame, as patches of tinder from the burning beams and floorboards fell all around me.

  The fire roared like an animal unleashed, now gone wild.

  My only escape route was up.

  I took the stairs two at a time, feeling my lungs heavy with blackened smoke, constricting my breathing. By the time I reached the landing of the first floor, I was wheezing and coughing, my eyes smarting.

  ‘SAFFRON!’

  The sound of my name was almost swallowed by the popping sound made by shattering glass, and the crackling and rustling of the fire as it engulfed the carved banisters. I turned to see Gabriel leaping out of the flames that were chasing after him, joining me on the first floor landing as we tore down the corridor.