Thirteen
Approximately two hours after their planes had departed, multiple vehicles approached Dorian's mother's home. Several tall figures wearing grey cloaks got out and quickly made their way to the entrance. Some of the nosier neighbors witnessing the scene began to call each other, wondering if Dorian was in some kind of trouble with the authorities. “Not here; hold fast,” Arita'el said as he held his hand up to the door. Grasping the handle he caused it to unlock, then stepped inside to search for Dorian's aura among the objects in the house. A strong residual remained on his mother's blanket. Arita'el picked it up and took with him. “I can sense his presence moving to the south. Let us be away,” he said to the others. Dorian had two stops to get to the airport in Palermo and didn't arrive until late in the night. After getting his luggage off the carousel he found a rental agency that had a suitable vehicle to get him to the town of Villalba. He called Yelnisha's number as he had been instructed to but there was no answer. Not wanting to wait around in the airport he decided to just head to the town and hope she would return his call by then. The GPS in the car showed about an hour and a half drive to his approximate destination, which would end up being closer to two hours to get there. At that same time another plane was in the air in pursuit. “His traveling speed has slowed considerably. It appears his aura is shrouded; he is being assisted by others,” Arita'el said. “What should I advise the pilot?” Lahash asked. No answer was returned as Arita'el concentrated. A minute later he spoke. “Continue heading south. I will travel in astral form to improve our search. Do not disturb my meditation,” he said, looking at the others on the plane.
It was almost twelve a.m. by the time Dorian reached the small town of Villalba. He was getting concerned, as Yelnisha had not returned his call. He thought about calling Urieth, but decided against using that method without dire need. A pub was still open, the Oasi Di Territo, midway down an old cobblestone road surrounded by travertine buildings and timeless architecture. It was a rustic and cozy place, the kind that rarely served outsiders, especially foreigners at this time of night. As soon as he walked in he sensed an uneasiness from some of the patrons. There were about nine people inside, twelve if you counted the staff. Looking about the place he decided to read their thoughts in an effort to discern if he was in any sort of danger. A peculiar oddity struck him as he noticed a spirit that was trying to quench his thirst with the other barfly's drinks- a pitiful scene which took an unusual turn as one of the living patrons passed out and the thirsty spirit managed to hijack the body of the drunk man by climbing through the top of his head. Perhaps, Dorian surmised, the state of passing out rendered one susceptible to possession of sorts. This particular spirit must be in a type of self-created hell, a slave to the vice he had undoubtedly attained as a living soul.
Dorian was starting to channel surf through their thoughts one at a time: angry at the world, spouse abuser, merry maker, and one very unusual man he was unable to read. “That's strange,” he thought. Was he like Dorian, or something else entirely? The man appeared to be of advanced age, with a long, grey beard and soft eyes hidden beneath his bushy eyebrows and winter cap. Dorian casually looked over to the stranger, who not only lacked a spirit guide, but his aura was hidden also. All of the others had various colors emanating around them, a kind of electromagnetic radiation out of the visible spectrum, for those with the gift to see. There was something about this man that Dorian felt drawn to, a familiarity that he couldn't quite place his finger on. The man beckoned Dorian to join him, at which point Dorian began looking around, unsure if the man was waving at him or someone else. “Yes, you,” the man said with a smile, pointing at Dorian. “Come, have a drink with me.” “That's odd. He seems friendly enough; wonder what this is about?” he thought, as he made his way across the room towards the inviting stranger. He smiled and sat down casually with a “Hello”, situating himself across from the man at one of the small tables in the back. A barmaid came by to get Dorian's drink request: a double whisky, straight up. Dorian looked over at the old man, who had no drink. “What would you like?” he asked. “Oh, I'm quite fine at the moment, thank you,” the man replied. The waitress looked at Dorian like he had two heads and muttered something under her breath. Just as he was about to peek into her mind to see what that was all about the old man spoke. “I would be more cautious if I were you. That skill tends to get one in trouble more often that you would think,” he said. Dorian was suspicious at this point, as it was clear this was no ordinary human. The old man had a peaceful smirk on his face, yet Dorian could sense no malevolence from him, nor any heartbeat or electrical activity for that matter. It was as if he wasn't there. He checked his surroundings to see if anyone was watching the two ; however, it was obvious that no one was paying them any attention. The waitress returned with Dorian's drink, telling him in Italian that this was the only one he was getting, which seemed to bring great amusement to the old man who bellowed out in jovial laughter. No one in the bar seemed to notice the man's outburst which led Dorian to suspect they could not see this being. He composed himself and cleared his throat while Dorian took to drinking his entire glass all at once. His face went red immediately and he felt the room spin a bit. “What's happening to me?” he thought. Had he been drugged? The typical warmth that came with alcohol lasted much longer than usual, but he was also feeling woozy; his thoughts clouded. Was this the sensation of being drunk? He had no idea, but he thought that somehow the old man was involved with his predicament. “Alcohol can have that effect on a person, you know. I can see now, why your limit is one drink,” he said, bellowing out again in jovial laughter. “Who are y-you,” Dorian asked, his speech slurring a bit. He peered over at the other patrons, making sure they weren't privy to his conversation. “Well, that's a good question, my boy. I have many names- too many, in fact. I should like to have fewer. I think having one name above all is special, don't you? The first and last name needed. Take, for example your name. Dorian, from the Latin Dorianus and Greek Dorieus; meaning of the Dorian tribe or of Doris, which refers to one of the four tribes that defeated the Athens and eventually settled in Sparta,” he said, speaking in a soft, almost mesmerizing voice. “The Dorians had their own dialect and musical mode named after them, which I understand is the reason Iduna named you thusly. An interesting people, full of art, music, culture... and warfare,” he said, his eyes gazing off in another direction to some untold place and time. A bit of sadness seemed to adorn his face. A moment later he snapped back to his discourse. “The last name, Lystad, from old Norse Lýsa, meaning the shining one, and staðr, or dwelling. There is power in a name, you know. The power of Love, Arrai'el; above all, more than anything.” “How do you know my name? Did Yesh-Yeshnila, what's her name send you?”
“No young man, no one sent for me. I've been keeping my eye on you for a little while- observing your progress, in a manner of speaking.” His eyes shifted, piercing Dorian's soul in an indescribable fashion. The man took his spirit across time and space an experience which seemed to last an eternity or a microsecond, he could not say which; it was beyond his comprehension. Time had no meaning where he was, and Dorian was paralyzed as he experienced the journey. Without speaking, the old man proceeded to give him information that he was unable to recall. Coupled with his drunkenness, he thought he might also have been under some hallucinogenic substances. Then it was over. Dorian sat for a moment in shock and disbelief. “Right, sir! Well, aren't you a fine thing? No time to be gettin' langered. Settle up so we can get going,” Yelnisha said with an impatient tone. She was standing next to him, looking him up and down. His lucidity returned all at once and he was stunned for the moment, trying to make sense of everything that just happened. “Do I- Yelnisha?” He asked with trepidation. She was tall and fit; with a slender, muscular build and a bushel of red hair that was pulled back. Their features were similar enough to that she could almost pass as his sister. Dorian looked around for the old man, who was no where to be found. “Bang on.
Now, if you don't mind, we're not particularly safe here so we need to move along.” Dorian paid his bar tab and the two of them left. The waitress muttered something under her breath that caused Yelnisha to burst into laughter. “I seem to be a source of amusement for everyone tonight,” Dorian groused. “How did you know where to find me?” “Two sheets to the wind, are you? You sent me a text message with the name of the pub, remember?” He checked his cell phone and sure enough he had texted her the name of the bar; only he had no recollection of having done so. “Wait a minute. I have to tell you about this old man in the bar,” he said, having sobered up almost instantly. “Yeah, how does that joke go?” she asked with a slight smile as they walked to her car. “I'm serious! Here, read my mind, you'll see what I'm talking about,” he replied in desperation. “You're letting on, yeah? You bought the old git a drink and he was full as a bingo bus on a Friday evening. Then his relatives came and got him. You need to get out more laddie. Any other stimulating conversation topics you want to share?”
Pausing for a moment he wondered if it was all imagined. The answer was without a doubt a resounding 'no'. It was not imagined, yet it didn't make a lot of sense that Yelnisha would have seen a different set of events in his mind. Whoever he was, the old man's power was great. “Yeah. Hmmm... I guess you're right,” he replied, letting it go for the time being. “We're going out of town, so we'll need to drop off your rental car. It's about twenty minutes to Spoto Angelo. You can follow me there,” she said in a chirpy tone as they walked to their parked cars. “By the way, I hope you don't plan on going back to America any time soon. Probably ever,” she said, getting into her car. “Why, what do you mean? What happened?” “Besides the attack on the stock exchange there was a major earthquake in Yellowstone. They're saying it could go off any moment. Let's just say there's some serious rioting going on all over, and not just America. Let's get a move on.” Dorian stood for a moment wondering how bad it was and how Engel and Kasia were faring. He said a silent prayer for the two.
Thirty nine minutes later, over Barcelona, Spain, an airplane carrying several otherworldly beings was circling back. There were many impatient stares at the meditative body of Arita'el, hoping for a sign of their quarry. Suddenly, he returned from his trance. “Turn the plane southeast towards Sicily. He's there.” Lahash immediately got up and went to the cockpit to instruct the pilot to change their heading. A few of the corrupted Nephilim looked at each other with some skepticism, but were cognizant of the fact that Arita'el was an ancient fallen, while most of those present were either demons inhabiting humans or lesser beings. Arita'el's power was extraordinary and questioning his abilities could easily prove disastrous.
Back in Sicily:
The next half hour went by uneventfully as Dorian and Yelnisha drove to the larger city to drop off his car, then made their way to the tiny village together. As they traveled he could sense her pulse quicken when she talked to him. “What is she nervous about?” he wondered, or was something else afoot? Perhaps she was excited by the idea of the two of them working together. To anyone else besides Dorian, it was obvious she had a bit of interest in him. She smiled several times, along with a few nervous laughs while catching a glance his way. He sat quietly, focusing his thoughts so she would be unable to read his mind. “So how long have you been doing this?” he asked, trying to get to know her better. “Doing what exactly? You mean assisting the Avavago? I've been with Urieth and Matthias for twenty-eight years, since I was ten. Well, now you know how old I am, so don't be calling me no 1690 or I'll bust your cranium!” she replied with a burst of laughter while driving the car through the winding roads. “A what?” he asked. “Sixteen from the back and ninety from the front, 1690,” she replied with a smirk. “Ah, right then. You look pretty good for thirty-eight. I would have guessed about twenty two, give or take a few,” he replied. “Thanks. You know how to make a lady feel special. Actually, I'm aging a bit slower than most ordinary humans, but not like some of the other Elioud or Nephilim.”
“Yelnisha isn't an Irish name right? Where did you get it from?” “Right. My dad named me after winning a bet with my mom. Have no idea where he got it from.” “Where did you get your abilities from?” “Well, my dad was an Elioud, like me. From what little he told me he was the sixth generation from a Nephilim, but he didn't know who he was descended from. I had no abilities before he died, so I really thought he was just making up some fancy talk about our ancestry. My mom was an ordinary human who had no idea what my dad was; apparently he kept it hidden from her. I was only eight years old when a truck on the highway rolled over on top of his convertible, killing him and my twin brother. The trauma of that event must have awakened my Shi. After that I started seeing all kinds of things- spirits, auras, Angels, dark spirits, fallen ones....you get the picture. Then the sounds started popping in my head; you know, random people's thoughts, all that noise. My mom took me to every kind of doctor she could afford; psychiatrist, neurologist, internist, gynecologist- anything ending in 'ist'. Nothing showed up on any of the tests or the psychiatric evals of course. They said it was all just an 'Overactive Imagination'.
“After the so-called experts said I was making it all up my mom started beating me any time I would point out a spirit, so I kept quiet about it. Anyway, eventually I figured out how to tune out the noise and focus on hearing the specific thoughts of others whenever I wanted. It was kinda cool at first.” Dorian looked over at her with a frown. “I want the cool part. It's just giving me a headache most of the time,” he said in frustration. “Aw, cry me a river. This is my story so kindly shut your gob and listen,” she said, letting out another batch of giggles. “Whoah there, sheesh. By all means, continue,” he replied with a raised brow. “The headaches will pass,” she said, smiling and sticking her tongue out at him to prove she wasn't trying to be mean. “Now where was I? Oh yeah, so I started using it to my advantage,” she said. “Let me guess, poker?” Dorian interjected. “At nine years old? What am I going to win? Lunch money? Get a clue, boy. Back to what I was SAY-ING. Once you go down the pathway of reading other people's minds it becomes second nature, almost an obsession. So in school I would read my teacher's mind and know exactly what to say, but it just made the other kids hate me for being a know-it-all. By the way, my teacher, Mr. Connolly; he had such a dirty mind; had to keep both my eyes on him. . . .The girls I thought were my friends, well, let's just say they were a bunch of mean, rotten apples. They made me become more socially withdrawn. With my mom it was worse, because any time we argued I would call her out on any lie she made. Thing is, if you can read someone's mind you know when they're pissed off and what not to say, or so you think.
“Eventually, she started to figure out there was more than an overactive imagination going on and began to believe the things I was saying all along; you know, about about the spirits, Angels, dark ones and stuff. Anyway,” she chuckled, “she thought I was possessed so she calls in this priest to 'exorcise' the demons in me. Oh man, was that crazy! He was talking with her in the other room and then comes in to ask me some questions. In case you haven't noticed I have a hard time keeping my trap shut. So he looks me over and I take a peek inside his head and he's actually wondering what I would look like without my clothes. So I asked him, “Why do you want to see what I look like naked?” she said, bursting into laughter. “My mom looked mortified because she couldn't tell if I was telling the truth or not. Well, that caused the priest to start shaking real nervous-like. He's thinking to sort me out, so he's quoting Bible verses and holding his crucifix in front of my face, right? Then he gets the holy water out and I figured since my mom is paying for this I might as well put on a show. So I start playing along, right? I'm grunting and growling, hootin' and a hollerin,' saying stuff like 'She's mine!' and he's thinking in his mind 'Sweet Jesus, she really is possessed!'” she bellowed, proceeding with a fit of giggles. “Anyway, this goes on for about ten minutes until I finally couldn't hold it in any more and I started laughing so
hard I was crying. The priest was very embarrassed, my mom was so upset! She apologized over and over to him and went into the kitchen to get a rolling pin to beat me to death. That's when I grabbed my coat and ran out.” Her expression became serious. “When I came back about four hours later I found her in the bathroom. She'd had enough apparently. Enough of me, enough of trying to make ends meet, enough of disappointment in life. Even being able to read her mind, I never looked long enough to see that she was in a lot of pain.
“After her funeral, I was placed in foster care for a bit. The worst part of it was, I saw her wandering spirit. She was always around me apologizing, over and over. It was like she was this shell on auto pilot or something. I just about lost my mind, believe me. I prayed to God, to the Angels I saw, over and over. I only wanted her to find peace. And then I saw him.” She turned off the engine. “We're here.” “Go on, finish your story,” he said, sitting still in the passenger seat of the car, the cool air permeating the vehicle. “Another time. But that was fun,” she replied with a sly smile. He sighed and sent a nasty telepathic comment to her. “You get that?” he asked. She smacked him across the chest. “Hey, you earned it. Can't leave someone hanging like that. Where the heck are we anyway?” The moonlight shone across the adjacent mountainside and he could hear the sound of a nearby river running. The car had travelled down a deserted road that led to a small, barely noticeable outlet amidst a thicket of trees that formed a privacy wall alongside a series of small mountains. A very high-tech fence, which looked significantly out of place at their location, barred their entrance beyond. Her cell phone rang and she picked it up. “Janey Mack! Right. Coming in now,” she said, then put her phone away. “Surprised you get reception out here. Everything all right?” he asked, observing the shift in her aura. “We've got company headed this way. Got to get cracking.” She got out of the car and waved her hand over the device and muttered some words, causing the gate to slowly open. Returning to the car, she started it up and the two proceeded through. The narrow road stopped at a dead end, yet they continued on over what looked to be gravel and boulders, heading straight into the mountain itself. She looked over at him and smiled. “Pretty cool huh?” Dorian was intrigued by the camouflaged entrance, but after what he'd seen recently it did not shock him the way Verdes Seventeen had. “What is that, some kind of hologram?” “Way more than just a machine with lights and mirrors I assure you. This next part is going to be a bit trickier.”
The Return of the Watchers (Armageddon Rising Book 1) Page 17