“No, I’m sure she was quite good. That said, it’s not part of the guardian angels’ job description to intervene and save their charges if they need rescuing,” Peter continued. “Guardian angels advise their charges, they are not there to protect them the way we protect ours. They do not possess our special skills and they cannot take certain … liberties that we can; liberties that come in handy when protecting humans who have been touched by demons.”
“What skills? What liberties?” I was intrigued.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Peter responded, flashing a knowing grin.
“Okay, so let me get this straight. I had a guardian angel, but she was replaced by one of you—one of us,” I corrected myself, “when it was discovered that the Servants had altered my destiny. I was assigned a Shepherd because he or she supposedly could protect me better. So what happened? I mean, why then did I die?” I strained to remember my life. And my death.
“Unfortunately, we couldn’t save you.” He looked at me solemnly and sighed. “It all happened too fast.”
“I feel like I should remember something, anything, about my life, but I can’t. It’s all very strange, like I’m staring into the murky water of a marsh pond.”
“You do realize you’re not supposed to remember anything about your past, don’t you?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I like having a black hole where all of the memories of my life should be.” I looked at Peter as innocently and as sweetly as I could. “Can’t I at least know how I died?”
“You were involved in a car accident,” he replied bluntly.
“Oh.” Somehow, I hadn’t expected Peter to be so forthcoming. A car accident, huh? I repeated in my head. I looked down at this body—my body—expecting to see some evidence that I had been harmed in some way, but I was fine. My hands, my arms, my legs—everything seemed so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. I was completely comfortable in this body; I just wasn’t sure that it was mine.
“Give it a few days and you’ll feel right at home with your new body and appearance, which I will tell you are identical to how you looked previously, that is, before the accident.”
“Oh, right, you can read my thoughts.”
“For now.” He grinned. “But that will change soon too. Eve, let’s take a walk so I can show you around.”
* * *
The Archives, as Peter called it, was impressive; its sheer magnitude was incredible. Oval in shape, it had no discernable points of entry or exit. The walls were at least fifty feet high, interrupted only by a second-floor balcony that ran along the entire circumference of the room. It had a simple elegance that was almost contemporary in design, but it still held a certain old-world charm. The walls were covered in shelves upon shelves of books, complete with library ladders every fifteen or so yards. Wooden reading tables and chairs had been placed strategically throughout the inner perimeter of the large hall, while leather-tufted chairs and wooden end tables were grouped together on the outskirts of the room. Eight huge wrought-iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling.
But the ceiling itself was the most magnificent feature of the Archives. It was painted to look like the night sky. In fact, the expansive fresco looked so realistic that it seemed to radiate its own light from the illustrated moon and stars.
The floor was made up of wide walnut planks stained dark brown and laid in an oversized parquet pattern that stretched across the entire floor, everywhere except for the center of the room in which sat a huge sundial. It had to be twenty feet in diameter.
What an odd thing to see indoors, I noted. I wondered if the sundial actually worked. I looked up again at the ceiling, noting the night sky painted above it.
“It works,” Peter responded.
“Hmm?” I muttered, lost in my own thoughts.
“The sundial—it works,” he repeated once more. “The ceiling changes from dawn to dusk, and so forth, in accordance with how we keep time up here. During daylight, as the sun moves across the ceiling, it casts its light on the sundial so you can tell the time.”
“Wow,” I said in awe, “I’m sure I would’ve remembered seeing this before. You can’t erase something like this from someone’s memory.” I was trying to drink it all in, but there was so much to see.
“It makes quite an impression. The sundial is the only one of its kind,” Peter said.
Twenty feet from where we stood I saw a towering antique grandfather clock. Like everything else there, the clock made a statement.
“And that?” I inquired.
“Ah, that’s the Time Keeper. It postdates the sundial and has become the primary way in which we measure how time passes up here,” Peter explained.
I walked over to the Time Keeper to take a closer look. It looked like some sort of family heirloom you would find tucked away in a corner of an old European manor. The clock must have stood over ten feet tall. It was made of dark red mahogany. Its body was intricately carved from top to bottom. I wanted to run my fingers over the artfully-crafted designs, but didn’t dare for fear I’d set off an alarm.
A pair of wood-carved angel wings sat perched on top of the clock, spread out like a bird about to take flight. The wings were flanked on either side by carved finials. The face of the clock was overlaid with brass that had been cut into a floral motif and gave it the impression of metal lace—strong and delicate at the same time. Large black Roman numerals were set on top of the brass layer. Decorative wood columns framed the long rectangular trunk of the behemoth clock, between which a large pendulum was visible through an amber-tinted glass door. At the base of the clock were two mischievous-looking cherubs carved out of the same wood, along with four wooden scrolls that served as the feet of the massive clock.
“It’s beautiful,” I remarked.
Across the room, at the other end of the Archives, I spotted an enormous globe. It appeared to be rotating slowly, but I couldn’t be sure from my vantage point.
“What’s that?” I asked Peter, pointing to the globe.
“Ah yes, that would be the Global Locator,” Peter replied. “It lets us keep track of the whereabouts of all Shepherds on Earth—whether they are on assignment or not. You see, up here we can find each other easily by way of our thoughts. Down there, however, it’s more difficult because we are unable to communicate telepathically with each other on Earth. But even on Earth, each Shepherd retains his or her unique signature. And when a Shepherd is on Earth, that signature is revealed as a distinct point of light on that globe, depending on the Shepherd’s location,” Peter explained. I started to walk across the Archives to get a closer look, but Peter politely took me by the arm and stopped me.
“Later,” he said. “You’ll have plenty of time after your training to study the Locator, as well as everything else here, including our extensive book collection. We have at least one copy of almost every book ever written, even some originals that have been long forgotten or abandoned. Not to mention, we have a prestigious collection of ancient scrolls, hides, and tablets—all original.”
“Wow.” I scanned the voluminous number of books that were shelved around the perimeter of the Archives. “Even books written in different languages?” I asked, still trying to grasp the full scope of my new home.
“Absolutely,” Peter said proudly. “We all communicate in the same universal language, but one of the skills you inherited as a Shepherd is that you now can read, write, and speak every human language. Consider it another job requirement,” he threw in for good measure.
“Oh,” was all I could muster.
“Eve, I realize all of this must seem overwhelming, but in a few days time, you’ll feel like an old pro. I promise.” He squeezed my hand reassuringly and a twinge of déjà vu swept through me. I tensed up a little.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s just that I … when you squeezed my hand … it felt kind of … strange.” I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t want him to know that his comforting gesture t
riggered a familiar feeling inside me. Maybe if I could keep remembering little things about my past, I could figure out who I was before I died. I quickly shoved the thought deep within the recesses of my mind.
“Don’t fret,” Peter remarked. “It’s not uncommon at this stage to experience odd physical reactions or sensations, but that, too, shall pass as you get used to your new physical form. Your mind is still adjusting to your transformation; it’s adapting to your new-old body, so to speak, and all the bells and whistles that come with it.” He smiled at me.
“Oh, I should give you something before we get knee deep into your training.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wristwatch, and handed it to me. It looked fairly ordinary with its brown leather strap and silver frame. On the circular face of the watch, however, were three separate time-keeping mechanisms.
“It’s critical that you wear this watch always. Do not ever take it off. I can’t stress this enough, Eve. Never lose this watch. Certain elements, like time, for instance, take on a whole separate meaning for us. We experience time much differently up here than we do down on Earth.” As Peter helped me fasten the watch on my left wrist, I couldn’t help but notice that his watch looked remarkably similar to mine.
“What do you mean?”
“Each half-hour up here is equivalent to a half-day on Earth; each hour up here is the same as one day down there.”
“Whoa, let me get this straight. Every sixty minutes up here in the Archives means that twenty-four hours have passed down there—on Earth?” I asked, baffled.
“Correct,” Peter said calmly. I searched his face, his eyes, to see if he was joking, but I couldn’t see a single hint of humor.
“I don’t understand. How … how is that possible?”
“Without going into too much detail, let’s just say Shepherds defy many of the physical and natural laws that constrain mortals—time being one of them. You see, we need to concentrate our energy on the macro issues that affect the overall balance of good and evil. In order to stay focused on the big picture, we only need to catch glimpses of the human condition rather than track the daily grind of humanity minute-by-minute. Perched up here, our view of the human world could best be compared to flipping through a photo album that captures the highlights of a trip abroad instead of suffering through the unedited home movie of the same. To be required to do otherwise, to be forced to sift through every incident that occurred on Earth, would only distract us from our true purpose. We would be unable to flush out truly unnatural shifts in the patterns of good and evil from the less significant blips that mark everyday random acts. Believe me, it may seem strange at first, but it really is to our benefit.”
“Okay, so without further ado,” Peter continued, “let me explain the features of your watch. Every Shepherd has a watch like yours—like mine. The Time Keeper tracks time up here, which we call Aura time. And the largest dial on all of our watches keeps Aura time in accordance with the Time Keeper. The Roman numerals on the big dial on your watch mimic those on the grandfather clock. See?”
I compared the face of my watch to the big clock and nodded affirmatively.
“What if the Time Keeperstops running?” I asked. Peter laughed out loud as if I had just asked the most ridiculous of all questions.
“Eve, the Time Keeper won’t stop—it simply can’t.”
“Why not?” I was not too keen on the fact that Peter was laughing at me. The answer may have been apparent to him, but it sure wasn’t obvious to me.
“Because if it did, it would mean that time as we know it would cease to exist. Disorder and chaos would soon ensue, throwing the natural order and balance of the existence of all creatures into a dark tailspin from which there could be no recovery.” The words rolled off Peter’s tongue so nonchalantly. Clearly, the impact of what he had just said was of monumental significance, but he seemed to treat it as casually as if he had just told me I would get wet if I stood uncovered outside in the rain.
“Okay, then,” I said, staring at him wide-eyed.
“Not to worry, Eve. My point is that, in one form or another, the Time Keeper has been running since the beginning of time, and it will continue to run for as long as time exists.”
“I’ll just take your word for it.” It was hard for me to treat what Peter was saying seriously when he seemed so relaxed about it.
“Now, let’s get back to your watch. Within the Aura dial there are two other time-keeping mechanisms, one of which is a smaller face dial. Do you see it?”
“Yup,” I replied. The second, smaller face dial was noticeably different from the Aura dial in that it used Arabic numbers rather than Roman numerals, and the Arabic numbers ran on a twenty-four hour cycle rather than on a twelve-hour one.
“This smaller dial keeps time on Earth, which we refer to as Mora time. Because time down there is accelerated when we are up here, it’s easier for us to keep track of Mora time if it’s measured on a twenty-four hour cycle. With me so far?”
“I think so. The larger dial on my watch keeps Aura time in accordance with the Time Keeper. Earth time, or Mora time, is measured by this smaller dial, which tracks time on a twenty-four hour cycle because time passes more quickly on Earth than up here in the Archives. Correct?” I asked.
“Correct,” Peter confirmed.
“Wait, I just thought of something,” I said, baffled again. “Which Earth time does my watch keep? I mean, does it keep time somewhere in the United States? Somewhere in Europe? In Australia? How will I know?”
“Your watch keeps Mora time in accordance with the time zone in which your charge is physically located. If your human is in Sydney, Australia, for example, your watch automatically will adjust itself and keep time consistent with the time zone there. If your assignment lives in North America, your watch will keep Mora time in accordance with the respective regional time zone there. Does that make sense?”
“I guess,” I said. “So, seeing that I have no assignment yet, what Mora time is my watch keeping now?”
“Currently, your watch is set to keep Central Standard Time in the Midwest region of the United States—same as mine. Now let’s move on to the third time mechanism on your watch, which is the digital window in the center—”
“Why Central Standard Time?” I interjected. “Is that where I’m from?” Somewhere deep inside I knew I was overstepping my bounds by pursuing this line of questioning, but I felt compelled to ask him anyway.
“Eve, it’s no longer important for you to know where you were from, where you used to live, or where you died. Shepherds land themselves in a great deal of trouble for asking questions like these. Do you understand?” Peter warned.
I nodded affirmatively.
“Now, moving on—when you get an assignment, the third time-keeping mechanism on your watch will begin to run. We call this the Incident Timer.” Peter pointed to the digital screen on his watch. I looked down and located the corresponding screen on mine.
“It’s a digital countdown of when the human you’ve been assigned to protect will be in mortal danger next. We refer to the running of the Timer as the Exitus countdown. Naturally, the countdown is measured in Mora time because your charge is on Earth.”
“Naturally,” I repeated. I guess my tone was a little on the sarcastic side because Peter stopped and glared at me for a second before continuing.
“The digital window of the Incident Timer will stay blank until you get your first assignment. If we cannot correct the damage done to your charge’s fate before the First Incident occurs, then the countdown immediately will refresh itself and begin anew for the next Incident—assuming, of course, that your human survived the First.
“But keep in mind,” he added, “the Servants only have three opportunities, or Incidents, as we call them, to alter any one human’s fate. If we fail to protect a charge during any one of the three Incidents, then the human’s fate is sealed; his or her destiny will be carried out just as the Servants have rewritten it. But
if we ensure that a charge survives all three Incidents, then the Servants must cease all future attacks on that human and let him or her live free from any further clan interference.”
“Why must they stop all future attacks?” I asked.
“You’re certainly not afraid to ask the more perplexing questions, are you?” He chuckled. “Our history tells us that, in the beginning, the Servants were ruthless in their killing exploits—often sacrificing many more humans than necessary when eliminating their specific targets. So an agreement of sorts eventually was reached between the Shepherds and the Servants, whereby the Servants would exercise some restraint and focus their attacks on only their intended targets. In return, the Servants would be given three opportunities to strike at each of their targets rather than just one. It’s far from an ideal situation, but thousands of human lives, if not more, have been spared as a result.”
“Why three chances?”
“Well, the number three has always had great symbolic, religious, and cultural significance,” Peter explained. “For example, the number three represents the unity of the body, soul, and spirit. The number three also represents the ties between the past, present, and future.
“Most notable for our purposes, however, is that the number three has special significance with respect to a mortal’s fate. Fate is controlled by the Three Sisters—immortal triplets: Aurelia, Perpetua, and Harmonia. Aurelia is a self-professed hopeless romantic, but that doesn’t actually make her one. She weaves romance into humans’ lives whenever possible, whether the romance is an affair of the heart or the body, fleeting or everlasting, it makes no difference to her—and, unfortunately, neither do the consequences of her actions. She has interfered in more mortals’ lives for the sake of her own narcissistic curiosity and has caused more human heartache than words can say.
“Perpetua is another sister who seems to have perfected the art of acting out her petty, egocentric side—only with respect to her wicked jealous streak. She has a habit of intervening in the lives of those mortals who either do or can possess the things she wants most, which tend to vary from century to century. Most often, however, she wants attention; she wants every immortal to respect, adore, and fear her. And, sometimes, she demonstrates what she’s capable of doing at the expense of those humans who, unbeknownst to them, receive a bit too much attention from any one immortal or group of immortals.
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