Sword- Part Two

by D B Nielsen

  As if sending a row of dominoes falling, events seemed to happen, paradoxically in sequence and simultaneously, caused by the intervention of the Watcher whose existence both in and outside of time configured our destiny.

  A peculiar change came over the Anakim; they were stupefied. The younger of the four, Zeke and Kal, were looking about them with amazed expressions of men who had just been roused from some nightmare or fantastical, dreadful dream, and now wondered whether what they had dreamt was real or imagined. And, as for the other two, Gabriel and Pen, they seemed suddenly engrossed, a meditation in isolation, lost in their own deep thoughts.

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ Fi asked, sharply.

  ‘Peace, Wise One. Be patient.’

  The roaring in my ears grew louder still until my heart quivered and I felt the pounding and banging of blood as it moved through my veins, pumping in my heart’s aching cavity. And then I realised that it was pulsing in time with each thudding beat of the Watcher’s wings, which seemed to slow down time.

  As I looked and saw, the strands of my damp hair fanned out, drying immediately; the silky skeins billowing as if in slow motion to his wings stirring the spring breeze. And the insects buzzing around the planted flower pots flapping their wild wings like the fluttering of eyelashes; fragile and perfect. And the dust motes and pollen also agitated and seeming to drift and float gently like gold dust glinting in the shafts of light from the Watcher’s luminescent skin. And all this was captured in a series of still frames, yet also a montage, as in continuous motion.

  Then the throbbing grew in intensity and the current of wind whisked the air, whipping the dust into a glittering frenzy, as in a snow globe. And the Fravashi suddenly banked to the left above Rome’s stricken exposure of terracotta tiled roofs in the wan daylight and guided themselves in descent onto the private terrace, landing in perfect spearhead formation.

  And there was Sariel at the lead.

  Despised fiend. He was all that I remembered and more. Dark. Hard. Cruel. Handsome but for the prominent scar that ran across his cheek, from the corner of his right eye to his jaw; a thin, white line that tightened the skin around it, making it seem that he was permanently sneering at the cursed world.

  And now there was another scar – right where I had seared him with my touch, the touch of the Seed – a scar right in the middle of his forehead. Permanently marked like the eldest son of Adam for his murderous sins.

  He alone took a step forward. Towards me.

  The slow fear and ire that left me paralysed nearly melted my bones.

  I heard his bare feet crunch on tiny particles of grit, the minutest gravel, as if they were composed of and weighted with the heaviest of marble. I heard the fluted wind blow through the delicate reed, the fine feathers as he retracted his enormous wings.

  But this seeming stillness was merely due to the fallen angel’s watchful presence; the slowing down of time to the minute’s last point before it ticked over. And every sense leapt to intense awareness.

  ‘Come no closer, Sariel,’ the Watcher commanded. ‘Do you dare approach the Wise One and not fear the fierce vengeance of the Seed?’

  Fi now stood beside me and we faced the Fravashi together, lending each other strength. We knew we were in no danger with the Watcher and our four Anakim bodyguards present, but horror and disgust for these filthy demons filled my heart and I was glad of my sister’s reassuring company as I would have liked nothing better than to have trampled the Fravashi to dust.

  I knew the loathing was in my eyes; nothing I could hide, even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. I wanted Sariel to know how much I detested him.

  Sariel stopped at Elijah’s command. Close enough yet far enough.

  My jaw tightened. ‘What do you want? What are you doing here?’

  The Fravashi leader’s dark eyes flashed. ‘I entreat you to hear me out before you give vent to your hatred and mistrust of me and my kind. According to the laws of man, even the lowliest criminal is allowed to speak in their own defence before they are condemned – will you not hear me out? Let your love of justice be your guide. And, when you have heard, you shall be the judge of what punishment I deserve.’

  Involuntarily, my eyes flicked up to his. Doubtful. Disbelieving.

  ‘Go to hell!’ shouted Fi; our last encounter with Sariel leaving a sour taste in the mouth. ‘That’s all the justice you deserve!’

  Sariel gave a bitter half-smile. ‘What can I say to make you understand? How can I move you to pity and forgiveness, Wise One? Remember, I am valued less by the Creator than the sons and daughters of Adam, though I ought to be so much more, as the child of the union of the best of his creations. I was Gibborim. I was counted amongst the Mighty Ones. I was a warrior, along with my brothers, the Anakim. And, for too many centuries, I was a loyal soldier.’

  ‘And now you are a monster! Spare me your self-righteous declarations!’ My voice was sharp and bitter.

  ‘Listen to me! I was benevolent once. I was a believer. But I was betrayed and disillusioned. I protected my brothers, settlement, tribe, but it was a tiresome duty – cleaning up the mess made by the Grigori and the race of men. The war was not as it seemed.’ Sariel’s voice rang with truth and, as much as I wished to block my mind, I was forced to listen. ‘I learnt of division – of blood, background, appearance, property, of immense wealth and squalid poverty – which benefitted the few and deprived the many. I learnt of the lies and hypocrisy of men – my own brothers betrayed for profit and power by your kind whom they were selflessly serving. And I learnt that the Creator damned the Nephilim through no fault of their own but to be cursed as the sons of the Fallen. Was I, then, a monster?’

  ‘You are a monster. You gave the order to kill that security guard. And you’ve killed many more than him.’ I looked at him with unflinching eyes.

  ‘It is true. I have killed. For both virtuous and vile reasons. You see me as a demon – like the very demon that fathered me – and if the multitude of your kind knew of the existence of the Nephilim, they would feel as you do, they would see us as demons and arm themselves for our destruction. So shall I not hate them who despise me and would seek to destroy me?’ Sariel paused and, at this, he looked at my sister and me beseechingly. ‘But I am no longer in opposition to you, Wise One. I have felt the power of the Seed. And, like one on the lonely road to Damascus, have seen a great light and the scales have fallen from mine eyes. No longer am I blind. I shall again be benevolent and virtuous.’

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ Fi whispered to me, her face blanching and her voice weak.

  ‘You bear the marks, Wise One,’ the Watcher said softly. Then, turning to the Fravashi, asked, ‘Will you now pledge yourself to her?’

  At that, the Fravashi leader offered a wry smile. ‘I would have no choice if the Wise One insisted, but I do not think she will. Yet, I follow but to serve.’

  And, at Sariel’s word, one by one, beginning with their intimidating leader, the Fravashi humbly knelt before my sister and me.

  ‘I dedicate my sword to you, Wise One. Though I am unworthy, I am your own. Command me at your will.’

  ANGELS AND DEMONS

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘I’d as sooner trust a rattlesnake than those homicidal Fravashi bastards. They tried to kill us last time I checked. At least if they were still mercenaries, we’d know where their loyalties lie,’ my sister exploded.

  The Anakim flanked us defensively on opposite sides, having been released from the Watcher’s enchantments. They had heard all; most significantly, they had heard Sariel’s outlandish confession. Yet, whilst Gabriel and Pen were initially in a foul mood upon recovering from their induced trance, none of them dared question the Watcher’s interference. Nor what they had learnt.

  Throughout the Fravashi’s obeisance, the Anakim had watched and listened. Enspelled. They had said nothing. They didn’t move so much as a muscle. Not even the corner of a mouth or eyebrow twitched.

  Ye
t afterwards, Gabriel’s eyes showed his vast displeasure; they were an unfortunate shade of stormy grey, roiling like the clouds above. His obsidian wings were mainly folded at his back – at less than half their full extension – which suggested he was an ounce of frustration away from spreading them wide and demonstrating his discontent, but still remained in control of the darkness within.

  But his displeasure was not entirely focused upon the fallen angel nor the Fravashi. His displeasure stemmed from our naivety and lack of knowledge of the Nephilistic codes and laws which governed the Nephilim’s actions. Though, as to that, he wasn’t really irritated with us. He was irritated because we were far too innocent.

  Too innocent to understand. And too innocent to be caught up in this war.

  And so, because they saw us as young and obviously ignorant – and perhaps because, even if we were young and ignorant, we were also the Wise Ones – they exercised patience when dealing with my sister and me, and our reluctance to accept the Fravashi’s word of honour.

  ‘Would you trust a man whom you are able to buy or bribe but mistrust one whom you cannot?’ mused Gabriel.

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it!’ Fi exclaimed hotly, throwing her hands into the air in a gesture of exasperation.

  Pen shrugged with a tilt of his head; the motion an encouragement to accept the possibility of the Fravashi’s conversion. ‘If, as they claim, they have answered the call of the Seed, what is there to dispute?’

  ‘Are you insane?’ Fi’s tone was sharp as she paced the living room floor of the Aurora Terrace suite. ‘I don’t even trust St. John’s father out there and, so far, he’s proved his willingness to help us, so why in the hell would I trust the Fravashi? Should I wait for them to murder us in our sleep before you see that I’m right?’

  A heavy object clattered on the glass table outside. A closed room was no guarantee of privacy.

  ‘Be careful. They have exceptional hearing,’ commented Kal with a mocking smile.

  ‘Then they shouldn’t be eavesdropping or they might hear something they don’t like!’ Fi’s look suggested the others had lost their minds.

  I understood why my sister was so unsettled – I was unsettled too – we had plenty of enemies and, until a few minutes ago, we could count the Fravashi amongst them.

  Gabriel’s eyes were now a clear silver, which was made brighter with the returned sunlight pouring into the room through the wide windows.

  ‘Saffron,’ said Gabriel calmly, ‘We do not fear these Nephilim as you do. I am willing to believe, as validated by the Watcher, that they have been called by the Seed, perhaps even now are revolutionaries. Has it ever occurred to you that there might be some divine design at work which we are not aware of and cannot foresee?’

  ‘Providence again?’ said Fi with a faintly cynical smile that did not reflect the anxiety she felt upon hearing his words. ‘But maybe I’m right not to trust too easily. I’ve been told it’s my kryptonite.’

  But I knew that lack of trust had been my problem – and, if I had trusted St. John more, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be floundering under Belladonna’s bewitchment at this moment.

  ‘We can do with their assistance; with them on our side – and Elijah too – we can surely win this war. Believe me, we have need of their superior skill.’ Gabriel’s words were measured, as if he were thinking it all through. ‘The Gibborim are the finest Nephilistic warriors. They are well-trained, disciplined–’

  ‘–murderers,’ finished my twin. Her hazel coloured eyes held resentment and suspicion, as well as many unanswered questions.

  ‘Who are the first to admit as much,’ Gabriel countered, his tone reasonable.

  It was true. Sariel had admitted as much. Though that didn’t mean he was trustworthy.

  ‘It’s clear from their actions they don’t care if the world crumbles to dust. What could their intention be but to profit by it?’ I said forcefully.

  ‘Perhaps their aim is to liberate, not to subjugate. Perhaps they wish to free the world by assisting the Wise One.’ Gabriel smiled gently, rising to his feet to cross to the drinks cabinet and pour himself a whisky. He held up the decanter and offered by way of gesturing to the others, continuing, ‘It is wise to heed the words of the Cherubim. Always hasten slowly. But do not forget that you are driven to act out the destiny that is written on the palm of your hand by the Seed. If you can be marked by destiny, then why cannot Sariel?’

  ‘Because ... because...’ I attempted to gather up my scattered thoughts, ‘... they are Fravashi.’

  Kal shook his head. ‘You must not confuse the Gibborim with the Fravashi, no more than you might confuse angels with demons.’

  I was surprised enough to briefly forget my anger and confusion.

  ‘What do you mean? Why do you keep referring to them as the Gibborim? They are Fravashi devils,’ Fi burst out.

  ‘They are no longer Fravashi. They have undergone a transformation, and returned to their true state. They are now rebels fighting against the Grigori, and are willing to make an alliance with us,’ Kal explained. He took a long breath, then shook his head. ‘They have pledged themselves to you, Wise Ones.’

  For a moment, my sister’s eyes met mine. She bit her lip and stood quiet in the middle of the room. Disbelieving at this turn of events.

  ‘At the moment, I don’t have enough evidence to give them the benefit of the doubt. I do have sufficient facts to know that Sariel tried to kill us when last we met – I doubt you’d be so forgiving if you were once at the mercy of a monster,’ I cried hoarsely, pointing a finger at him. ‘I don’t know how you can be so certain. I get the impression that you believe them. Perhaps even enough to trust them. But why should we?’

  Gabriel gave us a sombre look like harnessed lightning, deliberately setting down his whisky tumbler on the glass table. ‘They are our brothers. Gibborim. And they have pledged themselves to you. You do not understand what this means. But let me make this clear. The Gibborim will never abandon you, never harm you, never question your orders unless they fear for your very safety. They will die to protect you. As we will, Wise Ones.’

  He seemed to expect me to say something but I did not know what to say.

  ‘We do not have the strength to fight the Grigori and their children alone, even less so if they are recruiting mercenaries and using Belladonna’s poison. But there is more at stake in this than keeping the Seed and the Garden of Eden safe from the Grigori. There is the mithaq. If any of us, mortal or Nephilim, are to survive this war, we must ally ourselves with the Gibborim.’

  I felt the ground shift from under me.

  Yet I did not – could not – trust the Fravashi-Gibborim.

  ‘Just because Sariel was touched by the Seed does not prove anything,’ I insisted stubbornly. ‘He is but one warrior. What of the others? What of their free will?’

  ‘One must lead in battle,’ Pen replied, his voice low and serious. ‘One leader only. An army must have a general whom all the soldiers follow. And, once in battle, it is he who gives the orders – directs his men to engage the enemy, to fight or retreat. Sariel is their greatest warrior. He has earnt the loyalty of his men. But, as you can see, only half a dozen soldiers are now his to command. Only these few remain loyal to the core. There is your free will.’

  And I realised the truth. The Fravashi warriors who had attacked the British Museum had numbered in their dozens; surrounding the tourists and the Great Court. And many more had flanked exits and passageways to the Egyptian and Assyrian exhibits. Yet there were only seven of them who had pledged their loyalty to Fi and me.

  And it then occurred to me ...

  ‘The Fravashi fighter who killed the security guard ... he’s not here.’

  And he wasn’t. The Fravashi whose cruelty had brought about the wrath of the Seed in his withered, useless arm was not amongst this group of seven neophytes. So not all those touched by the power of the Seed were chosen by it – and I wondered what it was that
set Sariel and these few apart from the rest.

  There was a sharp knock on the glass which interrupted my train of thought. Startled out of my reverie, I observed Sariel lingering beyond the French doors on the terrace. He held something rather cumbersome in his hand.

  ‘Enter,’ Gabriel commanded, asserting immediate authority over the former Fravashi leader, so as there would be no debate afterwards.

  ‘Forgive me, Wise One. I realise that it is hard to make sense of such welcome and unwelcome tidings at once ...’ Sariel began. Dispassionately, I could see the changes wrought in him and acknowledged that I knew nothing of his story, his past, for me to judge his actions by. I could clearly see the evidence of betrayal, writ plainly on his face in the visible scarring which I had become all too familiar with – someone had used a seraph blade to wound him in the same manner as St. John’s deeply scarred back. His handsome visage had been permanently and irrevocably marred by this malicious act. But, again, I had no knowledge of how it was acquired for me to judge. ‘... but I hope that this may prove our devotion to the Seed and our fidelity to you.’

  Sariel placed a familiar black backpack, its contents dragging it down heavily, upon the wooden-framed glass coffee table and retreated a few steps, allowing a small distance between himself, the backpack and us.

  ‘No way! I don’t believe it!’ Fi exclaimed, eyes widening in shock. ‘That’s mine! But I haven’t seen it since New Year’s Eve ...’

  Her voice trailed off as she motioned to retrieve her seemingly lost bag, stowed behind a large nude statue in a nook at Satis House months before it had burnt to the ground, but Zeke prevented her. Stepping forward, the large Anakim was careful first to examine it. He unzipped the weighty backpack and cautiously unpacked its contents.

  ‘How did you get it?’ asked Fi of the supernatural courier, her voice laced with suspicion.