by D B Nielsen
I spotted my Dad in the distance dressed as King Hammurabi gesturing to an Assyrian frieze of a dying lion. It made me smile warmly seeing him in his element. And tonight must have seemed like a dream come true to him as he’d finally managed to retreat to the ancient world, if only temporarily.
Fi nudged me in the ribs, drawing my attention away from Dad to focus instead on an eye-catching group clustered in the far right near the King’s Library. I inhaled sharply as I took in the sight before me.
St. John and Gabriel were talking with another man whose flawless features denoted his Nephilim origins. He too was model material with his impressive height and bronzed hair and skin; though he seemed slightly older than the others, perhaps around forty. But this was not what had captured my attention and held me enthralled. Copying the ancient Sumerians, the three of them stood bare-chested, wearing long skirts tied at the waist in bright colours sporting geometric step motifs and concentric circle patterns. Only St. John wore a cape thrown back over his shoulders which I suspected was to cover the fine white criss-crossed lines that marked his back.
The three men held a fascination for the crowd of revellers who stared upon them as gods among men. On lesser mortals the long skirts may have seemed effeminate but not on the Nephilim.
I too was bewitched, but my gaze was for St. John alone.
His skin shone golden as if it had been kissed by the sun, muscles rippling with every movement he made. The skirt hung low on his hips, showing the deep indentations above his hipbones, as if a master sculptor had pressed his fingers to the skin there when moulding him. Strands of polished brass loosely curled into the nape of his neck and formed a halo under the lights. As I stood watching, he threw back his head and laughed at something the older man said; its deep, rich sound could be heard over the babble of the party-goers.
I took a step forward intending to go to him when a voluptuous brunette, her costume hugging her body like a second skin, approached the group and they parted to accommodate her arrival.
I froze.
All my determination to talk to St. John again fled as I continued to observe them together. I was too far away to hear their conversation but, as the young woman spoke, she reached out and unconsciously touched St. John on the arm. My eyes narrowed, willing St. John to brush her hand away. But he didn’t – though neither did he draw her closer. He seemed perfectly at ease with her hand remaining there.
Suddenly Gabriel who was perusing the crowd looked to where Fi and I still stood, exposed near the entrance. His lips curved into a smile of instant recognition and he gave an appreciative nod at my appearance which drew the attention of the others.
My gaze locked with St. John’s across the distance; his jade green eyes narrowed alarmingly making me feel young and self-conscious.
I wished then that the earth would swallow me up.
Turning to Fi, I babbled some sort of an apology and practically tripped over myself in my haste, being assailed by a burning desire just to escape. Throwing myself into the throng, I merged seamlessly with the crowd, hoping to disappear amongst the noise and the press of bodies.
Somehow I emerged unscathed on the opposite side of the Great Court, near the west door to the centre of the Egyptian Sculpture Gallery. Moving quickly but somewhat aimlessly amongst the revellers, I found myself eventually standing in front of a sculpture of an Egyptian nobleman holding hands with his wife. I stopped to catch my breath feeling slightly foolish at my cowardly flight, reasoning that it was unlikely that St. John was going to chase me all over the museum like the figures on the frieze of Keats’ Grecian urn. Squaring my shoulders, I resolved to find St. John and finish what I’d set out to do.
With renewed determination, I inhaled deeply and wheeled around.
And immediately slammed into a solid, naked chest.
Strong hands came up to steady me, seizing hold of my shoulders, and my senses were instantly swamped by the scent of sandalwood. My hands felt scorched where they were flattened against his chest and I would have pulled away in embarrassment but he wouldn’t let me go.
‘If I remember correctly, you never answered my question,’ he said in an opening salvo, his jade green eyes boring into mine.
I couldn’t think clearly with him standing so close and, not quite knowing what he was referring to, found myself stammering, ‘S-s-sorry?’
It was almost as bad as when I’d first met him and I blushed wildly.
As if he read my thoughts, he repeated his words when first we’d met, ‘“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this; my lips two blushing pilgrims ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” I’m still waiting for your answer, Sage.’
I trembled beneath his gaze and, heedless of the fact that any number of people might see us together – my parents, his colleagues, the other Nephilim and the voluptuous brunette – I murmured, bastardising Shakespeare, ‘“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do! ... Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.”’
I lifted my face to his and felt his lips, soft and sweet, on mine. When St. John finally drew away, I gave a shuddering breath.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I began, the words bursting forth, tripping over my tongue in an effort to say what needed to be said, ‘I never meant it that way. I–’
St. John placed a finger on my lips to shush me. ‘Sage, I know you didn’t mean it like that, but–’
‘SAGE!’
My name was called out and I turned to see Fi’s head bobbing above the crowd as she made her way towards us. Any explanations were going to have to wait, it seemed.
‘Sage! Thank God, I’ve found you!’ Fi said, a feverish glint lighting her hazel eyes. ‘Look, I need you to do something for me. Will you?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I began but, before I could get another word out, Fi rushed on.
‘I need you to lie to Mum and Dad for me. Can you do that?’ I looked at her in surprise, but nodded. ‘Good. Just tell them I felt ill – like I was coming down with the flu or something and decided to leave early.’
‘Fi, what are you up to?’ I asked apprehensively.
She shook her head and said, ‘I’ll explain everything later. I promise.’
Beside me, St. John had remained silent, but now he spoke up.
‘Not to worry. I’ll drive Sage home. But just remember what I told you in the woods,’ he cautioned Fi, looking gravely at my twin.
Fi looked St. John in the eye and stated, her tone emphatic, ‘I remember. But I know you’re wrong. I’ll prove it to you.’
I looked from the one to the other, having no idea what they were talking about.
‘Fi, be careful,’ I cautioned as she began to move away from us.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said, adding cryptically, ‘I’m not giving up either.’
As she was slowly swallowed by the crowd, she turned her head back to look at us at the last minute and shouted, ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR!’
And then she was gone.
I looked up at St. John in confusion but he merely shrugged his shoulders in response, apparently leaving it up to Fi to explain things to me as she’d promised.
Grasping my hand to pull me forward, he murmured, ‘Let’s get out of here. It’s a little too crowded for my liking.’
I nodded and, keeping hold of his hand as he led me through the throng of people, followed him through the museum. We ascended to the upper floors.
It was much quieter in the upper floors as virtually nobody else was around. The galleries were deserted and cast in semi-darkness. With far less crowds, the temperature in these galleries was also chillier. We wandered through the rooms of the Ancient Near East, slowly trailing the path of Early then Later Mesopotamian artefacts.
Finally St. John stopped and turned to face me.
‘About what we were saying earlier,’ he began, sombrely, ‘I know you didn’t mean to suggest anything by it. But nobody has ever asked me that ques
tion before – not even myself – and I was seriously taken aback. There has always been a Keeper of the Seed. Anak passed the task on to me. I never thought to refuse it – I was young and idealistic. But I didn’t know what it would entail.’
‘St. John–’ I interrupted.
‘Please, let me finish, Sage,’ he begged, and I fell silent. ‘The Nephilim have chosen what side they will stand with in the final battle. Like mortal battles, the choice is an individual one. But it is determined by each individual’s culture and values. I fight on the side of the Light. Gabriel too. And Anak. Louis Gravois has chosen to stand and fight with Semyaza. There are others like him. You may ask what we hope to gain, knowing that salvation is impossible for us.’
His hands came up in a jerky movement to cup my face; I felt the warmth of his fingertips on my now frozen skin and the way that they trembled.
‘I don’t expect to attain a heavenly Paradise, Sage. I never did.’ His voice shook. ‘But if I had a choice, I’d choose an earthly Paradise with you. If I could have that, then I’ll have glimpsed heaven.’
I looked into his eyes, seeing the naked vulnerability there, and whispered, ‘I love you. There will never be anyone else for me. Only you.’
He kissed me softly. Then drawing back, removed a small pouch that was hanging from around his neck, and said, ‘I’ve been meaning to give you something for a while now. I know I’ve said that you’re too young–’ I scowled at this and he kissed me on the tip of my nose playfully before continuing, ‘but, the mortal side of me can’t wait any longer. Sage Rose Woods, I know it’s a lot to ask–’
‘Yes,’ I said, interrupting him.
He looked confused and upset, the light in his jade green eyes briefly dimming. ‘Yes, it’s a lot to ask, or yes, you–’
‘No,’ I said, smiling at him, ‘it isn’t a lot to ask. And yes.’
St. John’s mouth began to lift at the corners. ‘Don’t you want to hear the question first before you agree to something you may regret saying “yes” to?’
‘Go ahead and ask, if it makes you happy,’ I murmured, ‘but the answer’s still going to be yes.’
He muttered something under his breath which sounded a lot like he was swearing in French. Then looking at me, he inhaled deeply, and said, ‘I can only offer you the promise of an earthly Paradise and I’m hoping that, like Jane Eyre, that will be enough for you. Sage, I’m asking you to marry me. I can cope with a long engagement, as long as you need, anything you want, but I’m asking if you’ll be my wife – will you?’
Tears filled my eyes and I lay my head upon his naked chest, upon his beating heart, and felt the peace of the moment engulf me.
‘Sage?’ He sounded anxious.
‘I already told you. Yes.’
And then he crushed me against him as if he’d never let me go, whispering my name. This kiss was different from all the others we’d shared. It held in it the promise of forever.
He set me back on my feet and reached into the little pouch, producing a pink diamond ring set in rose gold, which he then placed on the ring finger of my left hand.
‘It’s absolutely beautiful. But will I be able to wear it? You know, I’m still Professor Woods’ daughter. Is that going to cause complications for you?’ I asked him, teasingly, moving my hand about to watch the way the light sparkled off the diamond.
‘Not at all,’ he replied, amused. ‘I’ve already asked his permission to marry his daughter.’
‘You what?’ My eyes flew up to his face, hoping he was joking. ‘I didn’t think anyone did that these days.’
St. John sighed and, gazing at me intently, said, ‘Sage, call me old fashioned, but I’m a three thousand-year-old Nephilim. I wasn’t about to ask you to marry me without your father’s permission.’
I looked at him horrified. ‘But what if he’d refused?’
‘But he didn’t,’ St. John reasoned, ‘In fact, although we agreed that it would be best to wait with any wedding plans and he asked me to allow you time to know your own mind as he’d like for you to grow up a little more and experience more of life, I had his wholehearted approval.’
I scowled again. I knew my own mind. I knew my own heart.
I said, ‘He’s expecting me to go to university and get my degree.’
‘So am I,’ he said, ‘Wasn’t that part of the plan, Sage?’
‘Yeah,’ I said doubtfully, ‘but now ... with the Seed...’
‘I expect you to have a normal life, Sage, just as you want to,’ St. John countered unexpectedly, ‘But I don’t see that as being a problem. One thing I have learnt in my lifetime on earth is that there is time enough for the things we need to do, the duties we need to fulfil. Wherever you decide to go, I’ll follow. You’re the Wise One, after all.’
I blinked. I wasn’t prepared for his sacrifice and said, ‘But what about your job here at the museum?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I have all the time in the world,’ he replied, tilting my chin up to look into my eyes, ‘and I choose to spend it with you. Besides, I can always apply for the position of Keeper of the Department of the Middle East in a hundred years or so.’
Rather than laughing at his joke, my heart suddenly plummeted and I said to him, my voice low and agitated, ‘But in a hundred years, I’ll no longer be around.’
St. John looked startled.
‘Sage, don’t you know?’ he asked, astonishment in his voice, ‘You’re the Wise One. The Nephilim have been waiting for you for centuries. While you will age, just like the Nephilim, it will be so slowly that you won’t even notice it. Until we deliver the Seed safely back to its origin, your life is bound to the Seed. Your life is bound to mine.’
‘What are you saying?’ I asked, fearful of being too hopeful.
‘Look at your hand, Sage,’ St. John said, turning my palm over so that the symbol was clearly visible. ‘You’ve been marked by the Seed. Longevity, Sage. That’s what the Seed has given you.’
I marvelled at the fine white scar marking my palm and realised that I’d been given an immeasurable gift – the gift of St. John’s love and time enough to share with him.
‘I have a gift for you too,’ I said, dropping my hand and reaching for the pouch that hung from my waist.
Handing him the gift-wrapped box, I watched as he tore off the brightly coloured Christmas foil to open it.
‘Do you like it?’ I asked him, my voice dropping low with nerves as he continued to remain silent.
He looked up at me. He didn’t have to give me a reply because I could see in his eyes how deeply moved he was, but he answered, ‘It’s perfect. Thank you, Sage.’
I had a feeling that he was speaking of more than just the ring that I’d given him and blushed deeply.
When he’d placed it on his finger, he took my hand and said, ‘Come on, there are a few people I’d like to introduce to you.’
I followed him back through the gallery, our footsteps echoing in the darkness.
‘You mean the other Nephilim with you?’ I asked, curiously.
He smiled down at me as we descended the stairs, the light in his eyes still shining brightly. ‘Well, it’s not every day that a living god attends an Akitu festival.’
At his words, I tripped on the last step and would have fallen if St. John wasn’t there to save me. Barely noticing, I looked up at him in shock, and asked, ‘A living god?’
St. John’s smile widened at my response. ‘According to the ancient Sumerians and Greeks, yes. Anak was worshipped as the Sumerian god, Enki. Robert Graves noted these coincidences when he investigated the relationship between the Anakim and the Philistia in parts of the Bible. Though a lot of historians don’t realise this, Anak was also given the status of Zeus Anax in Greek mythology.’
‘Zeus? He’s real? He’s here?’ I asked bewildered, glancing around as we re-entered the Great Court.
St. John smiled at my reaction, saying, ‘Sage Woods you are–’
‘–refreshing. Yes, I
know.’ For once I wasn’t annoyed.
A golden god himself, and taller than everyone else, St. John looked over the heads of the crowd and stated, ‘Anak’s standing near the ziggurat with Gabriel and his girlfriend.’
I did a double-take. ‘That’s Gabriel’s girlfriend? The brunette?’
Looking at me in surprise, he asked, ‘Didn’t you recognise her?’
I shook my head, feeling slightly shamefaced.
‘I guess she’s dyed her hair recently,’ I said, admitting, ‘I thought she was with you.’
St. John laughed at that, softly, and slid his hand up my bare arm to rest on my shoulder giving me goose bumps. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘My habit of making assumptions, I guess,’ I muttered as we slowly approached the attractive group standing slightly apart from the other party-goers.
It may have been just my perception but it seemed that the crowd milling around them were too dazzled by the beauty of the Nephilim to come too close. I wondered if it would always be this way; that the Nephilim would forever stand aloof and apart, always on the fringe of humanity, but never really belonging.
I moved closer into St. John’s side, placing my arm securely around his waist in a possessive gesture.
‘You okay?’ he asked, concerned.
I gave him a dazzling smile.
‘Never better,’ I replied as we moved to join the group.
St. John’s arm remained draped around my shoulders as he reunited with his friends; Gabriel and his charming girlfriend greeting me typically in Parisian style. He then turned to introduce me to the older Nephilim who looked at me out of unusual yellow-gold eyes.
‘So, I finally get to meet St. John’s fiancée,’ Anak murmured, his voice trickling honeyed cadences.
I blushed at his words but he gave me a friendly smile and put me at my ease around him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gabriel raise an eyebrow and I grinned in response, waving my left hand around so that the diamond caught and reflected the light. There were exclamations then and well wishes as St. John secured four flutes of Dom Pérignon from a passing waiter. Anak made a rather moving toast and we raised our glasses as all around us people shuffled excitably, beginning to count down to welcome in the New Year.
