Seed- Part One

by D B Nielsen

  Alone now in my bedroom, I sat down on the floor, picking up a random photo – one that depicted the artefact’s porous surface – and gazed at it intently. The symbols were still visible beneath the luminous ebony but arranged in a different sequence from the images in the initial photos I’d taken when the artefact was in its dormant state. My eyes flickered between the two images taking in the changes wrought by the artefact’s transformation when an intense feeling of light-headedness swamped me again and I felt myself falling forward, ascending to the fastness of light, as a new vision hit me.

  Twilight encloses me like incandescent blown glass as it awakens the King’s garden to dark brilliance. Fading light and flowering shadows begin their fleeting duel as we move amongst the vaulting arches replete with cascades of budding foliage. The syrinx terraces, cascading waterfalls, descend to the mirror river, reflecting fireflies and dragonflies waltzing across its silvered surface. Pews of fruit trees perfume the breeze with their spicy sweetness. We are exiles in Time’s abyss, strangers now in the Promised Land.

  I regained consciousness to find myself collapsed in a heap on the floor, photos spread around me in disarray. I felt confused and disoriented, a heavy stupor clouding my mind and black spots still dancing in front of my eyes. I couldn’t be certain how much time had passed. When the fog in my mind finally cleared, Mum’s voice could be heard calling from downstairs, ‘Sage, Safie – dinner.’

  Somehow my unsteady legs made their way to the dining room and I sat down at the table in my usual spot opposite Fi. Everyone was already assembled and the tension in the room was palpable as Mum began serving Osso Bucco, a dish she’d learnt from our Italian neighbour back in Sydney. Despite the strained atmosphere, Mum was still keeping up a steady flow of conversation – ‘Safie, have some more vegetables’, ‘Alex, I want to see you eat all your carrots tonight, or no dessert’ – and I realised that I was starving.

  As I was reaching for the serving spoon, Jasmine and Alex began snickering next to me. I shot them a quizzical look but it only served to encourage them further and, from across the table, Fi sounded as though she were choking; her laughter only contained as she covered her mouth with her hand.

  Mum looked up from her plate and exclaimed, ‘Sage, what have you got in your hair?’

  My hand shot up and brushed against my tangled mane and something else, soft and feathery. I groaned. I must have lain down on the pile of goose feathers I’d cleaned up from the carpet. Ducking my head in embarrassment, a clump of knotted hair and pillow stuffing fell into my eyes. Fi howled with laughter at my apparent discomfort, unable to suppress her mirth any longer, which set off my younger siblings.

  ‘You look like you’ve been wrestling with a gaggle of geese,’ Dad said, smiling, which made the others laugh even harder.

  I felt myself turning scarlet, my cheeks flushing hotly – but my chagrin had the effect of breaking the tension in the room and we returned to being comfortable again as a family. The artefact was temporarily placed in the back of my mind as I watched my father relax and enjoy the rest of the meal. Dad even mentioned taking us on a skiing trip to Chamonix after Christmas which resulted in the deafening jubilant cries of Jasmine and Alex.

  Fi rolled her eyes at me across the table and I smiled back at her while trying to pluck feathers out of my hair. It was a hopeless task. Giving up, I knew that I’d have to assess the damage in front of a mirror. As I reached out to pick up my water goblet and take a sip, my eyes fell on the distinct pattern of the damask tablecloth. Its pattern of embroidered bright red cherries looped and twirled intricately, tumbling towards the edges. I was caught, arrested; in some small part of my brain I knew this was significant but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  ‘Sage,’ Mum’s voice finally penetrated my absorption and I looked up at her, ‘Honey, you’ve been staring into space for the last ten minutes. You look dead beat. Why don’t you go up to bed?’

  I realised that I was the last one left at the table as the others had finished their meals and already excused themselves. I offered to help clear away the plates but Mum ushered me from the room, claiming in my present state that I was likely to drop something and she was particularly fond of this new Wedgwood set she’d picked up at Harrods.

  Giving in, I made my way up to the bathroom and looked at the mess on top of my head reflected in the mirror. It was a bird’s nest. By the time I’d ruthlessly removed most of the feathers and fluff by running a comb through the tangled knots, I felt as tired as Mum claimed I looked. I brushed my teeth and dressed for bed slowly, climbing under my quilt. Curling into a foetal position I fell gradually into unconsciousness; my final thoughts as I drifted off to sleep was the question of how I could get St. John to share whatever he knew about the artefact with me.

  The next day, however, no plans came to fruition as I was woken early by Jasmine and Alex hollering and whooping down the corridor followed by Indy’s excited barking. I gathered the quilt around my small frame and tiptoed downstairs to see what the ruckus was about.

  ‘SAGE!’ Jasmine shrieked as I entered, making myself comfortable at the breakfast table as Mum ducked upstairs to take a hot shower, ‘Guess what we’re doing today? We’re going to collect our Christmas tree.’

  ‘And we’re going to decorate it too!’ Alex exclaimed, ‘On Monday we’re going to the city to buy some new decorations but Mum said that you’d take us into the woods this afternoon to collect some pinecones to spray paint.’

  Gee, thanks Mum! I thought. It was a ruse to get rid of them for a few hours; forcing me to take these little bundles of energy out of doors and off her hands. I wondered if I could leave them there in the forest like Hansel and Gretel.

  Curling my toes up under the quilt, I instructed Jasmine to put on the kettle and pop some bread into the toaster if she wanted me to take them anywhere today, especially into the woods – I was going to milk this for all it was worth. Yawning, I picked up the remote control and turned on the TV to the early BBC news. There were reports on the US withdrawing troops from Afghanistan, a major heroin drug bust, a British tycoon charged with fraud and an oil slick off the Irish coast. Not surprisingly, there was no report on a theft from the British Museum.

  Jasmine brought me a slice of buttered toast and asked if she could share my quilt. I held one side open and she quickly rearranged her chair so she could cuddle up next to me, resting her head on my shoulder as I watched the breakfast show. Alex sat on the floor next to Indy, feeding him the edges of the bread which he’d smeared with choc-hazelnut spread. And that was how Mum found us later when she walked back into the kitchen.

  We headed to Downe, a village outside Kent, to collect our Christmas tree from a farm that grew fir, spruce and pine. Dad had driven to work in Mum’s BMW so that we could have his Lexus SUV to transport the tree back home. The mood in the car was buoyant as we planned to purchase extra greenery and holly to decorate the banisters, doorways and fireplaces in the Manor House as well, as it was the first year that Jasmine and Alex would have a real tree for Christmas instead of a fake one.

  When we pulled into the car park of the farm, it was already crowded with station wagons and four-wheel-drives as people raced to purchase the perfect tree for the Christmas season. The weather, though bleak and overcast, was not enough to dampen our mood as we walked down aisles of conical shaped firs and fresh smelling pines, assessing their colour and needles.

  Mum finally pointed out a Norway spruce that was about fourteen feet tall which would be ready for collection in a fortnight for it to be in the best condition at Christmas, as the salesman convinced her that these trees were not good at retaining their needles so not to take it home that day. We purchased our tree agreeing to come back to collect it later but, in the meantime, managed to pick up berry garlands and holly to decorate the rest of the house, with Mum whimsically deciding to also purchase mistletoe to hang in the study. Loading our decorations into the back of the car on a tarpaulin, the smell of fre
sh foliage teasing us with thoughts of Christmas day, Mum put on a CD of Christmas carols and Jasmine, Alex and I sang our slightly off-key way back home. All in all, it was turning out to be a good day.

  Fi met us at the back door still dressed in her Juicy Couture tracksuit which she wore to the gym and helped to unload the boxes as Mum received a phone call on her mobile, shooing away Indy who was barking at our heels, chasing his tail round in circles as he caught a whiff of our excitement.

  ‘Just leave the boxes in the kitchen. I’ll start hanging up the garlands in a little while and we can spray paint the pinecones together later,’ Mum suggested, ending the call and placing her handbag on the kitchen counter distractedly, ‘Why don’t you kids look for those pinecones now while the weather’s still good?’

  Fi and I exchanged a look as Jasmine and Alex gave a huge whoop and ran outside before we could stop them. I knew when we were being gotten rid of and this was one of those times. I shook my head, grabbing the overcoat that I’d only just taken off, and headed for the door as Fi collected Indy’s lead and her ski jacket from the alcove.

  As Jasmine and Alex ran ahead of us, following the trail into the woods, Fi turned to me and asked, ‘So why do you think she wanted us gone?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘No idea. Maybe she wanted to work on her painting.’

  The forest spread out around us, a maze of ancient trees and boundless greenery; of ferns, tangled and gnarled branches and moss. Jasmine and Alex weaved and ducked amongst the foliage – a blur of bright pink and yellow against the murky olive and brown shades as light filtered through the canopy overhead, briefly transforming the oppressive gloom of ancient undisturbed woodland into an enchanted realm. Every so often, Jasmine or Alex would dash back to us to hand over their booty; delivering up the treasures of the forest floor. I placed their hoard in the folds of my overcoat which I had yet to put back on. Although I was slightly cold, the freshness of the chill forest air was invigorating.

  ‘You know,’ Fi mused, ‘it might be an idea to get the brats involved in Geocaching. That would keep them busy ... and it’d be fun for them, d’you remember what it was like?’

  Of course I remembered. Getting involved in Geocaching had been Fi’s idea and we’d been Geocachers for nearly a decade now, only giving it up for our Finals. Initially, I had been reluctant to join but, after our first quest, had quickly become converted to its merits. I could definitely see Jasmine and Alex enjoying it – it was like a global treasure hunt, a high tech hide-and-seek, using a GPS to locate caches of tradeable trinkets like stickers, whistles and cards in a waterproof box, hidden there by others. Over time, we’d found all sorts of items; collectible key rings, rubber bouncing balls and rubberised animals. We’d often go after school and on weekends – it was a good way of becoming involved in an outdoor activity without me actually having to take up a sport. And while Fi was always in charge of the navigation, we also tried to avoid detection by Geocache “muggles” – people who often vandalised or stole the Geocache, not recognising its significance.

  ‘Sage,’ Fi reached for my arm, halting me in mid-stride. ‘Look over there.’

  Beyond the copse of trees I could make out a bulky figure and realised it was our aggressor at Satis House. He seemed absorbed in what he was doing – the sketchpad giving away his purpose.

  At that moment, Indy barked and strained against his leash, which slid easily through Fi’s nerveless fingers. Suddenly free, Indy rushed off into the forest after Jasmine and Alex.

  ‘INDY!’ I cried, thrusting my jacket at Fi to run after him, ‘Bad dog! Indy! Come here!’

  After several minutes of hot pursuit, I managed to catch up to him with Jasmine and Alex in tow. It wasn’t due to any athletic skills on my part; rather, Indy had found a hedgehog and was sniffing it warily.

  ‘Indy! Bad dog!’ I said, picking up his lead, which was now damp and muddy, and giving it a hard tug as I avoided any contact with the hedgehog, ‘Come on!’

  ‘Don’t let him hurt it, Sage!’ Jasmine exclaimed, frightened for the poor creature.

  Typical Jasmine! Always more concerned about injury to the animals! I was certain if it had been a bear, she would have still been more fearful for it than for us!

  Alex helped me urge Indy away from the hedgehog and the three of us, with Indy pulling on the lead in the opposite direction wanting to return to his find, retraced our steps to find Fi. Luckily for me, I was with Jasmine whose sense of direction was superior to mine and we picked up the trail again without too much trouble.

  As I neared the location where we’d left Fi, I saw that she was missing. The place where she’d been standing was now empty. The shrill lonely cries of a bird could be heard in the distance echoing through the forest’s desolation. I tried to suppress a shiver but failed. This place gave me the creeps.

  Looking around I found her – she was with the artist whom I now saw to be a young man of no more than twenty-one. I would have cried out then in fear for her safety if I hadn’t realised that it was he who looked in need of protection from my sister. His stance was rigid, defensive; he was leaning away from her even as she seemed to be closing the distance between them. From her body language I could tell that she was arguing with him.

  I groaned. God, Fi! Leave the poor boy alone!

  He looked up and from across the distance I caught his eye. My first reaction was surprise; his eyes were an intense blue, the colour of lapis lazuli. This was swiftly followed by an awareness of his expression – I had never seen before such despair!

  I immediately barked out, ‘FI! Come on! It’s late – we should be getting back home!’

  At the sound of my voice Fi started, turning to face me where I stood with our younger siblings and Indy who was still straining on his leash. The young man needed no encouragement – no sooner had I shouted, he’d broken away and was already putting some distance between himself and Fi when she turned back to face him.

  ‘HEY!’ she cried out after him. But he’d already gone. And I could see the frustration and anger that she directed back at me at having lost him.

  She took a few steps towards us, but then stooped and picked something up. I realised it was his sketchpad that she held in her hands.

  Fi cut me off before I even had the opportunity to open my mouth as she made her way back to us, ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Sage. Just leave it.’

  I could tell that she was serious.

  Jasmine took the bundle of pinecones wrapped in my woollen overcoat from Fi, who instead held on tightly to the sketchpad, and carried it the rest of the way home. In a more subdued mood, we trod the blackened trail back to the Manor House; each lost in our own thoughts.

  I wondered what had occurred back there in the woods between Fi and the young man, what had made him so defensive, and what had brought on that look of intense despair into his eyes. But my speculations were cut short.

  As we rounded the final bend in the undergrowth, I saw a row of expensive cars parked behind our house and identified them from the many times I’d been to the British Museum with Dad. They belonged to the employees of the museum, to Dad’s colleagues.

  And I knew the time had finally come for a reckoning.

  INQUISITION

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Entering through the back door, I instructed Jasmine to run upstairs and grab a towel so I could clean Indy’s muddy paws. I didn’t need Mum angry at us because Indy had dragged mud, moss and blackened leaves throughout the house, especially on the beige coloured carpets upstairs. But it was Mum who returned with the towel instead of Jasmine.

  Taking Indy’s lead from my suddenly frozen grip, she told me, ‘Hurry up, Sage. Go and get yourself cleaned up. Your dad and his colleagues from the museum are waiting for you and Safie in the study.’

  She wouldn’t meet my eyes as she bent over Indy, towelling dry his wet fur, and her fussing over him was a clear warning that Fi and I were in trouble. I knew it was over the security tapes.<
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  I walked up the stairs slowly, a dark cloud hovering over me. In my bedroom, I went through the motions of getting cleaned up without paying any attention to what I was doing; changing into a new outfit that wasn’t splattered with mud and dog fur, running a comb through my damp hair and applying a little strawberry lip gloss – anything to delay what was ahead. But all too soon I’d done with procrastinating and it was time to face the music.

  Leaving the sanctuary of my bedroom, I met Fi in the hallway outside the study in the very same spot where we stood before, eavesdropping. I wondered if she could see the trepidation on my face. I dreaded the coming ordeal.

  ‘Come on,’ Fi said, giving me a sympathetic smile, ‘let’s get this over with.’

  Fi knocked on the study door and we entered. It was as if I was reprising my interview with Dad a fortnight ago when I received my week’s grounding, as I knew I was going to be raked over the hot coals once more.

  The study was still and silent. As I’d entered behind Fi, I only noticed St. John’s presence when she moved away to stand in front of Dad’s desk. I had no idea he would be present. I did not remember seeing his black Audi parked out the back of the house, so nothing could have prepared me for this.

  He was standing next to the fireplace, casually leaning up against the mantelpiece now decorated with Christmas garlands, though his posture belied his expression. While he looked to be perfectly at ease, his face seemed cold and remote, looking down on proceedings as if he was a golden god. His enigmatic gaze scorched me as I crossed in front of him to reach the desk and I blushed more in awareness of him than out of a sense of embarrassment or shame which, no doubt, he probably interpreted as the reason behind my flushed features.

  No longer in my line of vision as I moved past him, I could concentrate on what I was doing and became aware of the others in the room including Dad, Dr Porterhouse and the woman with the melodious voice. The Inquisition. My mind immediately flew to thoughts of Galileo and Joan of Arc and I felt a shiver move up my spine.