A Song of Redemption

by Lillian I Wolfe

  While Franco listened patiently while Orielle recorded, he waited until she had finished to correct a couple of words that she’d spoken, apparently getting a different pronunciation and meaning that what she had thought. She made a note of that also.

  As she moved on to the next section, I came to the conclusion this might turn into a dreary day in the vault with not much for me to do except watch. I pulled out my phone to check for messages and soon discovered that it couldn’t get a signal.

  Lucca leaned over and whispered, “The walls are too thick and too much metal so no signal.”

  “So I see,” I answered.

  He flashed that charming grin, then asked, “When you encounter this yi-ee-a-waa, how do you fight them? Or do you just run away?”

  Ignoring the mispronunciation, I evaded a bit as I replied, “I have some fighting skills. After my first experience on the other side, I started to learn self-defense techniques, and I’ve gone on to learn various disciplines. It isn’t actually too useful with one of the yiaiwas because they aren’t solid, but it does help to stay out of harm’s way for the most part.”

  His forehead crinkled as I spoke, then he said, “If one touches you, what happens? Do they have form enough to hurt you?”

  I tilted my head back as I thought how best to answer this. “They use energy to attack. One can hit you with a blast of energy and knock you several yards away. The impact is hard. If they touch you, it can cause other physical pain.”

  “Like what? Electricity? Fire?”

  “Oddly, it’s cold. Like an icy blast of polar wind or an icicle hitting you.”

  “Cold? Not what I would have expected. I have never encountered the creature.” His expression changed to an innocently apologetic look. “Ferko and I, we investigate reports and talk to people who have encountered unusual things, but we have not actually seen one.”

  “Hang around me for long, and you just might run into one soon enough. They definitely have my number.” My mouth twisted into a wry smile as I pushed back from the table. “Do you have anything to drink? Water? Sodas?”

  “Of course.” He also rose, pointing me toward a door at the end of the room.

  “Get me one, too,” Orielle called as I followed Lucca to the break room. They had a soda machine stocked with water, sodas, and small bottles of wine. I pulled out the required euros and bought two of the drinks.

  Lucca leaned against the machine as I pulled the last one out. “What did you mean by they ‘have your number’?”

  “It’s an expression. It means the monsters know where I am and how to get to me.”

  “You mean they come to your home or follow you?” He looked surprised although I’d told him before I encountered one in my house.

  “Yes. When I made contact on the ethereal plane, they somehow followed me back to my home. And they have kept watch on me. Not all the time, but enough that I have noticed them.”

  “Why? Why you?”

  I laughed. “I’ve asked myself that question numerous times, and I don’t know. But Orielle and Gavin both believe it’s because I was chosen to oppose them, and they know it. Or at least Belphegor must know.” I stepped around him to take the drinks back to the other room.

  Orielle looked up as we came in and reached eagerly for the cold drink, sliding her chair away from the delicate scroll. “We’re almost done with this scroll. I asked Franco if you might touch the edge of it with just two fingers. He has a wipe to take the oil off your skin so it won’t do any damage to the delicate paper. Do you want to try?”

  “Do you think we might learn something?” I countered.

  “I think it is worth trying.”

  “If they speak a language I don’t understand, then it might not do us any good. I’m not good at repeating it phonetically.” While I had a pretty decent memory, I’d had enough trouble with the chant.

  Both Ferko and Lucca looked puzzled by this conversation, no doubt wondering what good two fingers on the document would do. Just to see their expressions, I decided to do it. After a sip of my soda, which I set down a fair distance from the document, I held out my hand for the wipe and cleaned my fingertips.

  Then I sat down and reached to touch the document, letting my index and middle fingers settle on it lightly. I closed my eyes and reached for any attached memories.

  At first, I neither saw nor felt anything from the paper. I was aware of the texture, the brittleness, and gradually, it softened to a more pliable piece of parchment. I heard scratches as a stylus or a pen inked letters on it. The room was dark, the only light in it coming from a high window on the wall where a man sat on a stool below it. From his simple clothes, a plain tunic-style over-shirt and a beige-colored cloth wound around his head, I thought he might be a lowborn man. In the dim shadows, I could see his mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear the words although I detected the scratch of the pen as he wrote. The walls of the room appeared to be a mud adobe type of brick with a reddish tinge.

  I tried to concentrate harder, willing myself to hear the words and slowly, they became audible, odd-sounding words flowing from the man’s mouth. I couldn’t make out any of them although I tried to commit them to my memory. A rumble outside the room seemed to shake it, but it didn’t disturb the writer. The man continued talking, his words flowing in the singsong lilt of a memorized story.

  The memory faded faster than it had come. I opened my eyes giving my head a shake and said, “Not much. And I couldn’t understand a word I heard.” I repeated everything I’d seen to Orielle, who jotted down a few notes, then tried to remember even a few of the words spoken. When I said one of them, Franco’s eyes grew wide, and he smiled as he pointed to a word in the document. Apparently, he and Orielle had been mispronouncing it.

  “Did you just get a vision from the document?” Ferko asked in his halting English.

  “Yes, a small one. I can sometimes see a memory from objects.” I made light of it, not wanting to go into too much detail.

  Clearly, the agents were impressed as they both went off into a corner to huddle and talk.

  “Well, it was not as helpful as I hoped, but at least you got something. The word you picked up that we corrected means gate or entry. The document recounts a story told in Russia about a demon that attacked a whole village. It’s said he entered through a gate somewhere south of Europe. Possibly, it could have been Africa, but the storyteller had no frame of reference.”

  “Will it be any help?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “We will see. In the meantime, we will go to the next one.”

  That was the pattern for the morning and early afternoon. Orielle read and translated what she could of the documents. The third one she looked at mentioned the portal in Peru, but it didn’t give a specific location. She studied it carefully expecting to find a reference to something that might tell us something more detailed. The old name for the coastal city that became Lima was mentioned a couple of times, but that wasn’t the portal site, Orielle said. She felt confident about that. The story would predate the Inca and the subsequent rise of the city so there would be no connection there.

  She didn’t ask me to touch any more of the documents, so I studied the vault. The records were arranged by date and location; presumably where it was found so the curator or whoever looked at them would know the general area for what language it might be in. A microscope and some testing equipment sat on a long counter, then the ever-present computer for recording information. Orielle had asked if any of the documents had been scanned to post in the digital library, but Franco told her no. At this time, all of these documents were classified.

  I thought it curious since I couldn’t see what a document that had been written before Christ might contain that would require any secrecy. On the other hand, if there were references to demons in them, then it might be something the Church didn’t want to get out to the world.

  Orielle finished up in time for us to get a late lunch, so thanking Franco, she packed her briefcas
e. Ferko stayed behind but said he would meet us back at their office later.

  As we followed Lucca back out into Belvedere Square, I admired the architecture of the centuries-old buildings and the beauty of the landscaping in the square. Back at the gate, we turned in our badges and headed up the street where Lucca insisted that a splendid Greek Restaurant would provide a most enjoyable meal. At this point, I was starved, and roasted goat meat would be fine.

  Chapter 17

  AFTER LUNCH, WHICH turned out to be as good as Lucca promised, we returned to the secret office under the travel agency. I’d been pleasantly surprised that Lucca and Orielle hadn’t talked about any business over our meal. In fact, Lucca told us a little about the history of Rome, and its connection with the Vatican. I hadn’t realized that the Vatican City State only came into being in 1929 although the Vatican, and most of the surrounding buildings, had been there for centuries. Now, it had its own post office, newsroom, railroad station, and other amenities. It left me more eager than ever to just walk the grounds and visit the museums. I hoped there would be time. In some ways, it seemed almost cruel to be in such an amazing city on the doorstep of history and have no time to explore.

  Ferko waited for us, a few documents and a couple of artifacts set out on the conference table. All of them looked old; the tattered-looking pages yellowed and streaked with stains. The items he’d laid out appeared to be a pendant and a penannular cloak clasp, both made of bronze and inlaid with stones. Curiosity aroused, I wondered what the two agents had in mind with these, but I had a sneaky suspicion.

  As we settled at the table, Lucca looked from Orielle to me and back again. “I have a feeling that you are not telling us all you know. Signorina Gillian mentioned the name Belphegor earlier, and I am wondering what you know about him.”

  I had let it slip. Now I wasn’t sure how to respond. We wanted to play our cards close to our chest to get more information from the agents. As I pursed my lips in thought, wondering if I should respond, I glimpsed Orielle out of the corner of my eye. She leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her on the table, and smiled smugly.

  “And I have a feeling also that you have not given us all you know. Are we not exchanging information equally? We will reveal more if you do likewise. So far, we are the ones who are fighting this menace, and we need to know everything we can uncover about them.”

  Lucca arched an eyebrow as if to look surprised, but he didn’t deny anything. “We also seek more information in order to be more useful in the face of evil. When you mention the name of a fallen angel, it does cause concern and interest for us.”

  “Belphegor, the gatekeeper,” Orielle’s voice purred. “Are you surprised that evil spirits are coming through portals that he might be responsible for creating? The yiaiwa are soul stealers, and the pacura yiaiwa are soul eaters. Does it not sound like Hades realm?”

  He regarded her for a few moments, then asked, “How do you know this? What makes you sure?”

  “What will you give us in return for the story?” she countered.

  “We got you access to the secret documents,” Ferko growled. “What more do you want?”

  “The documents were a good start,” Orielle agreed. “And I appreciated that I was allowed to see them. But there is more work to be done to know if they are valuable to us. I think you have more and you seem to be offering something or are you looking to us to provide more?”

  Ferko’s face screwed into a frown making him look more menacing than I expected when he was annoyed. “We expect cooperation. That is why we asked you here. You are—”

  Lucca held up a hand, palm out toward Ferko and said, “No, no. It is okay. I understand you do not trust us to give you all we know. Perhaps you are right. We may know more than we can divulge. Is this also the case with you or do you worry that we might misuse the information?”

  “We just want to learn as much as we can,” she reiterated. “Gillian and I have gone up against these unholy beasts and she, especially, has seen and heard Belphegor, so we know he is involved. In addition, I found several ancient texts in Asia that spoke of the gatekeeper and one in Europe that mentioned him by name. I will give you my translations of those documents in exchange for more information from you. Let’s begin with these items on the table since I’m sure you’ve put them out to share them with us.”

  Lucca had frowned as she’d spoken about the demon, but he looked thoughtful as he leaned forward and gently pushed one of the papers closer to Orielle. “It is in Latin, and I believe you read it.”

  She nodded, sliding her chair in more and leaned closer to study it. After a minute, she said, “It appears to be a firsthand account of an encounter with a demonic creature who tried to rip the soul out of the writer’s companion. He fell upon the monster, striking it with wooden sticks while praying to Jehovah for assistance. His shrieks and chanted prayers seemed to agitate the creature enough that it fled. His friend survived although he was never the same again.”

  Lucca dipped his head once, then turned his gaze to me. “Would you care to touch the page?”

  I shifted my eyes to look at Orielle for an indication that I should do this. Orielle blinked and smiled slightly, which I took to mean it was up to me. They had seen me do it, and maybe there was something more to be learned from this. Scrolls and papers had not been as fruitful as objects, but I tried it anyway. I rested my three middle fingers on the edge of the paper and cleared my mind to let any images enter.

  I saw a nomadic-looking man walking next to a donkey, and I, seeing it as the writer of the account, appeared to be on the other side as we walked across a dry-looking terrain. We were talking, although the language remained unclear to me, when a shadowed creature, a yiaiwa, appeared. The shadow fell upon the other man, and I saw it trying to pull at the man, fighting with him for dominance. The donkey let out a terrified bray, pulling back. I felt the sudden fury as I raced to the pack on the donkey’s back and pulled out a thick wooden pole, barely ripping it free before the donkey fled. I rushed the yiaiwa, pounded it and the hapless friend with the stick while I screamed and chanted a prayer over and over. My companion fell to his knees, hands covering his head while the shadowy figure writhed and jerked, then withdrew, vanishing in an instant. The man left behind was battered by the beating and looked dazed.

  With a shake of my head, I jerked my fingers back from the paper and gathered my thoughts. “It’s as Orielle said, but I think the yiaiwa was attempting to use the body rather than steal the soul. The writer pounded the poor man as much as the soul thief, which probably led to the yiaiwa fleeing as he was no longer useful.”

  The agents looked a little surprised and a lot intrigued by what I’d said. Lucca picked the ancient paper up carefully, rolled it in a loose tube and slid it back into a plastic sleeve designed to keep it safe. I figured they must have thought it not so valuable to allow us to touch it. He put the tube on the table, then ran his hand through his dark blond hair, messing up the waves in it. I couldn’t help but notice the sexiness of the man in every movement he took.

  “Most interesting,” he said as his eyes drilled into mine. “So, you are able to read papers and objects by touching them?” It definitely came out as a hesitant question.

  “Sometimes. Not always. It’s a recent development.” I hoped my curt reply would forestall any further questions, but I could tell by his perplexed expression that he would ask more. Not eager to delve into my talent and what I could or couldn’t do, I added, “I can’t demand a vision from them. I can’t read any documents, but I may be able to see what the object’s owner was doing at the time.”

  Lucca rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowing as he took a minute to digest this information. Lowering his right hand, he placed it over the brooch. “So, if you were to touch this object, you might be able to see something that the person who wore it saw. Is that correct?”

  “‘Might’ being the operative word. I also might not see anything. The scene or event the person had
would have to be emotional enough for it to be a charged memory stored in the object. I don’t exactly know how it works, but that is why I can see some and not others.” I paused to take a sip of my soda and glanced at Orielle, who appeared amused. Did she want me to divulge all this or was she just seeing how far I was going to mire myself in the muck?

  “I think I understand,” Lucca said, then he said something to Ferko in Italian, and the other man nodded. He turned his head back to me. “Will you demonstrate one more time and please try to get something from one of these objects?” He indicated the necklace and cloak clasp with a wave of his hand.

  Hesitating, I flicked my eyes to Orielle to see if she thought I should try. She barely lifted a shoulder into a shrug, so the decision was mine. Deciding it wouldn’t harm anything to try and maybe the agents would be more helpful, I leaned forward and passed my hand an inch or so above the necklace, holding it there for a few seconds before shifting it over the clasp. As soon as my skin got close, I sensed an energy in the pin, enough of a power to tell me it had some memories attached.

  I pressed my hand down over the top of it and cleared my mind, inviting any memory to reveal itself. I sensed a masculine power attached to the object, a strong man. Aware of the agents watching me, I began to relay what I was seeing and feeling as it came to me. “I believe the man was a warrior, someone with great confidence. I see an open-air market in an old town, nothing like modern ones. Mud bricks or stones make up the walls. He is striding down the stalls, pausing to look at a display of dates, apricots, and some other fruit, I don’t recognize. He takes a date to sample, then asks for more, handing the vendor a coin to pay for a handful. He moves on, and someone calls out a name, and he turns. I can’t make out the name–it’s Versin...something like that. The person pulls a sword and charges toward him. He flings his cloak aside, and it covers the clasp. That’s all I see.”