“That’s a stone floor. Not a wood one like the cabin,” Noland said, pointing, as if there was a question as to which floor he was talking about. “You get changed, I’m going to get you a real blanket, and some firewood.”
“Noland,” Achaia called after him, but Noland shut the door a little too forcefully, showing his anger. This wasn’t right, the way Achaia was being treated here. It wasn’t just. He wondered why they would have ordered for her to be basically treated as a prisoner, and yet, begin a limited amount of training. None of it made sense.
Noland entered his own room, and ripped the blanket off his own bed. He balled it up under his arm, and with the other scooped up a few logs of wood from a pile next to his fireplace. He walked back out in the hall, daring Bale to see him, so he could tell him off, but no one was there.
Noland stood outside Achaia’s door. “Achaia, are you decent?”
Achaia opened her door standing in the doorway with a damp towel in one hand, sponging her face clean. Her hair was pulled back into a slightly neater ponytail, and she was in jeans and a grey t-shirt. Noland smiled, she really did wear a lot of grey. She also smelled like lemon, and hyssop.
“Thank you,” Achaia said taking the blanket from under his arm. As she threw it over her bed, and folded it in half to keep it from overflowing onto the floor, Noland went to work on the fire.
“Achaia,” he said as he stood back up.
“Yeah?” Achaia turned to face him, putting one hand in her back pocket. It was a casual enough stance, and yet she looked like she was braced for rebuke.
Noland smirked, before frowning. “Don’t ever let pride keep you from asking for my help.” Noland fixed Achaia with a serious look. “Ever.”
“Are you calling me proud?” Achaia smirked without humor.
“Yes,” Noland nodded.
“Gee, thanks,” Achaia grabbed her sweat shirt and put it on quickly.
“Hey,” Noland started.
“Breakfast, yeah?” Achaia said gesturing toward the door for them to go ahead through it.
Breakfast was dead silent. No one seemed to want to talk, for fear of starting an argument with Bale. Achaia wasn’t sure what she had missed at dinner the night before, but everyone seemed to instinctively trust that even if they disagreed with him, Bale must be right; and his decisions to keep Achaia untrained were all for the best, even if they didn’t understand it.
Achaia kept her thoughts to herself. She wasn’t sure if it was her half-human nature that kept her from trusting Bale fully, or maybe just the fact that she was the object of his loathing… Part of her, though, wondered if he was right; maybe she was dangerous… She thought briefly of what she must look like from Bale’s point of view. What was it like for him to meet her? What kind of first impression did she make?
The training room was dark, despite the ample windows lining the outer wall. Storm clouds were rolling in, and a foreboding darkness had commandeered the skies.
Noland had his head out the door, looking either way before closing it behind him. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Doing what?” Achaia asked more worried than confused. She had never seen him wear this expression. His brows were knit together, and his jaw set. He looked a little too resolute to just be preparing for a lesson. He looked as if he stood on the front line of a battle that was ready to commence.
“They have forbidden us to train you in anything but self-defense.” Achaia knew this already, but Noland went on, “We are to teach you nothing of weapons,” he started naming them on his fingers, “battle strategy, hand to hand combat, or aerial combat.” His jaw was clenched as he spoke and his face was nearing an alarming shade of red.
“So I can only learn how to run away?” Achaia summarized. “These are going to be some fun lessons… I already know how to put one foot in front of the other in a rapid succession, thanks.” She shook her head bitterly. “I mean, it kind of helps to have a weapon when you’re defending yourself from enemies who get to have weapons.”
“This is ludicrous!” Noland agreed. He shoved both of his hands through his hair, his elbows hanging down, and stared at the floor.
“I can’t help but feel like they kind of want me to die.” Achaia said not bothering to disguise the bitter sarcasm in her tone.
Noland remained still, staring down in thought. Unable to see his face, Achaia walked over to look out of the window. The sky was opaque with the ominous storm clouds. If she hadn’t just finished breakfast, she would have sworn it were night.
She knew the reason behind their verdict. Joash, Bale, and probably a fair number of the others, saw her as a threat. You don’t train your enemy… But if she were killed because she was prevented from learning to defend herself—she was still half human… they were obligated to at least halfheartedly protect her, perhaps. Would God care what happened to her? If she were compromised, would it count as a failure on the Nephilim’s part, in His eyes? She was, after all, a Charge.
“What are you thinking about?” Noland joined her at the window.
Achaia looked up at him and cocked her eyebrow.
“Your face. That was a ‘thinking face’,” he said sitting next to her on the wide windowsill.
“Why they wouldn’t want me trained in combat.” Achaia admitted, telling half the truth.
Noland seemed to be listing a few reasons silently in his mind. They sat quietly staring out the window at the mounting snow, and the flakes that fogged the view of the buildings across the street. After a few minutes, Noland spoke, “Achaia, you’re my Charge.” He looked down at her, searching her face, and studying her. “I have taken my place as an Elder, and I’m making my own verdict.” He looked out of the window at the sky, again. Snow was packed tight along the city streets, and the wind howled. “I am going to turn you into the greatest warrior they’ve ever seen.” He said hoarsely. He looked back down at her and smiled. “But, it’s probably best if we don’t tell anyone else about that.”
“But—” Achaia looked at him in surprise.
Noland’s expression of fixed resolution was back.
“When Emile—”
“This is different Achaia,” Noland shook his head, a sadness filling his eyes, “the battlefield is different than yesterday. The lines are drawn up, and they’ve all turned grey.”
Achaia sat for a moment in silence, rolling Noland’s words over and over in her mind. She wondered what he meant by the lines being grey. Were the sides all shifting? For a fleeting second she thought of sharing the message from Lucifer, with his proposal, but quickly dismissed the idea. It was too risky. Instead, she simply asked, “So, where do we start?”
Noland smiled, and led her across the room. “Do you know what makes Nephilim weaponry so special?” he asked, coming to stand next to a large table covered with every type of weapon imaginable, from every time period Achaia had ever heard of. The table almost looked like a green flowing river with all of the weapons composed of the heavenly metal.
“Um, the fancy supernatural metal?”
Noland cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Do you know what it’s called?”
“Isn’t it like, Diadamantium or something?”
“You’ve been spending way too much time with Olivier.” Noland picked up a sword and spun it around in his hands like most high school boys would do with a pencil in class. He handled it with the ease that comes with years of practice. The blade was a continuation of his arms, his fingers… He manipulated it with his will, and it was almost like the blade was hearing his thoughts and acting, before his muscles had thus provoked it. “It’s called Diemerilium.” Noland looked from the blade to Achaia, and handed it out to her, presenting it flat, across his arms, with the handle free for her to grab.
The sword was heavier than it looked, and much more solid. It didn’t feel anything like water, though it looked like it should. And instead of even being cool to the touch like metal, it was warm in her hand. “Is it warm from where you h
eld it?” She asked.
“Actually, I’m glad you asked. That’s perceptive of you.” Noland smiled and picked up another, smaller blade. “No. Well, maybe a little. But Diemerilium isn’t like other metals, it isn’t going to be initially cool to the touch. Our blades are smithed with heavenly fire. They are heated and hammered repeatedly, to make the blades stronger. The more they are heated the stronger they get. Heavenly fire is the only force hot enough to melt the elements down to bond them. The core is steel, with the strongest iron. After the blade has been formed, that is only its core. The edges and point, the coating on the outside, that makes it look like water, is actually diamond and emerald.”
“I get diamonds, I mean they are super strong, right? But why emerald?” Achaia asked, studying the greenish hue.
“Diamonds are strong yes, but they also symbolize innocence. Those we fight to protect. But the emerald is even more important. Emeralds not only symbolize love, and the preservation of it, it also symbolizes hope. The emerald also steadies your mind in battle. It gives the warrior bearing it wisdom, reason, and a connection to God. You’ll never be closer to God than when you are fighting for his cause. Well, at least for as long as we are stuck here, paying for the sins of our fathers.” Noland’s mouth had moved into a straight line.
“So, you say these blades basically give you super fighting skills, just by holding them?” Achaia looked back down at the sword in her hand.
“Achaia, is it so hard to believe? I mean, you already have ‘super fighting skills’, you’re a supernatural being, in a super natural safe house, being punished for a supernatural father’s supernatural transgression…”
“Well, when you put it that way…” Achaia tried to turn the sword in her hand the way Noland had done.
“No, wait,” Noland said, coming beside her. “You want to hold it like this.” He demonstrated the grip she should have, on the blade he held in his hand.
Achaia watched him and mimicked.
“Now, start slow, just get comfortable with it. Each blade is different, just like people. You have to get to know each one. The weight, where it settles in your hand, where it pulls… The blade will tell you where it wants to go. The wisdom of the blade comes when you listen.”
Achaia mimicked Noland’s movements, as he slowly moved the blade to and fro before him, stepping forward with a foot, and raising the blade, and withdrawing again. After a half hour or so, Achaia’s arms were getting sore. Noland put his blade down on the table again.
“You’re a quick learner. We should blast through these in no time.” He smiled down at the table optimistically.
“Question,” Achaia said, laying her sword next to Noland’s.
“Answer,” Noland said taking a sip of water from his bottle.
“You said that the blades get stronger the more times they are heated.” Achaia cocked an eyebrow.
“With heavenly fire—” Noland nodded.
“So, can you make your sword stronger by heating it?” She felt her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know if that is considered, like, a personal question.”
Noland smirked, as his cheeks warmed to a pink. “It is a little personal. But, I don’t think it’s weird that you should ask it. Most Nephilim would just already know the answer to that, and not have to ask. But, yes.” Noland said very matter-of-factly, shrugging away the answer like it was nothing.
“Yes.” Achaia nodded, waiting for more. Noland didn’t speak. “So do you just win all the time?” Achaia felt her eyes widen in wonder.
Noland laughed. “Okay, first, having the strongest weapon doesn’t determine the winner. The person who knows how to use their weapon, usually wins. And the one who is the best at battle strategy, is cunning, focused…”
“I get it, there are lots of factors.”
“Second, yes, I do win all the time.” He smiled and started walking for the door.
“Well we’ll just have to wait and see if that remains the case,” Achaia said catching up to him.
Noland smiled sideways at her. “I guess we will.”
Emile led Achaia up several flights of stairs and through a door leading out onto a flat section of roof surrounded by the pointed dome-like spears spiking the top of the safe house. The spears cut out most of the wind, but Achaia could still glance around them and take in the surrounding buildings and their architecture.
“Olivier and Yellaina are helping the servants clean the library,” He said, sitting on a waist high ledge that surrounded the roof.
Achaia walked over to where he sat and glanced over the edge. It was quite a long way down, and there was quite a lot of architectural detail to hit on the way down.
At the look that must have crossed her face, Emile laughed. “We can fly, remember.”
Achaia shook her head and perched herself on the ledge next to him.
“I think history is better absorbed when you have a broader perspective,” Emile looked at the city around them, “rather than confined to a classroom.”
Achaia nodded. Moscow was breathtaking. The buildings looked like massive intricate igloos. Snow and ice covered everything, painting the city white. Bright colors peeked out from under some of the ice, making Achaia wonder how colorful the city would be once it all melted, not that she cared to stay long enough to find out.
“Right, so history.” Achaia turned her attention back to Emile.
“So I’ll skip trying to explain that God was never created, and there was no beginning of time… We will start with when God decided to create angels; His first creation.” Emile tugged on his scarf, bunching it up closer to his face. “When God was alone, His breath mixed with the atmosphere and formed clouds. One day, God took some of the cloud in His hand, and molded it into a form, as if shaping clay. He took His mold and breathed into it life, and the first Nephilim was created. Now the Nephilim were created from the essence of God, but were not God, so He called them His children. When the Nephilim brought Him joy, He decided to make for them brothers and sisters. So, He plucked a star from the heavens and He forged it with holy fire, and breathed into it life, and thus created Seraphim. Now the Seraphim were strong and brave, like the Nephilim, but they didn’t contain the essence of God. When God saw that what He had created was different, and good, He desired those who would appreciate His work, and keep records of it, so He plucked a hair from the head of a Nephilim, and planted it with a tear from a Seraphim, and from the clouds grew Cherubim. Now the Cherubim not being quite as strong as the Nephilim or the Seraphim, but being born from the very mind of God were wise, and compassionate, they valued all that the Lord created, and wrote songs and poems about all they saw and heard.”
“This sounds like a fairy tale,” Achaia smiled as she pictured a universe of clouds.
Emile smiled, and kept talking, “That was the creation of the first choir. God knew His children needed shelter, so He set the Nephilim to building a city of gold, with streets laid in golden bricks. He set the Seraphim, with their fire, to smith gates of pearl and a pearly wall to surround the city. When the city was complete, and God saw that it was beautiful, He sought to fill it with more children, so He created six more breeds of angels whom He also called children.”
“That’s a lot of children,” Achaia mused.
Emile nodded. “Heaven was radiantly beautiful, and all who lived inside it were loyal to the Lord.”
“Then what happened?” Achaia asked, pulling her leg up under her to turn and face Emile.
“God, being a brilliant and wonderful creator, kept creating. He had created the heavens, and He moved on to create the earth and all that lives on the earth. For a time, all was splendor and beauty. But God was taken with this new creation, and loved it as He had loved the first. Some of the angels grew jealous of humans. See, they thought that the humans were lesser beings, and undeserving of God’s affection. Some angels were infuriated to be equated with humans, and believed that they were superior and should be allowed to rule over
humanity. When it was discovered that humans had been endowed with free will, a gift not bestowed upon angels, one angel in particular grew enraged, and sought to use that very gift to avenge God for this slight, and injustice.”
“Lucifer,” Achaia guessed.
“Yes. Lucifer was furious that these lowly lesser beings should have something that he was not allowed. He broke something inside of himself, and fractured his nature. His bond to the Lord was severed, and his spirit turned against the Lord. However, Lucifer was charming, and up to this point had been trusted, and worthy of that trust. So when he began to talk of equality, and doing what was best for all, the other angels listened to him. They thought that if they were all God’s children, they should all be given equal privileges, and entrusted the same. They forgot that they each had their gifts that set them apart and made them different even from their own kind. Humanity’s gift was free will.
“See the angels all worshiped God, day and night, but it was in their nature to do so, so they did. They did not think about it, or choose to worship, it was as natural and necessary as breathing. So God had fashioned a people who could choose Him, or deny Him. He wanted to be chosen. As He had chosen to create and to love, so He wished to be chosen and loved. But this gift, as the angels saw it, was also a curse, a weakness for humanity. Satan beguiled the humans, and turned them against God, hoping to see God hate them in return and spurn them.”
“How manipulative and cruel!” Achaia spat. She found herself caught up in the story. She could see it all so clearly in her head, as she focused on the sound of Emile’s voice.
“The very gift that God had granted to Lucifer was the one he was using to try to hurt God, and humanity. That is what happens when a nature is broken. It grows toxic, and vile.”
“That’s terrible,” Achaia said softly.
“That is what makes the council so wary of you. You have free will. You have the ability to turn from God and manipulate others, without even breaking your nature. You can choose to be that way.”
Transgression Page 30
