Scroll- Part Two

by D B Nielsen

  ‘Saffron,’ he whispered, as if I were a dream, as insubstantial as the wind, ‘what is it about you? Why do you plague me so?’

  I could not answer. I swallowed, shaking my head in confusion.

  He drew back abruptly.

  ‘The weather has turned. You must be getting back before it grows too dark.’ His voice was steely and his words were brisk, meant as a warning, but not unkindly. His mood was quixotic, the changes lightning fast.

  He moved to unlatch the French doors to let me out.

  I wanted to stay and ask him more questions, but I couldn’t frame a single thought with any clarity. In a daze, I seemed to glide past him. But at the last moment, before I set foot upon the terrace, he halted me.

  ‘Saffron, one more thing.’

  I turned to face him again, certain that he could hear my heart pounding, ready to burst from my chest. Finn’s smile was apologetic, almost sad. He held out his hand, palm upright.

  Making a final demand, he left me no choice but to comply. ‘I’m sorry. The film, if you please.’

  PORTAL

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘He’s an arrogant, egotistical, self-deluded, ambitious bastard!’ I declared hotly, storming through the back door into the kitchen and across to the breakfast table where two startled expressions and another amused one greeted me. ‘He’s only interested in creating a new species to worship him!’

  ‘I told you he was lacking humanity,’ Sage remarked knowingly, continuing to sip her tea calmly while my parents looked on in bewilderment.

  ‘Like that’s an understatement!’ I growled, tossing myself into the empty chair beside her. ‘He’s completely monstrous!’

  At this point, Dad, who had been attempting to follow the conversation, interrupted, ‘Hold up. Who are you girls talking about? Whoever he is, I don’t want either of you near this guy; I don’t like the sound of him.’

  ‘Frankenstein,’ we said in chorus.

  Dad blinked, looking from one of us to the other, as if we were deliberately mocking him. ‘Frankenstein? Isn’t he that monster with the bolts in his neck?’

  Sage answered with some humour, ‘No, Dad. Frankenstein’s the scientist, not the creature.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Dad asked with mild surprise.

  ‘You can’t seriously be doubting Little Miss Bookworm, can you, Dad?’ I grinned at him. ‘No, Dad. Face it. It’s only illiterates like you and me who think Frankenstein is the one with bolts in his neck. Or at least I used to.’

  ‘You won’t be able to call yourself that for much longer,’ Mum commented, rising to retrieve another mug from the kitchen cabinet for me. ‘I’ve seen the way you’ve been devouring that book since Sage lent it to you. I’m surprised it’s held your interest – there aren’t any vampires or werewolves in it as far as I can recall.’

  ‘Lol,’ I responded, my tone sarcastic as I slouched in my chair, ‘Very funny. As I recall, I’m not the one who suggested we buy the boxed set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Blu-Ray and then watch it through like a movie marathon – especially as you kept drooling over Angel and Spike and that whole love triangle thing going on with Buffy.’

  Mum and I both looked at Sage, who had the decency to blush.

  ‘What? It’s a cult classic!’ she replied defensively, shielding her face behind a cloud of hair, ‘Besides I think it’s romantic!’

  Dad shook his head in confusion and disbelief as he stood to exit the room, realising we were beginning our typical “girl talk”.

  ‘Vampires? Werewolves? Exactly what’s so romantic about that? Sounds positively morbid,’ Dad pronounced pompously. ‘I’m just glad Sage has found a nice, normal young man with his head screwed on correctly. Archaeology might not knock your socks off, Safie, but it’s as much romance and excitement as anyone needs.’

  The irony of Dad’s statement caught me off guard, making me laugh, which was the wrong thing to do as I choked on the tea and began spluttering and coughing, much to the amusement of my sister who sat back and watched as Mum began pounding away on my back in concern; that is, until she realised she might do injury to my healing ribs and gave up. She really hadn’t hurt me at all as my ribs had healed at an exceptional rate and were now perfectly fine. Though I could hardly tell that to my Mum, I was glad that she had ceased torturing me. Seriously, I knew of no one who’d benefitted from having their back pounded on while choking on liquid.

  ‘Well, seeing as you two have nothing better to do, you can help me fold the washing,’ Mum said, leaving the room momentarily to retrieve the laundry basket.

  ‘I spoke to him,’ I told Sage breathlessly, as soon as we were alone.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Finn,’ I replied.

  Sage set her mug down on the table and asked, ‘Without St. John? Fi! Didn’t I warn you–’

  I rolled my eyes at her, interrupting, ‘Get over it, Sage. It’s done already. I’m still in one piece, aren’t I?’

  She looked like she wanted to say more but must have thought her breath was wasted on me. ‘Well then. Did you return the book? Did you ask him about Louis Gravois?’

  Ignoring the first question, I answered, ‘Of course I asked him. And of course he didn’t answer.’

  I stood up and moved around the table restively, frowning, seeing Finn as he wanted Sage and the Anakim to see him, then, confused, remembering what I knew he was.

  ‘I found out several things though. Ellen Jacobi really is pregnant.’

  ‘I already told you that,’ Sage corrected me.

  ‘It’s not human. Well, not completely. She’s carrying a Nephilim.’

  Sage’s brows went up, and then came together in a frown. ‘Are you certain? Is it Louis’ child?’

  I shrugged. ‘Couldn’t say for certain, but that’d be my guess. Though he acts like he hates her now.’

  Sage sighed, looking pensive.

  Nodding gravely, I continued, ‘There’s more. You ought to know that Finn has certain powers. Perhaps as great as St. John’s. And he isn’t afraid to use them.’

  She stared at me, wide-eyed, and breathed, ‘You’re joking! Stay away from him, Fi. If what you say is true, he’s dangerous. He could hurt you.’

  I opened my mouth to speak then closed it again. Words wanted to pour out of me, words I’d never before thought about or voiced for any guy. Hot, defensive, fighting words.

  Instead, I took a deep breath and said, ‘You don’t know him, Sage. Finn isn’t like that. He isn’t completely on their side. He’s helped me more than you know. He saved us from Louis, remember? Why would he do that if he meant to hurt us? And don’t give me that argument about needing the Wise One and all that. I know there’s something more to it than that.’

  Sage looked at me thoughtfully, curiously. I could see the thoughts forming on her face, but before she could voice her questions, Mum returned with an overloaded basket of washing which she placed on the kitchen counter.

  ‘There’s another load in the dryer,’ Mum said in a tone that held an order for one of us to go and collect it.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I volunteered, but Mum was quick to suggest that Sage be the one to go as she was still concerned about my healing ribs.

  Sighing, I began folding bath towels, which seemed to be endlessly self-perpetuating. It was a mundane, mindless task but at least I didn’t have to think as I automatically folded and stacked towel after towel. As I folded laundry, Mum chatted away about planning a trip to Russia during the summer holidays as the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg was putting on a postmodernist exhibition which would feature two or three of her works and it was a terrific excuse for a vacation up north. It wasn’t quite the ski trip she and Dad were initially planning but, as an added bonus, it meant that we could cross through Finland into Sweden to visit our old friends in Stockholm where we’d lived for a brief period in my childhood.

  ‘Uh, Mum?’ Sage interrupted.

  ‘Yes, honey?’

  ‘Um, I just want
ed to let you know that St. John has planned for us to go to France this summer. And he’s even thinking of taking me potholing in the Lascaux Caves ... if that’s okay?’ She sounded embarrassed about having to ask permission, or maybe it was because she didn’t want to upset Mum’s plans or hurt her feelings. Whatever the case, I thought that asking the ‘rents to spend time with her fiancé set a bad precedent.

  ‘Oh?’ Mum sounded surprised, as if, like me, she was unable to imagine Sage clambering through caves and down potholes.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to see them. The Lascaux Caves are called the Sistine Chapel of Prehistory, you know?’ Sage justified by way of a response.

  ‘Yes, I do know. Your father brought me there before you two were born. It was one of our first trips together.’ Mum smiled nostalgically.

  I rolled my eyes. God, how romantic! Not! Give me a holiday in Tahiti or a pristine beach on a private island in the Great Barrier Reef any day!

  ‘Maybe that’s where St. John got the idea from, talking to Dad. It’ll be our first real holiday together and I’m hoping I’ll get to see more of his home,’ Sage proposed.

  I seriously wanted to laugh.

  ‘You’re going potholing?’ I scoffed disbelievingly, ‘You? Is St. John prepared to take out extra accident insurance? Maybe I’ll buy you a hard hat for your birthday.’

  Sage’s eyes narrowed and tossing a pair of rolled socks at me, she exclaimed, ‘Yes, me. I’m going potholing. What’s so strange about that? And, no, I’ll be perfectly safe with St. John around. He’s done it a millions times before. Besides, bet you didn’t know that a prehistoric map of the night sky has been discovered there on the walls of the Shaft of the Dead Man? It’s thought to date back sixteen-and-a-half-thousand years, and shows three bright stars known today as the Summer Triangle. And there’s another fourteen-thousand-year-old map of the Pleiades star cluster which has been found amongst the Lascaux frescoes which would interest you. So, there. Why wouldn’t I want to see that?’

  And just like that, I remembered.

  I remembered reading about it in the legend of the Seven Sisters – they ran towards a cave in the hill to escape. They ran into a secret passageway and flew off into the sky.

  I remembered Finn’s words to me in the Louvre – there were other paths. Gates. Portals. Places providing passage.

  I remembered Gabriel’s words to me in the Catacombs of Paris – the Scroll was given to St. Augustine by Pope Gregory the Great for safekeeping when he was sent on his mission to Britain to convert the pagan king ... sent to the Kingdom of Kent.

  ‘Safie? Safie! Are you all right? We’ve been trying to get your attention for the past few minutes!’ Mum’s perturbed tone broke through my musings. Her face was wreathed in concern. ‘You should go lie down, sweetie. You look all done in. Don’t push yourself, you have to give your ribs time to heal.’

  I had to smile at her words. ‘Mum, I hardly think that folding the laundry could be called strenuous activity ... but I think I’ll go lie down just the same.’

  Sage looked at me suspiciously as I left the kitchen, provoking me into giving her a mischievous wink behind Mum’s back. She probably thought I just wanted to get out of housework.

  Rounding the corner, out of sight of my mother and Sage, I practically flew up the back stairwell to my bedroom, avoiding the creaky fifth step. Back in the kitchen, I’d felt something shiver through me; a premonition of sorts. I hadn’t asked Finn what he’d meant by his cryptic words to me at the Louvre but, even then, I knew there had to be a way to pass between worlds. I wondered suddenly, intensely, what more I knew instinctively, what more lay hidden.

  I believed I now knew where the Scroll was hidden, but I would need assistance in retrieving it. I knew I couldn’t call upon Finn – as much as I now trusted him, he had his own agenda and warned me that while he was no enemy to the Anakim, he wasn’t exactly on our side either. And I didn’t want to involve Sage and St. John in my schemes – after all, what if I was wrong?

  I knew of only one person I could call – and he owed me. Big time.

  He answered his phone on the third ring.

  ‘Allô. Gabriel Chevalier. Qui est à l’appareil?’

  ‘Gabriel, hi, it’s me, Saffron.’ I paused, having no idea what to say. I probably should have planned this better.

  Gabriel’s heavily-accented English came across clear and direct. ‘Saffron, chouchou, what’s wrong?’

  I scowled, though Gabriel could not see my annoyance it was evident in my tone. ‘Nothing. Why does anything have to be wrong?’

  This time there was amusement in his voice. ‘Because you would not be calling me if something were not wrong.’

  I considered his words. Fair enough.

  ‘Meh. Okay, right. Um, Gabriel, I need your help.’ It pained me to ask it of him.

  To give him credit, he didn’t even hesitate. ‘Oui, oui, oui. Bien sûr. What is it you need?’

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I said, ‘How do you feel about going potholing?’

  ‘Pardon?’ He sounded confused.

  ‘Um, caving,’ I said, holding tightly onto the phone. ‘I think I know where the Scroll might be hidden but I need help retrieving it.’

  Gabriel suddenly was all business, sounding brisk and alert. ‘C’est vrai? It is as I said, somewhere in Kent, non? Tell me what you need and I shall make the necessary preparations. C’est mon affaire! Soyez tranquille! Leave it to me!’

  We discussed the details at length and I was grateful for having enlisted Gabriel’s assistance as he was nothing if not organised and he was one of the few people I knew who could be referred to as a first-rate tactician. Whilst Gabriel would have been able to organise things within the next twenty-four hours, we agreed to meet in three days’ time as weather forecasts predicted the arrival of a warm front heralding the arrival of spring which would be better suited to our purposes, and it would also give me time to come up with a cover story for my parents, and especially for Sage.

  Before hanging up, I made one last request – more of an ultimatum really, ‘And Gabriel? No tricks. This time I want to go through the front way; the most direct route.’

  I could hear the smile in his response. ‘As you wish.’

  I gave a wry smile. It was as close to an apology as I was going to get. Or, at least, that’s what I thought.

  Whilst Gabriel was arranging things his end, I had my own plans to put into effect. Over the next few days, I came up with and abandoned several reasons for venturing into the woods after my ordeal. On the eve of our exploration, I was no closer to concocting an alibi for the following day than I had been when the plan to enlist Gabriel had been conceived.

  But I had reckoned without Gabriel.

  I was still weighing up my options, sifting through then discarding various pretences as I made my way downstairs for dinner, when I heard the crunch of gravel on the path leading up to the front entrance and male voices deep in conversation. The doorbell rang demandingly and, though I was closest to answer it, I didn’t have time to prepare myself for the shock of facing Gabriel and St. John when I flung the front door open.

  I barely managed to stammer a greeting which I hoped sounded intelligible, as Gabriel preceded St. John into the entrance hall, planting a kiss on both my cheeks in the usual French manner and enquiring about my recent injuries. I’m not certain what I replied as I was far too distracted, but it must have been satisfactory as St. John didn’t raise an eyebrow and Gabriel merely smiled in response.

  But I was in shock at Gabriel’s appearance in my home, not expecting to see him until the next day. Together, the Anakim seemed to fill the usually airy space of our front entrance with their radiance. They were like two Scandinavian supermodels out of the pages of GQ or Vanity Fair – sporting the scruffy, casual chic designer clothes of the Johnny Depps and Tom Hiddlestons of the world.

  I was so flustered, I failed to invite them in properly. Luckily St. John covered my social gaffe, as he m
ade himself at home like any other member of my family.

  ‘Fi,’ St. John began, adopting my sister’s habit of shortening my name to one syllable, as he steered Gabriel in the direction of the library, ‘can you inform your parents that we’ve arrived? I hope we’re not too early, traffic was surprisingly good on the motorway.’

  I heard him offering Gabriel a whisky from my Dad’s fine collection as I bemusedly did as I was told.

  Approaching the kitchen, I could smell the delicious aroma of spicy Indian curry. Sage and Mum were busily preparing Rogan Josh, basmati rice, and freshly baked garlic naan, accompanied by yoghurt and cucumber dip. Advising my mother that her guests had arrived, I was ordered to set the dining table and call everyone to dinner.

  The evening meal was a casual Woods family affair as both St. John and Gabriel were accepted as family since the announcement of my sister’s engagement to St. John. And with Jasmine incapable of taking her eyes from Gabriel, convinced she could still see his wings, which made him slightly uncomfortable under her hard scrutiny, it left me free to observe all the players like a spectator at a tennis match.

  I longed to question Gabriel about his presence in my house. This wasn’t part of our agreement, and I was equal parts nonplussed and frustrated that he always assumed the dominant role – though I supposed he was used to having things his own way after centuries of patriarchal rule. But still I wondered exactly what he was doing here, having to wait patiently for an answer, as it seemed that my parents and Sage knew what was going on and had failed to inform me.

  ‘So when do you think the renovations will be finished on your property in St. John’s Wood? Did the heritage listing hold things up?’ Mum quizzed St. John as she passed him the platter of garlic naan. ‘They certainly made us jump through hoops for the simplest restoration work on the Manor. We were just lucky we hired the right builders so things weren’t delayed even more. And don’t forget to remind me before you leave to give you the name of the Polish carpenter we used – he’s brilliant.’