by D B Nielsen
‘Keep your voice down, Fi,’ St. John added, drawing Sage with him as he moved in closer, ‘Phoenix’s position here doesn’t concern you. Nor you, Sage.’ But he gave his fiancée a squeeze by way of apology. ‘This is purely between Nephilim.’
My confusion increased. I looked at Finn warily as he moved away from me, scampering back towards the barn doors; his furtive movements still managing to be graceful. He opened the heavy wooden door a crack and peered outside. I shivered again, almost in premonition, as a slither of rapidly diminishing sunlight partially lit his face with a hellish glow whilst shrouding the other half in darkness.
Finn looked up at me, the waning light flickering over his grim features.
‘Take off your clothes,’ he ordered brusquely, at the exact moment when Kemwer’s cry pierced the air, smothering the deep tenor of his voice. ‘There’s a pile of clean work clothes in the corner of the barn. Put them on.’
I looked towards St. John who nodded his agreement. ‘Do it, Fi.’
Keeping close to the ground, my nose filled with the unpleasant scent of manure used for fertilising and lawnmower fuel, I stumbled towards the back corner, making as little noise as possible. I realised what had probably already occurred to Finn; that while inside the converted barn, the strong smell of organic waste and petrol fumes was masking my scent, outside, it would be a different story. It was uncanny that Finn almost had the same idea as me to mask my scent, arrived at without my assistance. I gave a weak, embarrassed smile. But Finn had already turned away from me, closing the barn door again and was moving back into the shadows.
‘Your only hope of avoiding the Rephaim is to give them the Scroll. But you must know that if you do that, the Wise Ones will be dead before morning. Louis will search for them, and he will find them. He is quite mad. And his hatred knows no bounds.’
There was a tone of inevitability in his words.
St. John gave him a guarded look. ‘So he isn’t here then to oversee things?’
Finn shook his head. ‘If he were, he might keep the Rephaim in check, but...’ He let his words trail off.
I was deeply confused, struggling to keep up with their conversation. Why would Louis want to keep the other Rephaim in check when he wished to see us dead anyway? Or did he mean to kill us himself?
‘Phoenix, what is your intention?’ asked St. John of the Emim, unaware of my pensiveness.
‘I will buy you the time to make good your escape, Elijah, but this will not keep your enemies at bay for long. Even with all your powers, should you choose to use them, it will not be enough. Your safest course is to enlist the help of your father. Only with your father’s help will you be strong enough to stand against him.’
I was now even more confused. St. John could easily take out Louis if he used his full powers. Why would he need the enemy’s, a Grigori’s, help? What the hell were they talking about?
The gravity in Finn’s voice, which he kept deliberately low, was evident even from where I was standing. Half-dressed as I was in the borrowed, oversized male garments, I looked at them dumbly, aware that I was shivering more from fear than from the cold.
Making this final pronouncement, Finn ignored us to retrieve from a brass ring hanging on the wall beside the door, a falconry gauntlet made, uniquely, of woven sheep wool and camel hair, strapping it onto his left forearm.
‘There’s an external entrance to the mow at the other end of the barn, just above where Saffron is changing, leading out to a pulley that was once used to hoist up the bales of hay. It’s still intact. It hasn’t been used in the last fifty years or more, so I’m uncertain if the ropes will still hold, but it’s your only way out. When I leave the barn, make your way up to the mow and quickly exit.’ He spoke very calmly, with consideration, as if he had all the time in the world. ‘I cannot let you stay here because the house and garage will be searched from top to bottom.’
‘Will you be all right?’ Sage asked Finn, concerned.
Finn merely nodded. ‘Louis may be suspicious, but he will not act directly against me, not without permission. He dare not. I will try to direct the search away from you as best I can. You should be safe, if you can manage to regroup with the rest of your kind.’
I pulled on the last of the clothing, rolling up the sleeves and cuffs as best I could so that they wouldn’t trip me up when I ran. My heart thumped wildly. Taking a deep breath, I made my way over to the wooden rung ladder which led up to the mow and waited for the others to join me.
Just as Finn was about to pull open the barn door and stride out into the open to face the Rephaim, St. John crossed over to where he stood and clasped Finn’s bare wrist, halting him.
‘Phoenix, know that we are grateful for the risks you are taking on our behalf,’ St. John said sombrely in a hushed tone.
Finn’s answer was cryptic, meant only for St. John to understand. ‘I tell you quite frankly that you have no hope unless you place yourself into my hands and ask no questions. Seek out your father. Whatever you believe, he can help you.’
St. John gave a terse nod. ‘Thank you ... brother.’
The two Nephilim faced each other for a weighty moment that was poised in time between the now and the hereafter, though whether allies or adversaries it was difficult to tell. Of similar height and build, they were like shadow and light, yet both beautiful to behold. Then the spell was broken as St. John turned away and hurried over to us.
‘Go quickly!’ Finn said urgently, as we began climbing up to the mow. Then, giving a great heave, he swung open the solid barn door so that it bounced back upon its rusty hinges, and stepped through.
My last sight of Finn as I scampered up the rungs of the wooden ladder was of him holding up his left arm to the heavens as Kemwer swooped down, extending his talons.
The mow, which had once been used to store hay, was dusty from disuse. Someone had stored a stained and possibly vermin-ridden, old mattress and brass bedhead in front of the door to the pulley system, blocking our path. Precious seconds ticked by as St. John lifted them effortlessly out of the way, taking care not to make a sound which might attract the Rephaim to investigate.
Opening the door an inch at first, he peered out. Then, reassured, he swung the door wide to the west and the last rays of sunlight as the orange disc slipped beyond the horizon. From the top of the old barn, I could see the lands of the estate slope away until they met wilderness. At any other time it would have been a wondrous sight, something I would have longed to capture on film or paint, but not now.
As Finn had claimed, the pulley system was still intact. The wooden trolley damaged in parts but still able to be put to use one last time. But the thick ropes holding the trolley had been badly weathered; frayed and eroded beyond hope of sustaining any amount of weight. There was no way the ropes would hold Sage and me together, even if St. John was prepared to get down by an alternate method. And it was equally clear that the ropes wouldn’t be able to last more than one trip, so the time-consuming option of Sage being lowered first and the trolley brought back up for me was ruled out. Worse still, the distance to the ground was too far to jump without injury.
The terrifying realisation sank in. We were trapped.
‘I can take one of you down at a time,’ St. John offered, ‘but there’s a danger that we’ll be seen. Unlike the others, my wings don’t blend in.’
That St. John was willing to risk exposing himself increased my anxiety.
‘Take Sage first,’ I said, knowing of her fear of heights.
Sage automatically protested, but I could see the uneasy look on her face. Feeling her fear, I remained adamant and she finally gave in. It didn’t take a lot of convincing.
As St. John turned to Sage to ask if she was ready, a strong gust of wind blew my hair into my eyes and, in flicking it back from my face, I noticed several dark spots peppering the horizon.
‘St. John,’ I gasped, fear and horror filling my voice.
His golden head shot up as he sca
nned the twilit skies, stiffening in response to the desperation in my voice. Beside me, Sage did the same, mimicking his movements, but her hand flew up to cover her mouth when she saw what had drawn my attention.
My stomach felt weighted down with stones that ground together, making me feel nauseous. We couldn’t face such an onslaught alone.
‘It’s all right,’ St. John grinned, relaxing his pose. ‘They’re on our side.’
In disbelief, I squinted into the twilight. Sure enough, when the approaching Nephilim came into view, a few of them were easily recognisable. Amongst the coterie was Gabriel, who had obviously sent for reinforcements in the form of the oldest of the Anakim, Anak. The wind had whipped up and now swept with cruel force over the treetops and through the open door of the mow, though it provided a fair tailwind for the Anakim as they journeyed eastward.
But as Anak and the others drew closer, they were spotted, and a wild cry resounded as the Rephaim, led by Louis at the front of the pack, passed overhead to meet their brothers in battle. The sound they made as they flew over the old building was similar to an airplane taking off. Like arrows aimed at the Anakim, they darted towards their target whilst we went unnoticed.
But the blood drained from my face as I saw that Finn numbered amongst the posse. It came to me with the force of a blow.
My heart hammering loudly, I cried out, ‘St. John, Finn is with the Rephaim! You have to stop him!’
St. John must have seen Finn too with his extraordinary sight, yet he had said nothing to Sage and me.
‘I cannot, Saffron, for he is bound to a duty and must follow his path as surely as I must follow mine,’ he replied simply, following the length of my gaze.
‘Please!’ I begged.
St. John sighed wearily. ‘Fi, this is war. There is only so much I can do. But I will join my brothers and give what aid I can. I will try to see to it that Phoenix is not harmed.’
I watched helplessly until Finn had moved far enough away from Satis House and me that he was lost to sight as twilight fell. I realised I was trembling badly and told myself sternly that it was because of the cold wind. Yet tears blurred my eyes and I knew with sudden, utter clarity that I was a fool to continue to deceive myself.
Yet my sister and her fiancé were caught up in a drama of their own, and paid scant attention to me.
‘Sage...’ St. John glanced anxiously at his beloved.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said, touching his face in understanding.
‘I’ll make sure she’s safe,’ I promised. ‘You concentrate on Finn and Gabriel and the others. Take care of yourself.’
I averted my eyes as St. John removed Sage’s hand gently and kissed her palm, almost envying my sister the tenderness and reverence with which her fiancé treated her, but could not deny her this moment of parting.
‘What are you going to do?’ St. John asked finally, turning his jade green gaze to shoot me an enquiring look.
I gave a small smile. ‘Borrow some transport.’
There was enough light in the old building now since Finn had left the barn door wide open, enough to see that they both gave me an odd look, unknowing of my intentions. But St. John had no choice but to trust that my instincts were right.
‘We’ll meet you back at the house,’ I said, adding with a rush of gratitude, ‘And, St. John, thank you.’
He merely nodded.
‘Come back to me,’ Sage murmured.
‘I promise, mon cœur. Now go!’ St. John said, urging us towards the wooden rung ladder and watching as Sage and I descended before he disappeared from view.
Sage waited a heartbeat, then throwing over her shoulder a ‘Wait here!’, she scrambled back up the ladder.
‘What are you doing?’ I hissed, staring up at her retreating form.
But all I got for an answer was ‘Damn!’
‘What’s going on, Sage?’ I asked, willing her to hurry. ‘If you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a–’
‘I know, I know,’ she said, popping her head back over the edge and slowly easing her foot onto the ladder’s top rung. ‘I just thought I might be able to catch a glimpse of him.’
‘Who?’ I asked confused; then, with dawning comprehension, ‘Oh! St. John! You wanted to see his wings! Honestly, girl, why don’t you just ask him?’
Sage mumbled something under her breath as she descended.
‘What did you say?’
Burning with embarrassment, she faced me, crossing to where I still stood. I waited for her explanation, lips twitching.
She gave a sigh conveying her chagrin, admitting, ‘Because that’s like asking to see him naked!’
I snorted, covering up a laugh.
‘Hell, girl, you’re engaged! What’s wrong with seeing him naked?’ I asked, turning around and pausing to take stock, whilst still talking. ‘I mean, look at him! He’s like an even hotter version of Chris Hemsworth! Totally drool-worthy! He’s fit! St. John’s like seriously buff! You can just tell – even under those stuffy suits he wears! Seriously, he– Owww!’
That’s when Sage hit me.
‘Concentrate! How are we getting out of here?’ she demanded, as we moved towards the back of the converted barn. ‘And keep your eyes off my fiancé!’
‘Snarky, aren’t we? How many times do I have to tell you he’s not my type!’ Rubbing my arm absently, I said, ‘I think I saw our way out back here.’ and, looking around the area where I dumped my sweat-stained clothes, I spotted what I was after. ‘Yep! There it is!’
Gleaming in the corner of the old barn was a Ducati Multistrada, its sleek lines looked like something out of Tron Legacy, a seriously hot and super-fast motorcycle. Its carbon fibre and alloy frame in diamond black reminded me of a hell hound, an absolute beast of a bike that suited Finn to a tee.
Sage’s amber coloured eyes widened in horror; her mouth forming a perfect “O”.
‘Are you kidding?’ Her voice went up an octave from its normal pitch. ‘No way am I getting on that thing! It’s a death trap!’
Her voice cracked on the last word. She looked terrified.
‘It’s perfectly safe,’ I said, attempting to reassure her. ‘I know what I’m doing. Look. Here’s the clutch, throttle, gearshift, brake, wheels, handlebar–’
‘Don’t joke!’ she muttered, afraid to say more.
‘Stop panicking!’ I said, ‘You’ve seen me do this a hundred times before!’
It was true. Our uncle, on our father’s side, was a serious motorcycle fanatic. We’d often spent our summers at his vineyard in Argentina when Dad was off on one of his archaeological digs. Uncle Daniel lived in one of the most picturesque areas of Argentina, on the eastern flanks of the Andes, where he would let me ride with him along the mountain passes. We would visit his neighbours, Paulo and Laura, to the south of his estancia and often share a meal with them, prepared from the many delicacies grown on their own estate or surrounding countryside. The truth was, we’d made a deal; I couldn’t ride his motorbike if I didn’t eat – and by that, he meant to his satisfaction. I would have done anything to be able to ride his motorbikes in the mountainous region where he lived! It was totally sick! But the deal struck was no real hardship, as Laura was a great cook and the local cuisine was flavoursome and varied enough to tempt even me, the fussiest eater. In fact, I had hoped to visit him this summer before starting university, but that was before we had met the Nephilim and become involved in their affairs.
Grabbing the handle of the Ducati, I threw my left leg over and flicked up the kickstand, getting a feel for the Ducati as the heavy bike wobbled unsteadily under me, threatening to knock me sideways.
‘Are you sure you can handle it?’ Sage asked suspiciously.
Strapping on the helmet tightly, which had hung from the handlebar, too big for my head but offering some protection at least, I gave her a look through the dark visor which, unfortunately, she couldn’t see.
‘Get on, Sage,’ I instructed, watching as sh
e threw her leg over, straddling the bike and settling in behind me, before starting the engine electronically and watching its LCD screen light up like Christmas. The motorcycle rumbled to life beneath us as Sage threw her arms around me, alarmed, gripping my ribcage tightly.
Thank God my ribs had healed! Otherwise, after her squeezing me to death, I’d be back in hospital again!
Stroking the side of the motorbike, I murmured, ‘Come on, beautiful, you’re gonna be good for Fi now, aren’t you?’
The bike purred back at me like a large cat, a beautiful black puma, and I smiled in deep satisfaction.
‘What are you doing?’ Sage hissed, as I opened the throttle experimentally and the motorbike growled at me.
But I didn’t bother answering her.
‘Easy, baby,’ I murmured again to the Ducati and, focusing, kicked the gearshift into place and eased up on the clutch.
And we were off.
Breathtakingly fast and incredibly demanding, the Ducati was not like my uncle’s bikes; instead, it was like a high-maintenance, tetchy, but extremely beautiful and sexy supermodel. And exhilarating to ride. It suited its owner’s moodiness, eccentricity and power, and mirrored his beauty and wildness.
I was glad of the protection afforded by the helmet as the wind whipped through my borrowed clothes which were hanging loosely on my slim frame, finding its way under cuffs and collar to raise goose bumps. I couldn’t wait to get home – not just out of danger, but to immerse myself in a hot bath and wash away the chill and the salt-sweat and the grime that felt half-caked on.
This time, I took us in the direction of the melee, rather than following the private road into the woods. Knowing there was no way I could jump the wire-mesh fence, and not wanting to end up like Steve McQueen’s “Cooler King” character in The Great Escape, one of Dad’s favourite films, I rode behind the old barn and followed the sloping land that fell away from the high towers of Satis House until it met wilderness. Fences gave way to hedges where gaps appeared between greenery, enough for a large motorbike to pass through.
Presently, I found a dirt road, overgrown with weeds and patchy with melting snow, which might once have been used by the local squires and farmers travelling on horseback. I turned onto its muddy path, Sage hanging on for dear life behind me, the trees of the forest a blur on either side as the road narrowed into thin vectors pointing me towards the newer, tarred village lanes.
