Sword- Part One

by D B Nielsen

  Fi’s broken invective testified to her shock and fury. She voiced what I could not – as all sound was trapped in my throat, working, swallowing, biting back rising bile.

  ‘Bloody bastards! Those motherfu–’

  I tried to block it all out. I wanted to block it all out. An impossible desire.

  They would not heal. Not ever. Here was evidence of Semyaza’s megalomania. Here was evidence of untold damage done – with their bare hands, with a seraph blade, I wasn’t sure how but I didn’t want to think about the horror of such an act.

  ‘Why?’ I whispered to no one in particular.

  ‘Females are rare. She is a breeder.’

  It wasn’t said with an assumption of superiority, rather with a note of sadness. St. John turned to me and I saw the immeasurable wells of misery in his eyes.

  ‘Before I tell you what you wish to know,’ said St. John sorrowfully, ‘you must understand that as much as the Grigori are immortal, they came off second best in a fight against the Creator and His legions. They were defeated by the Archangels and driven into the abyss of Tartaros. Semyaza has spent aeons planning his revenge, plotting his next move and anticipating his enemy’s. He has built an army of Rephaim and Emim, yet still it is not enough.’

  I shuddered at the images in my head, the knowledge that Semyaza had made allies of the Fravashi, and the zeal of his soldiers.

  His lips tightened. ‘He is not just building an army, he is creating an army. Breeding them like cattle for slaughter.’

  ‘The females?’ Fi asked with a wary curiosity.

  ‘Yes,’ St. John agreed. ‘Statistically, more Nephilim males are born than females. In fact, the males far outnumber the females, though this might be a result of our parentage as the Grigori are all males.’

  I didn’t realise that Fi had come to stand next to me but I was grateful for her presence as she slid her hand into mine and squeezed tightly.

  ‘We do not understand the reason but it is difficult for the Grigori to conceive a female of our species. And, according to our research, female foetuses are often miscarried within the first trimester of gestation.’

  I started to shake at this connection between me and the female Nephilim in the cell. What if I conceived St. John’s child one day and it was female?

  Anak must have realised my fears as he hastened to assure us, ‘These are children fathered by the Grigori, not by Nephilim.’

  ‘What’s the difference?’ Fi asked sharply.

  ‘There is a reproductive affinity between Nephilim and human beings.’ Anak frowned. ‘Perhaps it is due to the humanity within the Nephilim. Perhaps it is because an act of love can create whereas an act of hatred is ultimately destructive.’

  ‘As much as I hate to admit it, my mother was lucky to be chosen as a mate by Elijah and not another of the Grigori. She was never raped. And, for all his faults, he loved her.’ St. John took up the explanation, pausing briefly to draw breath. I realised how hard this was for him – for them all. ‘But the others were seduced or captured, raped and impregnated by the Watchers. This was effectively a death sentence for them, as most did not survive the labour.’

  ‘Miriam’s pregnancy.’ Fi was referring to St. John’s human mother and I understood her meaning perfectly. ‘Despite their love for one another ... poor Miriam ... the father of her child was a Watcher. That’s why her pregnancy and the birth of her child were so difficult.’

  ‘During the birthing process, the female body is almost always fatally torn apart by the wings of their offspring,’ St. John said, his fury evident.

  ‘They were expendable,’ I stated flatly without looking at him. Instead, I stared at the female Nephilim in her cell whose disfigurement was beyond cure. ‘These other human women were expendable to the Grigori – simply a means of assuaging their lust temporarily.’

  ‘You mean, a means of reproducing. Of populating or repopulating their race,’ Fi hissed angrily.

  ‘Yes. That is true. You’re right.’ Anak agreed, solemnly. ‘Whatever the case, it is easier for Nephilim and humans to procreate, but many of us fear this possibility. That is why there are far fewer Anakim than our brothers. What I mean to say is that the divine birthright given by the Creator is passed down to our offspring but, in every successive generation, these gifts are destabilized. You see, the mixing with human blood deteriorates these heavenly powers but, in turn, it leaves us more susceptible to the darkness, the legacy gifted to us by the Fallen.’

  Anak crossed his hands over his broad chest and stared, unblinking, at the four Nephilim prisoners.

  ‘As offensive as this sounds, humanity dilutes these celestial powers – it weakens the goodness and strengthens the darkness within our blood.’ The implications of Anak’s words sank in. ‘As the Grigori father very few females, these hybrid females are especially prized in the hopes of rebuilding the purity of their species. These female Nephilim are rare and their value is in their ability to reproduce near purebreds.’

  ‘The Grigori are as incestuous as the ancient Egyptians and take pleasure in inbreeding.’ My sister’s voice was laced with revulsion, mirroring my own feelings on the matter. ‘Like animals. Like pedigree dogs and racehorses.’

  ‘What we’re saying,’ St. John said grimly, ‘is that Semyaza is breeding an immensely strong army. These hybrid Nephilim are as close to purebloods as possible. The Grigori do not wish to allow for the creation of an unwanted third race.’

  ‘Three generations.’ My realisation was a whisper.

  But the Anakim heard it. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The White Australia Policy.’ I shuddered. It was difficult to ignore the caged Nephilim a few feet away from us – even more difficult to ignore the blood smear on the glass. Violence bred violence.

  St. John gave an angry nod of agreement. ‘Exactly like the plans of the Grigori. They wanted to breed out the Aboriginal blood with the continuing infiltration of white blood – to ensure that no trace of native origin remained.’

  ‘Half-caste or half-blood grandmother. Quadroon daughter. Octoroon granddaughter. That’s the way they saw the Indigenous people, hoping to return to pure European bloodlines.’ Fi’s words accompanied the pacing of the male Rephaim in his cell. ‘Except in this case, it’s like Voldemort’s obsession.’

  Gabriel, who had been present this entire time, was staring off into space. His silence spoke volumes; his usually affable manner suppressed and his expression set in stone.

  ‘Semyaza is conducting genetic experiments.’ I had never heard Gabriel’s mellifluous voice sound so cold, so remote, so humourless. He finally turned to look at us and his eyes were dull with a remembered pain. ‘He is impregnating both Nephilim and human females as an experiment in the procreation of purebloods. The Nephilim females are mutilated so that they cannot escape through flight. The human females cannot escape at all – they are enthralled by their captors.’

  My skin broke out in raised goose bumps. ‘What human females?’

  ‘Ellen Jacobi for one.’ Anak’s voice held the detachment of a historian recording his discoveries. But I could tell how much of a burden this knowledge was to him – he was infinitely weary and infinitely troubled. ‘Human women whom we believe to have some Nephilistic genetic heritage, however devolved or recessive, which is why Semyaza has chosen them.’

  ‘What aren’t you telling us?’ Fi demanded, her attention locked on Anak. She moved forward in agitation, releasing my hand.

  ‘Are you certain you wish to know?’ St. John’s worried glance settled on me.

  Before I had the opportunity to answer, Gabriel spoke up. ‘It is far too late to try to protect them from this knowledge, mon ami. Let us be done with it, once and for all.’

  Gabriel’s forceful words made me momentarily wonder exactly how much of Fi’s “discovery” of the location and subsequent plans to gain access to the Anakim conclave was orchestrated by him. In the battle to come, it was necessary to know who would stand with us and
who would stand against us. The Anakim had their enemies. Knowledge was the one thing that would keep us safe – at least for the moment.

  Another of the Anakim, a handsome young man with close-cropped bronze coloured hair and burnished skin, obviously agreed. ‘Gabriel is correct. You cannot continue to protect the Wise Ones from what they need to know. They will not thank you for it.’

  St. John shook his head and breathed out a sharp, frustrated sigh. He gave a nod in Gabriel’s direction, permitting him to begin. There was no need to repeat the difficulties involved. And no need to remind us of Semyaza’s goal. This particular Grigori was a psychopath. His desire to engineer what could only be considered an Aryan race – a master race of otherworldly soldiers – was the worst experiment in eugenics I had ever heard of in the history of humanity. But there was more to come.

  ‘The Grigori have already set their plans in motion.’ The frustrated glint in Gabriel’s unusual silver-grey eyes intensified. ‘For months, perhaps longer, we have been receiving bizarre reports of young, heavily pregnant women whose foetuses have been stolen from their wombs. Their corpses are left mutilated. It has come to the point that the media have broadcast these gruesome stories to the public, and we have been unable to prevent the interest and involvement of New Scotland Yard without drawing attention to ourselves.’

  Anak’s controlled fury was made apparent – it was the first time I was to see the Nephilim warrior beneath his even-tempered façade, but it would not be the last. ‘The Grigori have been literally carving these infants out of their mothers’ wombs – performing caesareans without a thought for the survival of their female human carriers.’

  I felt St. John’s arm snake around my waist, holding me upright, steadying me as the awful implications of Gabriel and Anak’s words sank in. I covered my mouth as the bile rose.

  Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Semyaza is the father of Ellen Jacobi’s unborn female child.’

  I gasped in surprise and felt Fi stiffen beside me. But she uttered not a sound.

  ‘His son, Phoenix – Finn – has been protecting Ellen, but it is proving to be quite difficult as her pregnancy advances.’ Gabriel watched Fi through hooded mercury coloured eyes. ‘Understand this, however. Finn is not on our side. Nor, I suspect, is he on the side of the Grigori. Whatever game Finn is playing, it is entirely his own. He will only help the Anakim as it benefits him to do so.’

  Gabriel shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs of confusion and deception; the gesture uncharacteristically ingenuous but charming. He looked unexpectedly young for all of his centuries.

  ‘He’s Switzerland.’ Fi gave a short, sardonic bark of laughter which was not at all humorous. I knew she was never going to get over Finn’s betrayal without some closure or payback – whichever came first.

  ‘Right,’ Gabriel scoffed. ‘And that’s why I’m a banker.’

  It was evident to everyone present that Gabriel did not trust Finn and he wasn’t going to hide the fact. His cynicism was warranted – after all, it was Finn who had left my sister to die in a burning house. Such experiences made for unhappy bedfellows.

  Ignoring them both, I voiced the question foremost in my mind. ‘What about Ellen Jacobi and her child? What will happen to them?’

  ‘Nothing, if I can help it.’ There was a controlled fury in St. John’s voice.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Fi asked.

  ‘Rescue her.’

  ‘Are you mad? Look, I get it. I do. “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind”. But this – this is insane!’ I exclaimed, wanting to rush towards St. John and hold him tight as if I could prevent him from this course of action. But instead I poured my fear and anger into words. ‘If we’ve thought of it, don’t you think Semyaza has thought of it too? Don’t you think he has prepared for this eventuality? He wants us to expose ourselves by rushing into this!’

  ‘Tiens! That is exactly what I have been telling him!’ Gabriel exclaimed. ‘We cannot go after Ellen Jacobi without a well thought out plan. It would be suicide to go against the Grigori now.’

  ‘And any plan will need to be perfectly executed,’ added the young, bronzed Anakim. ‘That’s assuming we know for certain where she is being held and the information isn’t a ruse.’

  I simply nodded in agreement, unsure of what more I could say to discourage this foolhardy plan. Staring at the female Nephilim’s disfigurement, I knew it was wrong of me to want St. John safe at the cost of Ellen Jacobi’s life, but I just couldn’t help it, as that was how I felt. The only certainty was death.

  ‘What about enlisting Elijah’s help?’ Fi asked, her voice now level.

  Anak’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. ‘Impossible.’

  Several Anakim shook their heads, exchanging meaningful glances.

  Fi looked from Anak to the other Anakim and then to Gabriel. ‘Why the hell not?’

  Gabriel cleared his throat as if ordering his thoughts before he spoke. ‘Because, ma petit puce, you do not know Elijah. Do not believe that just because he loved Miriam that he is any better than the other Grigori, as you would be wrong. His story is romantic and tragic, but he is still a fallen angel.’

  St. John laughed bitterly. ‘He’s a devil.’

  I tried to hide my mixed emotions. To the Anakim, this was personal. It was difficult to know what to believe. ‘But he wouldn’t side with the Grigori, surely? He must hate them all.’

  ‘Oh, he hates them all right. But he hates human beings too.’ Jade green eyes narrowed and he pierced me with his unwavering gaze. ‘You’ve seen with your own eyes what humans have done to him, Sage. How can you believe that he would want to help them after that?’

  I couldn’t bring myself to speak, it was all too much. Conclave held far more political and martial planning than I had thought. I just shook my head wearily.

  ‘And do you think he wouldn’t want revenge on Heaven? If he were more human, he might. But no, he hates and yet is forbidden to hate by his divine gift.’ St. John moved away from me to pace across the room. Standing in front of the blood-smeared glass partition, he held up his hands to the furiously insane Rephaim as if to calm him. It did no good.

  ‘What do you mean? Why can’t we get Elijah to help us? Why is he a devil? Why is he forbidden to hate?’ Fi stuck like a bloodhound to the topic, not willing to let it go.

  Without turning around, St. John spoke, yet a tension remained in his stance, in his broad shoulders, as if he bore all the weight of the world. ‘Elijah was chosen by the Creator – as were all the Grigori – for a dominant trait or virtue that would resist all corruption. Elijah is the bearer of empathy. He is forbidden to hate by his very nature. His natural affinity to show compassion to others allows him to sense what motivates the Grigori ... and humans too. Yet, banished from Paradise, the gift torments him. It has become his bane.’

  No one spoke for several moments. It was almost too much to take in.

  ‘What does that mean for you, given your genetic connection to Elijah?’ I whispered to St. John’s back. If anything, it made his spine tense until the fabric of his suit jacket was taut across his shoulders.

  ‘It means, Wise One, that my friend here will sooner turn the other cheek than demand vengeance against his aggressor,’ Gabriel mournfully claimed, ‘St. John, like his father, will forgive the bearer of the blade that strikes him down – which is why he was chosen as the Keeper of the Seed.’

  I closed my eyes in dawning understanding of the man I was bound to – the man whom I had constantly doubted and questioned and yet in whom I should have had the utmost trust. Because with Gabriel’s explanation, I knew – I knew – that St. John would never have allowed my sister to be harmed in any way, not if he could help it. He would not have allowed her to be sacrificed. And, I knew, that his competing loyalties – to the Anakim and to the Wise Ones and to the Seed – would be tearing him apart.

  Walking across to where St. John stood, so solitary, I placed my hand in
his and gave a tight squeeze. I did not release my hand and he did not remove his.

  ‘And Semyaza? What is his dominant trait or virtue – if he even has one?’ My sister voiced sceptically from behind.

  ‘Altruism.’

  Hearing the response, I turned to look up at St. John in confusion. ‘Altruism?’

  ‘A virtue, some would say. But consider this – territorialism and other forms of violence must have been necessary for the development of altruism in human beings. Altruism cannot emerge without some level of conflict between communities, cultures ... and, perhaps, even angels ... For otherwise, without any conflict, what need would there be for the Creator to have an angelic host of warriors?’

  ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ Anak said ruefully. ‘But St. John is absolutely correct. If we take an example from human history in the form of religious fundamentalism – a suicide bomber is the greatest altruist. He is willing to martyr himself for his beliefs – for the desire to please his god and to experience an eternity of happiness in Paradise. He believes he is furthering his god’s work here on earth, with desirable consequences for those members of his religious community still living. And the martyr is assuring himself and his closest family members an admittance into Paradise by his actions.’

  The younger Anakim took a step back in dismay as he addressed those of us present. ‘It is the same desire of governments in the West to assist those nations engaged in civil war by supplying arms and military training to bring about an end to the violence. Sadly, such altruism is misdirected.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘Father, it was St. John who confirmed that the Commissioner from Interpol believes Ellen Jacobi to be engaged in weapons trading.’

  I gave a start, not realising until now that the young man was Anak’s son, yet the resemblance – once I was made aware of it – was quite marked.

  At Anak’s nod, his son mournfully continued, ‘Poor woman. Such unnecessary human suffering. Even if our brothers can rescue her, what kind of life will she have? It is an unjust and immoral use of human life.’